The Matchmaker

by Kitty Parker

  "As I'm sure many girls can attest to," Brock responded to my cocky comment as if he wasn't upset at all. He was pretty good at that. I knew him well enough to tell he was down, but no one else would. "Come on, Dar. Later, Lex!"

  He strode away, head high. This time, I was the one who followed in Brock's wake, after a condescending glare at Lex, just so he knew he had done something wrong.

  "What's eating you?" Brock asked as we approached our cars.

  "What the hell do you mean?" I replied testily. I had been meaning to ask him the same thing, so he could vent about the Matchmaker. He didn't have any right to pry into my business.

  "That. You yell in the hall, then you get mad at Lex, and now you're getting pissed at me. What set it off?"

  Brock was being surprisingly perceptive. But you know what they say, even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

  "I'm just bored."

  I couldn't very well admit that some slip of a girl I could probably break in half without half trying mouthed off to me, now could I?

  "No, that's why you're never in a good mood. What's so bad about today?"

  He wasn't going to let up, I could tell. It was probably better to just tell him now instead of having him annoy me for days until he got it out somehow.

  "Some girl was impudent," I muttered. Brock snorted.

  "Wow, dude, you need a life. Some kid's got you this worked up?"

  I groaned and stretched as we come to my car.

  "I going to get trashed," I informed him, "That's life enough for me."

  Brock chuckled as he jogged to his car.

  "Amen to that, brother, amen."

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  Emma

  * * *

  I was silent as I slipped in the front door, my light footsteps echoing unnaturally loudly in the massive entrance hall. One summer wasn't enough to accustom me to this massive house. Scratch that, this wasn't a house, it was a mansion. And it's impeccable. I can't toss my bag down here like I could at my old home. Here, I removed my shoes and placed them carefully on the rack before padding up the Grand Staircase and through the beautifully expensive corridors.

  "Emmy!" My mother came dashing up to me, her cropped blonde hair ruffling as she ran.

  "Hey Mom, why are you here?" I dead-panned. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother, but her enthusiasm gets old. Fast. She gave me a quick laugh before running past.

  "Gotta run, Honey. Jack just forgot some papers."

  Yes, my mom is her husband's secretary, and yes, they've been involved for more than the half year they've been married. But at least he did the decent thing, marrying her. Jack's not bad, for a filthy rich business lord.

  I followed the path my mother had rushed out of to another wing, this one covered with soft carpets and a slightly more lived in look, although it was still scarily neat. I eased open the plain wooden door and collapsed on the bed of my blessedly messy room, dropping my backpack and jacket on the floor.

  As if on cue, my phone rang. Glad of a reason to be lazy, I picked it up and flipped it on.

  "Hiya!" A perky voice came form the other side of my phone.

  "Hey, Rhi," I responded with a groan, "Aren't you a little awake for," I consulted my watch, "10:00 your time?"

  "They gave me sugar after 6," she chirped.

  Bad idea, with Rhi. Normally, she's hyper. On a sugar high, she's terrifying; I didn't even want to know what she was like on a drug high.

  "So, how are things in the motherland?" I asked, quite aware that the best way to stop her from getting even more hyper on me was to head her off.

  "Okay, I guess," She said, sobered by the thought, "Nowhere near as good as home."

  "Obviously. And how is the lovely Lord Ass- I'm sorry, Baslyn?"

  She snickered. "As much as a bastard as usual. I mean, I know he's cheating on me, and everyone in both families know, but they can't admit it and just let me go."

  "See, this is why I don't like rich people," I announced. It distracted her, just like I'd intended.

  "You are a rich person, now, Em," she teased.

  "Yeah, right. Like I'd ever act like that prick of a McGavern."

  I could almost hear her sudden focus.

  "What happened with him?"

  I cut back the instinctive denial. Nothing would put her on track like a quick retort.

  "What do you mean," I responded casually.

  "Why did you mention him?" she pressed, "Do you finally admit to liking him? Did he ask you out? Did he-"

  "Well, not exactly…"

  "Tell, tell," She whined, "Come on, spill!"

  With such articulate urging, how could I resist? I told her the whole story. Rhi is the only one who knows the real identity of the Matchmaker, I hope. She had helped me, before she left.

  "So now he's asked for the Matchmaker even though he doesn't like her or even know who she is for some unknown reason?" Rhi clarified.

  "Pretty much, yeah," I agreed dourly.

  "Wow, you're screwed," Rhi informed me, and then after a pause calculated to sound casual, "How's the business otherwise? Any interesting people?"

  "He hasn't asked," I assured her, seeing right through her off-hand manner, "He's barely looked at a girl since you left."

  Okay, it's a bit of an exaggeration, but it is figuratively true. He hasn't looked seriously at a girl.

  "Is he still sad?" she asked quietly, like she does every time, "Is he mad?"

  "Rhi, it looked like you randomly ditched him. Yes, I'd say he's both sad and mad. Doesn't mean he won't snap you back when you finally take me up on my offer to kill Lord Bastard and come back home."

  It made her laugh, like I'd intended. She'd been dealt a hard portion, finding her match only to lose it due to family obligations she had no part in making.

