The Sweetest Kind of Fate

by Crystal Cestari

  “Can you blame me?” I take a subconscious step forward, ready to launch into this territory in which there’s no turning back. “It’s Kim—okay? I can’t stand seeing the two of you together!”

  Charlie blinks rapidly, shaking his head in a double take. “This again? God, Amber, when are you going to let this go? There’s nothing happening between me and Kim!”

  “Oh, yeah? Then what did I see in the gym yesterday?”

  He stares like a game show contestant straining his brain for the final answer. “I don’t know…an unflattering display of terry-cloth shorts?”

  “Stop it, Charlie! This isn’t funny.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me, then, since you’re obviously dying to.”

  I don’t really want to, but something has taken over me, a monster racing toward the finish. “You and Kim, painting banners, and each other.”

  His jaw drops in a silent laugh. “So let me get this straight. You’re out all night alone with Marcus and that’s totally fine, but I was working on a project with a friend, surrounded by a group of people, and you’re twisting it into, what, cheating on you?”

  I’ve made it this far; the words are bubbling in my throat, ready to break free. “She’s not your friend; she’s your MATCH! Your destiny, your fate.” My arms swing wildly in accordance with the reveal, my thoughts and limbs loose and free. I thought I’d be flooded with terror after sharing the truth, but I’ve been holding on to it for so long, in this moment it’s a relief to finally let it go. “I’ve known it since the day you walked up to me for help. I’ve watched you fall for each other, over and over, every single day, and it makes me sick—physically ill—to watch it unfold in real life.”

  Charlie is frozen, his mind working overtime to catch up. I’ve never seen such a non-reaction after divulging a match; people usually either break into a song of joy or despair. Deep reflection tends not to be a menu option, but then again, I’ve never delivered a match to my own boyfriend. His face is a blank page waiting to be written, and I can’t tell where the story will veer from here. Did I just inspire him to make a break for it? Did I just cast Kim in an all-new light? I’ve never been one to enjoy suspense, and every second he keeps quiet kills me more.

  “Why…Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally asks.

  Now I’m the one in shock. “Are you serious? Why do you think? Because I didn’t want to lose you, and because I love you, you idiot!” I regret it as soon as the phrase crosses my lips. The first time I say “I love you” to him—to anyone—and it’s all wrong. Out of anger, out of the wrong kind of passion. His eyes widen at the sentiment, mouth leaving a frown where a smile should be. All other sound and movement has faded away, with only our aching hearts filling the void.

  “But I don’t want her.”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “How can it not matter?” He looks like his insides are melting, starting with his eyes. Tears begin to pool in the corners, and I feel my own building.

  “Because it’s not up to you…or me. It’s not up to either of us.”

  “I don’t believe that,” he says, clenching his jaw. “It doesn’t change how I feel.”

  “It changes everything, Charlie! You’re telling me that knowing this won’t affect the way you think of her? You won’t be curious about how happy you could be? You can’t honestly tell me the thought won’t cross your mind.”

  He’s pacing now, weaving back and forth under the string lights. “I can’t win here! No matter what I say, you’ll twist it in your head. Am I curious? It’s interesting, at best, but I’m not suddenly dying to be with Kim. And no matter how many times I tell you, you don’t seem to hear how much I’m dying to be with you.”

  We’re at a standstill, neither of us willing to accept the reality on the other’s side. Because he’s right: no matter what he says, it can’t overpower the visions swimming in my head. And there’s no way to express how impossible it is for me to push them away.

  “Charlie, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep living this lie.”

  This stops him in his tracks. “Is it a lie how we feel about each other? Is it a lie that you love me?”

  Love. The word makes my throat catch. “No, but even as we’re talking now, all I can see is you and Kim.” A tear betrays me, my voice starting to crack.

  Charlie echoes my rupture. “And we look happy together? Kim and I?”

  “Mind-numbingly so,” I croak.

  He swallows back tears. “I can’t picture it. I refuse.”

