Angela walked in the front door of her miserable home, tired and defeated. She bypassed the kitchen where her mother was looking for better jobs (a nightly routine) and headed straight for the bathroom where she turned on the water for a shower.
"Angela Kennedy, where have you been?" her mother bellowed. Angela didn't respond as she shut the bathroom door in her mother's face. "Angela? Angela!" She ignored the pounding on the door, sliding under the cold water. She shivered. She'd been so sick the past year from the lack of heat in her shotty apartment that she was beginning to wonder what it was like to be healthy.
After leaving school at three o'clock, she headed to the local library to see if she could find anything about this Maker of Dreams guy. It still bothered her how random it was. One day, out of nowhere, he showed up. Her life wasn't any worse than usual, she didn't need his help, but she was still grateful he was there. She could only hope he'd keep his word. She needed her wish to come true�she needed to get out of this place.
After getting out of the shower, she went straight to bed. Her mother was still in the bedroom. "Where were you, Angela?" Angela didn't answer. Her mother didn't know of her abilities and Angela did everything she could to make sure it stayed that way. "Angel you know I�"
"Don't call me that!" Angela yelled. "It doesn't matter where I've been. I can take care of myself. Never, ever, call me that!"
"But you've always been my little Angel."
"I was never your little Angel. I never let you call me that and I won't let you start now!" Huffing, Angela bundled herself on her makeshift bed and closed her eyes. A moment later they flew open again and she sat up, no longer tired. Glancing around, she was a bit confused, but got out of the bed anyway. Her mother, muttering to herself, was still in the room and seemed to be ignoring Angela. Suit yourself, thought Angela. I don't need her anyway. Angela walked to the door and opened it. Angela's mother spun around to the open door.
"Hello?" she asked, the worry evident in her voice.
"Mom, it's just me."
Angela's mother spun around in a circle, searching the room for a sign that someone might be there, but she saw no one. Her eyes darted to Angela's bed, and for the first time Angela saw the fear in her mother's eyes. Following the gaze, Angela looked at her bed and backed up against the wall, hitting it hard but making no sound. Her body, her sleeping body, was still lying there. The room began to spin and Angela fainted.
When she awoke, Angela was no longer in the shotty two-room apartment. She was lying on the smooth beige carpet of a bedroom that was larger than her entire home. She looked around, in breathless awe, taking in every aspect of the bedroom she would give anything to call hers.
The walls were white, but expertly decorated with lyrics and words to poems she'd read in school. There were two cedar dressers, one with a bookcase attached on top of it. There was a desk in the corner with countless CDs and a laptop computer. There was a flat television against the wall opposite the largest bed Angela had seen since before her father died. Standing up, she began to explore every nook and cranny of the room, down to the books on the bookshelf and the cables behind the desk from the computer. Giggling excitedly, she jumped onto the bed and allowed herself to relax for the first time in years.
As she hovered ever-so-slightly over the bed, the door opened across the room and someone came running in. She moved to the corner, afraid, but she didn't seem to be noticed. "Fucking family," he hatefully said, slamming the door behind him. Angela nearly fainted again upon seeing his face�it was Taylor Hanson. She was a fan, long ago, when she still owned CDs and something to play them on. All she had now was a small portable radio that only picked up the news station. However she was quite a big fan in her time, scoring backstage passes and front row seats both times the band came to her hometown of Atlantic City. She'd met him before but it was nothing like being invisible in his bedroom when he'd obviously just been a fight with his family.
He walked over and flopped onto the bed, face down. Angela pulled herself tighter together in the corner, her foot no more than an inch away from where his fist had landed. If he outstretched his fingers he could have touched her. She knew he could feel her. She knew a lot of things she didn't know before he entered the room, seeing the crystal glow on the chain around her neck. She could see herself, but no one else could see her. He could hear her if she spoke to him, but no one else could, which would come in handy if the occasion ever arose. She could touch him and he could touch her, and so could the rest of his family.
He turned onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. She leaned in closer to him to study him. The last time she'd seen him she'd just learned how to read people and she read him. She didn't get much from it, though. He was living his other life, his famous life, and although he looked exactly the same, he sent out a completely different message. She was seeing a different person now.
