The Matchmaker

by Kitty Parker

  I crossed the distance between us in one long stride and wrapped her in my arms. Any hatred I felt for this guy aside, Emma needed someone, and if he couldn't be here, I would have to do. And I would be good enough.

  "Emma," I murmured quietly, releasing her with one arm so I could tilt her chin up, forcing her to face me, "I don't- it wasn't his fault he died. It wasn't yours, either," I added, hoping against hope I was saying the right things to send that awful look out of her eyes. "He wouldn't have left you if he could have helped it, not if he wasn't an idiot." Or he better not have. "I didn't know him, but I do know this: if he had been here right now, he would have been so proud and happy for you. Just like all your friends are." Like I was. "He would want you to enjoy yourself I bet, not to close yourself off. I know I would, if I were him."

  She closed her eyes briefly, and took a deep breath, the pain clearing somewhat from her face. Then she opened them again, and the agony was still in them despite the weak smile she gave me.

  "Thanks, Darien," she said softly, taking a step back, out of my embrace, "Thanks for understanding. And listening."

  "That's what friends are for, right?" I replied easily, trying to break the tension that wasn't awkward but simply too intense for words, and to find out what these thoughts whirling around in my head meant.

  "Right," she agreed simply, all her control back in place. Had she ever acted like that with Dan? Or was it only because of Dan that she acted that way? "I should go find my parents." She stepped out onto the sidewalk, and then glanced back at me. "And Darien?" I looked up eagerly, not sure what I was hoping for. "Thanks again." She was gone in a blur of black and blue

  I didn't move for a long, long moment. I had finally discovered what those thoughts were, and I didn't like it at all- it was impossible. Hating to see Emma in pain I could deal with. Anyone with any feeling at all would agree with me there. Hating Dan with a fierce and unreasonable loathing- worse, but again, it could just be because of our friendship. I wasn't jealous of him, after all, or at least, not much. But I was Darien McGavern, the untouchable Ice Prince of the school. No one wormed their way into my heart, no one. Except, I realized with a blast of shock and disbelief, someone had. But that couldn't be! Me, liking Emma? Crushing on her? Inconceivable!

  Except it wasn't. The heart of ice had melted under the heat of bright green eyes and a smile that could make a man kill himself, and there was nothing I could do about it. I liked Emma Laycha. I really liked her…the one girl who wouldn't succumb to my charms, and the one girl who I wouldn't want to.

  Damn it, I was so screwed!

  Chapter 29

  * * *

  Emma

  * * *

  Parting is such sweet sorrow that we may meet upon the morrow. But I wouldn't be so sad if you had granted my request…

  I chuckled as I closed my locker for the last time that year (assuming I hadn't forgotten anything), fitting the basket carefully into my backpack. Oh Darien. A very good parting note for the summer, I would freely admit, especially the Shakespeare quote. Apparently he had divined something of what the Matchmaker liked- not that any girl wouldn't like poetry being quoted at them. There was nothing cuter than a guy speaking poems at you, in my opinion, except maybe him singing to you. But that was just me; did the Matchmaker like the same thing? Why was I even bothering to consider this? There was no way the Matchmaker could safely meet him, and even less possibility of him succeeding in his goal. Darien would hate me the instant he found out, anyway, and that would probably trump whatever plan he had. And I did need something to amuse me over the summer.

  But I would miss this correspondence during the months away from school, surprisingly enough. Sure, I would in all likelihood hang with Darien quite a lot- my unprecedented history hadn't scared him away, to my never-ending surprise, but had instead almost drawn us closer. It was like once the pink elephant had left the room, we could suddenly see each other far clearer – but it wasn't the same. I enjoyed the exercise in cunning that keeping him in the dark entailed; sparring with him over the anonymity of the written word. It was the rush of the vigilante, the game of the masked thief who stole from you in the night and the consoled you in the day, laughing up their sleeve. I was hooked on that adrenaline, addicted to the subterfuge, and our usual bickering just didn't cut it.

