He sits up and crosses his legs. “Are you serious?”
I bob my head up and down.
“God, Caden, you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. It’s why I like you so much. Seriously, you’re my best friend. Not that that’s saying much—I didn’t have any real friends at the LIC—but I think that makes what we have even more important to me. Let me be clear on this: you’re my first real friend because you’re nicer to me than everyone else is. So what on earth makes you think you’re not a Nice?”
“I told you before, I want to win this game, even though I know what’ll happen to you if I win. I can’t be a Nice if I think like that. I just can’t be.”
“Caden, what will happen to me if you win is not your fault. Nor is wanting to win. That’s human nature. So you, my good friend, are officially a Nice. End of story. All right?”
“I guess.”
He lies back down. “Anyway, we should get to bed; it’s getting late. This is weird, but do you mind if I take my shirt off? I can’t sleep with it on.”
I gulp. “Oh yeah, that’s fine.”
“Sweet. Night, Caden.”
“Night.”
He takes his shirt off, then rolls over and, after a couple minutes, falls asleep. I stare at the wall with my body turned away from him.
Caden?
Yeah?
I’ve seen this happen before. He thinks you’ll back away from Juliet out of kindness to him. And then, as soon as you do that, he’ll pounce. You need to cut him loose.
I wish I could be that guy. I wish I could be ruthless and sever all connections with him. I wish I could let him die and then continue with my life like nothing had changed.
But that’s not who I am.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
I’m standing in front of my mirror dressed in a white shirt and black slacks. The belt around my waist is unclasped, so the ends poke out above my crotch, and the top three buttons of the shirt are undone, showing my smooth chest.
I raise my hands to do up a button and realize they’re shaking. I fumble with the button a few times, but my fingers feel puffy and useless.
Awww, look at you, all nervous before your big date. It’s sweet. Juliet will like it.
And that’s what’s making me nervous.
Caden, don’t feel guilty now. I’m sure he wouldn’t if he were in your position. End it quickly and then let it be done.
I take in a deep breath, which slows the shaking in my hands, then I bring them up and button the last few buttons. I pop my collar and wrap a black tie around it. Once it’s done up properly, tied in a perfect full Windsor, I look at myself one last time. I look like a perfect Nice, with flawlessly styled blond hair, dreamy ocean-blue eyes, and a heroic jawline. Even though I’ve looked like this for a while now, I can’t help but be taken aback by how picture perfect I look. The disconnect between the textbook Nice boy staring back at me and the messed-up guy I really am is staggering.
I grab the jacket that’s resting on the end of my bed and put it on. The suit is tailored perfectly, making my shoulders look broad and my waist look trim. I fiddle with the knot of the tie, moving it up so it sits right against my Adam’s apple. It feels like I’m being choked.
A bouquet of tulips is on the kitchen counter. They’re her favorite. Make sure you don’t forget them. And Caden, I decided to let you take control of this date. I’ll be listening, obviously, and will be there if you have any questions, but you’ve shown you can handle it on your own. So I’m going to make some popcorn and just watch you do your thing. I’m actually looking forward to it.
Thanks, Kaylee.
Don’t sweat it, man. Go crush it out there.
I brush a few wispy golden strands of hair up and away from my forehead. So I’m on my own for this date. This means if I screw it up it’s my fault. Also, if it goes well and Juliet starts to fall for me, I’m the one responsible for what happens afterward.
Can I do something that could kill Dyl? I’m not sure I can anymore. Not without destroying all the parts of me I like. I miss the old me. He would’ve breezed through this date and celebrated as Dyl was marched away by a Stalker. Stupid feelings, making me all soft.
I push the tie up farther. I’ll go on the date. It’s what Dyl would do if he were in my situation, so he’ll understand. That said, I won’t aggressively go for her heart, I’ll just act the same way I always do around her. The date will still be a win for me, but not so drastic a win that she forgets about Dyl entirely. That’s the best I can do for him.
