The Matchmaker

by Kitty Parker

  "You'll just have to wait and find out," she declared. Collective disappointed sighs of Brock, Candy, and Lex. I raised my eyebrow sardonically.

  "And if you didn't make it in?" I proposed dryly. She may not have considered that an option, but it was the only possible outcome. I hoped. Drag would not look good on me at all. And I was really looking forward to Emma's announcement.

  Her lips twisted into a half smile: malicious, inscrutable, and merry all in one.

  "Well, then, you'll just have to live unsatisfied, won't you?" her laughing verdant eyes caught mine and held, and, despite her misplaced certainty, I couldn't help but smile.

  "Darien!" the girl next to me keened, her neon nails clutching my forearm nearly painfully, "Have you like, heard about Greco's party this weekend? You should, like, totally come. It would be so totally awesome!"

  To my surprise (and Emma's if I were to judge by her well muffles snort) the girl didn't add, 'like, totally, pay attention to me!' But it was a close call, I think. Brock and Lex couldn't hold back their laughter this time. They broke out into chocked chortles. Even Candy hid a smile. I glanced at Emma, waiting for the inevitable witty rejoinder (and to gauge her reaction) but she had close off and my complicit look of annoyance met only shielded jade eyes.

  "I'm sure it would be," I agreed, still confused by Emma's response, or lack thereof. The girl's smile barely made it past her lips. God, why did Candy trail around with these bimbos? "But I'm not sure if I can," I added quickly.

  "Why not?" she insisted, her nails pushing farther into my skin. I refused to show that it hurt, but when I saw Emma's hidden smirk as she saw the nails I suddenly felt better.

  "Busy, plans, and all that," I replied, attempting to escape her death grip. Why did all these chicks have to be so damn strong? Lex and Brock's chuckles continued as Candy jumped in to save her friend.

  "You really should come," she informed me, eyes getting bigger and more like a puppy-dogs, "Lots of people are. Lex is, aren't you?" after a quick elbow in the ribs, Lex muttered his assent. "And Emma will, I hope!' she added.

  My eyes flicked to Emma. Her head was down, but she glanced up and our eyes met with a shock far too similar to the one at that other party, when the results of her coming had been nothing short of a disaster.

  "I can't go," Emma suddenly stated with no room for argument. Candy opened her mouth to try to convince her, but Emma overrode her. "And while you guys are making what I'm certain are very important plans," her gaze fell mockingly on the bimbo, "I have customers to serve." At that second, the door opened, so paralleling her words that I had to wonder if she had scripted it.

  She slid off the table and was behind the counter before any of our protests (half hearted or otherwise) could make it out f our mouths.

  "So," the annoying girl just couldn't let go, could she? "You're, like, gonna go, right?"

  This conversation was completely pointless, I realized. Miss Never-takes-a-hint had no jurisdiction over me. If I didn't feel like going o Greco's party because there wouldn't be any good company there, it was my business and no one else's.

  I stood, forcing her to release me.

  "I can't," I announced, and then, before she could protest, "I've got to get home." I ignored Brock's confused look. He knew very well that I had to do no such thing. Eventually, he would figure out I was escaping. "bye."

  "See ya."

  "Later, dude."

  "Bye!"

  But of course, Pink nails had to get the last word. She fluttered her hand in what I assumed was meant to be a flirtatious wave. "Okay, Darien," she cooed, pitched loud enough for the whole café to hear and draw the wrong conclusions "See you at Greco's!"

  I could feel Emma's eyes lock on me as she heard those words, and the piercing power suddenly boring into me followed me out of the café.

  Chapter 24

  * * *

  Emma

  * * *

  "What are you doing?"

  I looked up from the papers spread in front of me, saw Darien standing skeptically over me, and returned to studying the pamphlets. Never good at being ignored -though hysterical when he was- he let out an annoyed huff and plucked the brochure out of my hand before I could tighten my grasp.

  "What's this?"

