We wait in silence at the bus stop, warm puffs of breath illuminated under a streetlight. It’s late and cold, but this city is always in motion. I sense a few supernaturals passing by, probably heading home after a night of gross-out cuisine. One couple, both vampires, dance down the snowy sidewalk, with moves rivaling Fred and Ginger’s, and I realize they could have learned the steps from the famous dancing duo themselves. Immortality is so weird. I don’t think I could deal with people for the rest of time. In seventeen years, I’ve only managed to gain a few acquaintances, and I don’t see that changing exponentially anytime soon. I’ve never really mastered the recipe on how to make friends.
While I was watching the impromptu ballroom show, Marcus inched his way closer to me. He must be cold, and I decide it’s too bad he can’t sprout fur whenever necessary. I’m about to comment on this very point when he says, “Hey, Amber?”
Away from the harsh kitchen lights and in the moonlight, he looks different. His features are so soft, so unassuming, I can’t picture them transforming into a snarling, predatory creature. In fact, if I had to choose someone most fitting to wear a wolf’s clothing, it would never be sweet, poetic Marcus. He can barely chop through dead meat without flinching; how would he hunt down breathing prey?
“What’s up?”
“I’m glad we work together.” He meets my eyes for only a second before burying his face back in his scarf.
Well. Maybe I’m learning that friendship recipe after all.
I walk out of Chem lab to a horrible sight: Amani chatting (and flirting!) with Ben, that no-good bottom-feeder of a boy. Backed against his locker, his meaty hands positioned on either side of her head, she’s just inches from being smothered. But she’s not trying to get away. She’s actively flashing her pearly whites at whatever idiotic story he’s telling. And Ben, while wearing a tie, is no gentleman; there’s a hunger in his eyes that makes me want to immediately shower. What in the holy hell is she thinking?
“Hey, guys,” I butt in, wedging my body between them before anything gross happens. “What’s going on?”
Amani, caught, looks away and starts picking at her cardigan. Ben gives me a slow body scan, then smiles hungrily.
“Amber Sand, you’re looking hot today,” he oozes. Ugh, even hearing my name on his lips makes me shudder.
“If by ‘hot’ you mean ‘angry,’ then yes, that is my general state.”
“I meant like delicious, just like Amani here.” EW, EW, EW. “She and I were just making plans to hook up, but there’s no reason we can’t expand the guest list.”
Amani cringes, and it takes everything I have not to vomit on his khakis. “First of all, I doubt that. Second, BYE.” I grab Amani’s hand and yank her away, not stopping until we’re halfway across campus. I practically shove her in the corner by the vending machines.
Before I can start, she stops me with, “I know, okay?”
I’m pacing like an overprotective parent five minutes past curfew. “Do you? I mean, how’d that little exchange even start?”
She sighs, shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. I’m lonely, okay? Not all of us can have adorable billionaire boyfriends following us around like golden retrievers. And Ben is the only guy who’s shown me any attention this year.”
I clear my throat. “Well, not the only guy.”
My comment is not well received. “I’m sorry, let me clarify: the only LIVING guy.” Amani buries her face in her hands, shaking her head back and forth. “This can’t be it for me. I can’t have only freak shows look my way. I mean, I’m smart, pretty, funny, and I can see the freaking future, for Gods’ sakes! You’re telling me that still leaves me with chum?”
My heart clenches tight, struggling to function at hearing my best friend talk this way. “No one is telling you that, certainly not me. You deserve a prince on a white horse with a shining sword and a pure heart and a big castle and a basket of puppies with a double rainbow sunset surprise,” I say, hoping to make her laugh.
But she doesn’t. “Then why don’t you see that for me?” Glistening with doubt, her eyes search for the answer. And for the millionth time, I see Vincent, feeding her chocolate-covered strawberries and stroking her hair while she sleeps. Loving her, adoring her. If only I could play her this footage so she’d understand.
“I see only happiness for you, BFF,” I say gently. “I would never lead you astray.” I take her hand, and she squeezes back. “But I will one hundred percent always lead you away from disgusting douche bags like Ben.”