  "I wish, Em. I want to come home. I want to come back to him."

  "I know, Rhi," I offered her what slight comfort I could, "I know."

  * * *

  Darien

  * * *

  It was past midnight when I stumbled into my house, not even making it to the family wing before I collapsed onto a couch in the front parlor.

  "Darien?" a voice called down the hall. I groaned in response. A moment later, the sun blonde head of my kid brother peeked through the door. "Hey, Dar, you okay?"

  "Don't talk so loudly," I moaned, "why are you still up, kid?"

  He padded into the room, big blue eyes widening at my messy clothes and hair.

  "What happened to you?" he asked, but he already knew. He had found me worse then this before, "Come on, get upstairs. Mom and Dad will kill us if they find you here."

  "Our parents won't do a thing," I contradicted, "Their gaze will go right over us like usual."

  As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. Troy flinched as if I had punched him. He prefers to keep his illusions that our parents love us.

  "Still, you have to get to bed or you'll never get to school tomorrow," he informed me, dragging me to my feet. I yanked out of his hold as soon as I was standing.

  "I can get there by myself," I retorted, "You, sir, are going to bed."

  "After I help you," he stated. Damn kid, he can be as obstinate as me.

  "I'll be fine."

  "No you won't'"

  "I'm 17. You're 10. I think I know better."

  I swayed on my feet and nearly collapsed. Troy grabbed my arm, dragging me back upright.

  "Not right now. Come on."

  "You never answered me, why are you still up?" I asked, stubbornly staying in place.

  "I was thirsty," he answered with a shrug, giving up on dragging me with him. I must have been 1½ times his weight.

  "Then I'll wait. Go get yourself a drink, and then you can help me." This time, I wasn't going to budge.

  "Fine." He stalked off into the kitchen.

  I sighed and sat back down on the couch. I wasn't really drunk, just exhausted and drunk enough to be rash and out of it. But
not out of it enough to be immune to the scared look in the kid's eyes. My head sunk into my hands. He couldn't have slept through it. No, Troy had to see me at my worst. God, I hate irony.

  Troy shuffled back in, already half asleep. He sprawled n the chair across form me, poses oddly symmetrical.

  "How've you been, kid?" I asked, trying to pass the time.

  "Not bad," he sipped his milk, "But Alexa still won't notice me."

  "She'll come around," I assured him. He gave me a cocky, albeit sleepy, grin.

  "Who wouldn't?" Yep, the kid's my brother. His grin faded, "But it's been 2 years and she still hasn't noticed!"

  "You have the slight disadvantage of all the other girls liking you."

  "Doesn't stop you," he observed sleepily.

  "Kid, you're 10. You have a slight age discrepancy."

  He looked questioningly at me.

  "I've got a bit more experience," I explained.

  "But I'll never be as good as you," he sighed, "She'll never like me."

  His voice trailed off. When I looked up to see if he was planning on continuing, his eyes were closed and his breathing slow and regular.

  I smirked. He tried to act so old and mature, and then his age betrayed him.

  I drew myself to my feet and groaned, stretching. The alcohol was basically burned form my system. I scooped troy up and carried him, still sleeping, to his room, through the Midas-touched halls and silvered rooms.

  I gently set him down in his bed, tucking him in carefully. I ruffled his already sleep-messed hair with a rare fond smile. He looked so innocent, as innocent as only a child can look, lying there. And he was sad he wasn't like me! That he still believed in one girl. He had so much I didn't, happiness and kindness and faith. Faith in humanity, faith in love, and most of all, faith in me.

  "No," I told the unhearing boy, "You don't want to be like me. Don't ever become like me."

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  Emma

  * * *

  I watched idly from my seat in the back corner as Darien stalked into our first period class, actually early for once. He dropped into the chair in the opposite back corner and leaned back, closing his eyes and resting his feet on the desk. I went back to my book, ignoring as completely as he obviously didn't notice me.

  A moment later, a familiar smell drifted over to my corner. I glanced up. Darien was still the only other one in the room, and he was in the same position as before. The only change was a cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

  I managed to stifle a groan. I could not deal with this. Not this early in the morning, not from him, and not after I had spent all night agonizing over how to respond to his note. I glanced at my watch. There was a good 7 minutes before class would start. Why did he have to be here early today of all days? Another sidelong look showed that Darien had no intention of moving until class started, and probably not even then.

  I shut my book and rose, walking noiselessly across the room. I moved to stand in front of Darien. He didn't open his eyes, but he shifted slightly, as if ready to bolt given the any provocation.

  "Could you please remove that?" I asked. Might as well try courtesy, however futile I may know it to be.

  He ignored me. I repeated myself, louder this time. His only response was a long drag on his cigarette. I sighed, resigned. This would take awhile to argue, and I really didn't think I could hold up for that long time. There was only one viable solution.

  I reached over and plucked the cigarette out of his mouth. His eyes shot open and he sat up. Unfortunately, he forgot that his feet were on the desk, so he toppled over. I ignored his antics, calmly extinguishing the cigarette and dropping it in the garbage.

  "Did you just do that?" he inquired coldly. It wasn't the expostulation of rage anyone else would have used. He had recovered from his upset well, and was towering over me, seemingly serene.