I leave the room. In the kitchen, M is staring at a vase filled with pink flowers.
“They’re lovely,” she says, looking at the flowers, not at me. She runs her fingers along one of the petals, gently brushing it. “So they’re obviously not for my benefit.”
I pause in the doorway to the kitchen. “No, they aren’t. But I can probably get you some if you want.”
She laughs a soft laugh, and pulls a single flower from the bunch and presses it to her nose.
“That’s a very nice offer,” she says as she makes her way back to the TV. “But that’s not what I want.”
She’s staring at the TV now, so I know she won’t respond. I scoop up the bouquet; a thin stream of water drops from the green stems. Once the stream turns to a trickle, I pull them out of the vase and walk toward the door.
“Good luck,” says M. “Don’t end up like me.”
I stop in the middle of the doorway and look at her. But I can’t think of anything to say to that, so I duck outside and walk to the truck. I swing the door open and gently lay the flowers on the passenger seat.
* * *
The drive across town is uneventful. Once I reach Juliet’s house, I park and walk up to the door. I knock on it once. I pull my fist back to knock again and the door swings open.
Richard is standing in the doorway, dressed in a navy suit over a pressed sky-blue button-down and a black skinny tie. His hair has been combed and his posture is more upright than it usually is, like wearing fancy clothes has increased his confidence.
He smiles warmly. His teeth are slightly yellowed in the way a lot of men’s his age are, probably from drinking too much coffee. “Caden,” he says, stepping aside to let me in. As I pass him he claps me on the shoulder. “Where did you get that suit? It’s stunning!”
“Honestly, I can’t remember. Are you going somewhere?”
Daphne steps down from the staircase. She’s wearing a gold dress and is clutching a white leather purse with a gold clasp. Her makeup is impeccable and her nails are covered in shiny red nail polish.
“Caden,” she says, grabbing me by the biceps and placing a dry kiss on my cheek. “You look so handsome. I’m sorry, but we have to run. We’ve got our own reservations at George’s. I think Juliet’s in the shed.”
She walks past me and then, together, they leave. I watch as they cross the yard to their car, a silver Mercedes convertible, and Richard opens the door for her. Hoisting up the hem of her dress, she steps inside. The sight makes me smile.
I realize I’m being weird, so I turn and walk through the empty house to the shed, rubbing my cheek with my sleeve as I walk. Inside, I can hear metal scraping against metal. It smells like burning rubber and acidic smoke. I pound my knuckles on the metal door, which makes a dull thud, but the sound of the machines continues.
I open the door.
“Hello?”
Juliet is behind a bench, partially hidden by a variety of scientific contraptions I have no hope of identifying. She’s got on a plain gray T-shirt and she’s wearing plastic goggles that make her eyes look absolutely massive. Her hands are stained with grease. She lowers the small drill she was holding and the sounds stop, making the entire shed eerily silent.
“Goggles,” she says, pointing a finger. She’s holding a bunch of black wires, peering intently at the exposed ends. I turn in the direction she pointed and find a shelf filled with goggles. I grab a pair, put them
on, then walk over to her and offer the flowers.
“I got these for you,” I say. “It seems dumb now, I should’ve gotten you something you actually like, but …”
“They’re beautiful, Caden. But you’re early,” she says. “Too eager, huh? Too excited to try the pesto chicken?”
I shake my head. “Nope, I’m on time.” I show her my phone, which is displaying the time. Her face drops.
“You’re joking, right? You moved it forward or something.”
“What’s that old saying? About flying time?”
She drops the wires. I notice it’s the Bolt Gloves. Only now they’re darker, almost black, and the base mechanism is bigger.
I gesture toward them. “Bolt Gloves, right?”
She nods and pulls off her goggles. “Ever since the attack I’ve been perfecting them. But shit, that doesn’t matter right now. Caden, come with me, I need to …” She looks at her grease-covered hands. “… shower and, oh God, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I lost track of time.”
I laugh. “Juliet, it’s fine. Take your time.”
