by Kitty Parker
I leaned against the Matchmaker's locker, schooling my face into impassiveness. "He has decided that I am not worthy of his time; I was reminded of how much of an ass he really is. Thus our current coldness." My voice was quiet, calm, controlled, and I was only telling the truth- so why didn't I feel sincere?
Ellie took a deep breath, gathering her courage as the boot moved faster. I didn't blame her for the timidity; never the most welcoming person, I wasn't exactly being friendly. "Would this have to do with you being the Matchmaker?"
Finally, I turned to face her. She was staring at me, eyes wide and almost scared but lit with a challenging, excited light. But at least I don't make the same mistake twice; I wasn't about to give myself away again. "Why would you suggest such a ludicrous thing as that?" I inquired in measured tones, idly examining my nails.
"Because I've been watching you!" She exclaimed animatedly. I raised an eyebrow at her, and she flushed, realizing how awkward that sounded. "Not stalking or anything," she hastily amended, the blush quickly receding from her cheeks, "I just suspected you, and I really really really wanted to find out because I just can't let a mystery lie and I've been curious about the Matchmaker since Marie told me about you because I think what you do is really cool and… worthy, I guess. So I've been kind of staking out the Matchmaker's locker, and I've just been pondering it, and I came to the obvious conclusions, and-"
"Ellie," I cut her off, allowing my lips to twist into a slight smile. God, did I ever feel old. And I was only three years older than her. Boys, that's who I blamed it on- two in particular. "You're babbling."
Her cheeks turned red again, but the flow of words stopped. I eyed her carefully. If she blabbed to the wrong person- but then again, I had yet to confirm anything. I could walk away right now, and she couldn't do anything.
"So," I asked, as if I didn't care and was only an impartial observer, "Have you found any conclusive evidence?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, far less impulsive this time. "Well, no," she admitted, her face falling, "Nothing really damning." I hid a grin. I covered my tracks well- usually. No one had ever found me out before or would again. "But," she added triumphantly, "I know it's you. You can't fool me; I-" she stopped suddenly, as if caught doing something she shouldn't.
"You what?" I prompted; my curiosity peaked. No one had ever come so close or had been so insistent about the Matchmaker's identity before. Why was she so different? No one had ever even suspected little 'ole me before.
She looked away sheepishly, emotions playing over face so quickly that I couldn't quite get a read on them. "I got lost and overheard you and Darien fighting at Brock's birthday party," she confessed, Prada boots starting their rhythm again.
Stupid! How could I have been so fucking idiotic? I knew that that room could be heard by anyone who walked by! Why the hell hadn't I taken him somewhere else, where we couldn't be overheard? Was just lucky it was her who heard, and not some gossip that would have spread it all over school by the next day. But there went my plan for denying it totally; she wouldn't be but off with a platitude about jokes. The best I could do now was to contain her.
I sighed. "Okay," I muttered, glancing around to make sure that no one was there. Really certain, this time. "You're right." I fixed her with my firmest, most intimidating stare, the one created to quell drunk partiers and perfected by keeping Allan in line. "But you aren't going to tell anyone, right?"
"Of course not!" she sounded honestly horrified at the thought; I had no choice but to trust her anyway. No revenge can work retroactively. "You're good for the school! No, I thought-" her eyes darted away from mine, suddenly bashful, "I though I could help, or something."
"I don't need any-" I cut off my instinctive protest of a solitary creature as the offer sank in. through her sister, she had entrée into circles who shunned me, and she knew the younger kids better than I did. She could provide me with information and connections… "Actually, you might be helpful." She looked up, an excited grin spreading over her face; a kid let loose in a candy shop. "Come to my house… Saturday, and you can try to help me then. We'll see how it goes. In the meantime," I cautioned as her eyes glowed, "Keep your eyes open and your mouth closed. Now-" I talked over whatever she had opened her mouth to say. This was no sort of favor for her; it was pure, selfish laziness. An apprentice meant less work for me. "I have to go to English. I will see you Saturday."
