Shakespeare's POV
"Hi" I said, cheerfully, hovering next to Kid Blink's angel. She smiled shyly at me.
"Hello. I'm Moonlight. Are you Racetrack's angel?" I nodded.
"I'm Shakespeare. Just started this morning," I answered. "How long have you been Kid's angel?" The other angel smiled, sadly.
"For a month and a half. His mother was diagnosed with cancer. They gave her six months, but she didn't make it that far, even. Why are you here?" she asked curiously. I shrugged.
"Actually, I have no ide-" I was cut off, immediately, as I felt a twisting in my stomach. It was weird. It was the same way I'd felt the day I died, when I met that boy. Only, I wasn't feeling it.
I was feeling Racetrack feeling it.
"Have a nice summer, Shorty?" Racetrack sneered. He had come face-to-face with a short boy with pale skin, dirty blond hair, and icy blue eyes.
"It was fine until right about now, oh ye of the astonishing height of five-foot-four," the boy replied. I was so confused. I could tell there was something about this boy that was important, but I couldn't figure it out. Then it hit me.
Racetrack had a crush on this boy...
...and he didn't even know it.
"Who is that boy?" I asked Moonlight. Her lip curled in distaste.
"That's Spot Conlon. He came over here from Brooklyn. He had an abusive mother. He lives with a foster family, now, but he's still bitter. He's had his angel all his life."
"Who's his angel?" I asked, looking around. Moonlight shrugged.
"She doesn't show herself. I don't think even Spot knows she's there. But she is. I can sense it."
"See you around, Conlon," Racetrack spat.
"I won't be looking forward to it, Higgins," he replied, with just as much menace. The bell rang, loudly, almost deafening me, as I was hovering right next to it.
"I'll see you third period, Race" Kid Blink said, walking away.
"As will I," Moonlight agreed, waving at me. I followed Racetrack into his first period class, which was, he informed me, math with "that evil skankwhore witch, Miss Larkson." Racetrack sat at his desk and pulled out some paper and a pencil, just as a woman of about thirty-five came in. She looked like the kind of woman who tried to be young, but failed miserably.
She had purple eyeshadow, and she wore a pink suit, which clashed horribly with her orange hair.
"That would be Miss Larkson?" I asked, folding my legs, Indian-style, and hovering in the air. He nodded.
"Yeah. She's a real bitch. Most math teachers are, but she's especially evil." I nodded.
"What've you got against Spot?" I asked, innocently. Racetrack gave a short laugh.
"Mr. Higgins, do you have something amusing to share with the rest of the class?" Miss Larkson snapped, sharply. Racetrack jumped, then smiled, easily, at her.
"Nope. I think I'll keep it to myself, thanks." She glared at him, then continued teaching. "Don't even get me started on Spot Conlon," Racetrack muttered, barely over a whisper.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked, watching as Larkson began to scribble barely legible numbers on the board.
"He's just an insufferable jerk" Racetrack replied. "He came over from Brooklyn, and since day one he's been really rude to everyone except for Two-Bits."
"Who's Two-Bits?" I asked, immediately. Racetrack nodded to a short redhead sitting four seats over.
"She's Spot's friend, and the only one. She's the only one he's nice to, and she's the only one nice to him" Race said, doodling on his paper in order to gain the appearance that he was taking notes. "Not that he deserves it" he added. I frowned.
"Did you know that his mother beat him every night?" I said, softly. Racetrack's pencil clattered to the floor.