Dark Angel by Lisa Jane Smith

By Lisa Jane Smith

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That was why he'd offered to drive her to school. He'd meant the junior high. He'd been nice because he felt sorry for her. Two tears squeezed out of Gillian's eyes. She was trembling inside, boiling with anger and hurt and humiliation. . Crinch. It was a sound as loud as a rifle report, but high and crystalline-and drawn out. Something between a crash and a crunch and the sound of glass splintering under boots. Gillian jumped as if she'd been shot, sat frozen a moment, then pulled the moisture-beaded shower curtain aside and poked her head out.

That was why he'd offered to drive her to school. He'd meant the junior high. He'd been nice because he felt sorry for her. Two tears squeezed out of Gillian's eyes. She was trembling inside, boiling with anger and hurt and humiliation. . Crinch. It was a sound as loud as a rifle report, but high and crystalline-and drawn out. Something between a crash and a crunch and the sound of glass splintering under boots. Gillian jumped as if she'd been shot, sat frozen a moment, then pulled the moisture-beaded shower curtain aside and poked her head out.

The eyes were shut, the lashes frosty. Underneath, Gillian knew somehow, the eyes were deep violet. I get it. I remember. That's me. The realization didn't bother her. Gillian felt no connection to the huddled thing in the snow. She didn't belong to it anymore. With a mental shrug, she turned away- -and she was in a tunnel. A huge dark place, with the feeling of being vastly complicated somehow. As if space here were folded or twisted-and maybe time, too. She was rushing through it, flying. Points of light were whizzing by-who could tell how far away in the darkness?

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