Blue Moon

by Alyson Noel

  “You okay?” Ava asks, standing at the stove, brewing some tea. As though all of those hours didn’t just pass.

  I shake my head and lean against the wall, unsure how to answer, unable to speak. Because the truth is, okay is pretty much the last thing I feel. Empty, hollow, bereft, awful, depressed—yes. But okay? Not so much.

  But that’s because I’m a criminal. A traitor. I’m the worst kind of person you could ever hope to meet. All of the times I tried to imagine that scene, tried to imagine how my last moment with Damen would be, I never once thought it would end like that.

  I never once thought I’d stand accused. Even though I clearly deserve to be.

  “You don’t have much time.” She gazes at the clock on her wall, then at me. “Would you like some tea before you leave?”

  I shake my head, knowing I’ve a few things still to tell her, and a few more stops to make before I go for good.

  “So you know what to do?” I ask, seeing her nod as she brings her cup to her lips. “Because I’m trusting you, Ava. If this doesn’t work out in the way that I think, if the only thing that goes back is me, then you’re my only hope.” My gaze locks on hers, needing her to understand just exactly how serious this all is. “You’ve got to take care of Damen, he’s—he doesn’t deserve any of this, and—” My voice cracks as I press my lips together and avert my gaze. Knowing I’ve got to go on, that there’s still more to say, but needing a moment before I can. “And watch out for Roman. He’s good-looking and charming, but it’s all a façade. Inside, he’s evil, he tried to kill Damen, he’s responsible for what he’s become.”

  “Don’t worry.” She moves toward me. “Don’t worry about a thing. I got the stuff out of your trunk, the antidote is in the cupboard, the juice is—fermenting, and I’ll add the herb on the third day like you said. Not that we’ll even need it, since I’m sure everything will go exactly as planned.”

  I look at her, seeing the sincerity in her eyes, relieved that at least I’m able to leave things in her capable hands.

  “So you just get yourself over to Summerland, and I’ll take care of the rest,” she says, pulling me into her arms and hugging me tightly to her chest. “And who knows? Maybe someday you’ll find yourself in Laguna Beach and we’ll meet all over again?”

  She laughs when she says it and I wish I could laugh along with her, but I can’t. The weird thing about saying good-bye is that it never gets any easier.

  I pull away, nodding in place of words, knowing that to say anything more will make me break down completely. Barely managing to eek out a “Thanks,” before I’m already at the door.

  “You’ve nothing to be thanking me for,” she says, following behind. “But, Ever, are you sure you don’t want to peek in on Damen, just one last time?”

  I turn, my hand on the doorknob, considering, but only for a moment before I take a deep breath and shake my head. Knowing there’s no use in prolonging the inevitable, and far too afraid to risk seeing the accusation on his face.

  “We’ve already said good-bye,” I say, stepping onto the porch and moving toward my car. “Besides, I don’t have much time. There’s still one last stop I need to make.”

  forty-four

  I turn onto Roman’s street, park in his drive, rush toward the door, and kick it right down. Watching the wood crack and splinter as it teeters from its hinges and swings open before me, hoping to catch him off guard, so I can punch all of his chakras and be done with him for good.

  I creep inside, my eyes darting around, taking in walls the color of eggshells, ceramic vases filled with silk flowers, poster-sized prints of all the usual suspects—Van Gogh’s The Starry Night, Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss, and an oversized rendition of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus framed in gold and hanging right over the mantel. All of it appearing so surprisingly normal, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve got the wrong house.

  I expected grit, edge, a post-apocalyptic pad with black leather couches, chrome tables, an abundance of mirrors, and confusing art—something sleeker, hipper, anything but this chintz-ridden fuss palace that’s nearly impossible to imagine someone like Roman living in.

  I tour the house, checking every room, every closet, even under the bed. But when it’s clear he’s not home, I head straight for his kitchen, find his supply of immortal juice, and pour it straight down the drain. Knowing it’s juvenile, useless, and probably won’t make the least bit of difference, since the moment I go back everything will reverse itself again. But even if it adds up to no more than a minor inconvenience, at least he’ll know that inconvenience came from me.