  Resigning myself to paying attention to him, I turned in my seat and glared up at him, refusing to acknowledge that the position made my back scream. Why did he have to be so damn tall? And why did I always seem to hang around giants? Dan must have topped 6'2".

  "What does it look like?" I retorted, snatching it back. With his usual masculine thickness that contradicted his occasional moments of perception, he didn't realize the question was rhetorical. Either that, or he just felt like being annoying; with Darien, it could very well be either.

  "College stuff," he informed me idly, leafing through the papers with detached interest. He picked two brochures out of the pile and examined them, amused. "Harvard and Yale," he observed dryly, tossing the Yale one back onto the pile, "Not setting your sights too high, are you?"

  I shrugged and continued to leaf through University of Chicago, not bothering to meet his eyes or even look directly at him. Sarcasm only became a few select people. A few people being, of course, me.

  "I'm not going to pretend humility, and I actually have ambition, unlike some people."

  "Implying, of course, that I don't," he explained to no one. I didn't deny it. I still thought that he should work more in all his classes, because he could be doing better than he was. And then he might get into college (one of his choice) on merit, rather than on his father's legacy, which seemed to me a much more honorable way to live, as I had deigned to inform him. A lot.

  He either didn't want to provoke the discussion (well, argument to be precise; but with Darien and I, discussions were debates by default) or he didn't notice. Whatever the reason, he continued on a totally different note. "Why are you starting so early? You don't have to think about it 'til next year."

  "Procrastination doesn't pay off in the long run." And I was bored out of my mind (February seemed to do that to me). This made me look like I was doing something, so if a teacher happened to look into the library I wouldn't be yelled at. Did I mention I was bored? "And the earlier I decide, the better chance I have for a scholarship."

  He shot me a surprised glance, noted my total solemnity, and rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. "Emma," he told me with exaggerated patience, "Whatever you were at your old school," his eyes slid away from mine as he omitted the truth, and they lightened to a really pretty blue-grey (not that Darien's eyes were pretty, but the color was. That's all), "You're a Lexington now, with all the perks included. You don't need a scholarship."

  I rolled my eyes, the condescending motion screening my revelation from his view. I had always kind of assumed I would need a scholarship to get into college- had lived with that since I could remember. It had never quite occurred to me that immutable fact of life had now changed. Darien was right; Jack could afford to pay my way through college. Whoa.

  "Well, waste not and all that. I might as well try for one if I can," I replied despite Darien's correctness. I couldn't let Darien get any cockier, after all. His head might explode.

  "You'd be taking money from someone who actually needs it." He raised an eyebrow at my expression. My jaw may have dropped; I know my eyes were wide open, but it was a weird thought. Darien, showing concern for someone other than himself? And people poorer than him, too. Someone alert Superman, 'cause the world's ending. "What?" he inquired snippily, "Am I not allowed to care for the less fortunate?"

  I got a hold of myself. I should have known better than to believe in Darien's mask; he tended to come out of nowhere with a sudden burst of compassion. And after all, who was better than me at understanding what a mask was?

  "You're allowed to," I answered calmly, despite the inner turmoil that continued to rage inside me. Why couldn't he just stay nice or arrogant? Then maybe I would understand him an
d he wouldn't be so damn intriguing. "You just don't."

  He brushed a stray strand of his burnished gold hair out of his face with strong fingers, still glancing almost wistfully at the Harvard brochure. "Not many people are worth it," he remarked. I nodded thoughtfully. And now he was being a cynic again. Couldn't he make up his mind?

  I scanned the room, glanced at my watch, glared at the clock, sighed, and pulled out my book. Darien noticed the irritated sigh and looked askance at me.

  "What's up?" he queried, managing in a way known only to the 'bad boy' type of hot guys, to sound simultaneously interested and far too cool to care about anything. "Why care about the time?"

