Part 20 (1/2)

”Wilde, I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to take it to heart: You look like s.h.i.+t.”

”Thanks, Coach.” Ash dropped the unopened water bottle into the metal wastebasket. ”Suddenly I'm not so thirsty.”

”What's the deal, kid? Are you hungover? Are you . . .

on drugs?” She nodded out the window, where Alyssa was practicing her serves, giving a dainty but dramatic grunt 243 every time she hit the ball. ”Because Ms. Junior Varsity- the one who paints her toenails before she comes to practice-is serving your a.s.s to you on a buffet table.”

”Well, you know what they say about a terrible practice.”

”Yeah-it makes for a s.h.i.+ttier match.” The coach pointed to the screen, where she had pulled up the con-ference statistics for the Southbound Renegades. ”You know what the zero means after the dash next to Tricia Orleans's name?”

Ash paused. ”It's the number of points she will have earned after I beat her in two perfect sets.”

”You're d.a.m.n right,” Coach Devlin said. ”Now go finish your matchup with our resident beauty pageant con-testant out there, and if you let her get even one point, I'm going to put you on laundry duty.” She held up a grungy towel from the bin to emphasize her point. ”I don't think this one has ever been cleaned.”

Ash gave her a salute and a ”Yes, ma'am” and then hurried back out onto the court.

”What did Coach say?” Alyssa asked.

”She said it was okay to stop letting you win now,”

Ash replied, and swatted Alyssa on the a.s.s with her tennis racket, which caused the smaller girl to jump. ”Oh, and Coach says that if you lose, the laundry's all yours today.”

Twenty minutes later, without missing a single point, Ashline wiped her brow with her own towel and tossed it 244 over the net. It caught Alyssa square in the face, right as she looked ready to explode with disbelief.

The beaten junior shuffled into the locker room, writhing with anger, and Ash gleefully stuffed her racket into her tennis bag. As she closed the metal gate behind her, she glanced up at the bleachers-empty.

Get a grip, girl, she urged herself. You'll be seeing him in twenty-four hours.

Ashline was walking back to East Hall when she heard it-the distant thrum of a pipe organ. Chords. Music.

And then, softly through the wind, she heard the faint but powerful call of a girl's voice singing out a hymn.

The melody pulled her away from her original trajectory, toward her bed, and around the side of the dining hall. She found herself treading along the stone path that led up to Mercy Chapel, the latest addition to campus.

When Charles Blackwood had financed the construction of the academy, he'd had only two requirements: that the academy be green-certified, to live in harmony, and not at odds, with the forest around it; and that G.o.d be present on campus. And so they constructed a small church complete with a pipe organ.

Headmistress Riley had yet to hire a Jesuit for the Blackwood faculty, so for the time being, the chapel merely served as a reflective place, open twenty-four hours for its students.

Not once had Ashline ever heard the dusty pipe organ put to use.

245.

She placed her tennis bag next to the entrance and opened the front door softly, but the click still echoed over the stone floors. The song had just ended, and the organist-Monsieur Chevalier-ignored the newcomer and flipped through his hymnal in search of the next piece. Serena, the vocalist, smiled bashfully from the lec-tern where she stood.

The only occupant of the chapel to acknowledge her entrance was Ade. He sat in the back pew and beckoned her over with a wave of his hand. She gently closed the door and made her way down the narrow pew.

Side by side, sitting down, it was the first time she felt like she was even close to eye-level with the tall Haitian boy. Up this close, she could see the raw musculature of his neck, the way he held the unopened hymnal in his hands with power and grace.

”Welcome,” he said. He angled his body toward hers.

His knees barely fit in the narrow pew to begin with.

”Thanks,” she whispered back. She gazed up at the ceiling. For a chapel that didn't look so mighty from the outside, the arching underbelly of the roof sure looked high from within. ”I'm not going to burst into flames for being here, am I?” she asked. ”I'm Jewish.”

Ade stifled a low laugh; fortunately, the acoustics of the church amplified sounds only from the altar. ”I don't think it works that way. And this chapel doesn't exactly get a lot of visitors, so I'm sure it's pleased that you're here.”

246.

Monsieur Chevalier launched into a new hymn. Its solemn opening chord swelled out of the organ, filling the small chapel with a melancholy embrace. Ashline recognized the introduction-something she heard around the holidays. ”It's a little late for Christmas music,” she said.

”Or early.”

”I requested it,” Ade replied. ”It's about peace and resolution, something I think we could all use right about now.”

Serena's eyes closed, and she drew in a long, patient breath. And then the slow, haunting melody sounded from her open mouth: O come, O come, Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel, ”My G.o.d.” Ash found herself unconsciously leaning forward, drawn toward the source of the music as if she were slowly circling around in a whirlpool.

”I know,” Ade said, his eyes fixed on the diminutive girl beside the altar. ”I started coming here months ago to listen to her, before we even officially met during Thursday night's madness.”

That mourns in lonely exile here Until the Son of G.o.d appear.

”Strange to think that we spend our entire life growing up under the wings of one religion,” she said, ”only to 247 find out that we're actually the fruits of another. Do you . . . still believe?”

Ade blinked and broke his one-way eye contact with Serena. ”Our very presence here, a Polynesian G.o.ddess sitting next to a Zulu thunder G.o.d, listening to the song of a Greek siren, should be proof enough that religions can and do coexist.” He looked back at the cross over the entryway. ”And still I do not know.”

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel.

”The last church I came to before this one,” Ade said slowly, ”I brought cras.h.i.+ng down on the man of G.o.d who was sent to speak the word within it.”

”It was an accident. Your powers were new to you.”

Ash studied him. Even half a decade after the incident in Haiti, he was clearly sagging beneath the weight of his own guilt. Did Eve feel even a flicker of the same remorse for what she'd done to Lizzie? For abandoning her family?

O come, Thou Wisdom from on high, Who orderest all things mightily; Ade shook his head. ”Intentions mean nothing, and they don't bring men back from the dead. My anger laid ruin to that church. How can I have faith when I destroyed a man whose only sin was loving my mother?”

248.

Ash reached out to touch his shoulder, but Ade continued to gaze down at his lap.

”It's ironic,” she said, ”that somewhere in the world, on an island in the Pacific, on the African savanna, there are people whom we've never met and probably never will who believe in us . . . and we can't even believe in ourselves.”

To us the path of knowledge show, And teach us in her ways to go.

”You know, my papa, before he left us, used to tell me that being a man wasn't about not making mistakes.”

Ade set the hymnal book down next to him. ”Being a man, he said, was knowing who you are when the dust settles. And being better for it.”

”When do you think the dust from all this will settle?” she asked him.

He took a deep breath. ”I think the better question is, Has the bomb even dropped yet?”