The Matchmaker Read online

  Darien settled down in the desk between the wall and me with his usual genius for grand entrances, snatching my book out of my hands and ignoring my protests by holding it out of my reach- damn his obscenely long arms. I scowled darkly at him, but by now he was used to my early morning moodiness and was adept at disregarding it, casually reading the back of my book.

  "What is this?" he asked, trying to make sense of the fantastic cover and delightfully enigmatic summary. I rolled my eyes and held out an expectant hand for the book.

  "It's a book, not that you would know what that is. Now give it back, I actually want to read it," I ordered. He flipped through the pages, holding the book in front of his face so it completely shielded him. That was odd- usually he wouldn't deign to be seen skimming one of my books, let alone seem so engrossed in it. I immediately began searching for the catch.

  A moment later, it entered. Or rather, she did- one of Darien's cheerleader groupies popped her head in and surveyed the room. Darien sank lower in his chair, drawing the book closer to his face.

  "Emma!" the girl, Candy, cried, apparently overlooking the rather large, masculine lump in the desk next to mine, "Have you, like, seen Darien?" As amusing as it would be to give Darien up- not even I was that cruel.

  "Not since before break," I deadpanned. Darien relaxed. He evidently hadn't been sure if I would cover for him. I was evil, not heartless- but just because I wouldn't set the wolves on him didn't mean I couldn't torture him. "Why? If you really needed him, I could probably find him." Darien squirmed. I hid a grin.

  'No, I was just wondering," she replied without any concern about a missing heartthrob. She meandered out, than ducked back in again as something else occurred to her. "You haven't seen Lex either, have you?"

  I would be even less inclined to turn Lex over- but to him she wasn't exactly a wolf, or at least, he wasn't just a bit of prey.

  "He's in the cafeteria with his teammates," I told her, hiding my grin when her face lit up with that information. She wasn't the worst of her type- when she smiled like that, I could see what Allan saw in her.

  "OMG, thanks!" she gushed, dashing out of the room as fast as she could in her 5 inch heels- I would have fallen on my face after one step in them, let alone anything faster than a walk. But I had yet to see her fall; unlike some of her friends who couldn't manage the heels they tried to wear.

  "She's gone," I announced, turning to give Darien one of my best Looks. He straightened up and set my book back on the desk. I snatched it up with a scowl- it was on the right page, though I was certain I had seen Darien flip a few pages while I was conversing with Candy- but he only grinned at me. "Your flight was successful."

  "I didn't flee," he retorted loftily, his glare, toned down by his good mood, was not nearly as intimidating as it once had been. Teasing him was almost too easy- pride makes such a good mark. "I made a great and intrepid escape."

  I raised my eyebrows skeptically. "So hiding behind a girl and a book is…" I hesitated a moment, rubbing my chin thoughtfully, "heroic." I cocked my head as if considering the idea as he narrowed his eyes at me in half-hearted anger, "that's news to me." Oh, the joys of an easy shot to start the day. Its beautiful- and not many things are beautiful in the mornings.

  "Shut up," he replied without malice, rising out of the seat- he never sat next to me in class, and I wouldn't even consider asking it of him; it's not like I wanted him to- and leaned casually against the wall, lighting a cigarette. I sighed and got up as well, batting it out of his hand. He groaned, but he had found out that I would keep doing that until he ran out of cigarettes. He didn't light up again.

  "That's a nasty habit," I observed, as I usually did. We had played out this scene far too often since Allan's party. I never bothered him about the consequences if a teacher caught him; it wouldn't work if I did. He didn't care what the teachers thought- he figured, and was sadly probably right, that he was immune. No matter how his parents treated him, the administration was still in awe of them and their money- and generous gifts to the school. Personally, I thought that it would be a gratifying experience for him if his parents cut him off from their influence for a while, but I'm, as Darien never fails to inform me, messed up. Which may be true, but I wasn't the one who was still smoking.

  "Doesn't seem so to me," he replied unconcernedly. I rolled my eyes. It wouldn't- until you got cancer and died!

