“You mean meatballs?”
“No, tuna balls,” I say and swallow the gag threatening to rise up my throat. “My Sicilian grandmother makes meatballs out of tuna fish whenever we come and visit because they’re Dad’s favorite, and the thought of them alone makes me want to die.”
“That sounds awful,” Luke says and shakes his head. “Okay, you get one superpower. What is it?”
“Teleportation.”
“Who’s your biggest role model?”
“My mom.”
“What’s your biggest strength?”
“My loyalty.”
“What’s your biggest weakness?”
“My anxiety,” I say without thinking. Luke’s blue eyes flash surprise. My anxiety. I can almost see the words floating away from me, white and fluffy, like they were written by the tiniest skywriting airplane. I immediately wish I could lasso them with my tongue and pull them back.
Luke’s eyes blink and regain their shape. The room is quiet for two long breaths. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” Luke replies, choosing his words carefully. I swallow the nerves climbing up my throat.
“Well … it’s not like a diagnosed problem or anything,” I say, my eyes darting away from Luke’s sweet, concerned face. I stare over his shoulder at the dark window that overlooks my even darker house. “I’m just a worst-case-scenario thinker sometimes. I wish I wasn’t.”
“I get it,” Luke replies. He takes a breath and places his warm hand on my ankle. “I think you try to come off as Miss Carefree. But I can see that mind of yours working overtime.”
“You can?” I ask, my eyebrows rising even though I’m not surprised.
“Yeah,” he answers, his fingers doing figure eights on my skin. “I don’t like it when you pretend you’re someone you’re not. I just want you to be you. Good. Bad. Anxious. I’ll still be here.”
We stare at each other, enveloped by stillness. I hadn’t even noticed that the record was over. I open my mouth to speak, then close it. I look across the room at the record as it spins and spins in silence.
“Promise?” I ask, my voice soft.
“Promise.” Luke’s fingertips run up and down my smooth skin and my eyes return to his. My entire body buzzes.
I don’t know if it’s Luke’s touch or the fact that he may be the only one who actually knows me but suddenly, every trace of air is drawn from my lungs. He takes his hand off my ankle and my skin begins to throb. I want to tell him to put it back. To keep touching me and never stop touching me. I’ve been keeping him at arm’s length for so long. For his own good, I know. But tonight, my long list of reasons to push him away shrinks and blurs and crumples.
My body begins to shake, just like this morning, and I don’t know why. I pull my arms to my chest and wrap them around my shivering body.
“You cold?” Luke asks.
“I must be,” I say, trying to stop my teeth from chattering.
“Come here.” Luke scoots his body over, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. I crawl down to his side of the couch and place my head on the fluffy pillow, my face pointed at the blank television and still-spinning record player. Luke wraps his strong arms around me, warming my cold, goose-bump-prickled skin. “Better?”
“Yes, thanks,” I say, resting the back of my head against his chest. I feel his body rise and fall with every breath, and my stomach flips onto itself over and over again, like kneaded dough. We need a distraction and fast. “How about a movie?”
Luke reaches for the controller next to him and flips on the TV. “American Beauty is in the DVD player, I think. I know you like it.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say as he pushes the play button. As the opening credits roll, Luke pulls me tighter, resting his chin on the top of my head.
“One more question,” he says. “Favorite moment?”
“In life?” I ask, turning toward him and he nods. I scan my brain. Before New Albany, my life was an endless Groundhog Day of training and school where I was pretty much ignored. We’ve moved so many times, spur of the moment, it was hard to break into a group of friends in the middle of the school year. My parents would always say I was destined for bigger things than being invited to a sleepover or birthday party. But that wasn’t exactly comforting when I’d sit in class listening to everyone else make weekend plans, and silently hope someone would ask me to come along.
But all that changed here. Something clicked. This place, the people. My life before New Albany felt like a dress rehearsal until I got to the academy. That’s when my life was supposed to start. But here, I sometimes forget that I’m a Black Angel. I forget about the path that was plotted for me before I was even born. I no longer feel like I’m floating outside of my body, watching it happen: a spectator in someone else’s life. Here, I feel alive.