by Kitty Parker
"Yes you do," she contradicted, "You haven't stopped interrogating me about that notepaper and that was months-" something about that must have triggered her memory, because she cut herself off and her eyes narrowed dangerously at me. Damn. "Distracting me won't work, not this time. What's with that money?"
"Nothing." She gave me her patented Emma Laycha I-don't-believe-you look. I parried it with my best (and it was very, very good) I-really-don't-give-a-damn-what-you-think expression, complete with insolently half closed eyes.
She sighed impatiently. "Darien," she said, and I should have known there was trouble afoot, because a belligerent gleam was back and her eyes had become as penetrating as the rays of the desert sun. But she somehow managed to contort her voice into a soothing gentleness so her next words caught me off guard. "It's either you tell me now or I force Mann to tell me later, when I'm even more irritated."
What she didn't know, was that Mann would also paint me in the worst possible light, and it could look very bad indeed if handled incorrectly. He had already tried to do that, after all, giving me the money in front of Emma. He was trying to get me slaughtered; it was obvious.
"He won't tell you," I informed her with a confidence I didn't feel. It couldn't hurt him anymore, and messing with my friends was his kind of petty revenge. Though, maybe he wouldn't spill, just to spite Emma. He had to hate her after that little display, maybe even more than me. I had never called him out, after all.
"We both know I could get it out of him," she smirked. Returning the grin half-heartedly, our eyes caught. More out of bravado than anything else, I held the gaze that seemed like it could see right through me. Those eyes were so very deep and so very green, like the pine forests on mountains, touched and brightened by the sun… Emma broke me out of my contemplation by continuing, "So, are you going to tell me?"
"No." Who was she, to be making demands of me? A friend, an annoying little voice in the back of my mind whispered, and a good one. I hate that voice.
"Yes." She gave me a quick upwards glance through her interminably long lashes, looking very innocent and very young. Yeah right. "Please?" Damn. How come I couldn't say no to that look? Every other girl in the whole fucking school had tried some version of it on me, and I had been totally immune. Until now. Now I was vulnerable to a certain pair of summer grass green eyes and a falsely sweet smile, and I didn't like it at all.
I groaned, knowing Emma would ferret it out eventually. It was probably best to get it over with before she got angry enough to kill. Maybe now she wouldn't be too mad. It wasn't anything big, anyway.
"You really don't want to know," I assured her, but I could feel my resolve softening. I hardened it resolutely, but it was torn down as fast as I could shore it up. Stupid Emma, with her manipulation, and big eyes. Well, actually, not stupid at all, but I digress.
Her expression didn't falter, though I could almost sense her roll of eyes at my change of argument.
"Come on, Darien, please?" If I hadn't known Emma as well as I did, I would have said she was pleading. If I hadn't known her as well as I did, I would also have said she was being sincere. "I would hate to find out what's going on with one of my best friends from someone I hate." One of her best friends? That was the first time I had heard that, it made me feel kind of- oh. Low blow. Very low blow. I began to get angry. How dare she manipulate me? Why couldn't she just trust me? This girl had major trust issues, and I was getting tired of them.
"Fine. You really want to know?" I thundered suddenly. Emma's face didn't shift at all, but I saw her eyes light up with anticipation. I spoke loudly and confidently. It may have been a stupid thing to do, but I wasn't ashamed of it. And she shouldn't be able to get angry about it. "Mann bet me a hundred dollars he could have sex with you." Maybe I could have phrased that better, though.
That light in her eyes died. Her face, always pale, got an angry flush on her incongruously high, aristocratic cheekbones, but the rest of her skin obtained a deathly white pallor.
"And you took it," she confirmed, voice lethally quiet. Her face, as usual, betrayed nothing, but her eyes were dull and lifeless, none of the anger I had been expecting anywhere.
"Well, yeah." Taken aback by her reaction, my speech could possibly have been more polished. Right now though, I didn't think she cared. "I mean, it was a free hundred bucks."
"Was it?" she queried in the same voice that was simultaneously horribly dead and yet horrifyingly fatal.