  "Girls don't like smoke breath," I retorted. Maybe shooting for the things he actually cares about would work- not that I had any hope. It took a car accident and a near-death experience to stop me, after all.

  "They've never seemed to care before," he informed me haughtily, though truthfully. It was a stupid thing to say (blame the damn morning), what with how girls tended to act like bitches in heat. I can't imagine why, maybe his overwhelming arrogance. It would be disgusting- hell, it is disgusting- but its can be so damn funny!

  "But I bet the one girl you actually want to kiss won't let you, because you smoke. It's karma." I shook my head and shrugged, as if trying to tell him the truth gently.

  "Karma? Now why would I deserve something as horrible as that?" he whined, his loftiness lost. It usually was, after we established that it wouldn't work on me.

  I snorted. "I have absolutely no idea."

  "And," he continued as if I hadn't spoken, or at least, as if he hadn't picked up on my sarcasm, "I can make any girl I want to kiss want to kiss me."

  "Any girl worth kissing," I retorted quickly, stung by his casual dismissal of my sex, "Won't succumb to your seduction."

  He laughed, apparently thinking that it was a joke- he had way too much confidence in his own powers- but I kept my face stoic and didn't bother to disillusion him. He would learn, someday. When a girl actually turned him down. Maybe the Matchmaker could; he was obviously leading up to asking her out. I could reject him cruelly… all for his sake, of course.

  "But this is all hypothetical," he pointed out as he sobered, reaching for another cigarette and stopping at my glare, "there aren't any girls really worth kissing in this school."

  To give myself credit, I refrained from hitting him- though the death glare I sent his way quickly notified him of his mistake. Ugh- I didn't mind that he didn't want to kiss me; in fact, I was overjoyed by that fact, because I certainly wouldn't have wanted it any other way, but not to be worth kissing was just rude. I could find so many boys to tell him otherwise- if I felt like telling him that much about before. Which I didn't. At all.

  "Sorry, Emmy," he drawled, chuckling at my outrage at the name and the sentiment, "did I insult you?"

  Though, unluckily, he had no annoying nickname to use in a similar way, I had another weapon in my arsenal.

  "Oh no Darien!" I cooed, fluttering my eyelashes and slapping him flirtatiously, "You are so silly! You couldn't insult me. I'm so happy you're even talking to me I couldn't be bothered to actually think, let alone be offended by something you said!" he cut me off with a shudder- I don't think he even noticed what I was saying, he was so horrified by the tone. I gave him a wide, innocent grin.

  "The scary thing is," he tossed back his light hair, trying to make believe he could keep the argument going when I had obviously won, "That you're so good at that. Did you only recently acquire a brain?"

  "Nope!" I chirped, tapping my temple and grinning manically, "I'm like the Scarecrow!" Darien tilted his head, confused. I sighed. By now, I was fairly used to him not having seen or done basic staples of an American childhood- and I didn't have that horribly normal of a childhood. I had accepted him never having had a s'more (though my inner chocoholic nearly died) but this was a bit much. And he called me messed up! "You have seen the Wizard of Oz, right?"

  "Of course I have," he spat defensively. He probably didn't want a repeat of the hysterical laughter that followed the s'more revelation. I did manage to contain my laughter- with a heroic effort, only driven by my pity for his deprivation. "Though not for a while," he admitted, with a surprisingly self-deprecat
ing shrug. Then, to make up for his lack of haughtiness, "But I know the Scarecrow went to find a brain. The Wizard gave him one!"

  I shook my head sadly. Doesn't anyone pay attention anymore?

  "The Wizard's a fraud," I explained gently, with as little condescension as I could mange. It was still quite a lot- so maybe I wasn't trying quite as hard as I could have. "He didn't give the Scarecrow anything real. HE always had a brain, he just thought he didn't."

  Realizing that he was no match for me in Wizard of Oz trivia- I retain way too much random information from movies and books and stuff- he quickly returned to the original question.

  "So if you've always had a brain," he said, giving the 'if' undue stress. I made a face at him, which he didn't deign to notice, "Why can you do such a good impersonation of my mindless ditzes?"

