by Kitty Parker
"Your step-father married his secretary," I said slowly, letting each word sink in and penetrate her unreceptive brain. "Against all reason. And didn't Lex's mother really disapprove? There had to be something stronger than love there!" Ha, take that Emma's cynicism!
"Your mother wasn't born any richer than mine," she countered, a lightning flash of cold intellect and the need to win, "But your father married her anyway. But that had to be because of love, not because she was an up and comer in his firm and was earning enough money to feed a small country, of course."
"First of all, my parents are in love," I replied, trying to contain my bubbling anger. I could rage at my family all I wanted, but no one- and I meant no one- else could. Blood was thicker than water, and all that. And the one thing I was proud of my dad for was marrying my mother. "But that is a very different situation than yours, if you have to know."
I must not have been as good at concealing my defensive fury as I thought, because she paused on the brink of another retort, then answered in a far less argumentative tone, "I'm sorry. Now, what did you need help with?"
"Nothing," I retorted angrily. Like she actually meant that apology. Emma never apologized; I knew that as well as the next person. And I did not need help. I never did.
She let out a long breath, an understanding tone in her voice along with what I would later recognize as sincerity. "I really am sorry, Darien," she said calmly, as if she hadn't been yelling herself hoarse ten minutes ago, "I shouldn't have spoken about your family like that." If there was any irony in her voice, I certainly couldn't tell. But, being Emma, that didn't mean it wasn't there. "But if you don't need my assistance, I'm going to go now. See you tomorrow." A click as the phone hung up, than the dial tone.
I slammed the phone down angrily onto my bed. What the hell had just happened? Had I actually just been hung up on? No one did that to Darien McGavern, even if she had managed it with the same disarming politeness of-
"One would observe," Alfred remarked from the doorway, which had apparently been open, where he had been eavesdropping like usual. I didn't mind it when he did it; he never told anyone anything anyway, "that if you wished to impress Miss Laycha, becoming angry is not the best way to do so."
"I'm not trying to impress her!" I spat. Why would he dare to think that? I really didn't need help; the assignment wasn't worth doing. Who needed history, after all? I could scribble something off before class, if I felt like being an overachiever.
"One would further conclude," he continued as if I hadn't interrupted, his implacable courtesy unruffled as I strode over to push past him out of the room, "That completing your homework is." He disappeared.
I scowled at the place where he had been. No one guilt tripped quite like Alfred, I decided as I sat sulkily back down at my desk and pulled out my homework. Except maybe, Alfred accompanied by Emma's conniving, gentle voice in my mind.
Chapter 27
* * *
Emma
* * *
"Darien," I demanded in irritation, stalking up to him as he lounged against the wall of a courtyard enclosed within the school. He glanced up, warm May air teasing his hair into something slightly more like natural messiness. But, of course, he still looked perfectly put together. I hate people like that. "Can you please get Mann off my back?"
I mean, the first time he had asked me out it had been flattering in a weird sort of way. Sure, I knew he was a sleaze, but no one had asked me out for a long time. The second through tenth times had intrigued me, as his persistence was out of character and I could never let such a deviation go uninvestigated. After that though, even my curiosity waned and Mann's never-ending suit served only to aggravate me. Especially now, when the talent show was in a week, and the matchmaking business was booming, and the end of junior year madness was beginning, and I was majorly stressed out. How Darien stayed so calm, I had no idea. It probably had something to do with his lack of interest in school. Or, of course, he did have less stuff to do than me.
"Why would I be able to do that?" he drawled languidly. His hand flitted to his pocket to grab a cigarette, but, with a sideways glance at me, it dropped back down to his side. I didn't acknowledge that I saw, but that didn't mean I didn't appreciate it.
"Because you're Darien McGavern," I explained, rolling my eyes. Fishing for compliments did not become him. His groupies worshiped him enough anyway; what did he need my accolades for? "And people listen to you. Though I can't see why," I added in a mutter. He didn't deign to hear the last sentence.
