This is the first chapter to my new novel that I’m writing. The basic theme is that a high school gets so bad that God sends Angels to fix it. Hope you enjoy. Tell me if I should write chapter 2.
1 Year Earlier
Mrs. Fawcett left her house very reluctantly. Inside the baby was crying and throwing Fruit O’s at Mr. Fawcett. He was idly picking out his clothes for work (the shoes matched today, but the tie and the shirt didn’t), as the cereal bits bounced off his head. Two year old Foster Fawcett was running around destroying every article of furniture in his path…apparently he thought he was a tank today. However, despite all the chaos in the house, what Mrs. Fawcett dreaded most was her arrival at New Beginnings Alternative High School, where she taught 10th grade science.
It was the last week of school before summer vacation. Mrs. Fawcett had signed her resignation papers on the first week of school. It was her first year of teaching at NBAHS. This had been her worst year yet, and that was saying something because last year she had given birth. At least there was only one week left.
As soon as she pulled in to the parking lot, her stress level increased tremendously. They usually did at this point in the day. Today, it was because three teens were spray painting graffiti on the High School sign. It now read ‘Welcome to NBAHS…home of the D.R.U.I.D.S.’ Yesterday it had read ‘home of the Eagles’ but apparently the vandalizers thought it necessary to change the school’s mascot to their gang’s name.
“Hey! Stop that right now! Don’t make me call the cops on you,” shouted Mrs. Fawcett half-heartedly, as she pulled down the window in her Buick.
The three teens simply laughed. By the time the cops came they would be long gone…the police liked to avoid that part of town. One of the guys began to spray ‘Mrs. Fawcett Sucks’ underneath the sign, and the others joined in. Sighing, she pulled into the teacher’s parking lot and got out of the car. Sooner or later someone would repaint the sign. Probably later.
The rest of the day went pretty much the same. Before lunch she was forced to ‘break up’ three fights with very little success, investigate one bomb threat (it turned out that the ‘bomb’ was a nearly empty suitcase with a kitchen timer in it), and bring two drug dealers to the office where they would get shouted at and threatened by the principle for about two minutes, and then sent back to class.
The day finished relatively quietly, with nothing out of the ordinary. The End of School Bell had been broken a few months ago, so Principal Weigner walked through the hallway and shouted “School’s Done!” into the classes. Half of the students were already gone anyways.
It was as Mrs. Fawcett was leaving to go to the car that she heard it. A gun shot. The sound hung in the air, and contrasted with the quietness all around. She rushed out of her car to see what was going on and headed in the direction of the screams. A crowd had gathered on the soccer field.
“Excuse me, excuse me! What happened here?” shouted Mrs. Fawcett parting her way through the crowd.
There was only stunned silence.
“Will someone tell me what happened?”
A few of the girls were crying, huddled around something on the floor. Mrs. Fawcett headed towards the object. It was a body, blood-stained and unmoving.
“He’s dead!” shouted one of the girls, tears running down her face, “Mario is dead!”
“Who shot him?” asked Mrs. Fawcett. Again no one replied, “Someone tell me who did this! Tarou, who did this?”
The boy who she singled out, one of the only ones who she recognized, simply shook his head and pointed to the distance in the direction of a small neighborhood as he said quietly, “He went that way.”
The Next Day
Principle Weigner’s office
“This is absolutely ridiculous!” yelled the school district superintendent, his numerous large chins swaying dangerously, “The government already wants to close this place down, I mean it’s not as if this school hasn’t had its share of crimes. A few years ago there was that big drug traffic scandal. Then the next year there were all those gang fights. And last year there was that guy who brought a bomb to school.”
“What can we do?” asked Principal Weigner, “These kids would be in jail if they weren’t here. Someone has to try to put them straight.”
“Yeah, well I guess we’re not doing a very good job, are we? New Beginnings Alternate alone lowered the area’s average student GPA from 2.8 to 1.1! And how many people even graduated last year? There were like 300 seniors and not more than 100 of them graduated!”
“These kids are going through tough times. If the government opened up more schools like this we could downsize and give more attention to the individual.”