I walked away before she could say anything else, a smile spreading involuntarily over me face. I had been worried about the inevitable death of the Matchmaker after I graduated, but who said she had to disappear when I did? I could train Ellie up all this year, and then maybe the title could be passed on without anyone being the wiser. We were allowed to pick our own lockers every year, and Ellie could have mine so that wouldn't be a problem; no one would notice if the handwriting of the Matchmaker changed…
Lost in my thoughts and plans, I didn't pay attention to my surroundings, and so when I walked into a strong back I didn't even notice the blockage until I had fallen and my books had gone every which way.
The back turned, and I took one look into cold, crystal blue eyes before I glanced away, grabbing my books with as much dignity as I could muster while scrabbling on the floor. Of course, he didn't have the common courtesy to assist me, despite the fact that the collision was his fault too.
Darien gave me a single, mocking scan (damn damn damn my clumsiness, why did I have to look like a moron in front of him?), snorted, and turned back to his groupies, a slight sneer on his face, too slight for anyone but someone who knew, or had known, him well to catch. My face not changing expression at all, I rose and swept away without a backward glance, all my previous contentment driven out of my mind by a pair of icy eyes.
This hadn't been like the time we had fought over Mann. That time, after the first blaze of anger, all that had kept us from apologizing was the pride we (well, mainly- okay, only- me) couldn't swallow. But now both of our fury were very, very real, and with more than pride to fuel it. More than just the Matchmaker had been revealed; all the little thing, the mosquito bites that had irritated us for months, had been exposed in the glorious supernova of our friendship. And it was over; this wasn't just another of our habitual fights. We weren't conspicuously ignoring each other this time; we didn't even know each other. It wasn't avoiding the other's eyes; it was sneers and mockery and pretending we had never been anything more than enemies.
Except we had been, and I was having trouble forgetting that.
I slipped into my usual back corner seat of English class early and pulled out a book, trying to dismiss the idea that, but for a single secret, I would have been chatting happily with Darien.
o0O0o0O0o
"As a whole," Mr. Corman, the teacher announced, returning our tests with his usual inviting grin suppressed under a sad, serious frown. Brand new to teaching and the school, with a friendly, sunlit disposition and looks to match, he was by far my favorite teacher this year. "I was not very impressed by these. I know it's not the easiest book, and I know half of you hate my guts for making me read it, but all in all, not your best work. With a few notable exceptions," he added with a smile that suited his face far better as he handed me back a sheet with a big red A scrawled across the top. I bit my lip so as not to grin. Well, I certainly should have done well; I adored that book.
"We all know that all Laycha does is study and read anyway," came Darien's contemptuous drawl from the opposite corner, cutting through my pride in a job well done. I could feel his eyes on me, taunting and scornful, but I refused to let that affect me. Darien meant nothing to me, nothing at all. I didn't miss him; not his smile or his laugh or his wit or his eyes or his voice or his- I didn't miss him at all. I wasn't lonely; I just wasn't.
Mr. Corman turned a disapproving look on Darien. He had never seen our friendship and so wasn't confused by the sudden, bitter change. To him, we were two people with such radically different outlooks on
life that we couldn't get along. "Now, Darien, that's not-"
I interrupted the reprimand, gifting Darien with a coolly patronizing gaze. "Or maybe, McGavern," I observed, the bite in my voice thinly masked by my casual tone, "I'm just smarter than you." I twisted back to face forward, to where the teacher was watching the interaction with as much interest as any of the students, and pulled out a pencil and notebook to stop the discussion. I could just picture, with quite a bit of satisfaction, Darien's scowl, the begrudging one he got whenever someone else won.
"So, class, let's be-" once more, Mr. Corman was cut off, this time by the crackle of static as the loudspeaker came on.
"Emma Laycha to the front office," the impersonal voice of the secretary declared, "Emma Laycha to the front office."