"Well, yeah," he admitted shamelessly with a casual shrug. His deep blue eyes didn't move from my face, as if this was a fact so obvious that it didn't deserve any recognition. That would have seemed arrogant, and it was, but the sad thing was it was also true. "But Mann wouldn't listen to me. Especially not about that." That was oddly modest. Except coming from Darien, it didn't sound that way.
"Fine," I scowled up at him, though laughter danced in my eyes. I wasn't really annoyed, after all. Well, not at him. I dropped my bag at his feet and planted my hands on my hips. "Don't use your influence for good."
"I won't," he agreed amiably, kicking my backpack against the wall with one long leg. He was so lucky I didn't have anything fragile in there. "But is he really getting to you that much?"
"Yes!" I snapped, gesticulating futilely at the air in aggravation and frustration. His eyes followed the motion, than traced down my arm until they reached my shoulder, then locked back on my face with an almost guilty look in them. I ignored it. "I have way too much on my plate right now for him. I'm stressed and I'm tired and I'm overworked and I have no patience left!"
My outburst would have struck most audiences dumb. I bet even Rhi or Allan would have been cowed. But Darien wasn't most audiences.
"What's got you so worked up?" he inquired coolly. Of course, he seemed like he didn't care, or that's what his voice and body language said. But his aquamarine eyes were kind and almost gentle. And something in those eyes wouldn't let me stay bottled up any longer.
"Everything!" I exclaimed, rubbing my temples as I joined him against the wall, "School, and the talent show, and colleges and SATs and stuff, and just everything!" Well, I couldn't exactly say anything about the Matchmaker. Darien hated her so much, he would kill me. And of course, there was my impatience for Rhi to come home, but Darien didn't know about my friendship with Rhi and I intended to keep it that way. Being recognized as Brock's girlfriend's best friend would have thrown me into the spotlight far too much then. Even if I was noticed even more as Darien's friend, the lie had gone on too long. I couldn't back out now.
"And I guess Mann isn't helping," Darien observed dryly. I shrugged helplessly. He shook his head disparagingly. "He so rarely does."
That forced a smile out of me, albeit a reluctant one. It was just a twisting to the lips, barely even able to be called such, but it cracked his impassive mask. A real smile lit blue eyes growing lighter almost as I looked into them.
"Don't pay any attention to Mann. He isn't worth it," Darien instructed me, voice for once not cold and unconcerned but instead almost scarily intense, "He doesn't deserve enough of your attention to make you angry." And then the intensity dimmed, and the icy mockery was back. I shivered slightly. The day was warm, so why did I feel cold without the heat of his gaze? "Just ignore him," he smirked cruelly, "that's what I do."
I chuckled. He was right, and I knew it even if I couldn't admit it. But that didn't mean his advice was viable for anyone but him. We didn't all have his immunity from our peers, and I wasn't fool enough to dismiss the necessity of their approbation.
"That's a lot easier when he's not dogging you around," I retorted tiredly. He rolled his eyes, apparently sure I was exaggerating. Idiot. Since when was I melodramatic? Especially compared to his moronic bitch groupies.
"I'm not kidding!" I insisted, smacking Darien lightly on the arm to drive the point home. It almost rebounded off, his muscles were that hard, and I was glad I didn't p
ut that much force into my attack. It was kind of hot, actually- I quickly herded my mind away from that line of thought. Dwelling on Darien's attractiveness would not lead to good things. "It's like he has my schedule memorized or something."
"So? You know Lex's," he pointed out with inescapable logic. Could he not follow his logic a bit further to find out that the two cases had nothing in common?
"Well, yeah," I agreed reluctantly, blowing a lock of hair irritatedly out of my face. It fell right back into my face, and I huffed in frustration. Darien smiled slightly, not quite a smirk but not quite a grin. Seeing that I was far too lazy and exhausted to actually reach out and do something about the annoyance, he rolled his eyes and tucked it behind my ear with surprising gentleness. I ignored the ghost-like touch of his skin against mine that I still felt after his hand left and continued, "But that's me. I know everyone's schedule, not just Allan's." Part of the job, really. I had to know when they wouldn't be near their locker. "But he just knows mine."
