Kissed by an Angel

lockers (maybe a slight exaggeration) need to impress her, a girl uninterested in hanging in his locker or anybody else's, for all he could tell? She walked the same halls he did, but it was as if she traveled in another world.

He'd noticed her on her first day at Stonehill. It wasn't just her different kind of beauty, that wild tangle of kinky gold hair and her sea green eyes, that made him want to look and look, and touch.

It was the way she seemed free of things other people were caught up in- the way she focused on the person she was talking to, without scanning the crowd to see who else was there; the way she dressed not to look like everyone else; the way she lost herself in a song. He had stood in the doorway of the school music room one day, mesmerized. Of course, she hadn't even noticed him.

He doubted that Ivy knew he existed. But was this catering thing really a good way to clue her in? After recovering a fat crab ball that had rolled to a stop between some pointy-toed shoes, he was starting to doubt it.

Then he saw her. She was in pink-and pink and pink: yards of pink sparkly stuff that fell off her shoulders and must have had some kind of hoop under its skirt.

Gary passed by him then. Tristan turned a little too quickly and their elbows hit. Eight glasses shivered on their stems, spilling dark wine.

'Some dress!' Gary said with a quiet snicker.

Tristan shrugged. He knew the dress was cheesy, but he didn't care. 'Eventually she'll take it off,' he reasoned.

'Pretty cocky there, buddy.'

'That's not what I meant! What I-' 'Pompideau,' Gary warned, and the two of them quickly parted. The caterer snagged Tristan, however, and hauled him into the kitchen. When Tristan emerged again, he was carrying a lowlying spread of vegetables and a shallow bowl of dip-stuff that couldn't spill. He noticed that some of the guests seemed to recognize him now and moved quickly out of his way when he approached. Which meant he carried a full tray round and round, hardly needing to look where he was going, and had plenty of time to scope out the party.

'Hey, swimmer. Sssswimmer.'

It was someone from school calling him, probably one of Gregory's friends. Tristan had never liked the guys or girls in Gregory's crowd. All of them had money and flaunted it. They did some stupid things and were always looking for a new thrill.

'Sssswimmer, are you deaf?' the guy called out. Eric Ghent, thin-faced and blond, lounged against the wall, one hand hanging on to a candle sconce.

'I'm sorry,' said Tristan. 'Were you talking to me?'

'I know you, Waller. I know you. Is this what you do between laps?' Eric let go of the sconce and swayed a little.

'This is what I do so I can afford to do laps,' Tristan replied.

'Great. I'll buy you ssssome more laps.'

'What?'

'I'll make it worth your time, Waller, to get me a drink.'

Tristan looked Eric over. 'I think you've already had one.'

Eric held up four fingers, then dropped his hand limply.

'Four,' Tristan corrected himself.

'This is a private party,' Eric said. 'They'll serve under age. Private party or not, they'll serve whatever to whoever old Baines wants them to ssserve. The man buys everybody, you know.'

That's where Gregory learned it from, Tristan thought to himself. 'Well, then,' he said aloud, 'the bar's over there.' He tried to move on, but Eric placed himself squarely in front of Tristan.

'Problem is, I've been cut off.'

Tristan took a deep breath.

'I need a drink, Waller. And you need some bucks.'

'I don't take tips,' Tristan said.

Eric started to laugh. 'Well, maybe you don't get them-I've been watching you bump around.

But I think you'd take 'em.'

'Sorry.'

'We need each other,' Eric said. 'We've got a choice. We can help each other or hurt each other.'

Tristan didn't reply.

'Know what I mean, Waller?'

'I know what you mean, but I can't help you out.'

Eric took a step toward him. Tristan took a step back. Eric stepped closer again.

Tristan tensed. Gregory's friend was a lightweight in Tristan's book, the same height but nowhere near as broad as Tristan. Still, the guy was drunk and had nothing to lose-such as a large tray loaded with vegetables.

No problem, thought Tristan. A quick sidestep would send Eric plunging to his knees, then flat on his face.

But Tristan hadn't counted on the bridal party passing through at that moment. Catching sight of them out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly had to shift direction. He slammed into the lurching Eric. Celery and cauliflower, mushrooms and pepper curls, broccoli and snow peas were launched toward a chandelier, then rained down upon the party.

And then she looked at him. Ivy, sparkling Ivy. For a moment their eyes met, hers round as the cherry tomatoes that rolled onto her mother's train.

Tristan was sure that she finally knew he existed.

And he was just as sure that she'd never go out with him. Never.

'Maybe you were right, Ivy,' Suzanne whispered as they looked down at the splatter of raw vegetables. 'On land, Tristan's a klutz.'

What is he doing here? Ivy wondered. Why didn't he stay in his pool, where he belongs? She knew her friends would be convinced he was following her around, and it embarrassed her.

Beth picked her way toward them, spearing a tomato with her high heel. 'Perhaps this is how he earns money,' she said, reading Ivy's troubled face.

Suzanne shook her head. 'Throwing broccoli at the bride?'

'That cute redheaded swimmer is here, too,' Beth went on. Her frosted hair was up on her head that night, making her look even more like a sweet-faced owl.

'Neither of them knows what he's doing,' Suzanne observed. 'They're here just for tonight.' Ivy sighed.

'I guess Tristan's hard up,' Beth said.

'For money or for Ivy?' Suzanne asked, and they both laughed.

'Oh, come on, Ivy,' Beth said, touching her gently on the arm. 'It's funny! I bet his eyes got big when he saw what you were wearing.'

Suzanne made her eyes gigantic and started humming the theme from Gone with the Wind.

Ivy grimaced. She knew she looked like Scarlett O'Hara dropped in a bucket of glitter.

But it was the gown her mother had picked out especially for her.

Suzanne kept humming.

'I bet Gregory's eyes got big when he saw what you weren't wearing,' Ivy told her friend, hoping to shut her up. Suzanne was in a plunging black sheath.

'I certainly hope so!'

'And speaking of,' said Beth.

'There you are, Ivy.' Gregory's voice was warm and almost intimate. Suzanne swung toward him. He offered Ivy his arm. 'We're expected at the head table.'

With her hand resting lightly on his arm, Ivy fell into step beside him, wishing Suzanne could go in her place.