For a second, the whole room was silent with shock, me no less than the others. Why the hell would they be paging me? Sure, I had forgotten my phone at home, but why would anyone need to get in contact with me? Mom or Jack would be the only ones that desperate, and they could always just call Allan if it was an emergency.
"Well, why aren't you going to accept your latest award?" Darien shot, breaking the silence. Once, that would have been playful teasing; this was scorn worthy of any grade school bully.
Without a word, I rose and, with a quick glance for Mr. Corman's permission, I walked out of the room, a strange sense of foreboding falling over me, clouding the rest of the world as if the volume had been turned way down. Through the halls and into the office without being quite sure where I was going, the secretary wordlessly handed me the phone with a kind expression I had never seen before. I could feel the sword hanging over my, the tsunami about to break.
"Emma?" Mom's voice was quiet and fiercely controlled, a tone I hadn't heard since I woke up four years ago in a room beeping with IVs and machines. "It's your brother- Allan." Allan? I hadn't seen him since last night, because he had gone to one of Greco's parties and had been sensible and stayed over- obviously. "He got in an accident last night. He's in the ICU. They- they aren't sure if he'll make it."
The sword dropped.
* * *
Darien
* * *
Life was back to normal. Blessed, uneventful normal, where I knew- and was- the rules. School had begun, and I strode around the building surrounded by flocks of girls and a few boys who hoped my charm would rub off on them. I flitted from party to party, drowning the irreversible realization about how pointless they were in loud music and hard rinks and willing girls. I was back on an even keel, out of the messy roil of emotion that Em- that girl had thrown me into. It was great. I felt like myself again after a year of emasculated feelings and romance and deep talks, and I couldn't believe I had ever wanted anything else. In short, everything was perfect. Absolutely, undoubtedly, monotonously perfect.
I stood outside the English class, passing the time between this class and the next with my flame of the week. Tall and blonde and curvaceous, Rachel was totally my type, even if she never stopped talking- only in it for the short term, without any expectations for anything more than the physical. Last year, she might have held my attention for at least two weeks. But now- though nothing had changed, not my mindset or desires- I was bored of her already, and we had only met last weekend. There was no depth to her, however hot she was, and- dammit, when did I start caring about depths? She was hot and she was into me and that was all that mattered.
Now if I could only pound that into my stupid, uncooperative subconscious…
I leaned back down to Rachel's face, her generous lips meeting mine eagerly. With a mental shrug, I half turned to pin her against the locker- and Em- Laycha walked by, and I pulled away instinctively, as if I was doing something disgusting.
She strode by me, her eyes wide and blank and unseeing. Irritated- who was she to ignore me?- I yelled after her, "What, Laycha, your medal didn't come through?"
Probably inn shock because one of her Matchmaker schemes had fallen apart, she didn't even react to my jibe, walking past with a smooth, mechanized gait that seemed simultaneously absolutely purposeful and totally unconscious. Without even a twinge of concern (even though this definitely wasn't normal, and something had to be wrong for her to act like this) I turned my attention back to Rachel, before being once more interrupted.
"Dude, where have you been?" Brock demanded, appearing beside me with a furtive look at Laycha's retreating back, "I've been looking for you everywhere."
I favored him with an exasperated glance. "I've been here for a while." As if that wasn't obvious. "We got out of class early. Where's Rhianna?" I glanced surreptitiously around, waiting for her to pop out of the woodwork. Where one was the other followed, that was generally the rule with Brock and Rhi.
"I-" he shot a look at Rachel, who was watching us with avid, gossip-mongering eyes, 'I don't know."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. He shifted nervously on his feet, unwilling to say anything in front of the girl. I rolled my eyes- Rhianna would probably tell everyone anyway- but jerked my head at her. "Want to give us some privacy, Rachel?" Despite the phrasing, it wasn't a question, and she took it as such. Pouting childishly, she spun on her four-inch heels and flounced away, her corn-silk hair too short to move.
Brock heaved a sigh of relief, glad to tell someone. He was never a person to keep anything bottled up. "We're spending some time apart," he admitted, his head drooping. My jaw dropped, but I snapped it back up before anyone could see.