"Weird," Darien confirmed lazily, hands locked firmly behind his head. I had a queer feeling that this didn't surprise him in them least. Suspicious…. "Does he follow you? That would just be creepy."
"He's way too flattering and attentive, he's constantly showing off, and he's almost insultingly helpful. Darien," I snapped, throwing my hands into the air, calling out the fates that hated me, "He's as good as stalking me!"
"Who's stalking you, chica?" God, speak of the devil and he will- no, calling Chris a devil is giving him way too much credit. But some sort of higher power that I didn't believe in had a really messed up sense of humor.
"No one," I muttered, tossing an irritated look over my shoulder at Darien. The idiot had made me rotate so that I had to turn my back on Darien. Still, he could recognize an 'I told you so' when it bit him on the nose.
"That's strange," Chris rumbled, almost purring. He took a step forwards, towards me. I refused to be intimidated and take a step back, so I stood my ground even if he towered over me. He didn't scare me. No mere human could scare me anymore. "Guys should be standing in line for the pleasure." I gaped at him. Had he even heard himself? Did he know how disturbing that sounded?
"While that's very flattering," I assured him, not taking my eyes off of him. We were acquiring an audience- it wasn't often Chris Mann got rejected- and I couldn't show weakness, not as they surrounded us in a semicircle with the wall as the other side. "I've got to be somewhere." I turned to walk away.
"No, stay a while and talk to me," he urged, reaching out a hand to grab my wrist. My hand flashed out, and his was knocked away before it could reach me. How dare he try to hold me?
"Don't touch me," I warned coldly, deadly soft. A murmur of interest from the crowd; they hadn't expected something as hard as that from me. He stared blankly at me, stunned. I didn't care. Touching and I did not mix, not while I could still feel Dan's crushing grip on my hand. "I don't like you. I don't want to go out with you. And I don't want to fuck you." Shocked silence, than I stalked away to the music of the audience's gasps and a slow, sardonic clap that I guess had come from Darien. Only a few feet away, though, a voice halted me.
"Emma, don't be that way," It was more of a command than a plea, and he seemed to have no intention of being refused, not in front of all these people. But neither did I, and my will was far stronger than his. "It's not like that!"
My anger, latent throughout the days of tutoring when he had acted decent, boiled over. The stress, the sheer hypocrisy of his request, and all my old rage combined into a single surge of pure fury as I spun around and took a step forward, eyes blazing incandescently.
"Oh really?" I challenged, tossing back my hair and pacing forward, a panther fatally intent on its prey. Fatal for the prey, that is. "Was it not like that with Gina Arthur either? Is that why you dumped her after you pressured her into having sex? Or Katie Lamont? Or Julia Kenton? Or any of the dozens of other girls you've fucked and ditched?" I took another step, my tirade rising over the surrounding mutter of interest. Mann backed up a step. "Or maybe it's only 'not like that' when you're high. Oh, no, wait, that wouldn't work," I was all cold mockery now, and none of the panicked ire rising in his face could stop me. This had simmered for far too long. "Because three's never a moment when you aren't high!" Another step forward, another step back. "Maybe I should just spill all your dirty little secrets so these good people will see what you really are. Like how you tried to use the Matchmaker but she refused to help you.
Or how you only passed 9th grade because you seduced a poor little girl into doing your work for you and than dropped her after you got your grade. Or," I took a final step forward, the wall at his back blocking his retreat, and uttered my killing strike. "how you got your girlfriend pregnant last year, and than disappeared faster than it took for you to do the deed. You don't know what happened to her, do you? Not after she transferred, too ashamed to look at anyone here, because you wouldn't admit that you were the father." The crowd was deathly silent now. None of them had known about that. I had only known because I had held her hair once when I happened upon her puking into the school toilets, subsumed by morning sickness. She had cried herself out on my shoulder, and the next day she had been gone. I looked up and met his shallow, reflective jet eyes that were only what everyone else thought of him, and he couldn't meet my gaze for long. "You know, Chris, you should just drop the nice guy act, because you're nothing more than a pitiful sleaze whose only skill is pretending to be worth more than the crap you are. You-"
Chris cut me off, but I had more. So much more.