  "Hey, Emma!" Allan's voice boomed through the hall, freshman scattering as he charged towards me. I stuck the note quickly as deep into my bag as I could and stood, grinning as Allan screeched to a halt in front of me. "We're seniors!"

  "Only if you pass. Not yet," I chided him with a wry smile that couldn't completely conceal my excitement despite my best efforts. "The bell hasn't rung yet. Wait," I glanced at my watch, eyes twinkling merrily, "about 3 minutes."

  "Nope," he argued, massive body quivering with anticipation like a puppy contained for a moment but poised to explode into motion the instant he was released, "Do you know how long I've been waiting for this? Or how excited I am?"

  "Somehow," I replied, my eyes fixed somewhere past his shoulder, not seeing the bright halls of the school but instead a girl who tried – desperately enough to almost destroy her – to grow up too fast, "I think I do."

  Allan kept talking as if I hadn't spoken; which, though irritating, I had to be thankful for. If he had heard, I would have had to explain, and that would just be awful. "And I might be captain, and we'll totally rule the school! It would so majorly–"

  "– rock, I know," I interrupted, tired of his raptures. Honestly, senior year wasn't that big a deal. I mean, sure, we would be at the top of the food chain, and we would be getting into colleges (I hope), and we would have senior privileges, and we would get far more independence, and – okay, it was pretty cool.

  "And it's summer now! No school!" Allan had ignored me, and was continuing happily, lost in his euphoria. I rolled my eyes in exasperation. He could at least have the common courtesy to listen to me once in a while.

  "The bell still hasn't rung yet," I cautioned him, prompted more by the imp of the perverse than anything else. I didn't even believe myself, "You could still get in troub-" A loud, shrill sound split the air, interrupting me and forcing me to clap my hands over my ears in pain. I could feel my whole body vibrating from the far too loud sound, probably moving me a few inches one way or the other.

  "I will not miss that bell," I muttered angrily under the rising cheers that echoed through the halls, nearly as loud as the bell. Above and around it, I could hear Allan's booming voice, dominating the freshmen and sophomore cries.

  Large hands closed around my waist. Oh no, he wouldn't – apparently, he would. Before I could wiggle away, Allan was swinging me in a circle, lifting me off my feet with accidental, overjoyed strength.

  "Allan!" I shrieked, half in irritation and half in laughter as he continued to spin me around, cackling manically, "Put me down!"

  "Honestly," a calm voice drawled somewhere in the vicinity of my locker, though I couldn't see who it was through the whirl of color that was the world while Allan still twirled me. But the voice was distinctive enough, as were the words. "Candy might get jealous if you keep treating Emma like this."

  Allan dropped me so fast that I should have fallen. Luckily, I managed to react fast enough so that I didn't land ignobly on my face. "Why would I care if Candy's jealous?" he inquired with a disingenuous expression that fooled no one, or at least neither Darien nor me. He needed practice. A lot of practice. And then, as if he couldn't resist the temptation, "And why would Candy be jealous?"

  I smirked up at him, only a bit condescending, as I retreated back to the wall. He wouldn't be ambushing me again anytime soon. "Because the sexual tension between you two could be cut with a knife," I explained patiently, and making my patience quite obvious to the outside world, "And that goes for both your questions." Behind me, Darien muffled an amused snort.

  "No it's not," Allan protested, though he couldn't hide the satisfied grin that spread over his face. See, this
was why the Matchmaker wasn't necessary for those two. They knew very well they were perfect for each other, and they knew the other one knew it too. They – or at least Candy – just enjoyed the dance.

  "Yes. Yes it is," Darien stated unequivocally. I still hadn't looked at him, all my attention fixed on Allan, but I could sense him lounging against the locker behind me. Or maybe that was just the feeling you get when people are looking at you. Though why Darien would be looking at me, I didn't know, because he was talking to Allan.

  Allan tossed his head in a way that would have made his hair flick like an irritated horse, had it been longer. "Nope," he insisted, 'It's not." Darien and I both rolled our eyes; at least, I did, and I assumed Darien did too.

  "So it was another couple that ditched their dates to dance every song together," Darien affirmed sardonically. A flush slid across Allan's face, but it didn't stop him from replying.

