reassuringly. “Milo is already here,” he whispered.
“How can you tell?”
The boy considered the question, then answered, “I just can.”
Sure enough, as soon as they stepped through the school doors, he hailed them. “Hey, there, Pomeroys!”
“Yo, Milo!” loudly greeted Neil, while Tad confined himself to a friendly nod. “Are you the reason my sister finally decided to show up? Figures.”
The mailman held up his hands and chuckled. “I only invited Miss Priscilla … something you might have tried?” he challenged lightly.
The sixteen-year-old rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, point taken. I’m going to catch up with the rest of the guys,” he declared hastily and hurried into the gymnasium.
“I’ll be in the sound booth,” Beau announced before sloping off after his older brother.
Tad hesitated. “You okay, Priss?”
“I’ll stay with Koji,” she offered.
“We’ll find you when things start up,” he promised, then ambled away.
“Ready?” Milo invited, gesturing toward the wide double doors, beyond which all manner of noise was coming.
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention, she whispered, “There’s an angel here?”
“Come on in, and I’ll introduce you,” Milo replied with a smile.
Prissie’s first impression of Deo Volente was the racket. Bleachers and folding chairs provided seating in front of a temporary stage against the far wall, but in the part of the gym that wasn’t being used for the event, twenty-odd basketballs were in constant motion. Prissie spotted Neil in the mix, shooting hoops with some of the guys from his class.
The chatter, laughter, and constant thud of balls only provided a backdrop for the main noise, which was coming from the stage. “Test, test, test …” rang out over the speaker system. A lean, balding man in a yellow polo shirt scooped up a cord and plugged in his acoustic-style guitar, then began tuning. At the same time, an electric guitar ran through a scale, ending on a wailing note. Random chords came from a set of two keyboards arranged side by side, and a rhythm was tapped out on a big drum set’s cymbal.
“We’re early enough to say hello,” Milo explained in a raised voice as they walked slowly down the center aisle. “This is their sound check.”
“Okay,” Prissie replied, her voice lost in the din.
At center stage stood a man with red hair that fell to his shoulders. His clothes had that lived-in look — faded jeans and a tank top, with another shirt carelessly tied around his waist. As Prissie and Milo made their way down the aisle, he turned to speak to the other band members, giving her a clear view of the vibrant red tattoos twisting over his shoulder blades and along the backs of his arms. He tapped a sandaled foot as he counted in the others, and the drummer picked up the beat. The keyboardist struck an opening chord, and after the first few bars, the throb of a bass guitar filled the room, sending deep notes vibrating through Prissie’s whole body.
This was definitely different than what Prissie was used to, but as the leader’s fingers plucked a melody from his guitar strings, she was pleasantly surprised, and when he turned to face the microphone and began to sing, she slowed to a stop.
His rumpled clothing and wild looks ceased to matter when he raised a light, sweet tenor. The song wasn’t one she’d ever heard before, and the lyrics painted pictures in her mind of a place she couldn’t reach and stirred a longing in her heart for someone she’d never seen. Before she knew it, tears were prickling under her eyelids, and when he finished, she quickly swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand.
Milo’s blue eyes held an approving shine. “Don’t be embarrassed, Miss Priscilla. That’s just the kind of response Baird gets when he sings one of his songs. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
“To him?” she asked in disbelief. Her eyes swung back to the red-haired worship leader who was fiddling with the strings of his guitar, idly tuning. “Are you saying that he’s the angel.”
Milo grinned and whispered, “He’s not the only one. Tonight’s admission comes with two for the price of one!”
Prissie blinked in surprise and looked more carefully at the other members of the band. Beside the balding man stood the much shorter bass guitarist, whose lank brown hair poked out from under a knotted bandana. His head bobbed in time with the tapping of one diamond-patterned, high-top sneaker. The keyboardist was tall, with olive skin and black