I want to ask her about her leg, to see if she’s okay, but she was already pretty weirded out by the fact that she fell and I don’t want to draw attention to the set piece. It’s odd, I genuinely want to do something nice, but my ties to the LIC are preventing me from doing so. Instead, I take off my goggles and put them back on the shelf. Then we walk to the house.
As we step inside she says, “I bet you’ve never had this problem, huh? Never dated a girl as unorganized as me.”
Sorry, Caden, I know I said I would let you do this but I can’t help myself. Make sure you tell her you haven’t dated anyone. It’ll make her feel special. Okay, I’m shutting up now.
We walk inside and stop beside her bedroom door.
I scratch the back of my neck. “Um, this is kind of weird to admit, but this is my first date. I guess I just never met anyone I liked enough. Until now.”
“Huh,” she says as she steps into her bedroom. She grabs a white bra and a pair of underwear from her chest of drawers. I blush and stare at the floor. She passes me, and she smells like burning hair. “I’ll be, like, five minutes. You can wait in the living room if you’d like. Okay, I’m going to stop talking now because I’ve made us late enough as it is.”
She ducks into the bathroom. I lean against the wall, the back of my head resting against the cold plaster, my shoes sinking into the carpet. I’m about to go on a date with my Chosen. It’s strange, because I must’ve thought about this moment almost every night before I fell asleep while I was at the LIC. Back then, I imagined it would be straightforward: I’d play my role, she’d fall for me, and that would be it. I never imagined that I would feel bad for my Chosen, or that I would be this worried about what will happen to my rival if I win.
It’s my first date, so I should be nervous and excited, but right now all I feel is sorry for her. She’s in there, getting ready for a date with a boy who she thinks likes her. What she gets is me, liar extraordinaire. And, if things go my way, she’ll spend the rest of her life with me. She’ll never get a real date or a real partner. She deserves one, but I have to take that from her if I want to live.
When she steps out, she’s put on makeup, so her skin glows. Her eyelashes have been extended using some sort of bottled trickery, and it looks fantastic. She’s wearing a navy dress dotted with specks of silver and different-colored circles. No, not circles. Planets. The specks of silver are stars.
She’s wearing a space dress.
It’s the best piece of clothing I’ve ever seen. It’s cute and kind of funny, and it makes me ache more than ever for the future I’m taking from her.
“Ready to go?” she asks.
I keep staring at her.
“Caden, what’s going on?”
I look down at her feet. She’s wearing black high heels with thin straps that wrap around her ankles. I meet her eyes.
“You look beautiful, Juliet.”
I mean it.
She blushes. “Thanks. And you look nice as well, Caden. Very suave. Should we go?”
I nod, and we walk through the house to the carport, where a gold Mazda is waiting for us. She opens the door and we climb in. The passenger seat is pushed right to the front of the car, leaving no leg room. I pull on a small lever beneath the seat and it slides backward.
She turns on the engine. “Dad bought this for the family so I would learn to drive a manual,” she says. “Only he didn’t ask if I wanted to learn a manual, which I don’t. So I’m sorry if the ride is a bit bumpy.”
I’m sorry about interrupting again, Caden, but you should definitely ask her about her family. It’ll—
Kaylee, do you seriously think I don’t know that? I’ve got this.
Fine! I’ll stop.
“How are you and your dad getting along?”
She rolls her eyes as we pull out of the carport. “There’s always friction. Anytime one of us speaks we annoy the other. I know it drives us both up the wall but we can’t stop it.”
“You’re too similar, I guess.”
“Ouch. But you’re probably right. What about your parents? Do you get along with them?”
I think of M, and the deep indent she’s left on the couch. And D, the great bear of a man who always reeks of alcohol. Then I think of the big blank space that is my real parents.
“I dunno. They kind of do their own thing. I’m just sort of there.”
“I find that hard to believe—they’ve got you, the poster child of manners and charm, and they don’t care?”
“Not really.”