  I rolled my eyes at him, yet again. He really could not leave a subject alone. Not that I really minded in this instance- he knew I watched people way too much, and good mimicry skills could account for the rest- but in others, it could get not only infuriating, but also dangerously close to stuff I had no intention of telling anyone about- not even him, who had managed to learn so many of my secrets.

  "You are too bloody persistent," I muttered into my book. He chuckled.

  "Bloody?" he inquired in amazement- he obviously hadn't heard some of my even more nerdy sayings.

  "Yes, bloody. I've been rereading Harry Potter," I retorted, digging in bag until I removed the 6th book and brandished it at him, "Gonna make something of it?"

  He actually shied away from the book, his distaste obvious on his face.

  "You read that crap?" he asked incredulously, snatching the book out of my hand and dropping it back into my bag. He wiped the contaminated hand on my sweatshirt, despite my evil look.

  "Read it?' I gave a wicked chuckle, "I could practically recite it. All 6 books."

  He stared at me in an odd mixture of awe and disgust.

  "You are such a dork," he announced, his voice monotonic with shock. I don't know what surprised him so much- he was the one who first knew me as 'book girl'.

  "And proud of it," I declared cheerfully. The bell rang shrilly, and I jumped. I despise bells, and I despise people who aren't jolted by them- like the boy calmly standing by me- even more. "So now you go sit up front with your popular, almost smart friends, and I'll stay back here and revel in my dorkiness."

  He looked over to where he usually sat- the chair next to it was empty, as his seatmate, one of the not as stupid jocks, was always late and usually slept through class- than back at me.

  "No thanks," he replied, tossing his bag at the seat beside me and seating himself there with a calm disregard of the astonished looks that only someone as unquestionably popular as him could manage, "I'll try to cancel out your dorkiness form back here."

  * * *

  Darien

  * * *

  I found Emma again during lunch- French and free, my two classes without her, varied between being the best and most boring classes of the day, for exactly that reason. It had occurred to me that we had never resolved the earlier issue to my satisfaction, or at least, I hadn't found out what I wanted to know. If she had only been Lex's stepsister since early last summer, and her mother hadn't been very prosperous before, how had she managed to get into an exclusive (or, more to the point, expensive) private school like ours?

  "Did you go to school here before this year?" I asked without preamble, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer. Maybe if I surprised her, she would actually tell me the whole truth. I wasn't stupid and I wasn't under any illusions- I may have discovered one of her secrets, but I knew she had many more that she wasn't going to confide in me, or so she thought. I still didn't know what was her issue with cigarettes, or why she had my notepaper, and she didn't tell me everything about thanksgiving- but I was going to find out. Eventually.

  But this time, I was pretty sure she was telling the truth when she answered- it agreed with my opinion.

  "Yeah, since 9th," she admitted with a surprising lack of surprise, as I had accosted her right inside the lunchroom doors. I should have been used to never being able to sneak up on her, but that didn't mean I wasn't determined to. Someday. "Why?"

  "How'd you manage? Financially, I mean," I asked curiously. She shook her head despairingly at me- her favorite expression when it came to me, second only to rolling her eyes.

  "It's called a scholarship, Darien," she explained with all of the usual, uncalled for patronization that I despised. I might not be a freaking genius like her, but I'm not an idiot, and she should remember that.

  "That would work," I nodded sagely, trying to hide my rising anger beneath a veneer of cool indifference. When she spoke to me like that- it sounded far too much like my father for comfort. "Then why didn't I notice you before?" She wasn't at all quiet, after all. She likes to have her opinions heard as much as anyone I've ever seen. But I hadn't ever seen her before I put my note in the Matchmaker's locker, and, contrary to popular (or Emma's) opinion, I'm not that conceited that I don't notice those beneath me.

  "I didn't want you to," she said matter-of-factly. And she called me arrogant- she had just as much pride as me. By this time, we were well into the lunchroom. I glanced around at the shocked faces hid with varying degrees of skill, daring them to comment on the 'Ice Prince' talking to a self-proclaimed dork. No one did. Emma either didn't notice my challenge or ignored it and continued talking, "I've made a study of going unnoticed."