  "Mann requested," I made a face. It didn't sit well with me that anyone told me what to do, even if that anyone was a teacher, and it was a good cause. Or at least, it should have been, "that I assist him with history." His skeptical expression informed me how very unlikely he thought it that anyone order me what to do. "His teacher told him that he needed a tutor, and somehow he got a hold of my name, and it would look good on my college application..." I trailed off, waving a hand in frustrated inarticulateness.

  "And this means you're looking at the clock because…" Darien prompted nonchalantly. Apparently my explanation had not impressed him. Tutoring, I suppose, was for lesser mortals. I'd like to see him try it sometime.

  "He was supposed to be here 20 minutes ago," I replied testily. Popularity was all well and good, but keeping appointments was common courtesy, especially as I was doing him a favor. I wasn't the one who needed a tutor; he should have had the politeness to be on time. So what if he was gorgeous basketball captain with jet eyes that could melt a heart of stone?

  "And he's playing truant," Darien clarified, still impassive except for a slight smirk.

  "Obviously," I spat, snapping my hand at the chair Darien was currently occupying. "As he's not here."

  Blue eyes darkened to the navy heralded his anger. He rose with ominous precision, still as emotionless as he had been when I had first met him. "I'll be back," he announced. I decided not to laugh at how much he sounded like a villain in a B-rated movie. "And so will Mann." He was speaking in the tone of voice that made even me wary of arguing with him (not that it ever stopped me), so I refrained from expressing my sarcasm as he strode resolutely out of the room.

  Once he was gone, my head dropped to rest on my folded hands, my face almost touching the dark wood of the table. With my hood pulled up as far as it could go to block as much light as possible, along with dark jeans and the baggy sweatshirt itself, I probably looked more like a black blob with vaguely limb-like protrusions than human. But I really didn't care, because hell, I was tired. Today was Valentine's Day, after all, and even if Emma didn't attach much significance to the day, it was the Matchmaker's busiest time. I had stayed up 'til all hours for the last few nights, finishing schoolwork (I hate, hate, hate, hate the junior year workload), my extracurricular obligations, and on top of all that, the Matchmaker had to work overtime…. Well, let's just say that even for my insomnia, I hadn't been getting nearly enough sleep. And then, just to add insult to injury, I'd had to get to school extra early today because of the flood of notes to be handed out. And if mornings and I didn't mix, early mornings and I were the north and south poles of a magnet.

  After a good 2 minutes of wallowing in miserable exhaustion, boredom overwhelmed my half-hearted attempts to nap. I lifted my head (was it just me, or did it feel heavier than usual?), swept the brochures into my backpack, and pulled out the bag that held the matchmaker notes. I was the only one in the room, except for one person ensconced in a computer desk and another completely absorbed in her work. I knew from experience neither would move until the bell rang; my identity was safe.

  Valentine's Day was generally worth the extra work, because people suddenly realized they had taken the Matchmaker for granted and the thank you notes came pouring in. It was gratifying, knowing I was appreciated; and the certainty that my couples were happy was what I worked for.

  I pawed through the notes, smiling slightly at the number of them. It had been a good year, with numerous infatuated couples created and the only notable breakup (Rhi's) had, well, extenuating circumstances. So not my fault. Anyway, that mistake was soon to be rectified, as Rhi was coming back in late August and so a happily ever after was coming for her and Brock after all.

  An incongruously black note cut through my contented reflections. I picked it out of the mass. Could it be from one of the emo kids I had set up? Generally even they were more cheerful than that on Valentine's Day... I examined it, a confused smile growing as I realized whom it was from. Cut in the shape of a heart, it had a jagged line drawn through the middle. Obviously store bought (but it would have to be, with him), it was still quite pretty, in a tragic sort of way. I flipped it over. Written in silver ink in Darien's well-known hand were the words,

  Because I'm not with you.

  I couldn't help but grin at the sheer adorableness of it. I knew he had an ulterior motive, and that his ultimate plan couldn't involve anything good for the Matchmaker, but still… For someone so pragmatic and determinedly cold, he could be a real romantic when he wanted (or needed) to. Someday, he would find a girl who could break his icy façade, and she would be a lucky girl.