  “Well, I have no choice.” I bury my wet face in my fingers, unable to keep my shoulders from shaking. He lightly rests his hands on me, making me convulse harder. I can’t accept his affection, not at a time like this.

  “Amber, you have to stop this,” he whispers.

  “I can’t just stop being a matchmaker!” I shout in return.

  “No.” He keeps his voice soft, despite my outburst. “I mean, stop letting these visions overpower reality. That stuff in your head is just that. My words, my feelings: those are real. Focus on what we have. I’m crazy about you! Being with you makes me happier than I thought I could be. Please,” he begs. “Please hear me.”

  He’s very close now, resting his forehead against mine, breath warm on my skin. “Please.” He sighs. I close my eyes and imagine his words as brave knights, swords drawn, ready to tackle the beast that is my visions. They charge into my psyche, pushing past the thorny twists and turns of brain matter, preparing themselves for battle. I want them to win, to slay the dragon, so to speak, but it’s too strong, extinguishing them with its flames. Because while Charlie’s reassurances are appreciated, even he can’t know what the future will bring. He can’t guarantee his heart won’t go off course, that the things he feels today will be there tomorrow. He can’t promise forever, and I can’t let myself continue to fall for someone who will eventually slip away.

  “I’m sorry,” I choke out, crying with abandon. “It’s too hard. I…I love you too much.” I push myself away: away from his warmth, away from the security of his embrace. I fumble into the cold, empty and alone. Charlie stands, gutted, mouth curled in a twist of pain. He looks as horrible as I feel. But the damage is done. I’ve scorched the earth, and there’s no turning back.

  Later, buried under layers of blankets and used Kleenex, I feel someone crawl into my bed next to me. Amani doesn’t say a word but wraps me in a hug so fierce, she inadvertently squeezes out more tears. With the sound of sobs filling the room, she holds me tight without comment or judgment, supporting me with her silent strength.

  THE next morning, Amani’s still snuggled next to me. Sunshine streams through my mini blinds, hitting her face just so, and even without the perfect lighting, she looks like an angel. I’ve yet to meet an actual holy creature, but I can’t imagine how anyone could stack up against my best friend. Her halo is visible through the power of friendship.

  Her long lashes start to flutter, and I close my eyes so as not to look like some creepo watching her sleep. She stirs, stretching her legs over the end of my twin bed.

  “You awake?” she whispers.

  I nod.

  “You okay?”

  I shake my head.

  “I’ll get you some coffee.” She heads to the kitchen, where I hear her and Mom talk in soft tones. I wonder if she knows. Mom wasn’t home when I came barreling into my room last night, but she must’ve let Amani in. If she does know, I hope she hasn’t called John, Charlie’s dad and her best pal, to get more details. That’s all I’d need right now: the mayor of Chicago and a supreme witch gossiping about my love life.

  Amani brings back two steaming mugs, and when I sit up to take one, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m physically sore from crying. Is that even possible? To throw your back out from excessive sobbing? There must be extra gravitational pull in my room at the moment, because small movements feel like climbing Everest. Well, bed, I guess I live here now.

&nbs
p; I must look wretched, because Amani is already rummaging through her makeup bag for remedies. Unless she has a power buffer in there, I doubt there’s much she can do. She grabs a vial of something and starts sliding a roller ball of liquid under my eyes.

  “You knew I’d look awful,” I mutter, steering into the skid.

  “I knew you’d be crying,” she counters. “This helps with puffiness. It has caffeine or something….Supposed to have rejuvenating powers.” She takes another bottle of lotion to the rest of my face before sitting back to enjoy her coffee. “Let that stuff absorb.” We both take a few silent sips.

  “So,” she starts.

  “So.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I sigh. “What’s left to say?”

  She twists up one side of her mouth. “I mean, I feel like there are a few things to say.”

  “Such as…?”

  “Like, aren’t you slightly curious what happened after you detonated the bomb?”

