“That you’re energetic and personable.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Yeah, how’d you figure that about Yolanda?” another boy demanded, then leaned over to the student at the desk next to him. “What’s personable mean?”
“Shhh, I’m next and I want to know what she’s gonna say about me.”
“Modesto Diaz,” Brynn called out, looking at the youth above the grade book.
He curled his upper lip and snarled at her. “Yo.”
Brynn added her comment to the book.
“What’d ya say?” Modesto insisted, straightening. He was halfway out of his seat. “I gotta right to know since you told the others.”
“I wrote down that you have a flair for the dramatic.”
“What’s that mean?” Modesto asked Emilio under his breath.
“The hell if I know,” Emilio complained. “She’s gonna be one weird teacher.”
By lunchtime Brynn was convinced Emilio was right. She was completely out of touch with their world. Her vocabulary, which she’d never thought of as especially advanced, served to confuse her students. Half the morning was spent repeating in simpler terms what she’d said previously.
She’d no more than handed out The Diary of Anne Frank and briefly described to them Anne’s story when the bell rang for their first break. The classroom emptied so fast, one would think the school was on fire.
Brynn sat down at her desk and exhaled sharply, weary to the bone. This was her first day in an inner-city high school, and she was going to need help—lots of help, and she didn’t expect it to come in the form of the PTA.
Bowing her head, she murmured a simple prayer, asking for patience and guidance. She yearned to teach her students to dream, to look to the future with enthusiasm. She hungered for them to see beyond the troubles they faced day in and day out and reach for the stars, and she wanted to be the one to show them the way.
* * *
Brynn’s whispered prayer fluttered past the chipped blackboard, echoed silently through the scarred halls, as it winged its way toward heaven. The request soared, swiftly spanning the distance between man and God. Carried on the brisk winds of faith, guided by devotion, navigated by love, it arrived fresh and bright at the very feet of the Archangel Gabriel.
“Brynn Cassidy,” Gabriel repeated slowly as he flipped through the cumbersome book, marking the entry. He was writing when he glanced up to find Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy standing directly across the desk from him. He’d never seen the three look more—he hated the term—angelic. Their wings were neatly folded in place and they smiled serenely as if the world were at their feet.
“It’s that time of year again,” Goodness reminded him, grinning broadly.
Gabriel’s hand tightened around the quill pen. Heaven help him, he was going to be left to deal with these three lovable troublemakers once more.
“Time of year for what?” he asked. Gabriel was playing dumb in a stalling effort. For the past two years this trio of prayer ambassadors had visited earth, working their own unique brand of miracles. A sort of divine intervention run amuck.
“We’d like to try our hand in the Big Apple,” Mercy explained with limited patience. It was apparent she was eager to get her assignment and be on her way. “We’ve been looking forward to working together again,” she reminded him primly. “One would assume that with the success of the past two years we’d have proven ourselves beyond question.”
“We don’t mean to be impertinent,” Goodness inserted, glaring at her fellow prayer ambassador, “but I find myself agreeing with Mercy.”
“Brynn Cassidy,” Shirley repeated softly, reading over Gabriel’s shoulder.
Gabriel deliberately closed the huge book, cutting off Shirley’s view. The last thing he needed was for the former guardian angel to take a hankering for this particular assignment.
The students of Manhattan High would require a far more experienced angel than Shirley. Why, her tender heart would be mush by the end of a week, working with this group of adolescents. Frankly, Gabriel didn’t expect Brynn Cassidy to last long herself.
Gabriel knew all about the young teacher. Her mother and grandfather had been praying for her for several years. As far as Gabriel was concerned, Brynn Cassidy was far more suited to teaching the proper young ladies of St. Mary Academy. Manhattan High was a graveyard of lost souls. An unseen storm cloud had settled over the school, feeding on tears yet to be shed and broken promises. Brynn’s humble faith was like a newborn lamb placed in the midst of ravenous wolves. She’d quickly be devoured. Naturally Gabriel would do what he could to aid her, but one ill-equipped prayer ambassador would hardly be sufficient.
“Brynn needs me,” Shirley said, looking him squarely in the eye.
“She needs an army. I don’t mean to discourage you,” Gabriel said, feeling mildly guilty, “I’m sure we’ll find a more appropriate assignment for you. A less complicated request,” he muttered more to himself than to Shirley.
As he recalled, a prayer request had come in that morning from a teenage girl in Boston who needed a date for prom night. Surely Shirley could scrounge up a decent young man. As for Goodness and Mercy, why, there were any number of less demanding requests with which to occupy them.
“Give me a minute,” he said, flipping through the unwieldy book, finding a page, and running his index finger down the large number of entries. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something appropriate for each of you.”
“No arguments?” Goodness asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Wow, maybe we have proven ourselves.”
“I want to talk to Goodness about Hannah Morganstern,” Gabriel said, his brow creased with contemplation.