“With the great success of this school, I doubt the government is going to open many more alternative schools! Look, I know you’re trying your best, but we have to close this school. These kids belong in Juvenile Detention, not school.”
“If we put them in Juvenile Detention, we’re screwing them for life! They need an education if they want to become anything. Just give me one more year, and if you don’t like the results by the end of that year, the school can be closed.”
“It’s not me that wants to close this school, Jim. It’s the other superintendents. I’ll do my best to convince them to give you one more year.”
“Thank you Rick, that means a lot. You won’t be disappointed.”
The superintendent sighed, picked up his briefcase, gave a somewhat skeptical look at Principal Weigner, and left the office.
No one in the school district knew Principal Weigner was a Christian. He went to church every Sunday, but of course if they knew that, they would fire him on the spot. ‘Religious Freedom’ was a right given to everyone in USA, it seemed, but not Christians.
‘Dear Lord,’ prayed Principal Weigner, ‘Please help this school to improve. I would really like to change the lives of these kids. I know that you love them and want what’s best for them, so please God, use this school as a tool to reach them. Amen.’
Caberson Road, Last week of summer
It was morning. A large moving truck knocked over a trash can as it pulled into a driveway. Behind it came a small, beat up car, carefully avoiding the contents of the trash can. The three Regnessems stepped out of the car. Mr. Regnessem was tall, slightly overweight, and had curly sandy-colored hair. Mrs. Regnessem had a Hebrew Bible in hand. She was small, with long black hair and a pleasant face. Angelo, their only son, was short for a 15-year-old. He looked as if he had stepped out of the past. His light brown curly hair was neatly parted, while his sweater vest had definitely seen better days.
Angelo, with incredible strength for his size, helped his father move the couch into the house. It was only an hour later that all the furniture and boxes were in the house. After waving goodbye to the moving truck, the three Regnessems took a tour of their new house.
Mr. Regnessem found the sink fascinating, “Amazing! Humans use these ‘pipes’ to bring the water in. What a hassle!”
He closed his eyes prayed a short prayer silently, and held out his hand as a cup full of water appeared out of nowhere.
“Gabriel! What did Paul say? We should try to act as human as possible,” said Mrs. Regnessem as she took out a cup from a box, and attempted to fill it with sink water. “How do I make the water come out?”
“Don’t ask me,” laughed Mr.Regnessem raising his cup of cold water, “You’re the ‘human’!”
Angelo proceeded to show his mom how to turn the tab on the faucet, “I think that’s how humans do it. Didn’t you guys learn all this in Angel School?”
“We did, but it’s been like a few hundred years, son. You forget useless information like that,” remarked Mr. Regnessem, “And Human Studies was never my strong point.”
“I can’t believe I have human school tomorrow. I wonder what it’ll be like,” said Angelo nervously. He had always done very well in Angel School, but the human curriculum looked very confusing.
“You’ll do fine,” reassured his mother.
By this conversation, anyone could tell that the three Regnessems were not your typical American family. In truth they were missionaries, but they weren’t your typical missionaries either. They had not been sent out by a church. They had been sent out by God Himself…
Angelo was in his favorite place in heaven. Nearby his house there was a small pond, clear as could be, where fish of every color swam around. Beside the pond there were two palm trees, spaced out perfectly for a hammock. Angelo loved to lye in this hammock, watching the fish, and reading his Bible.
“Angelo!” came the voice of his mother, sweet as a birds trill, “We have a visitor. Come to welcome him.”
Making sure that his halo wasn’t off balanced, Angelo ran back home. His bare feet were cushioned by the softness of the grass. The air was sweet and fresh, every breath felt like new life was entering his body. It was about a half mile run, but Angelo’s limbs were not a bit tired, and he could have run forever without being out of breath.
When he arrived at his family’s house, his parents were talking to someone he had never met before.
“Hello Angelo, this is Paul,” introduced his father gesturing to the human.
“Hi Angello. I met you when you were very young, but you probably don’t remember me. My have you grown!”
It seemed every adult in all of heaven said that!
“It’s an honor to meet you Paul. I’ve read so much about you.” Here before him was one of the great saints of ancient times. A man who God had used to spread the gospel to the early church.