  “Curious” is not the right word. I’ve done everything I can to not think about the aftermath of my meltdown; I have had so many stomach-turning thoughts of Charlie and Kim together that if there is even the slightest chance my revealing them as a match actually brought them together, I would sooner permanently plug my ears with an occlusion spell than hear about it.

  Amani decides I need to know anyway. “Charlie was a mess. I tried to catch up with him, but he was a walking shell; he looked at me like he didn’t even know who I was.” She pauses, but if notice of a zombie Charlie is supposed to bring me comfort, it doesn’t. “And Kim, well, she was totally confused.”

  Just hearing her name sends a dagger through my chest. “You didn’t tell her, did you? About the match stuff?”

  Amani looks insulted. “Of course not. But we need to decide how to talk to her about this because she was pretty upset.”

  I don’t want to think about her at all, much less figure out how to interact with her. I never had time to relay my I Spy flirtation episode to my best friend, and it seems pointless now. The damage is done. But I guess in my explosion of feelings, I didn’t consider that even though I can break up with Charlie, I can’t make Kim exit from my life as easily. Why can’t people who cause you problems just disappear after you’ve been inconvenienced? Not die or anything, just stop existing: poof, gone. Now that’s a magic trick I’d pay big bucks for.

  She takes a long gulp of coffee. “So? What do we do about Kim?”

  “Do we have to talk about this now?” I whine.

  “Better now than at school. It’s not like we won’t be seeing her.”

  “Uuuuugggghhhh.” I flop back on my pillow. This is where I want to stay. Forever. No prying eyes, no social awkwardness. Just Downy softness. “I don’t know. Can’t I just wait to see how I feel when we see her?”

  “I mean, I guess.” Her head tilts in disapproval, brown hair cascading down her pink pony jammies. “But it’s probably better to be prepared, don’t you think?”

  I throw a pillow at her. “Stop being so wise. You’re a precog, not a priest.”

  She presses her palms together and raises them to her forehead, bending forward in a yoga bow. “Wisdom comes in many forms,” she says in an over-the-top Zen voice.

  She’s right, of course. Because before I know it, we’re walking the halls of Manchester Prep, hopped up on expensive beauty products meant to help me not look like a complete basket case. The news of my breakup has already made the rounds—it did take place at a school function, after all—and seeing as how Charlie has always been a highly desirable specimen, girls are already twittering over their second chance at snagging him. Not that I’d expect anything less of my fellow female classmates, but c’mon, the body’s not even cold.

  Every time I step outside a classroom, my heart floods with panic, knowing that with each footstep I could run into Charlie. I spend the last twenty minutes of each class in intense hyperfocus, planning out alternate passing-period routes based on everywhere he should and should not be at those exact moments in time. I completely avoid our usual meeting spots and take the most asinine paths possible, going up and down staircases I’ve rarely traveled. I’m starting to consider a career in covert ops, when I see him, down the end of a hallway he has no business occupying. But then again, neither do I, so I guess heartbroken minds think alike.

  Everything stops, and if I didn’t know for sure that there are currently no practicing witches in this school, I’d suspect a hindrance charm was in play. I’m completely frozen, unable to move or speak or acknowledge his presence, and he seems stuck in the same paralysis. We just stare at each other, unmoving anchors in a sea of students, stubbornly staying put. From across the hall, I watch his face pinch tight, holding back whatever emotions he doesn’t want to reveal in public, until he finally turns away and disappears into the crowd. As painful as it is to see him, it’s even worse when he leaves, like a vacuum sucking out all the remaining joy in the world. I can hear the bell ringing, but I’m left with such an absolute emptiness that getting to class or even breathing feels completely pointless.

  “Is the day over?” I ask Amani later as we make our way to lunch. “The day’s over, right?”

  “Hang in there, champ.” She gives me a pat on the back.