  "Depends. What is 'that'?" I drawled. This confrontation would be a lot easier if he wasn't about a head and a half taller than me.

  "You just took my cigarette."

  His voice was hard and cold.

  "I did." There wasn't much point in denying it, was there? I tossed my long, pin straight black hair and met his sapphire eyes boldly. He looked affronted at my easy defiance.

  "And may I inquire what precipitated such an action?"

  "Impressive wording," I observed dryly.

  He glared. I guess most people were afraid to meet that look, but I had no problem. Okay, I had only a little problem. Not enough to stop me. If he was going to really hurt me, he would have already. His blue eyes were nearly white with anger, however much he attempted to conceal it.

  "Answer me!" he demanded.

  "Yes."

  His confused look, however fleeting, was priceless.

  "You asked if you could inquire. I told you yes, it was possible for you to ask," I clarified. Ha, take that.

  'Why did you take my cigarette?" Darien spat. Baiting him was fun. He reacted so easily.

  "I asked you twice to remove it. As you neglected to respond, I took your silence as an affirmative."

  "And why would you do that?"

  "Because I dislike cigarettes," I explained patronizingly, "Not to mention they're not allowed."

  "Do you think I care?" His voice was getting dangerous.

  "No, but I do." Actually, that was a lie, I really didn't care that he was breaking the rules. If he wanted to screw himself over, hallelujah for him. But it was a convenient excuse to explain things I really didn't want to talk about.

  "And why should I care what you think?" He managed to imbue the word 'you' with all the disgust his arrogance could muster. And that was quite a lot.

  Okay, this guy was starting to get on my nerves with his mightier than thou attitude. He really needed to get over himself. Sure, he was hot, and handsome, and I had on occasion noticed him be charming, but someone had to take him down a notch.

  I didn't deign to respond to his query for a moment, just stood defiantly in front of him. Startled by my defiance, he didn't' stalk away of push me aside, as I had half expected him to do.

  At that moment, the bell rang and I could here the stampede that always proceeded it rumbling outside the classroom.

  "That's what you have to find out," I smirked and spun, strolling back to my seat, secure in my women's privilege of having the last word.

  I could feel his eyes on me long after I had sat back down and recovered my book.

  * * *

  Darien

  * * *

  As I watched the girl's retreating back, I couldn't help but feel like I had lost, although she was the one who had fled. And what the hell did she mean by her parting statement?

  As I was absorbed by these thoughts, the rest of the class came rushing in and I was forced to return to my seat. I did keep my feet on the ground and sit up, though. I like math, and I'm decent at it. That's why I'm in the smartest class. Actually, contrary to popular belief, I'm in mostly AP or honors classes. When I feel like showing. But I always show for math.

  The teacher herded the stragglers in as the rest of the class took out their books. I like Mr. Kaplan, he's a good teacher and he doesn't seem to care very much that my father is Gregory McGavern.

  "Are we ready now?" he asked, his signal that class was about to actually start. I shook my head to wake myself up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emma Laycha put down her book.

  Since when had she been in this class? I had never noticed her before. Although she was generally beneath my notice, I had thought I knew everyone in this class. Maybe she just hid in the corner and never spoke. She couldn't be good at math along with every other subject.

  Mr. Kaplan began to talk about solving systems of 4 equations. A bit simple for pre-calc, but we were still reviewing. I couldn't wait until the month of review was up and we could actually learn something interesting.

  "Now. I want you to solve this system," Mr. Kaplan wrote 4 equations on
the board, "When you do, come up and let me check it. First one done gets a prize."

  I grinned smugly as I bent over my notebook. I didn't care about the prize, there was nothing really worth winning that he could offer, but more fame is always good. And I rocked at algebra. This was all but won. So I'm competitive, sure me.

  10 minutes alter, the sound of a chair scratching against linoleum made me look up. Emma Laycha walked quickly but unhurriedly to the teacher's desk and offered her notebook for inspection.

  "Very good, Miss Laycha," Mr. Kaplan exclaimed, handing her a Kit-Kat bar, "You win the prize!"

  Amazed, I glanced at my paper. I had one more variable to solve for. How could she have beaten me? I looked angrily over at her, but she was gnawing on the candy bar as she was once more absorbed in her book. Alerted by something to my glare, she looked up and met my eyes.

  Emerald eyes laughed at my futile anger. My fists clenched. I had contained my anger earlier, if she tried to confront me again, she'd be dead.

  The bell rang and I stormed out. I stalked to my locker, even though my next class was right next door to math and my locker was halfway across the school. I didn't feel like English today. I needed to go somewhere, anywhere.

  As I rounded the corner of the A wing, where my locker was, I was greeted by a dejected Brock trudging towards me. He raised a hand in greeting, but his usually loud welcome was nowhere in sight.

  "What happened to you?" I asked bluntly when he was in hearing distance.

  "Jess broke up with me."

  "But I thought you said you didn't really like her?" I clarified.

  "I didn't. But she dumped me. Dude. That never happened before last year. I'm supposed to be the one dumping. Now I can't keep a girlfriend for more than a week."