Stone Rose
The angel boy was made of stone, standing straight and staring down the center of the dizzying spiral of stairs. A strange place to be for a statue, especially considering the pigeons in the eves. He was noticeably dirty thanks to them, but what struck me most wasn’t his location. The expression on his face was stormy and watchful instead of the blank, bland, dopey one every other angel or saint I’d ever seen bore, and instead of that sickening neither-male-nor-female face it was obviously a boy, on the edge of being a man. Instead of artistic perfection, he had emotion and stunning detail that made him almost real. Another thing…he wasn’t wearing the idiotic robe. Instead, he wore trousers. Nothing else, just…trousers. His bare chest marked stone perfection, his face handsome and grim, muscular arms poised on the brink of movement, and glorious dark wings were slightly open, as if perhaps he’d meant to leap over the rail.
“Come on Tess! We’ll get caught!” one of my friends called. I started and hurried to the stairwell, glancing back over my shoulder uncertainly. Was it my imagination, or had the statue just stirred?
*> I chased after my friends as the bell tolled, six eerie bongs telling us that if we wanted to eat, we had to hurry.
"Did you guys see that?" I asked, using the banister to catch up quickly. I didn't think all that much of the sickening drop that would face me if I fell. Why would I fall? It was ridiculous to even consider such a silly danger.
"What?" Elizabeth Murray replied, glancing back and making a face. She was one of the ones who didn't think sliding on the rail was a good idea, especially in the clock tower.
"The angel, back there," I replied, pointing back the way we'd just come.
"The angel? You wanted to know if we saw the angel?" Carter Owens taunted, rolling his eyes. "It's a bloody freakin' church Tess! They're only everywhere."
"Shut up," I snapped. He snorted and looked away, muttering bloody angels under his breath, and I dropped the subject as we all picked up speed. No one wanted to be late
***
I woke up at the wrong time, startled awake by Mary Pruitt’s snoring. I twisted on my bed, looking around sharply. It was the middle of the night and the dormitory was dark, but I shivered, because after opening my eyes to the darkness, it was imposing and frightening. What horrors would I see if I closed them? It was like the fear leftover from a bad dream, except I couldn’t remember having one lately.
My heart beat a fast, unsteady rhythm and I tried hard to breath calmly. It’s just the dormitory Tess, nothing to fear here. Not even the nuns bother this late, I thought. I fixed my eyes on the ceiling, as much afraid to leave them there as look around, but then that stubborn streak that Mary Adelaide always bugs me about kicked itself awake and I reached for a candle. Wrapped in a blanket and much comforted by the old fashioned light, I got up.
I passed Elizabeth’s bed and shielded the little flame. Of the twelve girls I shared a dorm with, Elizabeth sleeps the lightest and the candle might just be enough to wake her. I was scared, yeah. But not that scared.
I pulled the curtain back from the window and looked out. It was completely black outside, except for the stars. For once I could see them clearly, all of the different constellations against a sky of deepest blue. I dropped the white lace and walked back to bed, my fears put to rest for now by the warmth of a small flame.
***
*“Tess! Tess come on you idiot, wake up!” someone hissed, poking me in the back.
It was Elizabeth. She sits behind me in classes and never sleeps through one. Sometimes I have the suspicion she sits there just to keep me out of trouble.
“Tess come one! The Nag’s coming!”
That got me up right fast I can tell you. Mary Adelaide, “the Nag” was notorious for catching slackers like me. If she caught me sleeping I’d be given lines or have to memorize something torturously long and suffocating or some equally horrible punishment. Ten commandments? Piece o’ cake. Psalm 23? Child’s play. Kings? Kill me now.
The Nag stalked past me, her white and black habit rustling. I could almost hear her breath crackle and smell smoke. That was way to close for comfort. I’d have to stay awake now.
Mary Adelaide is the most ambitious nun I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, for all that she’s seventy-three and has horrible hearing. She can see like a hawk and smell mischief on a kid’s clothes from miles away. Rumor has it she’s got a third eye in the back of her head and that she hides it behind her habit. Rumor also has it that she has blue hair and a unibrow that she shaves off every full moon, but then, when you talk to a girl like Rumor, you never know what’s true and what’s not.
Anne Jessica Smith to the nuns, Rumor when they’re out of earshot, the girl has stories you wouldn’t believe--and most people don’t. No one would listen to her at all except, well, we don’t get much entertainment in this place. Rumor is the best thing we’ve got, and she’s a natural. Whatever she says is so believable at the time—Rumor is the best—or maybe the worst, it’s kind of confusing at that point—liar in the school. She has the big, brown doe eyes that she can make look so innocent, and that sweet, soprano voice that’d melt rock if it had ears. She never gets in trouble for anything, ever.
The Nag returned to the front of the room and returned to the lesson in that squeaky wheeze she uses as a voice. I relaxed in my chair, flopping my braid over my shoulder and slouching back into my normal position.
Elizabeth Murray is the whispering, conspiritorial godsend who pokes me awake in class. She’s the beauty of the bunch, all golden hair and blue eyes and porcelain skin that burns in two seconds if exposed to the sun. Guys fawn over her like she’s a queen and she makes a big deal over studying before a test, when all of us know she’s really reading dirty magazines when no one’s looking. Where does she get them? Carter.
Carter Owens is from Wales. He’s a cheeky thief with shaggy brown hair that stands straight up in the back and smug brown eyes that, if anybody ever looked all that close, would set alarm bells ringing in your head and you’d check your pockets immediately. No one really knows where exactly he gets those magazines, but Rumor has it that he’s got a secret stash somewhere, and he breaks out of the abbey monthly to get more. Personally, I think he steals them from the priests.
Then there’s Bess. Bess Cobbler is a genius. She’s probably got the highest grades in the abbey, no, the country! You’d think then, that she’d be a goody two-shoes, but we’ve all seen her and Mark Burgeon sneak off between classes.
Mark is Bess’ boyfriend. He’s athletic, smart enough to tie his own shoes, and he’s hot. I don’t know how Bess managed to snag that one.
Mark is actually just a few rows over and...unless my eyes deceive me, he’s picking his nose. I make a face and look away. Okay, so, no quite that hot…
***
This is a work in progress, now that I'm back on it. Feel free to read and come back again, because I'll keep posting more of the story for as long as anyone is interested. Before each new piece that I add, I will post *> at the beginning, to make it easier to find where I left off. Thanks for reading!