  "Yep!" he agreed cheerfully, his eyes falling to where my flip-flops met the floor. And then, under the combined pressure of my skeptical gaze and Darien's patronizing stare, he added, stammering, "I, uh, have to go, uh, do something. Bye!" he scurried away, looking as much like a spooked mouse as was possible for a football star. Which was a surprising amount.

  "Five bucks says he's going to find Candy," I proposed as soon as he had left, not bothering to watch the crowd part for Allan but turning on my heel to face Darien, mischief in my eyes.

  He smiled down at me, the defensive contempt fading from his eyes and lips. "No bet," he replied, shaking his head with a chuckle, "I've learned my lesson." I wrinkled my nose at him in lofty mock-annoyance. Those five dollars would have been nice, but I couldn't get mad at him without being a complete hypocrite. I should be glad he learned his lesson – and I was. I really was.

  "So," I continued, shouldering my backpack with an inelegant grunt (there was way too much junk in there) and waiting restlessly for him to follow, "Other than that undoubtedly sickening sight, how was prom?" Our school, determined to be different, had put prom the Saturday before the last day of classes (today is a Monday), though exams would go on all the next week. But I hadn't gone to prom, despite Candy and Allan's urging (Darien had forbore to try to convince me for which I was very grateful, even if I hadn't told him so). Yes, it would have been fun, and it would have been nice to see the result of the Matchmaker's work, but I couldn't risk it, not with the three-year mark fast approaching.

  Darien, however, had gone. "Not bad," he shrugged dismissively, "But last year was better. Fewer chaperones." I stopped myself from thinking about what that meant for him with a speed I couldn't figure out why I needed.

  "Last year?" I inquired, beginning to walk towards the door. Freedom, at long last! No school! "How many times have you been?"

  He fell into step with me, a cocky grin spreading over his face. "Three times and counting," he informed me, wiggling that many fingers in front of my face as we walked, "Read it and weep."

  I sighed dramatically and, with a falsely crestfallen tone in my voice, "Oh no, I have not gone to a prom every year of my high school career. Whatever shall I do?" I queried with my very best sarcasm, covering my mouth with my hands.

  "I don't know," he retorted haughtily, not lowering himself to acknowledging my sarcasm.Well, fine. Just because I didn't feel like seducing an upperclassman into asking me to the prom…"What will you do?"

  "Live quite well, apparently," I replied with amicable snappishness, hefting my backpack higher to hurry my lagging feet. It was way too hot out to get mad, and it was the last day of school; I could let it go for once. "But it was fun? Was the band any good? Any drama? Hook-ups? Break ups? Anyone humiliate themselves?" And then, with a wink that was oddly hard, I added, "Land any hot girls?"

  He rolled his eyes at my deluge of questions, not commenting on my nosiness. But hey, if curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back, and I hated not being in the know more than anything. "I guess, of course not, I didn't bother to pay attention, too many people to name, and- oh give me that!" I had stopped again to adjust the straps of my bag. His patience finally snapping at my slowness, he tugged my backpack from my unresisting hands and slung it onto his own back.

  I stretched thankfully, feeling ten pounds lighter without that weight. "Thanks," I told him gratefully. Three months without that burden: now that, I was thankful for.

  "No problem." He started walking again, and scowled as he felt the full pressure settle onto him. "Hell Emma, what do you have in here? Dumbbells?"

  "Well," I counted on my fingers, "My bio book, my history book, my Latin book, my math book, and half a dozen English books. And all my notebooks, of course. And miscellaneous other stuff." I thought a moment, reckoning up all the contents of my locker. For obvious reasons, I couldn't mention the Matchmaker stuff. "Yep, that's all," I finally concluded.

  Darien gazed incredulously at me. "You do realize that most of those classes were APs, and you already took the exams, right?" he asked slowly, like I was exceedingly dense.

  "Yep," I agreed easily, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet now that I could. Being the charitable person that I was, though, I didn't run ahead of Darien. He was carrying my stuff for me after all.

  "Then why, may I ask, haven't you sold them back yet?" he demanded belligerently.

