It turns out that there are three pizza joints in Mountain View, and Jeffrey works at the third one I check—right next to the train station, on Castro Street.

He’s not thrilled to see me when I come barging into his life. “What are you doing here?” he asks when I appear at the counter and sweetly ask for a Diet Coke.

“Hey, can’t a girl miss her brother?” I ask. “I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

“All right, fine. Hey, Jake, this is my sister,” he tells a huge Latino guy behind the counter, who kind of grunts and nods. “I’m going on break.” He guides me to a table in the far front corner, under the window, and sits down across from me. “Do you want a pizza?” he asks, and hands me a menu. “I get a free one every day.”

“Dream job, huh?” I look around at the huge frescoes of different vegetables painted on the orange wall behind Jeffrey’s head: a giant avocado, four big tomatoes, an enormous green pepper. This isn’t quite what I pictured when Jeffrey told me he worked in a pizza joint. The place is small, narrow, but in a cozy way, with warm peach-colored tile on the floors, simple tables lined up on either side of the room, the kitchen open behind the counter, clean and shining with stainless steel. It’s more upscale and organic than your average pizzeria.

Jeffrey looks tired. He keeps blinking and rubbing at his eyes.

“You alive over there?” I ask.

He smiles wearily. “Sorry. Late night.”

“Working?”

“Playing,” he says, his smile amping up into a grin.

That doesn’t sound good. “Playing what?” I ask, and I’m guessing that the answer isn’t going to be Xbox.

“I went to a club.”

A club. My sixteen-year-old brother is tired because he was out late at a club. Awesomesauce. “So, let me see your fake ID,” I say, trying to play it cool. “I want to see how good it is.”

“No way.” He takes the menu from me and points at a pizza called the Berkeley vegan. “This one’s gross.”

“Well, let’s not have that, then.” I look down at the paper placemat-menu. “How about we try this one?” I say, pointing to pizza called the Casablanca.

He shrugs. “Fine. I’m kind of sick of all of them. Whatever sounds good to you.”

“Okay. So come on, let me see the ID.”

He folds his arms across the table. “I don’t have a fake ID, Clara. Honest.”

“Oh, right. You’re going to one of those superawesome clubs that don’t require an ID,” I say sarcastically. “Where’s that, because I am totally going.”

“My girlfriend’s dad owns the club. He lets me in. Don’t worry. I don’t drink … much.”

Oh, how comforting, I think. I actually have to bite my lip to keep myself from going all nagging-older-sister on him.

“So you’re calling her your girlfriend now, huh?” I say. “What’s her name again?”

“Lucy.” He takes a minute to run to the back and put in our order. “Yeah, we’re like, together now.”

“And what’s she like, other than being the daughter of some guy who owns a club?”

“I don’t know how to describe her,” he says with a shrug. “She’s hot. And she’s cool.”

Typical guyspeak, about as vague as possible.

He smiles, thinking about her. “She’s got a wicked sense of humor.”

“I want to meet her.”

He smirks, shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? What, you think I’d embarrass you?”

“I know you’d embarrass me,” he says.

“Oh, come on. I’ll behave, I promise. Bring her to meet me sometime.”

“I’ll think about it.” He stares out the window, where a group of teenagers is walking down the sidewalk, purposely bumping into one another, laughing. He watches them as they pass by, and I get a sad vibe off him, like he’s looking at the life he used to have. Without meaning to, he’s made himself grow up. He’s being an adult. Taking care of himself.

Going clubbing.

He clears his throat. “So what did you come to talk to me about?” he asks. “You need advice on the love life again? Did you hook up with Christian yet?”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Why does everyone keep asking me that? And you’re my little brother. That sort of thing is supposed to disgust you.”

He shrugs. “It does. I’m disgusted, really. So did you?”

“No! But we are going on a date on Friday night,” I admit with reluctance. “Dinner and a movie.”

“Ah, so maybe Friday …,” he teases.

I want to smack him. “That’s the kind of girl you think I am?”

Another shrug. “I was there that morning you snuck home after spending the night over at Tucker’s. You can’t play all innocent with me.”

“Nothing happened!” I exclaim. “I fell asleep, is all. Sheesh, you’re worse than Mom. Not that my innocence or lack thereof is any of your business,” I continue quickly, “but Tucker and I, we couldn’t … you know.”

His forehead rumples up in confusion. “You couldn’t what?”

He never was the sharpest knife in the drawer. “You know,” I say again, with emphasis.

Comprehension dawns on his face. “Oh. Why?”

“If I got too … happy, I started to glow, and then Tucker kind of got sick. That whole glory-terrifies-humans thing. So.” I start rearranging the packets of crushed red pepper on the table. “That’s what you have to look forward to, I guess.”

Now he really does look weirded out. “O-kay.”

“That’s why it’s hard to have relationships with humans,” I say. “Anyway, that’s not what we need to discuss.” I swallow, suddenly nervous about how he’ll take this idea of mine. “I’ve been training with Dad.”

His eyes narrow, immediately cautious. “What do you mean, training?”

“He’s been training me to use a glory sword. Me and Christian both, actually. And I think you should come with us, next time.”

For a minute he stares at me with guarded eyes. Then he looks at his hands.

I keep babbling. “That sounds fun, right? I bet you’d do great.”

He scoffs. “Why would I want to learn how to use a sword?”

“To defend yourself.”

“Against who, an angel samurai? This is the twenty-first century. We have something called guns now.”

Jake comes out and puts a steaming pizza on the table. He looks grouchy. Jeffrey and I wait in silence as he sets plates in front of us.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Jake asks sarcastically.

“No, thank you,” I say, and he stalks off, and I lean across the table and whisper, “To defend yourself against Black Wings.” I tell Jeffrey about my talk with Samjeeza in the cemetery, including the fact that Samjeeza specifically asked about him, the way I keep seeing Samjeeza as a crow around campus, the things Dad said about the seven, er, T-people and how if we’re going to fight anybody, it’s probably going to be them. “So Dad’s teaching me. And I know he’d want to teach you, too.”

“T-people?”

I stare at him pointedly until he says, “Oh.”

“So what do you think? Will you come? It could be like Angel Club, except without Angela, because she’s … busy.”

He shakes his head. “No, thanks.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to learn to fight. That’s just playing the game. It’s not for me.”

“Jeffrey, you’re like a champion fighter. You’re a linebacker. You’re the district mid-class wrestling champ. You’re—”

“Not anymore.” He stands up, gives me a look that says very clearly that he’s done talking about it. “Enjoy the pizza. I have to get back to work.”

10

DINNER AND A MOVIE

“You should go black,” Angela says.

I turn around, startled to see her standing behind me at the mirror. She points at the dress I’m holding in my left hand.

“The black,” she says again.

“Thanks.” I hang up the other dress. “Why does it not surprise me that you would choose black?” I tease. “Goth girl.”

She walks stiffly over to Wan Chen’s bed and sits, helps herself to a bottle of peppermint-scented lotion Wan Chen keeps next to the bed, and starts rubbing it into her feet. I try not to stare at her belly. Just in the last few days she’s kind of popped. With the dark, baggy clothes and the way she always hunches her shoulders lately, she’s still able to hide that she’s pregnant if she wants to. Not for long, though. Pretty soon there’s going to be a baby.