"Bitch!" he screamed, his pleasant mask broken by his anger, any awareness he had of the audience gone, "You little-" I didn't bother to listen anymore, turning my back contemptuously and walking away. The crowd parted to let me through, almost as if scared of me. Good. They better be.
Once more though, I was stopped, this time by the sound of flesh hitting flesh with a resounding crack. I pivoted, settling unconsciously into a combative pose.
Darien had Mann's wrist, raised to hit me in the back, firmly in his grasp, and it didn't look like he was being gentle either.
"I believe she told you not to touch her," he hissed, white-blue eyes angrier than I had ever seen them. A few inches shorter and without Chris's obvious musculature, he still managed to dominate the tableau completely, his roaring anger drowning Chris's petty rage.
Mann yanked his hand away, his usual casual control returning as he ran his hand through mussed black curls and his face settled into an unbecoming smirk. Of course, every expression was unbecoming on him.
"You can have the money, McGavern," he spat, digging his wallet out of his pocket and shoving some bills into Darien's resisting hand, his eyes glinting maliciously, "The bitch isn't worth it."
He sauntered away, the crowd dispersing around him, all probably running to spread the story. In a matter of seconds, Darien and I were alone in the deserted courtyard, the only sound my still heavy breathing.
"Shit, Emma that was amazing!" Darien exclaimed, quickly hiding the money Mann had given him in his pocket. Too quickly. Why was he guilty about it? My mind was working on hyper drive, having released too much adrenaline. I couldn't focus. Except… that money? What was it for? "How'd you know all that?"
My eyes rose slowly to meet his.
"Darien," I asked, confusion and the emotional exhaustion that came after a fire slowing my words down but taking none of their force away, "Why did Mann just give you money?"
* * *
Darien
* * *
"I'm not sure," I prevaricated instantly. It would have to be now, wouldn't it, when she was already stressed and far more likely to blow up if she found about my stupid bet. Even if she had proved me right and won it for me. Maybe if I split the money with her… "But you certainly told him!" She had too. I had always known she could be terrifying, anyone who had known her for any amount of time knew that, but hell, I think Mann was about to piss his pants. I didn't ev
en want to know where she had gotten all that dirt.
"No, no, you know," she informed me, burning eyes fixed on me. Yes, definitely scarier than anything I had ever seen. Not that I was scared of her. "So want to share with the class?"
"No," I replied sharply, stung by the irony. "Maybe it's my turn to have a secret. If anyone other than you is allowed to, of course." So maybe getting her angrier was a bad idea. But she deserved that.
"My secrets have nothing to do with you." Was there a hint of hesitation there? She continued so smoothly I decided I must have imagined it. "But this involves me, somehow, so I have a right to know" Hallelujah. She had noticed. "And anyway," she added, shifting all her weight to one side and putting a hand on that hip, "You always manage to nag the answer out of me. So now it's my turn."
"I don't nag!" I protested. Distraction generally worked with Emma. Just in case though, I kept my eyes just shy of hers, hopefully too close for her to notice. Even if those too piercing emerald eyes saw everything.
"You keep asking and asking and asking and asking until it's either tell you or kill you," she retorted, fond exasperation coloring her voice. So she wasn't mad anymore. Good. I hated it when she was actually furious at me, though I didn't know why. It didn't bother me with anyone else. "That's generally called nagging."
"No it's not," I insisted loftily, dismissively, "And I don't ask that much. I'm just persistent."
She snorted and rolled her eyes, relaxing back into her usual casually wary stance, ready to spring into action at the least provocation. She never could stand still; I had noticed- even now she shifted minutely back and forth on the balls of her feet. "Right. Persistent, that's what you call it. Ragging on me for weeks?"
"I don't rag," I stated matter-of-factly. I was a McGavern, after all. Ragging sounded so… plebian. And that was one fault I did not have.
