The Matchmaker

by Kitty Parker

  "Sure it does," I drawled, rolling my eyes condescendingly.

  "What?" she snapped, scowling, "It does!"

  "I know," I assured her in patently false terms. She inspected the cover of her book.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, curious despite my anger.

  "Checking to see if any of your sarcasm dripped onto my book," she informed me with a bright, empty grin.

  "Ha-ha, very funny," I replied, glaring at her, "But it doesn't mean you were telling the truth."

  She rose so the height difference would be slightly (and only very slightly) less. I can still glare at her down my nose, though, so it didn't really matter.

  "I am telling the truth," she stated so dangerously that I might have been scared had I been paying attention, but as it was I was simply gaping at her.

  "Laycha," I heroically resisted the overwhelming urge to laugh, "What are you wearing?"

  She glared and attempted to sit back down, but I grabbed her arm to keep her upright. When I saw her green eyes mentally murdering me, I lost the battle and cracked up.

  Emma was wearing a pleated light grey skirt that went down to a little above her knees, a white v-neck long sleeved shirt, and a pink sweater. Pink. This on a girl who I had never seen in anything lighter than navy and by no account would ever wear a hint of pink. The sheer incongruity of it all, along with her death stare, kept me laughing until the bell rang and I retreated back to my seat in the surge of other students entering. And the best part was she didn't get in a word edgewise.

  Not that I wasn't still angry. I was seething as I sat through class, sending her murderous looks as she answered the occasional question (inevitably and annoyingly correctly). She just looked so... different that it was impossible not to break into hysterical laughter.

  When class finally ended, I didn't manage t catch her after she left, shooting out with a speed I could never manage. For a freaking genius, she didn't seem to want to stay in any of the classes for long. I didn't manage to catch her alone again until last period, when I was skipping French and she… well, I assumed she had free, because I couldn't imagine her skipping a class.

  She was standing in front of a bulletin board, apparently studying one notice very closely. I slid up behind her silently, and leaned down to mutter in her ear.

  "Thinking of entering the talent show?"

  Before I knew what happened, an elbow in my gut made me trip backwards.

  "Hell, Laycha!" I cried, "I didn't deserve that!"

  She pulled me back to my feet with a barely hidden smirk.

  "Oh, that was you! Sorry, it's just instinct," she apologized brightly with absolutely no sincerity. I glared at her, but she only met it with a freakily perky grin that revealed absolutely nothing about how the hell she was that fast.

  "Bitch," I muttered.

  "Same to you," she replied pleasantly, going back to studying the flyer.

  "So are you?" I pressed, leaning over her to look at it, my head directly above hers and my arms imprisoning her between them as I braced myself against the wall.

  "No," she replied curtly, ducking out underneath my arm, "I just wanted to see when it was."

  "Obviously not," I continued without seeming to hear her, shifting to lean with my back against the wall, "You don't have any talents to showcase."

  She had been walking away, but when I said that she turned back, eyes glittering evilly.

  "Oh no?" she replied monotonically, "Care to place a wager on that?"

  "You're on," I agreed, shaking my hair back away from my eyes, "What's the bet?"

  "That I can get into that show," she replied, taking a step closer towards me, "What are you prepared to lose?"

  "Why don't you name an amount," I suggest only slightly maliciously (hey, the anger was still very there), "I need to know that I'll actually get the money."

  "An amount?" she chuckled menacingly, "You are so closed-minded, Darien. Why don't we make it more interesting then money?"

  Now I was getting slightly scared. I had already witnessed this girl's fertile imagination. I wasn't sure I wanted it turned on me.

  "Like what?" I asked cautiously.

  "Oh, how about," she considered a moment, "When you lose you have to come to school dressed in drag. And wear it the whole day. And if anyone asks, you tell them the truth."

  Harsh. But the talent show wasn't for almost 8 months, not until June (our school is OCD about rehearsals and tryouts and stuff), so it's not like I would be cold or something. And she might forget. And anyway, there was no way I could lose, so it was perfectly fine. Nothing Emma was good at could be put on a stage.