  Then I riffle through his drawers, searching for a piece of scrap paper and a pen, needing to make a list of all the things I can’t afford to forget. A simple set of instructions that won’t be too confusing for someone who probably won’t remember what any of it means, and yet still clear and concise enough to keep me from repeating the same horrible mistakes all over again.

  Writing:

  1. Don’t go back for the sweatshirt!

  2. Don’t trust Drina!

  3. Don’t go back for the sweatshirt no matter what!

  And then, just so I don’t completely forget, and hoping it might trigger some sort of memory, I add:

  4. Damen

  And after checking it over again (and again), making sure it’s all there and that nothing’s been missed, I fold it into a square, shove it deep in my pocket, and head for the window, gazing at a sky turned a deep sunless blue, with the moon hanging heavy and full just off to the side. Then I take a deep breath and head for the ugly chintz couch, knowing it’s time.

  I close my eyes and reach toward the light, eager to experience that shimmering glory one final time as I land on those soft blades of grass in that vast fragrant field. Aided by their buoyancy and bounce as I run, skip, and twirl through the meadow, performing cartwheels, back handsprings, and somersaults, my fingertips grazing over those glorious flowers with their pulsating petals and delicious sweet scent as I wind my way through those vibrating trees along the colorful stream. Determined to take it all in, to memorize every last detail, wishing there was some way to capture this wonderful feeling and hold it forever.

  And then, because I have a few moments to spare, and because I need to see him one last time, need to be with him in the way that we used to, I close my eyes and manifest Damen.

  Seeing him as he first appeared to me in the parking lot at school. Starting with his shiny dark hair that waves around his cheekbones and hits just shy of his shoulders, those almond-shaped eyes so deep, dark, and even, back then, strangely familiar. And those lips! Those ripe inviting lips with their perfect Cupid’s bow, followed by the long, lean, muscular body that holds it all up. My memory so potent, so tangible, every nuance, every pore, is present and accounted for.

  And when I open my eyes, he’s bowing before me, offering his hand in our very last dance. So I place my hand in his as he tucks his arm around my waist, leading me through that glorious field in a series of wide sweeping arcs, our bodies swaying, our feet floating, twirling to a melody heard only by us. And every time he begins to slip from my grasp, I just close my eyes and make him again, resuming our steps without falter. Like Count Fersen and Marie, Albert and Victoria, Antony and Cleopatra, we are all the world’s greatest lovers, we are all the couples we’ve ever been. And I bury my face in the warm sweet hollow of his neck, reluctant to let our song end.

  But even though there’s no time in Summerland, there is where I’m going. And so I run my fingers along the planes of his face, memorizing the softness of his skin, the curve of his jaw, and the swell of his lips as they press against mine—convincing myself that it’s him—really him!

  Even long after he’s faded and gone.

  The moment I head out of the field, I find Romy and Rayne waiting right by the edge, and from the looks on their faces I know they’ve been watching.

  “You’re running out of time,” Rayne says, staring at me with those sau
cer-sized eyes that never fail to set me on edge.

  But I just shake my head and pick up the pace, annoyed to know they’ve been spying, and tired of the way they keep butting in.

  “I’ve got it all covered,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “So feel free to—” I pause, having no idea what they do when they’re not bothering me. So I lift my shoulders and leave it at that, knowing whatever they’re up to, it no longer concerns me.

  They run alongside me, peering at each other, communicating in their private twin speak before saying, “Something’s not right.” They stare at me, urging me to listen. “Something feels terribly wrong.” Their voices blending together in perfect harmony.

  But I just shrug, not the least bit interested in cracking their code, and when I see those marble steps before me, I storm straight ahead, glimpsing the world’s most beautiful structures, before rushing right in. The twins’ voices silenced by the doors closing behind me as I stand in the grand marble entry, eyes closed tight, hoping I won’t be shut out like the last time, hoping I can go back in time. Thinking:

  I’m ready. I’m really and truly ready. So please, let me go back. Back to Eugene, Oregon. Back to my mom and dad and Riley and Buttercup. Please just let me return . . . and set everything straight again . . .