He was frustrated, having fought with his family, but was still living off the excitement of his eighteenth birthday, not more than three weeks beforehand. He was a mid-March baby and most definitely lived up to that. Born under Pisces, he was a dreamer, a peacemaker who hated to fight. This was obvious, especially now because he was so torn up for this quarrel. He had a happy past, until recently, and a mixed up future. Soon, within the next month, he was going to find his soul mate; the person he was to spend the rest of his life with. This family problem was the least of his troubles. There was fame, friends, pressure, and stress that led to his depression. This depression was booming from all sides and as Angela's crystal began to glow again, she realized what her mission was. She knew right away this was going to be hard. He was fine where he was. It would be a struggle to move him away from what was certain to be his suicide, if she didn't help.
His eyes began to droop. He was tired. He'd spent most of his day in the studio where he was recording it was six-thirty now; he'd just gotten home when Angela arrived. She moved; he didn't feel it because she was still floating, as always. She let her hands swirl over his face about the same distance that she normally hovered. It calmed him and in no time his body relaxed and he was asleep.
She allowed herself to get off the bed and explore a bit. She didn't want to leave the room with him still in it. She'd probably get lost and wouldn't be able to find him again. She was sure dinner would soon, so he wouldn't be asleep for long. Glancing back at him, she began to wander around the room. This was bigger than the room she had when her family was rich. Now she would kill to live like this again, but in a way she was. She was there, wasn't she?
Angela looked over at Taylor. He had a distraught look on his face and she wondered if her presence there bothered him. The more she thought about, the less plausible it seemed. He knew, subconsciously, that she was there the minute he walked in the door. It was hard not to realize she was there. If he was bothered by it, he wouldn't of let her put him to sleep. He accepted her being there and that was good. She knew if he didn't want her there, there was little hope for her to help him out.
Turning around sharply, she slammed her foot into the corner of a table and stubbed her toe. Cursing loudly, she grabbed her foot in pain.
"What??" a half sleeping Taylor asked.
"Go back to sleep, Taylor," Angela said, hopping around on one foot.
"Okay�" She froze. She just spoke to him and he answered. Holding her breath, she waited until he was asleep again before she muttered another curse and walked to the far edge of the room. She sat in the corner, afraid of making any more noise, and waited. She was there fifteen minutes before there was a knock at the door and Taylor woke with a start.
"Taylor! Dinner!" It was his father.
"I'm not hungry," Taylor said, turning over and punching his pillow in frustration of being woken from his nap.
"Taylor, this is the third time this week! I don't care how bad this fight was this time, you're not solving anything by staying in your room and starving yourself!" Angela could hear the worry in the man's voice. He sided completely with Taylor, and it didn't take a whole lot of reading skills to know that. Everything about his voice said he was on Taylor's side and not�Zac's. Angela could see it in Taylor. He was fighting with his brother Zac.
"I said I wasn't hungry!" Taylor yelled again. "This has nothing to do with Zac!" Angela smiled. She was right.
"Taylor, we're worried about you. You and Zac never fight and you're never like this. Your mother is worried to death that you're going to do something! Just come down to dinner. You don't have to talk to Zac, but you'll still come down." Taylor muttered under his breath and got up. He tried to smooth out his hair, but it didn't work too well. Angela looked up at him and it settled. That's better, she thought.
She followed him out of the room and down the stairs to the dining room where only a portion of the family was sitting. Taylor's mother and some of the smaller kids were missing. Angela didn't know much about Taylor's family besides the two brothers that were in the band with him. The younger boy, Mackenzie, was there, however. Angela passed by him and let out a silent breath. There was always a problem with kids. Children younger than five could see Earthbounds, although they didn't know it. The kid must have been older than that.
Taylor sat down and Angela took the empty seat next to him. There was food on his plate and a fork in his hand but he hadn't touched anything yet. His brother Zac sat across from him, not looking up from his plate. He didn't seem to have a problem eating.
"Gee, Taylor, not eating again?" Zac asked, a smug grin on his face.
"Fuck you, Zac."
"Taylor, language!" his father scolded. Taylor gave the man a look. "I mean it." Zac's grin remained and Taylor got angry.
"You better wipe that sorry grin off your face, kid."