  I gave a dismissive shrug. I didn't care anymore; I wasn't carrying them. "I suppose I'm just a packrat," I explained without much thought, "I might need them again someday." I caught sight of Darien's dumbfounded, blatantly skeptical look. "Hey, you never know!"

  "Yes. Yes I do," he maintained matter-of-factly, shaking his head disparagingly at me. "You're never going to use these weights again in your life."

  "Maybe, maybe not," I allowed with the enigmatic half smile that tended to rile him up so much. He glared at me. The mystery of it only deepened, followed by his glare.

  "Oh, do what you want!" he finally declared with an exasperated huff when he couldn't break past my smile. But he didn't give me the backpack back, so I was perfectly content. Oh, how I loved taking advantage of the gallantry of others.

  I paused in front of the school not quite sure where I was going. I had been walking just to be moving, but maybe driving Allan away hadn't been such a good idea. I seemed to have misplaced my ride home.

  Darien stopped beside me. "What's up?" he asked, switching shoulders with a stifled groan. Poor boy. But not poor enough for me to reclaim my stuff.

  "Not sure how I'm getting home," I answered with a self-deprecating grin, "I shouldn't have teased Allan quite so much."

  Darien hesitated, a barely noticeable second, then suggested, as diffidently as his ride would allow (not very), "You could come with me to pick up Troy, if you want."

  I glanced around, didn't see Allan anywhere, and shrugged. I didn't have anything better to do; my first exam was math and I've always maintained that it is impossible to study for a math test. Not that I would anyway.

  "Why not?" I agreed, allowing Darien to lead to the way to his car – a convertible for the summer – with its top down and sleek black body gleaming in the noontime sun. Luckily, he had refrained from painting flames on its side.

  "Troy'll be ecstatic," he added offhandedly, tossing the bag into the backseat, where it landed with a thump that shook the car and may have set off minor shockwaves through the state. He sighed in relief, his shoulders rolling and stretching the thin material of his t-shirt tightly against his lean muscles.

  "And we can't neglect Troy's pleasure, can we? Even if it means torturing yourself with my presence," I teased, forcing myself to avert my eyes by vaulting the low door to the passenger side, settling myself in quite comfortably and ignoring Darien's roll of eyes at my theatrics.

  "It's a horror I put up with for him," he agreed, getting into his own seat through the door (honestly, some people are so unoriginal) and starting the car. It revved loud enough to bring a grin of purely masculine pleasure to Darien's face and we sped away with a squeal of the tires
.

  I would only realize much later that Darien never answered my last question about prom

  * * *

  Darien

  * * *

  Much to my surprise, it wasn't all that weird being with Emma. I had thought it would be awkward after her story and my realization, or at least I would have been awkward around her. This was a completely new situation for me, after all; how was I supposed to treat a girl who was a friend but whom I wanted to be more? Or, just as weird, an Emma without secrets? But it wasn't all that different, really. There were still things Emma didn't want to talk about, times when she hesitated like she was hiding something and my curiosity was peaked. We still laughed and bantered and quarreled just as much, and my repartees hadn't gotten any weaker towards her, thank God.

  Except now I had a heightened awareness of her; of what she was doing or saying or looked like – or had that always been there? And there were the moments, striking out of the blue like a lightning flash, when she would do or say something and I wouldn't be able to respond at once, too awed by, well, her.

  But usually, it was the same as it had been before Mann messed everything up, only with a greater bond, like now as we sat in easy silence as we drove. Knowing what I now knew about what had happened to her, I was astonished that she even had the courage to get in a car, but then again, cowardice had never been one of her weaknesses. She had had the bravery to talk to me like no one else did after all.

  "So," I broke the silence, trying to sound casual even if the question wasn't by default. Hey, it wasn't my fault that it was a good lead in! "are you doing anything next weekend? The one after exams?"

  She turned to look at me, the wind whipping her hair around her face like a cloud. I fixed my eyes firmly on the road ahead of us, but I could tell she perfectly understood the implications of that question. Of course she would, sometimes I swear she could read minds.