  "Emma." Surprised, I slipped the card into my voluminous sleeve and the bag into my backpack before I turned. Darien, herding a Chris Mann who looked - if a chastened expression was impossible on his handsome face - at least contrite, was standing in the doorway. "Here's your truant." He scowled Mann into the chair, spun on his heels as if washing his hands of the boy, and left.

  Barely wondering at his curt manner (Darien got upset at the most random things, and who was I to understand him?) I studied my student. Black eyes as dark and deep as black holes, strong and tall athlete's body, luscious black curls that any girl would've envied over dusky skin… the kid was hot, and did he know it.

  "I'm sorry I was late," he apologized. He gave me a smile that could have launched at least 50 ships and I felt my anger and annoyance drain away. I was too tired to be pissed at someone for long.

  "Just be here next time," I admonished, trying to be stern. This boy could charm anyone, and I was no less susceptible than any girl. I just knew things they didn't. Like the fact that he was as bad a womanizer as Darien, only worse because he gave a pretense of affection before breaking their hearts. And that with all the drugs he used, his athletic career was going nowhere fast. And there was always that quiet rumor that few people believed but I didn't quite write off, about some girlfriend of his coming in with a black eye. All in all, there was a reason I never dealt with him as the Matchmaker, even if he was requested nearly as often as Darien.

  "I won't be," he promised with a sincerity that was so well feigned I couldn't tell it was false, even if I knew it was, "I swear." Again, the horribly open, seductive smile. God, he was hot, and charming, and apparently as humble as Darien ever was. What's there not to like about him?

  "Then I forgive you. Let's start." Yes, I was well aware that Chris Mann was a bastard of the first degree and bad news. The real question though, was could I remember that?

  * * *

  Darien

  * * *

  "Obviously," Emma growled, gesturing at my chair in frustrated inarticulateness, "As he's not here!"

  I could have predicted that much. Chris Mann couldn't care less about his schoolwork. About anything, really, except sex. And drugs. And I guess, a little bit, basketball. And more sex. At least I didn't pretend to care about more than that, even if I, in my heart of hearts, did. I mean, I had Troy, and my friends, and… well, that's all, but it's more than Mann. And I gave no credence to his story about a teacher making him get tutoring. Even if a teacher would risk the wrath of our sports crazed principal to threaten the basketball captain, he wasn't (loathe as I was to admit it) dim-witted enough to be failing a class. He knew better than to do badly in the stupid classes.

  Bu
t however much I distrusted Mann's motives, Emma shouldn't have to waste her time, especially not for one of the most worthless human beings on earth. Not to mention I wanted to see Mann crash and burn on the invincible rock that was Emma.

  "I'll be back," I declared, wincing internally at my words as they left my mouth. I sounded like some bad guy in a stupid adventure movie. But Emma didn't comment as I rose and tossed the pamphlet I had been torturing myself with back down, so I figured I was fine. "And so will Mann."

  I stalked out of the library, hearing a faint thump as the door shut. Which I guessed, was Emma's head hitting the table. Well, she had seemed tired lately, even if she wouldn't answer directly when I asked her why. Typical Emma, that.

  Ignoring the lurid pink and red halls as I strode through them, I headed towards the back of the school where I knew Mann could be found. It was where all the druggies lit up. I had hung there before, though not often- I didn't like the feeling drugs stronger than nicotine or alcohol gave me. I didn't even drink that much; and, come to think of it, I hadn't smoked in a while either. Maybe Emma hitting them out of my hand had helped.

  On my way, I scowled at a heart poster on the wall. Valentine's Day was not a holiday I deigned to notice, despite all the cards that seemed to be magnetized to me. Today was just annoying. It might as well be called Annoy-Darien day, because all the girls decided that it was the day for them to confess their love for me. Or, at the least, lust. None of them got that I didn't fucking care. Love existed, I could see that very well in people like my parents, who had time enough to lose themselves in the other's eyes for a timeless second even if they had no time for their sons; but not now and not for me.