"Why? What are you going to do about it?" Zac asked, clearly provoking him.
"I'm going to come over there and kick your ass, that's what I'm going to do!"
"Go ahead!" Taylor started to get up, but immediately Angela put out of her hand and pushed him back down with such force that the chair's front legs lifted off the ground and Taylor had to grab the table so he wouldn't tip over. He looked at the empty seat, straight at Angela, and breathed a curse.
"Boys, that's enough. It's getting old now. If I have to separate you, I will, but you would think by now you were old enough to settle your problems peacefully. Taylor, watch your language around your little brother and stop threatening Zac." Zac sniggered. "And you, Zac, stop provoking him. I don't know what these fights are about, but you better settle it and fast."
The moment their father stopped looking, Zac flicked his brother off. "I'm going upstairs," Taylor announced. He got up and ran back to the stairs, his food untouched. Angela followed close behind, slipping in the door before Taylor slammed it shut. He collapsed onto the bed for the second time that day and she climbed onto the bed next to him. She wanted to touch him, stroke his hair and tell him it would be all right, but she knew she couldn't do it. She wasn't supposed to talk to him. Instead she ran her calming hand over his face to let him know she was still there. He relaxed, allowing her to put him to sleep again. He needed it. He'd been tired since the moment he came in the room and she could sense it. When he was asleep she laid next to him and closed her eyes. She was tired too.
Angela awoke again as soon as she closed her eyes, this time back in her bed in the shotty apartment in Atlantic City. The alarm was going off and her mother was walking to the bathroom to take a shower. Angela got up, dressed, and went to the kitchen. Last night was nothing short of amazing. She'd been in love with that band for years and she got to fall asleep in Taylor Hanson's bed, witness terrible sibling rivalry, and find the deepest thoughts of a very unique individual. She couldn't wait to go back.
In the kitchen she got herself a bowl of cereal. She was in such a good mood, she didn't let the thought of another day at school bother her. She'd just spent the best night of her life with a pop star and no empty torments would take that away from her.
After breakfast she skipped out to the bus stop, a book in her hand. It had rained the night before (although she was unaware of it) and the road was scattered with puddles. She skipped through them, her feet never touching the ground. She made only slight ripples from the air she moved and reached the sidewalk, her shoes completely dry. Skipping along, she twirled a bit at one point and a few sprinklers went on, drenching everything except for her.
The bus pulled up to the stop a few minutes after Angela got there. The doors opened and Angela climbed inside, a smile on her face. The daily taunts started immediately but she didn't notice today the obscenities they were yelling at her.
"What are you smiling about, bitch?" someone yelled, throwing a piece of wadded up paper. It slowed and changed course slightly so it breezed past Angela's head and hit somebody else, who complained. Angela kept her smile and sat in her usual seat near the back of the bus. She looked next to her and the boy she saw the day before, the Maker of Dreams in teenage form, was sitting across from her in another empty seat.
"Hi," Angela said.
"Angela, you cannot make mistakes like that again. You were almost caught." Angela looked confused. "Don't do it again. But, since you managed to keep the two from killing each other, I'll give you a reward." Angela opened her mouth to speak, but the Maker was already gone. She crinkled her nose. Whatever that was about, it was over now.
The bus stopped, arriving at the school. Angela got off the bus as merrily as she got on it, a classic smile on her face. A group of kids wearing club T-shirts were selling donuts as a fundraiser. One of them saw her and called out to her.
"Angela, hey Angela!" she yelled. Angela turned to her.
"What?"
"Want a donut? They're fifty cents each." Angela shook her head.
"I don't have any money," Angela said. The girl smiled.
"Of course you do! Why don't you check?" Angela had opened her mouth to reply when the girl winked at her. Angela knew that wink�the girl had no idea she'd done it. Angela immediately went for her purse.
"Oh, all right. Let me check," she said. She pulled out of her wallet from her purse and opened it up. It was always empty�Angela didn't even know why she carried it around. But to Angela's extreme surprise, the moment she opened it (expecting moths to fly out) it was stuffed full of big bills. "Oh," she said. "I guess I do have money." Angela found a single dollar wedged between two fifty's and bought herself two glazed donuts. Angela ate them happily on her way to class; they were the best meal she'd had in years.