"You broke up!" However much I hated the Matchmaker and Rhianna for doing this to him, and despite all my cynicism, that simply was not a possibility. Not a break-up with both of them here and together. It's not even that I approved or disapproved; that simply didn't enter into the equation. Like the last time, I just couldn't wrap my mind around it.
"No- no- we're still together," he assured me, the panic rising in his voice at the mere thought only serving to confuse me more. Why were they apart if they obviously wanted to be together? Brock must have seen my bemusement, because he smiled weakly and continued, "We just decided- both of us- that we needed to remember what we were like apart."
"You've been apart for the last year!" I spat, staring blankly at him. Was he really that stupid? "Who you are separate is miserable. You know that already!"
"Yeah, but-" he hesitated for a second, trying to find the words (never his strong point). "You know how, when something or someone goes away, you always think its way better than when you had it? Like dead people."
I had just taken a drink of water from the fountain, feeling irritatingly like I had to wash Rachel's taste out of my mouth. At his words, I nearly spit that drink back out, and I the process almost choked. "What the hell?" I spluttered, coughing in an extremely undignified manner.
"Well no one ever thinks ill of the dead, right?" Brock attempted to explain his messed-up thought processes. I scowled, casting a glower around to see who had witnessed my humiliating reaction. Knowing my luck, Laycha would be there laughing at me- but no one was there but Brock, who was making a manful effort not to grin. Where was she? "So we make people seem really great who weren't. Me and Rhi-" Rhi and I, a small voice in the back of my mind corrected, one I didn't recognize as mine and refused to acknowledge as anyone else's, "-we'd both forgotten what it was like when we were actually together, 'cause we were so miserable. And then she came back, and I was like, this is so totally awesome, and so was she, but neither of us really thought about it. And, well- now we are."
I blinked. "So you're breaking up," I clarified expressionlessly, "You aren't sure that you actually want to be together, because you idealized your relationship too much and now you're confused, despite that huge moment you had when she came back." This boy did not make sense, even with ten years of experience with him. Did he know how much most people (okay, including me) wanted what he had in Rhianna?
He shrugged. "Yeah," he agreed, sheepishly enough that I guessed he could follow my thoughts, "Those moments aren't real, you know? They're grea
t and all, but that's the easy part of a relationship. The hard part is between those moments, when it's just normal life." He fell silent, lost in his own musings.
I kept quiet as well, pondering his words. Out of the mouths of babes and all that- I couldn't help but agree with him. The passion, the physical part was easy for me- as any girl could vouch for; it was the keeping the flame alive that I couldn't do. I got bored of my so-called girlfriends during the in-between times. Except for one- but that relationship had died unborn, and Emma had always been different anyway. I herded my mind away from that dangerous subject. Of course she had been different, she wasn't Emma. She was the Matchmaker, and I had no attraction or affection for her, whatever the moments and the in-betweens had been like.
"You know, you never had issues like that with Emma," Brock suddenly observed, his own train of thought uncannily similar to mine. "Why don't you just-"
"Leave it alone, Brock," I sighed. This was not the first time someone had urged me to apologize or let my anger go, and I doubted it would be the last. Candy, Lex, and Brock had tried and failed before; I expected Rhianna had urged Brock to attempt it again. But none of them- except, maybe, Rhianna (I didn't know how much she had been told, knowing Emma probably nothing)- understood why I was so furious, and so none of them had come close to convincing me. I would not listen to any and all of their entreaties; She deserved all my fury and more.
"But I don't get it," Brock protested, as he had before. I had told him that we had a fight and I no longer even knew her, but nothing more. As I had said, she wasn't worth it. "Was it just Rhi that got between you two?"
"No," I explained with a patience getting quickly overwhelmed by the number of times I had had to use it, "We'd just been hiding tensions for a long time, and they all came out. It wasn't your fault; we just realized that we were far too different to ever be anything."