She smiles weakly. “Yeah. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Um, so am I. I almost barfed. Like actual vomit.” Amani laughs, wiping away a stray tear. “Don’t settle,” I demand. “Don’t be that girl.”
We walk to English, arm in arm, where we’re promptly split up by Ms. Dell, who has some sort of personal vendetta against Amani and me ever being partners for a project. Instead, I slide up next to Kim, with whom I’m partnered to discuss William Faulkner’s touching tale of mental instability and incest. Surprisingly, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the pairing, but at least Kim actually read the book, unlike most, who probably would’ve left me to suffer on my own. There’s no point in making matters worse, I guess, so I try to be friendly.
“I think…this may be the worst book of all time,” Kim decides, flipping through her copy of The Sound and the Fury.
“No, no, you’re mistaken. It’s a classic,” I reassure her.
“But who writes like this? There are literally pages without punctuation! That’s not genius—that’s bad editing.”
I look around the room to see how others are faring. I guess it could be worse; in doing a quick survey of partnerships, it looks like Ivy ended up alone, the victim of the odd-numbered class size. She sits staring out the window, not even pretending to work on the book, which honestly is a move I support.
“Yeah, screw it,” I say. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay!” Kim shuts her book and wiggles happily in her seat, shining those cheery eyes my way. I can’t avoid it, so I take a deep breath and let her match reel play: a moonlit scene of her and Charlie taking a horse-drawn carriage ride through downtown Chicago. Blech. Make it stop.
“So!” Kim exclaims, blessedly breaking my trance. Now that we’re no longer talking about fictional sociopaths, she’s all perked up. “What are you and Charlie wearing to the winter formal?”
“Oh, uh…”
“I mean, I know you’re not into that stuff, and I love that about you, but you’ve probably at least picked out your dress? Right?” She’s gripping the edge of her desk like she might float away otherwise, like the idea of a school dance is filling her soul with helium. This is one of those situations where I feel like I have to fake girlhood because I have no idea what the “proper” reaction to the formal-wear question should be. Also, Kim is not exactly my number one pick to chat about my boyfriend with.
“I’m not really sure if I’m going,” I admit. Charlie hasn’t mentioned it, and since I’ve never had a boyfriend when one of these things has rolled up before, I pretty much scrubbed all future events from my mental calendar. I guess, though, I’m supposed to set my watch by them. Although who wears watches anymore, really?
“What? Of course you’re going!”
I have to laugh at her adamant confirmation; she looks positively appalled I’d think otherwise. “Charlie said so!” she adds.
Now I’m gripping my desk. “He did? When?”
“During Chem lab last week. We were supposed to be changing liquids different colors on the pH indicator, but it was taking forever, so the conversation migrated elsewhere.”
“I didn’t know you two were partners,” I say, trying to keep my eyes from spinning.
She brushes it off. “We’re not, usually. But both our partners were out that day, so Mr. Longhorn matched us up.”
DAMN YOU, MR. LONGHORN. You have no business matching people! My evil brain whips up a vis
ual of Charlie and Kim, sitting close together over warm, bubbling beakers of chemicals, all cute and nerd-chic in their goggles and lab coats, and it’s all so adorable I want to SCREAM.
“You know, it’s really sweet, the way Charlie talks about you,” Kim continues, oblivious to my inner meltdown. “I’ve never heard a boy be so romantic and loving, and I’ve lived in Paris.”
Yes! I leap at the chance for a subject change. “What are boys like in France?”
“Oh, you know, everything is so heightened; everyone’s a poet.” She frowns. “But it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s just playing into a part.”
I nod, though I don’t fully understand. The most exotic locale I’ve ever visited is Des Moines. “But Charlie…?” I press.
“He’s so genuine. You know he’s not saying things for show. He’ll say things like ‘Amber just lights me up,’ and he literally brightens, as if simply saying your name is some sort of internal light switch. On anyone else, it’d be corny. But for Charlie, it’s endearing.”