  And the next thing I know a short hallway appears, leading to a room at the end—a room that’s empty except for a stool and a desk. But not just any old desk, this is one of those long metal desks like the kind we had in the chem lab at my old school. And as I slide onto the seat, a large crystal globe levitates before me, flickering and flaring until it settles on an image of me, sitting at this same metal desk, struggling over a science test. And even though it’s pretty much the last scene I ever would’ve chosen to repeat, I know it’s the only opportunity I’ll ever get to return. So I take a deep breath, press my finger to the screen—and gasp as everything around me goes black.

  forty-five

  “O—migod. I totally flunked that,” Rachel groans, tossing her wavy brown hair over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. “I mean, I barely even studied last night. Seriously. And then I stayed up late texting—” She looks at me, her eyes wide as she shakes her head. “Anyway. All you need to know is that my life as we know it is over. So take a good look at me now because as soon as those grades are posted and my parents find out, I’ll be grounded for life. Which means this is pretty much the last you’ll see of me.”

  “Please.” I roll my eyes. “If anyone flunked, we both know it’s me. I’ve been lost in that class all year! And it’s not like I’m going to be a scientist or anything. It’s not like I’m ever going to use the information.” I stop just shy of her locker, watching as she unlocks it and tosses a pile of books inside.

  “I’m just glad it’s over and that grades won’t be out until next week. Which means I better live it up while I can. And speaking of—what time should I swing by tonight?” she asks, brows raised so high they’re hidden under her bangs.

  I shake my head and sigh, realizing I haven’t told her yet and knowing she’s gonna be mad. “About that . . .” I walk alongside her as we head for the parking lot, tucking my long blond hair behind my ear as I say, “Slight change of plans. My mom and dad are going out and I’m supposed to babysit Riley.”

  “And how is that a slight change of plans?” Rachel stops just short of the lot, her eyes scanning the rows of cars, determined to see who’s riding with who.

  “Well, I thought maybe after she goes to sleep, you can come over and—” But I stop, not bothering to finish since it’s clear she’s not listening. The second I mentioned my little sister, I lost her. Rachel’s that rare only child who’s never once fantasized about having a brother or sister. Sharing the spotlight just isn’t her thing.

  “Forget it,” she says. “Little people have sticky fingers and big ears, you can’t trust ’em. How about tomorrow?”

  I shake my head. “Can’t. It’s family day. We’re all heading up to the lake.”

  “See.” Rachel nods. “That’s exactly the kind of stuff you don’t have to deal with when your parents split. In our house, family day is when we all meet in court to fight over the child support check.”

  “You don’t know how lucky you are,” I say, regretting the joke the second it’s out. Because not only is it a total lie, but something about it leaves me feeling so sad and guilty I wish I could take it right back.

  But it’s not like Rachel was listening anyway. She’s too busy trying to get the attention of the amazing Shayla Sparks, who’s pretty much the coolest senior to ever walk the halls of this school. Frantically waving and stopping just short of jumping up and down and screaming like a groupie, hoping to get Shayla’s attention as she loads up her sky-blue VW Bug with all her cool friends. Then lowering her hand and pretending to scratch at her ear as though she’s not the least bit embarrassed when Shayla fails to acknowledge her.

  “Trust me, that car’s not so great,” I say, checking my watch and gazing around the lot, wondering just where the heck Brandon is since he really should’ve been here by now. “The Miata drives better.”

  “Excuse me?” Rachel peers at me, her brows knit together in complete disbelief. “And since when have you driven either one?”

  I squint, hearing the words repeat in my head and having no idea why I just said them. “Um, I didn’t.” I shrug. “I—I guess I must’ve read it somewhere.”

  She looks at me, her eyes narrowed as they work their way down my outfit, grazing over my black V-neck sweater and down to my jeans that are dragging on the ground. “And where’d you get this?” She grasps my wrist.