“Well, screw that. And screw them. I think you’re great.”
She flicks on the turn signal and pulls to the curb in front of a bustling restaurant. Out the front is a small balcony. Lights have been wrapped around the railing, and they glow in the fading sunlight. Inside, people sit at the tables eating large plates of Italian food. Waiters dressed in black duck and dive between the tables, carrying plates of food or removing dirty dishes. I breathe in through my nostrils. It smells like parmesan cheese, tomatoes, and garlic.
We get out of the car and walk to the front of the restaurant, where a girl with shiny brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail smiles at us. She’s dressed in a black dress shirt and a loose skirt.
“Hello,” she says. Her accent is distinct yet unfamiliar, clearly from some European country. Maybe Sweden? She’s staring at me expectantly. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yeah, we do. Under Walker.”
She checks a black folder. Her eyes scan the page for a second, then they light up. “Ah yes, Mr. and Mrs. Walker, what a pleasure, may I take you to your table?”
“We aren’t married,” says Juliet. “We’re seventeen.”
“Oh. My apologies. You seem to be very fond of each other; it radiates from you. It’s a beautiful thing. Let me take you to your table.”
We’re led through the restaurant to a wooden balcony. We pass through rows of occupied tables to one that’s positioned in the very corner.
The waitress places two clipboards down in front of us. “You’re lucky,” she says as she pulls a lighter from her pocket and lights a circular candle in the middle of the table. “This is the best table in the restaurant. It’s usually booked for months, but there was a cancellation this afternoon. I was told to give it to the cutest couple I saw. I chose the two of you.” She smiles, then walks away.
We sit down. I realize that we’re up fairly high, overlooking the river. The lights from the restaurant are reflected as golden spheres in the black water. The table closest to us is occupied by a family of four. The youngest, a girl with curly yellow hair, is using her hands to reorganize the spaghetti on her plate into some sort of artwork. Her small face is smeared with tomato, and she’s grinning, which makes me smile.
I pick up the clipboard. Attached to the front of it in fancy golden paper is the menu.
“Get the chicken,” says Ju
liet. She’s staring at the menu, and her hair has fallen over her face in the way it always does when she looks down. “Trust me, you won’t regret it.” She laughs a slow laugh. “God, look at me bossing you around, Caden. Choose what you want, ignore me; I’m obviously a control freak.”
I place the menu down in front of me and rest my hands on top of it. The flame of the candle between us flickers. It smells like vanilla.
“The chicken sounds lovely.”
She mimics my movement and meets my eyes. Her long, thin hands rest on the paper. She’s obviously scrubbed her hands, but still, a faint trace of black grime is apparent on the top of them. Her nails are chipped and jagged.
She flips the menu over and looks at the back. “So we’ve decided? Ugh, now we have to wait ten minutes until she comes back so we can order.”
“Yeah, I wish there was a button or something I could press that would tell her we’re ready. Because, like, most of the time I don’t care about browsing the menu, I know what I want.”
“I know, right? But it feels sort of rude to not look at it, so a lot of the time I pretend to read it in case they’re watching. I imagine some poor chef looking out from the kitchen who has spent hours devising the perfect dish only for people to ignore it because they know what they want and never question that or try something new. It must be heartbreaking.”
I look over at the kitchen. A big man in a chef’s uniform is barking orders at a boy dressed in black. The boy’s shoulders are hunched, and his eyes are semiclosed, almost like he’s wincing. It’s like, Please-don’t-talk-to-me-and-let-me-do-my-job. The chef barks one last thing, and then the waiter sprints out of the kitchen carrying two steaming plates of pasta.
I look back at the chef. My heart does not break for him.
“So how is Starbucks going?”
“It’s all right. It’s part of my routine now, I barely even notice it. I feel bad, though, because Levi is such a nice guy, but the store is always pretty quiet. He thinks he’s going to get fired. It’s the only Starbucks on the planet that isn’t always crowded.”
The Love Interest Page 17