A buzz shakes my body and I jump to my feet. I place my hand over my rapidly beating heart and feel my chest rise and fall as I catch my breath. It’s just my phone vibrating in my pocket but I’m jumpy as hell all alone in this place. I pull out my phone. Aunt Sam.
“Good morning,” I say into the phone and walk away from the window.
“Well, good morning to you too,” Sam replies. “Glad to see you make an appearance in your own home.”
I glance up at the ornate picture frame on a high bookshelf in the corner of the guest room. But it’s not a picture frame. It’s a camera. We have cameras in every room of the house. Except bathrooms, because … eww.
“Hi, Sam,” I say, giving the camera an exaggerated wave. “Have you been watching for me all night?”
“I checked the cameras a few times,” Sam answers. “But just got an alert that the alarm went off so figured you were home now.”
“I’m home.”
“So. Where were you?”
“Harper’s,” I answer a little too quickly.
“Reagan?” Sam questions, her voice adding about ten extra a’s to my name. Who am I kidding? She always knows where I am.
“Luke’s,” I say and sigh. “I was at Luke’s.”
“The truth comes out. Hymen still intact?” Sam asks with a laugh.
“Sam!” I shout into the phone, which only makes her laugh harder. She was Aunt Sam to me growing up. She took care of me and protected me like I was her own child. But the last few years, we’ve dropped the aunt and she’s become more like a big sister. An annoying, pestering, always-questioning big sister.
“I’m still waiting for a response,” Sam says and I can feel her smiling on the other end.
“Of course my hymen is still intact! Luke and I are just…” I stammer into the phone. I want to say friends but I don’t even believe my own lie. “Well, I don’t know what we are but nothing happened. Mountain Dews were drunk, records were played, and clothes stayed on.”
I flop down on the expensive white-and-silver bedspread that I’m not really supposed to sit on, much less lie on.
“At least take off your shoes,” Sam says, clearly still watching me through the camera. “You know your mother will kill you if you get anything on that bedspread.”
I roll my eyes but comply. “Are you going to tell her?”
“About the bedspread or showing up at home with bedhead from Luke’s?”
“Both?”
“No. Promise,” Sam says and pauses. “But Reagan, I do think you need to think about what you’re doing.”
“What do you mean?” I ask even though I know exactly what she’s talking about. I lean to my left to glance back out the window. The van is gone. Maybe the Saldoffs are having work done on their house again. For a moment, fear begins to creep into my brain but I force it back out.
“Just everything with Luke,” Sam says and takes a big breath on the other end of the phone. “I haven’t said anything because I just wanted to see where your friendship with Luke went … but I think you need to be careful. Because if you want to go to the academy and become a Black Angel, it’s going to get really complicated with Luke. I know you don’t want to hurt him.”
“Of course I don’t,” I reply, my heart painfully constricting at the thought. I press my lips together and scan the room. My eyes land on an old picture of Mom and Dad on the nightstand. I reach out and touch the edge of the silver frame. It’s a candid shot from their wedding day. They got married on the beach in Florida. Dad’s sitting in an oversize Adirondack chair and Mom’s perched comfortably on his lap, her arms draped around his neck, her forehead pressed against his as she laughs. Dad’s steadying her arms and smiling so wide. They look like they’re in the middle of having the best conversation of their lives. It’s my favorite picture of them and I’ve never really known why. Maybe because it just feels so real or perfectly unperfect. Like that’s what love really is; that back and forth, give and take. She says one thing. He says another. She laughs. He touches her arm. If you’re lucky, it’s in those simple moments you find complete happiness. And that’s how you want to spend the rest of your life. Forever in the middle of a conversation with the person you never, ever get tired of talking to.
“Listen, Reagan. We all want you to be a Black Angel,” Sam continues. “You were born for this. But I also want what’s best for you. So listen to your heart. What does it say?”
I take a deep breath and slowly shake my head. Of course Sam is the only one who even bothers to ask.
“That I should do this,” I answer quietly. A lump begins to grow thick in the back of my throat but I will it down and it obeys. “That I owe it to my parents and my country to be a Black Angel.”
“But what do you want, Reagan?” she presses further. “Don’t think about what your mom and dad want. What do you want?”