  “Please. You’ve seen that like a million times already. I got it last Christmas,” I say, trying to break free of her grip as Brandon comes toward me, thinking how cute he is when his hair falls into his eyes.

  “Not the watch silly, this!” She taps the bracelet that’s next to the watch, the one with silver horseshoes encrusted with pink crystal bits—the one that’s not the slightest bit familiar though somehow manages to make my stomach go all weird when I look at it.

  “I—I don’t know,” I mumble, wincing when I see her gape at me like I’m losing it. “I mean, I think my aunt might’ve sent it to me, you know, the one I told you about, the one who lives in Laguna Beach—”

  “Who lives in Laguna Beach?” Brandon asks, slipping his arm around me, as Rachel glances between us, rolling her eyes when he leans in to kiss me. But something about the feel of his lips is so strange and unsettling, I quickly turn away.

  “My ride’s here,” Rachel says, rushing toward her mom’s SUV and calling over her shoulder to say, “Let me know if anything changes—you know, about tonight?”

  Brandon looks at me, pulling me tighter against him until I’m practically fused to his chest, which only makes my stomach go weird again.

  “If what changes?” he asks, oblivious to the way I squirm out of his arms, unaware of my sudden lack of interest, which is a total relief since I’ve no idea how to explain it.

  “Oh, she wants to hit Jaden’s party, but I’m scheduled to babysit,” I tell him, heading toward his Jeep and tossing my bag onto the floor by my feet.

  “Want me to stop by?” He smiles. “You know, in case you need help?”

  “No!” I say, too forceful, too quick. Knowing I need to backtrack fast when I see the look on his face. “I mean, Riley always stays up late, so it’s probably not a good idea.”

  He looks at me, his eyes grazing over me like he feels it too, the unidentified big wrong thing that hovers between us, making everything feel so dang weird. Then he shrugs and turns toward the road. Choosing to drive the rest of the way in silence. Or at least he and I are silent. His stereo is screaming full blast. And even though that usually gets on my nerves, today I’m glad. I’d rather focus on crap music I can’t stand, than the fact that I don’t want to kiss him.

  I look at him, really look at him in the way I haven’t done since I’ve gotte
n used to us being a couple. Taking in the swoop of bangs framing those big green eyes that slant down ever so slightly at the corners making him impossible to resist—except for today. Today it comes easy. And when I remember how just yesterday I was covering my notebook with his name, well, it just doesn’t make any sense.

  He turns, catching me staring and smiling as he takes my hand. Entwining his fingers with mine and squeezing them in a way that makes my stomach go queasy. But I force myself to return it, both the smile and the squeeze, knowing it’s expected, what a good girlfriend does. Then I gaze out the window, holding down the nausea as I stare at the passing landscape, the rain-soaked streets, the clapboard houses and pine trees, glad to be getting home soon.

  “So, tonight?” He pulls into my drive, muting the sound as he leans toward me and looks at me in that way that he has.

  But I just press my lips together and reach for my bag, holding it against my chest like a shield, a solid defense meant to keep him away. “I’ll text you,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes as I glance out the window, seeing my neighbor and her daughter playing catch on the lawn, as I reach for the door handle, desperate to get away from him and into my room.

  And just as I’ve opened the door and slipped one leg out, he says, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  I gaze down at my backpack, knowing it’s all that I brought, but when I look at him again, I realize he’s not referring to that. And knowing there’s only one way to get through this without arousing any more suspicions from him or from me, I lean toward him, closing my eyes as I press my lips against his, finding them objectively smooth, pliant, but basically neutral, with none of their usual spark.

  “I’ll—um, I’ll see you later,” I mumble, hopping out of his Jeep and wiping my mouth on my sleeve well before I’ve even reached the front door. Rushing inside and heading straight to the den where I’m blocked by a plastic drum set, a guitar with no strings, and a small black microphone that’s going to break if Riley and her friend don’t stop fighting over it.