  The cafeteria is buzzing with its usual hum, but there’s only one plaid-clad student who begs concern; I instantly zoom in on Kim, sitting at a table by herself. Sadness frames her face as she slowly pulls the crust off her PB&J. Gods. I don’t want to deal with her, now or ever. How am I supposed to explain that her hypothetical stealing of my boyfriend is putting a strain on our friendship without being sent to a psych ward? This is exactly why I don’t like people; they expect you to adhere to social norms, when all I want to do is hide under a blanket and mainline sugar. Kim sees us from across the room and stiffens like a deer in headlights. She doesn’t wave or smile but has too much nervous energy, so she awkwardly rearranges her food on the table.

  “Hey, guys,” Kim says softly when we approach. She can barely look up, and the eye-contact avoidance is mutual. I absolutely CANNOT deal with a Kim-Charlie love mash-up right now. Amani remains standing, waiting for my cue, but I’m so torn between what I want to do (hide) and what I should do (explain), I’m just teetering in place. I need to pick a side and stay there. Kim jumps in. “Um, I don’t know exactly what happened, but, Amber, I want you to know I’d never do anything to jeopardize our friendship. You and Amani have been so welcoming to me since I transferred, and I’d never intentionally mess that up.”

  We’re still standing, literally looking down on her. The tension is just too much, so I sit down. Amani follows suit.

  “We know,” Amani offers. I can tell she thinks I’ve made a huge mistake but is blindly supporting me anyway. While I don’t want her to lose Kim as a friend, my life would be infinitely times easier if Kim wasn’t around.

  “It’s kind of hard to explain….Um…” I say to the table. Of course, it’s really not that hard, now, is it? I could just tell her her match and it’d all be clear. But I can’t because every single time (last night excluded) I’ve revealed a match, that person has run straight toward their destiny, and I cannot survive Charlie and Kim being the next It Couple right now. It’s physically painful to talk to her, so I hide behind my hair as much as possible. Side-swept bangs are the new shields. I continue. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Kim sighs, releasing her shoulders from her ears into a more natural stance. She pinches her lips together, waiting. But while it’s morally decent to give her some insight, that doesn’t mean I need to bare my soul. She’s still difficult to be around; I will need to forever avoid her eyes so as not to be haunted by Charlie. There’s a fine line between being noble and sentencing oneself to torture.

  I happen to see Ivy scurry by, head down and hair in her face, and for the first time in the history of ever, I leap at the chance to go talk to her. She’s alone, giving me the perfect opportuni
ty to escape this mealtime nightmare. From one awkward exchange to the next!

  “Uh, sorry. I gotta go,” I say. Kim’s eyes widen in confusion, and Amani furrows her brows. If she were a witch, she’d be hexing me right now for sure. But still I call out, “Ivy!” and leave my best friend to smooth everything else out. Okay, so maybe I didn’t handle that the best, but what else could I have done?

  Ivy doesn’t stop or look back; she dumps her trash and sashays toward the door. I manage to meet her side, but she doesn’t even give me a sideways glance.

  “What?” she snaps, looking straight ahead.

  “How are things?”

  She makes a low, guttural sound.

  “That good?”

  “Like you should talk. I heard you just dumped the love of your life.” She takes my silence as confirmation, and adds, “Moron,” with a championship eye roll.

  She stops at her locker, and taped inside are not pictures of the latest Hollywood dreamboat or designer handbag, but shots of her and Iris: There’s one where they are very young, sharing a massive lollipop; another more recent, on a ski trip. Riding on a camel past pyramids, smiling on the Great Wall of China—these sisters have traveled the globe together, a string of adventures bound to end once Iris hits the sea permanently. Despite my own personal drama, Iris keeps sneaking into my thoughts. Seeing her transform from a strong, independent defender of the people to a small, defenseless shell of a girl is not resting well in my psyche.

  Ivy catches me eyeing her collection and slams the door shut, closing my window to her world. “What do you want?” she snarls, her nails primed. She turns to me for the first time, and I notice the makeup circling her left eye is much heavier than usual. There’s a blackish tint peeking out from layers of concealer that has me instantly concerned. “We’re not meeting until the full moon, right?” she barks. “What, do you need snuggle time or something?”

  “Gods, no.” I recoil. “That’d be like cuddling an ice cube.”