  "And when you lose," I retorted, "You have to profess your undying love for me. In the middle of the lunch, in the cafeteria. And everyone has to be listening."

  Eyes sparkling with a evil light, she held out a hand.

  "Deal," she declared. I shook it, squeezing as hard as I could. She didn't even wince.

  "Deal," I agreed. I let go of her hand. She didn't show that it hurt from the pressure I had put on it, but rested it on her hip.

  "So," I continued, changing the subject, "How did you get those clothes?"

  She shuddered theatrically.

  "Your groupies got a hold of me," she said, crossing her arms self-consciously again, "I think they think I'm their new doll."

  "You're not exactly a Barbie look alike," I observed, inspecting her with a lazy eye.

  "That just makes them have more fun being, and I quote, 'creative'" she retorted. I snorted, only a bit viciously. It served her right for disappearing. The revenge seemed enough, or even a little bit over the top. I wouldn't wish some of those girls on my worst enemy.

  "Then I suppose I'm not angry anymore," I announced. She sneered.

  "What makes you think I cared when you were?"

  I let a slow, seductive smile spread over my face as I leaned down so my face was nearly level with hers.

  "Babe, no one can not care about me."

  She rolled her eyes and stalked away. I followed, unwilling to give it up. She was far too much fun to needle. And it was weird; she didn't react like everyone else. Most other girls would have instantly agreed with me once I used that look on them. For someone so unworldly seeming, she didn't react like most other bookworms I saw.

  "See, you care in not caring," I insisted. She kept walking, ignoring me rather more successfully then most. The only way to get her to pay attention would be to shock her.

  "Want to go to Lex's party with me?" I inquired in mock-seriousness. She spun so quickly even I was surprise and had to amend my statement. "You know I was kidding, right?

  "Allan has a party?" she spat, taking a tangent that I didn't expect.

  "Yeah." Why did it even matter? It's not like she would be invited.

  "When?" she demanded, eyes narrowing perilously.

  "Saturday."

  Her face lost all emotion, except for her cold, hard emerald eyes. She glanced around the hall. As fate would have it, Lex walked out of a classroom as the bell rang at exactly that moment.

  She stormed away, people moving subconsciously out of the way of the physically unintimidating girl, pushed away by force of will alone. Lex looked up and met her eyes, then glanced past her and looked at me with brown eyes filled with terror and a plea for help.

  She marched up to him and grabbed his wrist. Watching the tableau, I didn't blame him at all for being scared.

  "Allan," she hissed, "Are you having a party this Saturday?"

  Chapter 13

  * * *

  Emma

  * * *

  He immediately began to backpedal.

  "Umm... well, it was kinda," he sputtered, "a spur-of-the-moment uh-"

  "Allan, be quiet," I snapped. He shut his mouth obediently. A faint chuckle emanated from the boy behind me. "Was I mistaken, or was it a distinct clause in our contract that you inform me of any and all parties you're planning to throw!"

  "We had a contract?" Allan
asked, diverted momentarily by confusion.

  "Not a written one," I explained impatiently, "But I assumed some things were understood as of last summer, that being one of them."

  I could sense Darien listening, as he must have followed me over to Allan. Damn. I might have to censor what I was going to say-not a huge loss to be sure, as I wouldn't waste my best insults on someone who wouldn't understand them- if I didn't want Darien to figure out the relationship between me and Allan. I was actually amazed he hadn't already discovered it already, but maybe his snobbery and the surety of his intelligence blinded him. But still, it would be difficult to chew out Allan without giving anything away.

  "Yeah, I guess it was," Allan keened, "and I was going to tell you, I really was-"

  I stared at him incredulously. By now, it should have gotten through even his opaque mind that I didn't care about excuses unless they were extremely valid, which these most certainly were not. He should have realized that every word he said was just making my ire grow.

  "Dude, shut up," Darien advised idly, though underneath his bored tone I could detect a hint of amused interest, "I don't think it's working."

