like, ‘ Don’t we know each other? Are you in Mr. Matelli’s English class?’ She’d stop to answer, and it’d delay her long enough to avoid the car. Right? Right. Unless she was rude and wouldn’t talk to me. Then I’d make something up on the fly. Maybe I’d tackle her. Not very angelic, but better than getting hit by a car. Yeah. Okay .
I jammed my way through the massive crowd, making my way toward the sidewalk. Sweat dripped down my back, and the muscles in my arms strained from pushing people out of my way. And my legs burned from running, but I was almost there. Just a little more. I just had to get past a group of guys—but they wouldn’t move.
“Excuse me,” I yelled, jamming into the guy closest to me. Tears were building behind my eyes, and my chest burned.
I’m running out of time. Move, move, move!
The guy didn’t bother to stop texting and look at me. “Go around.”
I jabbed my elbow in his side and plowed through. Then I heard it. At first, I thought the boy was screaming at me, but it wasn’t him.
I was too late.
I rammed myself through the people standing in front of me and stumbled forward onto the curb. Sights and sounds faded into the background until all I saw was the girl lying on the pavement. Blood pooled around her head like a gruesome halo, and deep red stained her long, blonde braid.
Tears sprang to my eyes. I’m too late. I didn’t save her. I did this to her. My selfishness. My pride. Me . I hurt this girl. What kind of monster am I to let this happen?
Students screamed. Some grabbed their cell phones and dialed 911, and a couple boys ran into the school and brought back the nurse. But I just stood there, motionless. Useless. Guilty. People ran into me, jostling me, pushing me out of the way.
It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so stubborn—if I hadn’t fought the vision so hard and done something sooner—she’d be driving home right now instead of lying on the ground in her own blood.
Mr. Rodriguez stood next to his car door with both hands on top of his head, looking at the girl. Tears ran down his face. He was a nice man. If I hadn’t been so selfish, so stubborn, I could have spared him the agony of knowing he’d hurt a student.
It’s my fault. I’m to blame.
I jumped when I felt a soft touch on my elbow. “Come on, Milayna. I’ll drive you home. There’s nothing you can do.” I turned and saw Muriel. A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision.
“It’s my fault, Muriel. I saw it coming. I waited too long. I fought it.”
“C’mon. Let’s go home.” She went to my truck, picked up my purse and bag from where I’d dropped them, and locked the doors. Then she pulled me toward her car.
We drove in silence. I cried, and Muriel would occasionally look over at me with an expression of pity? Disappointment? Blame? Yeah, with an expression of a mixture of all three on her face.
When we got to my house, she walked me upstairs and pulled a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt from my dresser.
“Here, put these on.” She handed the clothes to me.
I peeled off my clothes and slipped into the clean ones before I climbed into bed. The soft, flannel sheets pulled me in with their soothing smell of lavender. I grabbed a pillow, buried my face in it, and screamed before crushing, ugly sobs took over. Muriel sat on the edge of my bed and put her hand on my shoulder.
“She’s gonna be okay, Milayna.”
“How do you know?” I wiped my tears away with the backs of my hands and sniffed.
“I just know.”
“Another angel thing?” My voice was raspy and when I turned to her, she was blurry from the hot tears filling my eyes.
“Yeah, something like that.” She gave me a small, sad smile. “We all have visions. Some of us just see different things.”
“And Mr. Rodriguez?” A sob slipped out at the thought of him, and I put my fist to my mouth to hold it in.
Muriel’s gaze drifted to the floor. “He’ll be fine once he knows she’s okay.
I jammed my way through the massive crowd, making my way toward the sidewalk. Sweat dripped down my back, and the muscles in my arms strained from pushing people out of my way. And my legs burned from running, but I was almost there. Just a little more. I just had to get past a group of guys—but they wouldn’t move.
“Excuse me,” I yelled, jamming into the guy closest to me. Tears were building behind my eyes, and my chest burned.
I’m running out of time. Move, move, move!
The guy didn’t bother to stop texting and look at me. “Go around.”
I jabbed my elbow in his side and plowed through. Then I heard it. At first, I thought the boy was screaming at me, but it wasn’t him.
I was too late.
I rammed myself through the people standing in front of me and stumbled forward onto the curb. Sights and sounds faded into the background until all I saw was the girl lying on the pavement. Blood pooled around her head like a gruesome halo, and deep red stained her long, blonde braid.
Tears sprang to my eyes. I’m too late. I didn’t save her. I did this to her. My selfishness. My pride. Me . I hurt this girl. What kind of monster am I to let this happen?
Students screamed. Some grabbed their cell phones and dialed 911, and a couple boys ran into the school and brought back the nurse. But I just stood there, motionless. Useless. Guilty. People ran into me, jostling me, pushing me out of the way.
It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so stubborn—if I hadn’t fought the vision so hard and done something sooner—she’d be driving home right now instead of lying on the ground in her own blood.
Mr. Rodriguez stood next to his car door with both hands on top of his head, looking at the girl. Tears ran down his face. He was a nice man. If I hadn’t been so selfish, so stubborn, I could have spared him the agony of knowing he’d hurt a student.
It’s my fault. I’m to blame.
I jumped when I felt a soft touch on my elbow. “Come on, Milayna. I’ll drive you home. There’s nothing you can do.” I turned and saw Muriel. A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision.
“It’s my fault, Muriel. I saw it coming. I waited too long. I fought it.”
“C’mon. Let’s go home.” She went to my truck, picked up my purse and bag from where I’d dropped them, and locked the doors. Then she pulled me toward her car.
We drove in silence. I cried, and Muriel would occasionally look over at me with an expression of pity? Disappointment? Blame? Yeah, with an expression of a mixture of all three on her face.
When we got to my house, she walked me upstairs and pulled a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt from my dresser.
“Here, put these on.” She handed the clothes to me.
I peeled off my clothes and slipped into the clean ones before I climbed into bed. The soft, flannel sheets pulled me in with their soothing smell of lavender. I grabbed a pillow, buried my face in it, and screamed before crushing, ugly sobs took over. Muriel sat on the edge of my bed and put her hand on my shoulder.
“She’s gonna be okay, Milayna.”
“How do you know?” I wiped my tears away with the backs of my hands and sniffed.
“I just know.”
“Another angel thing?” My voice was raspy and when I turned to her, she was blurry from the hot tears filling my eyes.
“Yeah, something like that.” She gave me a small, sad smile. “We all have visions. Some of us just see different things.”
“And Mr. Rodriguez?” A sob slipped out at the thought of him, and I put my fist to my mouth to hold it in.
Muriel’s gaze drifted to the floor. “He’ll be fine once he knows she’s okay.
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