"Yeah, well, it's not like it was going to happen," I replied quickly. God, was I actually stammering? I needed to get a grip on myself, now. No one was worth such a loss of dignity. No one should have been able to make me that nervous, either. "So I decided to take advantage of a fool," I continued more calmly, "And I gained some money doing it. What's the harm in that?"
"I think you'll find it wasn't free at all," she said. She had none of her serene equilibrium, despite her overwhelming apathy. That was vibrant and alive and, in its own way, stunning. This was none of those. "It cost you my friendship."
She spun with the unexpected speed that always intrigued me and was halfway up the stairs that led out of the courtyard before I had processed what she had said and strode after her. That was a huge overreaction!
"What?! Emma, it was just a stupid bet I-" I tried to say I knew it was stupid, I really did. But the undignified words just wouldn't come; no matter how hard I tried. I was a McGavern before I was a friend, apparently. "What's the big deal, anyway? It's just a bet."
She whirled around, the anger that I had anticipated finally manifesting. Standing on the steps, she was nearly as tall as me, and her night-black hair almost crackled with the fury she was emanating. Green eyes flared, full lips became thinner than thin, and long, elegant hands clenched- but at least she wasn't acting dead anymore.
"This isn't about the damn bet!" she yelled. Her voice wasn't loud enough to carry, nor was it meant to be, but the rage made it most certainly a yell. I had never heard Emma this worked up.
"It isn't?" I asked, confused. I was pretty sure that was what had started this… Even she looked bemused by her statement for a millisecond, anger dying in her face, but she quickly reasserted her furious collection.
"It is, but that's only part of a bigger problem!" she exclaimed, waving wildly as she grasped for words to articulate her issue. It should have looked ridiculous. It didn't. "You treat people like they're dirt!"
"No-" she cut off my protest, already in full onslaught. There would be no stopping her now, just weathering out the storm.
"No, not dirt, like they're pawns or something and they only exist to dance to your tune. Did it ever occur to you I would want some say in it before you started betting on me like I was some sort of racehorse?" Why did she think I hadn't told her in the first place? "Or am I- is everyone- just another of your playthings meant only for your amusement?"
"Did it ever occur to you," I retorted, trying to summon up my own anger as the only thing that would shield me from her attack. It came, slow and limping and weak. "that maybe I only took the bet because I respected you enough to know you wouldn't succumb to Mann?"
"If that were true, you would have told me!" she shouted. Her gaze could have caused a building to explode. Her fists were slowly relaxing and tightening again, as if she was forcing herself to keep from punching me. "You would have treated me like an equal, and we would have laughed about it. But you had to keep me in the dark while you as good as whored me out like I was your sex toy or something!"
"You're only mad because I managed to keep a secret from you," I shot back defensively, trying to keep my shields up even as she battered them down with her horribly cutting words that found every crack in my armor. I couldn't even meet her eyes anymore, though my head stayed proudly erect. But honestly, she was taking things a bit far. I mean, Emma, a sex toy? A laughable concept.
She surveyed me with eyes as indifferent as the day we met, but without the vague, sardonic amusement that had lurked in them the
n. "You know, I have half a mind to go fuck Mann just to teach you a lesson."
My head shot up; my eyes caught hers. They weren't angry anymore. They were almost… sad. Regretful, one might say.
"You wouldn't," I stated blankly. She couldn't. Not because I would lose the bet- but that wasn't Emma. Emma wouldn't do that. She couldn't. It would be spiteful and wrong and gross and… vengeful, in a way Emma wasn't. She wouldn't sell herself like that. She couldn't.
"No, I won't," she agreed solemnly, just a hint of sadistic laughter at my panic in the depths of her face. "Because, as mush as I despise you right now, that's more disgusting." She leaned in close to me, so close that our noses were nearly touching. I was suddenly and inappropriately reminded of the New Year's kiss. Only 5 months ago, but it felt so far away, and yet the specter of the girl she had been skulked very near right now. "And I wouldn't sink to that level," she whispered. I could feel her breath; was almost breathing it in. "Not for you."
And I was left alone on the stairs, a hundred dollars in my pocket and feeling poorer than I ever had before.