  "I can handle this myself, McGavern," I spat, not deigning to move my glare from Allan, who was by now glancing around for an escape route, to Darien, "Thank you very much. Allan. When and where?"

  "Saturday," Allan muttered shamefacedly, looking down at his feet-not that there was a huge difference between that and looking at me, the obscenely tall lummox, "Home. 8 to whenever."

  I groaned, not that I should have expected anything less. Allan was a darling boy, but he didn't get that what he found fun others might not. This meant that all of Saturday morning would be spent helping him set up, during the night I would be secluded in my room, and Sunday afternoon I would be cleaning up. Not even including the time put in convincing mom and Jack to leave the house, that took up my entire weekend- I wouldn't even have time to get to the gym like I had been planning to.

  "Allan," I chided resignedly, "You know Jack said you were supposed to ask me now."

  "Why would-" Darien asked, but I cut him off, spinning on the balls of my feet to face him with a sickly sweet glare.

  "Darien, please, can't you see I'm having a confrontation here?" I cooed with a patently falsely ingratiating smile, "The time for questions will be later. Maybe.

  He met my glare squarely, even if I could notice his well-concealed flinch at my tone.

  "Maybe?" he asked. I frowned at his arrogant tone that said all too clearly that he was not expecting to be denied.

  "Probably not. Actually, no, the time for questions will be never," I retorted haughtily, turning back to Allan with a final flick of my hair. He was grinning apologetically at me, and I could feel the fury leeching out of me.

  "Allan, you know I'm the one who's going to end up doing all the work," I scowled, but he was standing up straighter, the terror I was instilling in him ebbing with my anger. When I wasn't on the warpath, intimidation was not my strong point.

  "I know," he replied contritely, "But Can-people were telling me to last night, and I guess I must have said yes, and now I can't back out without lots of people being angry at me…"

  He was beaming like a puppy that had just eaten my shoes and was certain it was a great accomplishment, so proud of his feat that I couldn't be mad anymore. Damn dogs and their earnest innocence. Give me a cat over a dog any day.

  I sighed and rolled my eyes.

  "Oh, fine," I growled, and Allan perked up immediately.

  "Really Em? Thank you thank you thank you! Thank you soo much!" he exclaimed, nearly jumping up and down with glee, "So, McGavern, you coming?"

  "Yeah," Darien agreed languidly, shifting instantly back into his too-cool-for-school persona as he got the limelight, "If I have nothing else to do."

  Allan either didn't notice or mind the implied insult, but I both noticed and minded. Not to mention that Darien's arrogance got on my nerves sometimes- a lot-all the time- and he needed to be notified that he didn't rule the universe.

  "Well," I retorted, turning a gaze as cold as his won onto Darien, my features changing noticeably from the exasperated fondness I used with Allan, "Glad to know his little shindig is worth a small portion of your exalted attention."

  And this coming from the guy who I had heard admit that 'Lex threw the best parties'! It's not like I was stalking him or anything. But he never noticed me, so he talked in my presence and I just happened to overhear. It's amazing how people assume you can't listen and read at the same time.

  "You should be," Darien replied coolly, not appearing to catch the sarcasm.

  "Oh," I drawled, "I am."

  That alerted him to my insincerity. HE took a step closer to me, so I had to tilt my head really far back to keep my eyes locked challengingly on his now blue-grey eyes.

  "Good," he spat. Allan was looking between us like it was a tennis match, his eyes flicking back and forth.

  "Dude," he moaned, "I am so lost."

  I broke the staring contest-not that he won, I was just getting bored- to roll my eyes and reach up to pat him on his chestnut head.

  "You should be used to that by now," I mockingly comforted him. Darien snorted, breaking his arrogant mood, but Allan grinned thickly.

  "Thanks, I" he began, but then, cutting himself off, "hey, that wasn't cool!"