“Now, you said that you had a message from the Father for our whole family,” said Mr. Regnessem. “I’ll go get Annalisa. Make yourself at home.”
The Regnessem house was beautiful, yet simple. The wicker furniture matched the unpolished wood floor nicely. Every chair and sofa was soft as a cloud. Picture frames were spaced out on the walls, showing relatives, friends, and famous Bible characters in Greek-style painting. Paul stood up to examine a portrait of himself, thousands of years ago when he was on earth.
“I had almost forgotten—I had a beard back then! And look, they drew me with glowing white robes,” pointed out Paul to Angelo. “As if! I usually wore rags back then!”
“Hello Paul. Long time no see!” Exclaimed Mrs. Regnessem, bringing in some mana and milk, “Would you like something to eat.”
“No thank you,” replied Paul, “I already had something to eat this week.”
“So how’s Martha? Still keeping the kids under control?”
“Barely,” laughed Paul, “But we’re managing.”
“I remember when Angelo was that age,” chuckled Mr. Regnessem, “A right little handful he was!”
“Yeah well he sure has grown,” said Paul, his smile fading, “You reckon he’s ready for an earth mission?”
A mission! Wouldn’t that be exciting, thought Angelo. Maybe he’d be able to go to Jerusalem, and walk on the same places that Jesus himself had walked!
“An—an earth mission! I don’t think he’s old enough, Paul.”
“Well, he wouldn’t go alone, Gabe. Weren’t you about his age when you went on your first mission?”
“Well that was back in the BC. Times have changed since then. Most humans don’t even believe in angels anymore.”
“Gabe, God wants someone about Angelo’s age. He needs someone who can go to a human high school.”
“But what about Angel School! Angelo’s still only in fifth year. He hasn’t even completed Human Culture—how will he deal with humans.”
“Please dad! Can I do it? I’ve been studying humans, they’re not that complicated,” pleaded Angelo.
“What’s the mission?” asked Mr. Regnessem.
“Ever heard of a human school called ‘New Beginnings Alternative High School?”
“No, not really. Why?”
“A murder happened there last year. Drugs, violence, and all sorts of sins occur there every day,” shuddered Paul. “The entire area of the school, Nottenham, is a hotspot for criminal activity and Satan’s mischiefs. God wants to bring the area, and especially the school, back to its glory days. Think of it as a modern Ninevah.”
“And He wants our Angelo to do this?” asked Mrs. Regnessem, her face pale.
“Not just Angelo. This is a mission for the whole family. The Father wants you to go to earth as a normal human family. That means no wings, no halos, and no glowing. All of you will be disguised. You will live on earth for the school year.”
The three Regnessems looked at eachother. “Very well,” spoke Mr. Regnessem. “If this is what the Lord wants, than we will do his bidding.”
“Be forewarned, however. God does not expect Satan to watch quietly as the Father’s work is being done. I do not know what Satan will do, but do not be surprised if you encounter resistence.”
“‘If the Lord is for me, who can be against me?’” quoted Mrs. Regnessem.
“Psalms right?” asked Paul, as he opened the front door, “Seen David lately?”
“A few nights ago. Had him over for dinner.”
“Well, I wish you luck with your mission, and God bless!” Paul unfurled his wings took a few flaps, and flew away. Humans were given wings in heaven, but most were embarrassingly clumbsy. Paul only made it about half a mile before a swift down current pulled him down and he crashed into a hill.
Then as Angelo watched, heaven began to fade, and gave way to the fires of Hell. He heard manicial laughter. Hot flames burned at his skin, and smoke clouded his vision and filled his lungs. A face, red in hue, with sharp scarlet eyes, appeared through the flames.
“Beware…Beware…”
Angelo woke up sweating in his hard, lumpy bed. His dream had been realistic enough. Paul had indeed visited his family and told them about the mission. But what he could not get out of his head was the second part of his dream. He had never been to Hell before. And those eyes, eyes the color of blood. Those were murderous eyes.
He could almost hear that whispering slither.
“Beware… Beware…”