Chapter 28
* * *
Emma
* * *
The music stopped.
I stood still for a moment, allowing the adrenaline and delight of a perfectly completed routine surge through me, feeling the blood pounding in my head and flowing through the veins of my flushed cheeks. If I did it that well for the talent show tonight, I would be content. No, I would be more than content, I would be ecstatic. After this, everyone would see what I could do; no one- and I mean no one, not just a certain moron with no redeeming qualities except for an occasional spurt of wit- could say I didn't have talent anymore.
A shrill snicker cut through the quiet murmur of the crowded backstage of the dress rehearsal, breaking me out of my reverie. I stood up straight, wiping the sweaty wisps of my hair that had escaped my ponytail out of my eyes, and looked for the source of the noise.
2 freshmen girls, their bleached blonde and badly dyed scarlet hair bouncing in burnt curls, huddled in the wings, giggling contemptuously at me. I ignored them, not deigning to show that their derision got to me- not that it did, and jogged past them, taking a long swig on my water bottle as I did. They shut up just long enough for me to pass, but I could hear their whispers following me all the way to the seat where I had dropped my bag.
Candy met me there, her wide grin counteracting the sneers of the other girls- somewhat. I didn't care what they thought of me, but I hated how they judged me so prematurely. They had no reason to hate me. They just did, without reason. Like all teenagers did.
"That was amazing!" she gushed excitedly. Her act being in the first half, she hadn't seen my act (the first one after intermission) before, so this had novelty value, which made her more impressed. Well, that and the fact that I ruled. "You totally rocked!"
"They obviously don't think so," I contradicted, jerking my head at the girls who were still glaring evilly at me. Candy gave them a cool look and shrugged dismissively; with all the easy arrogance of someone who knows they're at the top of the food chain.
"Don't pay attention to them," she advised, tossing an arm around my shoulder. I refrained from wincing, both at the touch and at the words, which so echoed advice told to me before from a deeper voice that was nonetheless as beautiful as Candy's trained singer's voice. But I wouldn't think about that. Candy didn't know what he had said, nor did she know of my antipathy to touching. She was declaring her support of me, and to girls like those, that support wasn't worth nothing. "They're just, like, jealous." She cocked her head. "And mad," she added after a second's consideration.
"Why?" I inquired casually, pulling the tie out of my hair and letting it flow down to the small of my back. "I've never seen them before."
"Because Darien likes you," was there a bit too much stress on the like? Couldn't be; not even Candy was that foolish "and because you, like, totally bitched him out Monday." Then, moving on as if that were nothing, she grabbed a lock of my hair and held it up admiringly, "Have I ever told you how much I, like, love your hair?"
"You heard?" I asked tentatively, twitching my hair away from her grasp. She hadn't seemed mad for the past few days, not like the rest of Darien's so called friends (except for Allan), but she had been Darien's friend first…
"Honey, everyone's heard," she replied offhandedly, "People don't usually get mad at Darien. Not, like, to his face." And then, without missing a beat, "you really should put it up sometime. When was the last time you, like, did something other than, like, a ponytail with it?"
"A while," I told her, still wary, waiting for the axe to fall, "But he deserved it."
She took one look at my face and giggled incredulously, the sound not nearly as irritating as the cackles of some of her cheerleader friends. Maybe it was the lack of malice behind the laugh, or maybe it was just her personality. "You don't think I'm, like, mad, do you?" she asked, her voice rising in perfect trills over the sounds of the rehearsal.
Not exactly the reaction I had been expecting. Which was good, in that she wasn't yelling at me, but bad, in that now I had no idea what to anticipate. And nothing irritated me more than being in the dark. "Well, yeah," I answered, concealing my double-take, "He is your friend."
She giggled again. "Emma, I love Darien." I shot her a skeptical glance. By my observations, she didn't hang out with the football guys nearly constantly because Darien did as well, and I had honed my instincts in that area extremely well. "Like a brother," she continued. Ha, I knew it. "But he's had that talking to, coming for, like, forever, and he might actually, like, listen to you."