  "I'm not that unobservant," I snapped, tiring quickly of her elitist attitude. Honestly, she had no right to chide me. She opened her mouth to retort, closed it as she thought better, than spoke after a moment of consideration.

  "I'll just show you," she said slowly, handing her tray to me without considering the fact that I was already holding one and had to go through some interesting and undignified acrobatics to hold both.

  Emma hugged her bag to her chest and seemed to somehow diminish. Shoulders hunched, head bowed, and her long hair curtaining her face, she made her way through the crowd to a table with a slight shuffle. She was jostled and pushed around, with none of her usual presence that cleared her a path even when immersed in a book. She sat on a windowsill, and a moment later some idiot kid sat there as well, jumping back up as soon as he realized that he had just sat on someone. My fists clenched as I watched, half in awe, half in anger. What was that kid doing, being so blind? That was just- rude didn't even begin to encompass it. Someone that stupid didn't have a right to live.

  "See what I mean?" she popped up beside me, taking back her tray without even a thank you. Expecting her to do something of the sort, I was able not to react and keep my balance.

  "Yeah," I admitted reluctantly, but her demonstration had been thorough- I couldn't find a loophole in it, "But I'm not as inattentive as everyone else. I can be perceptive, when I want to be."

  She hesitated with her retort as she took a seat at an empty table. Knowing that she wouldn't ask, or even imply- she feared the condemnation of our classmates that I didn't need to care about- I casually sat down at the seat across from her, pretending not to hear the small gasp that went up from the rest of the lunchroom. The price of being a king among peasants is always being in the public eye.

  "You can be," she finally allowed, but from her intake of breath I could tell she was going to continue- eventually. After a sip of her water, she did. "But you didn't see me either."

  I opened my mouth to argue her point, but then I closed it again with a nearly audible snap. There was nothing to say. She was right. I may not have sat on her or anything that drastic, but I hadn't known who she was or anything, not before she let me see her.

  Well, that conversation hadn't gone where I wanted. Emma seemed to do that to my plans. But then again, if Emma's face was anything to go by- and it wasn't always- she didn't like where it had gone anymore than I had. Her disgusted face didn't seem to be only form the food.

  Silence de
scended as we gave our food undue attention, not the usual casual silence that came in between our bickering, but a vaguely uncomfortable silence that made me almost want to babble just to fill it. Luckily, Brock appeared in the chair next to me before I did.

  "Dude!" he exclaimed, his grey eyes alight with gossip fervor. "Oh, hi Emma," he added offhandedly, turning back to me once his courtesies were done, "Did you see? Grace O'Shea and Joe Marrato are together!"

  "What!" I expostulated in complete shock. I had not seen that coming at all. Joe was a dork in every sense of the word, though one of the less nerdy ones. And Grace was one of Candy's good friends! How the hell had they gotten together? "How'd that happen?"

  Brock's face barely twitched when he gave the inevitable response. He had better control of his expression than I gave him credit for, sometimes- but he had gotten practice lately.

  "The Matchmaker," he swept over the answer in his hurry to impart as much gossip as he could in as short a time as he could- he was worse than the girls, I swear, "But they walked into school today holding hands, and have been ignoring all the talk, and they're really mushy together, and it's really cute!"

  Emma was smiling at her food in quiet satisfaction. I scowled at her.

  "What are you so happy about?" I spat. She gave a shrug and smiled broadly at me, with a total lack of consideration for my fury.

  "Doesn't it give you warm fuzzies to hear about two people falling in love?" she replied with what I thought was sarcasm, though I couldn't tell for what. Emma and warm fuzzies did not have even a nodding acquaintance.

  "No," I looked away from both of their smiling faces. They both might revere the Matchmaker- though I would have thought Emma had more sense and Brock would have learned better- but I didn't. No human could orchestrate love, and the Matchmaker was only human, albeit a mysterious and intriguing one. Anyone who tried would only end up breaking hearts, as someone-me- had to show the Matchmaker, "I give them two weeks."