  "What wasn't?" I dead-panned and Darien smirked. Damn that boy for being so confusing! I could hate him one minute for his arrogance and self-absorption, and the next moment he would be almost tolerable! Couldn't he just put himself in a nice little box like everyone else?

  "You just got owned, Lex," he observed. Allan groaned comically and slapped his head with a huge hand, still grinning.

  "With little Emmy here, I'm used to that," he admitted, ruffling my hair playfully. I sneered at him and slapped his arm. He jumped and rubbed it.

  "Hey, Em!" he cried, "That fucking hurt!"

  "You deserved it," I informed him, coolly ignoring his cry of pain. I've always believed that pain is the best teacher. "Do not call me Emmy."

  Darien was chuckling sardonically. I would have noted the rare laugh, except it was at my expense.

  "What?" I snapped.

  "Emmy?" he inquired, eyes shifting to an almost black shade as he tried to keep in his laughter-rather more successfully than many other people. Then again, he was a past master at concealing his emotions.

  "No," I spat decisively, "never."

  "So Emmy," he continued, eyes glinting with concealed mockery, "Think Lex's elusive step-sister will be at the party?"

  "I told you," Allan broke in with a nervous glance at me that I hoped Darien hadn't noticed, "She didn't go to any of my other parties, she's not going to this one."

  "I didn't ask you," Darien replied, not taking his eyes off of me. He was obviously getting some sort of sadistic pleasure out of this-not that I could blame him, I would be too. "I asked Emmy."

  I turned back to Allan, conclusively cutting Darien off from the conversation.

  "Allan, did you make any plans yet? We only have, what, two days?" I asked. He shook his head, his straight brown hair flopping with the motion.

  "I got in real late last night."

  "Really?" I corrected him under my breath. People need better grammar, especially with adverbs, and I had made it my goal to alleviate that burden on humanity's ears. Some people find it irritating. I said tough luck. Allan grinned good-naturedly at me.

  "Really late," he amended easily. Suddenly, something occurred to me.

  "Allan, did you sleep at Greco's?" I asked, smile draining off my face. His chocolate brown eyes were confusedly concerned.

  "No, I went home," he replied bemusedly, "Which was a good thing, 'cause Diana was real worried because you didn't come home."

  Damn, I had forgotten to call. Mom was usually pretty good at letting me have my independence (at least now that things had changed), but staying out all night without calling she was not
fine with. I would be in for a long rant from her when I got home. But that was not the point right now.

  "Were you drunk when you were driving?" I asked pointedly. Allan groaned.

  "Em," he whined, "don't start this again.'

  Darien was leaning against a wall, just watching us, judging without saying anything. It was rather unnerving. I mean, I know that's what I do a lot, but it's a lot creepier when a 6 foot tall, undeniably handsome guy does it than when a plain, tiny girl does. And I didn't like being assessed by anything as objective as his eyes.

  "Allan, I've told you before, you're going to get hurt. Or hurt someone," I admonished softly, trying to hide my all too real concern. He might be certain of his own immortality, but I knew better.

  I flinched as I tried to hide the memory of the bright flash, the burning heat, the searing pain-

  "Come on!" Allan exclaimed, breaking through my memories. I sighed gratefully. I did not want to remember that. I had blocked it out for a reason. He continued, "It's not going to happen. Nothing's going to happen.

  "You can think that," I snapped and stalked away, leaving the boys to wonder why it made me so angry. They didn't have to know why I was so sure that something could happen.

  I yanked open my locker, letting it slam against the one next to it as a way to relieve my anger. The Matchmaker box fell down, and when I quickly scooped it up again, a heavy, quality piece of notebook paper caught my eye. Darien had written back to the Matchmaker.

  Maybe I do. But nothing I could say would impress someone like you. Rhyme completely not intended. I won't add bad poetry to my sins.

  The note broke me out of my anger as I gave a small giggle. Then I realized what I was doing and cut off my mirth. It was just more evidence of the annoying bipolarity of Darien's personality. He was infuriating and amusing, intriguing in some way which I couldn't identify and had never seen before.

  * * *

  Darien