It takes all my mental strength to focus on the overall idea she’s selling, rather than my romantic rival describing my boyfriend as endearing. It’s nice—more than nice—to hear he talks about me with such affection, even if he’s sharing these feelings with someone he may share his life with someday. I keep a lot of that emotional goo to myself, but I guess it’s sweet to have someone shout it from the rooftops. Oh, Charlie, if I could kiss you right now.
I’m smiling, and find myself saying, “He is pretty great,” before I can hold it in. Ms. Dell, zeroing in on my grin like an anti-happiness hawk, circles around us, knowing full well there’s nothing in this assigned reading that could make anyone joyful. Kim and I flip through the book, and I ramble out some nonsense about symbolism and imagery until our disapproving teacher wanders away.
Once she’s gone, Kim sighs dreamily. “Anyway, I hope I can find someone who loves me like that someday.” Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react.
“Well, maybe you will, at the dance,” I offer.
“What? No. I’m not going to the dance.”
“Why not? You’re telling me I have to get all gussied up while you lounge at home in sweatpants? Nuh-uh, not fair.”
She shrugs. “I don’t have a date.”
“So what! You’re an independent woman; you don’t need a man,” I say, waving a finger for emphasis.
“But I want a man.”
“Right. But you don’t need one.”
Her twinkly laugh surfaces. “Point taken.” She leans back in her chair. “Okay, maybe I’ll go. But only if a certain matchmaker agrees to set me up on a date.”
A lightning bolt pierces my nervous system. “Uhh…”
“I mean, I’m assuming my actual match is not lurking the Manchester halls”—breathe, Amber, breathe—“but maybe you can help point out someone decent for one night of fun?”
“Well, I don’t usually do it that way….”
“Please?” She clasps her hands together like an angel-faced child begging for candy. How can you say no to that?
“I guess I can try,” I relent.
“Yay!” Her cheerful cry breaks the somber vibe of the room, which, given the book we’re supposed to be discussing, is not a shock. Everyone looks over at us, including Amani, who signs a quick What’s going on?
I’m trying not to be that girl, I sign back. Amani looks confused but nods in acknowledgment.
Once everyone turns their attention back to the trials of Yoknapatawpha County, Kim whispers to me, “In return, I’ll help you find the perfect dress.”
I’m guessing this is a gesture of friendship, so I fake a happy face.
Yay?
Later, in my bedroom, I light a sage stick in an attempt to clear my physical and mental space of stupid energy. I cannot turn into an envious loon every time Kim and Charlie are somehow linked. “Jealous she-devil” is a female trope I’d like to avoid. Feelings? I don’t succumb to feelings! I am Amber Sand, matchmaker and molder of feelings, ha-ha! Only I am in control of my destiny (well, me, and the Fates, of course).
Yet after stinking up my room for several minutes, I feel less enlightened and more ready for a treat. The best answers are usually found at the bottom of an ice-cream pint, right? I head to the kitchen to be sure, where I find Mom furiously scribbling something in her grimoire. She doesn’t even look up as I pop the top off a fresh Ben & Jerry’s.
“Did you finally crack that pesky water-into-wine spell?” I ask, taking a seat next to her.
“Hmm?” She looks up, blinking furiously like she just touched down from a different planet. That’s some deep concentration right there. “What’s that smell?”
“Sage. Also, Cherry Garcia.”
“Something wrong?”
“Nah, just dumb stuff.” I take a massive bite, letting the dark chocolate chips fill the holes in my soul. “Whatcha writing? New spell?”
She closes the soft leather cover. “Oh, no, just a few personal musings.”
“Really? I thought you witchy types only recorded the nuts and bolts of magic.”
Mom reaches for my spoon. “Emotions play a big part in magic; temperament can either make or break a spell. It’s just as important to document one’s state of mind to accurately measure the journey.”
“Interesting. So how are you feeling?” I stroke my chin, giving my best therapist face.