"He better," I muttered under my breath, "He was such a bastard!" My fury at him had in no way abated, not at all. I had pointedly ignored him all week, erased the messages he left on my phone unheard, and had refused to listen to anything Allan had to say on the subject. As a result, I had reverted back to my only solitary habits. And it felt kind of nice, the solitude and quiet. Very quiet, though. Enough to break my eardrums.
"He was," Candy agreed too patiently, as if humoring me. Bad mood. Condescension would only make me angrier. "But he's, like, really sorry now." So now came the 'you should forgive him speech'. I had already gotten it from Allan, Jack, Mom, and even Brock, who had hunted me down Wednesday after school, cornered me, and forced me to hear what he had to say. Didn't mean I had to bother to pay attention, though. Somehow, I didn't think Candy had a chance in hell.
I snorted and quickly changed the subject. Honestly, why was everyone so concerned with this? It was just a stupid fight, just Darien being an idiot again. It's not like that's unusual. And anyway, it was bringing down my mood. "Wow, it really has been a while since I dressed up. I don't think I've even put make up on in, like, forever."
"Woah," Candy was completely distracted. To a girl like her, that was nothing short of a change in the earth's orbit. Once, that would have been true to me too; in eighth grade I couldn't even go outside without my lip-gloss. Dan had always loved it when I was made up; he said the mascara made my eyes look even greener. No, dammit. I couldn't think of Dan, not now, not today. That would be even worse than thinking about Darien; I couldn't do it if I thought about Dan, I couldn't-
Candy conveniently cut through the downward spiral of my brooding. "We have to like, change that. You are totally coming to my next sleepover, and we are giving you a total makeover."
"Whatever you say Candy," I smirked. Spend an entire night in a hell of makeup and curlers that I knew from experience wouldn't work in my hair but that the girls would try nonetheless. Like that was going to happen. At least it had distracted Candy, though….
"He's going to be here tonight." Or maybe not. I knew who 'he' was; somehow, I always did when it was Darien.
"Good for him," I drawled, turning away to tuck my water bottle into my bag. Like it mattered what he did. I didn't care about that arrogant, controlling, overbearing, mercenary, womanizing, frozen jackass. How he dared to show his
face, I didn't know.
But- in my heart of hearts, I was happy he was coming. Not that I would admit that to anyone, even myself. I was still mad, after all. Furious. Irate, even. But maybe those clear aquamarine eyes would cancel out the violet ones that wouldn't be there, where they were supposed to be.
"He even, like, insisted on coming," Candy persisted, stopping my internal conflict that I wouldn't acknowledge, "I mean, Lex was going to drag him anyway, but Darien, like, dared Lex to stop him. It was actually kinda hot," she added thoughtfully.
I pivoted quickly, my neck twisting fast enough to give me whiplash. Had she just said- no wonder she confused poor Allan so much; talk about mixed signals…
"What?" she grinned innocently at my expression, just a hint of the smugness of a cat in cream on her face, like she had proved something she had long been speculating on. "It's cute how much he wants to see you."
"Very different connotations between hot and cute," I mumbled under my breath, turning back around to dig my book out of the black hole that was my bag. No reason to be bored while I stuck around. "And I doubt he wants to see me," I added into my bag.
"Did you, like, listen to any of his messages?" she queried, changing tacks with a speed and adeptness I wouldn't have credited her with. Not that I saw what she was getting at here, but what she had been doing obviously wasn't working; maybe she noticed that.
"No," I retorted. Maybe, just maybe, I would have at least listened to them if he hadn't called me during the first flare of my anger. If he left them now- but he wouldn't, so that didn't matter. "He didn't mean any of it, so what's the point?"
She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "How do you know that?" she inquired, bright blue eyes disingenuous despite my exasperated look.
"Because I do," I met her challenge. She gave me a glance uncannily like one of my mother's. "Well, it would have to be an apology. And everyone knows that Darien never means an apology, even if he deigns to say the words," I justified, trying to sound rational as I cringed inside. Had I actually just invoked the 'everybody knows' law? But that didn't matter, I just knew.
