The day passed quickly. Too quickly.
Lilith had ignored Cam in homeroom and in poetry, and he didn’t see her for the rest of the school day. He’d snuck out to Rattlesnake Creek at lunch, hoping he would find her there, strumming her guitar, but all he’d found was the tuneless trickle of April water in the creek bed.
No Lilith.
He’d hung around the band room after the bell, hoping she might return there after class.
She hadn’t.
As the sun sank in the sky, he made his way alone to the Trumbull open mic. He walked across the bleak campus toward the cafeteria, coughing from the smoky air. The burning hillsides—the barely disguised flames of Lilith’s Hell—encircled all of Crossroads, and no one here seemed to care. Cam had seen a fire truck drive toward the blaze that morning and noted the blank expressions on the firefighters’ faces. They probably spent every day hosing water on those smoldering trees, unconcerned that the fire never dwindled.
Everyone in this town was one of Lucifer’s pawns. Nothing and no one would change in Crossroads until the devil wanted it to change.
Except, Cam hoped, for Lilith.
When he reached the cafeteria, Cam held the door open for a couple holding hands. The boy whispered something in the girl’s ear, and she laughed and pulled him in for a kiss. Cam looked away, feeling a stab in his chest. He stuffed his hands inside his jacket pockets and ducked inside.
The cafeteria’s daytime drabness was barely disguised. A makeshift stage had been set up at one end, with ragged black curtains hanging between two poles for a backdrop. Mr. Davidson stood center stage behind a microphone.
“Welcome,” he said, adjusting his glasses. He appeared to be in his thirties, with a mop of dark brown hair and a rail-thin frame that radiated nervousness. “There’s nothing more exciting than discovering vital new pieces of art. I can’t wait for you all to share your work with each other tonight.”
Above the audience’s groans and grumbles, he added, “Also, you have to perform or else you’ll get a zero. So without further ado, put your hands together for our first performer, Sabrina Burke!”
As the audience applauded weakly, Cam slid into an empty seat next to Jean Rah, who offered Cam his fist to bump. Jean was Cam’s kind of guy—dark, funny, with a kindness you had to dig for. Cam wondered what Jean had done to end up in Lucifer’s domain. Some of the most interesting mortals—and angels—had a way of pissing off the Throne.
On the stage, Sabrina’s hands shook as she reached for the microphone. She whispered, “Thank you,” as she unfolded a handwritten poem. “This poem is called…‘Matrimony.’ Thank you, Mr. Davidson, for your help. You’re the best teacher ever.” She cleared her throat and began:
“A wedding is a prehistoric ritual for two people
a man and a woman—
OR SO THEY SAY!”
She looked up from her paper.
“YOU CANNOT TAKE AWAY MY FREEDOM! FREE? DUMB!
I am woman, watch me soar!”
She looked down. “Thank you.”
The rest of the students applauded. “So brave,” a girl sitting next to Cam said. “So true.”
Cam’s eyes wandered over the audience until he found Lilith in the third row, chewing her nails. He knew she was imagining herself up there, alone. The Lilith he remembered was a natural performer, once she got past the initial panic of stepping onto a stage.
But this Lilith was different.
Now the audience was clapping for a towering black boy who walked confidently onstage. He didn’t bother to adjust the microphone, which was way too short for him. He just opened his notebook and projected.
“This one’s sort of like a haiku,” he said.
“Some birds never land.
They’ve got to do all of their
Business in the clouds.”
A contingent of girls in the back row hooted and cheered, calling out to the boy, “You’re so fine, James!” He waved at them, as if he got that kind of reaction buying a soda or getting out of his car, and exited the stage.
A spoken-word performance and three poets later, Mr. Davidson took the stage again. “Good job, everyone. Next up? Lilith.”
A few boos echoed across the cafeteria, and Mr. Davidson attempted to shush them. Lilith took her place on the stage. The spotlight made her hair look brighter, her face paler as she held her black journal under her arm, ready to read her poem. She cleared her throat. The microphone howled with feedback.
Several of the students covered their ears. One yelled, “Get off the stage! Loser!”
“Hey, now!” Mr. Davidson called out. “That’s not nice.”
“Um—” Lilith tried to adjust the microphone but only got a squeal of feedback.
Cam was off his seat by then and rushing up to the stage.