“I’m more interested in what’s going on with you. School stuff? Boy stuff?” After Mom takes a bite, she passes the spoon back to me, and I scoop another heaping mouthful. “Ah, boy stuff,” she deduces.
“There’s no actual stuff,” I confess. “I’m creating all my own drama.”
“Meaning…?”
Sigh. “Do you have any anti-jealousy spells?”
The corners of her eyes crinkle. “I tried to brew one once. Thought it’d be cute to call it Green Monster Be Gone or something. But I never quite got the right combination. The closest I came was a liquid that made me cry for five hours straight; I think the concoction was literally trying to dry out all my feelings.” She chuckles to herself. “Anyway, some emotions refuse to be tamed.”
I don’t really want to talk about this anymore, and this is the perfect segue. “On that note, Iris is definitely going through with her journey to mermaid land.”
Mom splays her fingers on the table, taking a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me you went to see Victoria.”
“No! Well, not really. She came to the Black Phoenix, on her own, and I was there. I overheard the whole plan.” I give her the details before she can get too mad.
“I need to talk to someone,” she says after digesting the information. “Someone Iris is close to. At this point, only a loved one will be able to talk any sense into her.”
“Like who? Brooke?”
“Perhaps.”
That seems like a difficult undertaking. “I don’t know, Mom. Don’t you think Iris and Brooke will be pretty united on that front? I mean, Brooke is probably super-psyched that this is happening. Why would she do a one-eighty and say, ‘Hey, girlfriend whom I miss and love, please do not join me in the ocean blue’?”
“If she knew Iris was in danger because of who she’s working with, she might change her tune,” Mom says sternly.
“I guess, but how are we supposed to find a mermaid anyway? With a snorkel?”
“I’ll do some research.”
“Supernatural research? Like watching The Little Mermaid?”
She stands, kissing the top of my head. “Something like that.”
“NO, there’s no way,” Charlie says, staring out at the murky water of Lake Michigan. “You think she’s out there?”
“I mean, I hope not. How would Brooke befriend a crab with a Caribbean accent living in a Midwestern lake?” We’re snuggled up on a Navy Pier bench, sipping hot chocolate and watching flurries disappear into the waves below. I’ve been poring over an illustrated copy of Mythological Creatures and
Beasts all through my Windy City shift, but the section on mermaids was not particularly insightful. The author skewed romantic while penning about Ariel and friends, dubbing them the “pearls of the sea.” This is not helpful because, one, there are already pearls of the sea (they’re called pearls), and two, it does nothing to help me pin down their general aquatic whereabouts. Also, I’ve been very preoccupied picturing what mermaid life could possibly be like, but these pages offered no insight either. I’m going to suggest Mom stop selling this book, because it is way dumb. “For Brooke’s sake, I hope she lives somewhere warm and colorful. I feel like the bottom of Lake Michigan would be fifty shades of gray.”
Charlie gives me a side-eye.
“As in color scheme!” I add.
He laughs, pulling me closer to him. “Agreed.” After one last sip from his drink, he sets down his cup, and I rest my head on his shoulder. He lays his cheek on my beanie, and I breathe in his delicious boy smell.
“We’ve been so busy lately,” he says, voice low. “I feel like we hardly see each other anymore.”
I kiss his shoulder, nuzzling into him deeper. “I know.”
I wouldn’t say things are strained between us, but there’s definitely been less snuggle time than I would like. Between working at MarshmElla’s, the Black Phoenix, and Windy City, I’ve been all over the place, and that’s not even counting my involvement in this siren love affair. And it’s not like Charlie’s just been sitting around waiting for me; he’s been hustling himself, really throwing himself into this winter carnival business, not to mention working on college applications and squeezing in more community service time to satisfy both his dad and the university admission Gods. I think about him all the time but only get a few minutes with him in the flesh. It’s not fair. Stupid life getting in the way of my Charlie time. In fact, I’d instigate a full-on make-out session with him right now if I didn’t have to be back in the shop in two minutes.
“Hey, um, question for you, sir.”
The Sweetest Kind of Fate Page 7
