The Matchmaker

by Kitty Parker

  "I heard him leave the last one," she informed me blandly, her gaze burning into me with as much power as my mom's when she wanted something very badly. "And if you had heard him, you totally would have, like, believed him."

  And normal Candy was back. Apparently she could only maintain a serious thought for so long before her ditzy frame collapsed. "He was all like, 'I'm really sorry and I know it was wrong.'"

  "And this proves anything because…"

  She ignored me. "And then he was like, 'I didn't know it would make you so mad.'" And suddenly serious Candy was back, weirdly enough. "And he said that he would never have done it if he had known it would hurt you. Never." She spoke slowly, letting every word impact my brain and sink in, slowly diffusing throughout my mind until it reached each every limit. "And I've never heard Darien sound so sad and lonely."

  "But that doesn't mean he learned his lesson," I observed, not turning around even though I had found the elusive book and not knowing why.

  I couldn't see her, but Candy's voice was too serious for her character. "You now, its kinda messed up and not at all like Darien, but I think he did."

  I flashed her a confused glance over my shoulder, though I remained kneeling on the floor, clutching my book like a lifeline. Her smile was wide and innocent despite eyes that edged on thoughtful

  "Just, like, think about it," she suggested, flouncing off towards the stage, where someone who I thought was her friend was performing.

  I didn't move. Had Darien actually listened to what I said? Had it actually penetrated the thick membrane around his head that was his bred arrogance and natural pride? All prior experience would deny that, but why would Candy lie? She may have only known him as the Ice Prince he appeared as, but she had known him for a while; she could at least tell when he was acting abnormal.

  I smothered a split second of regret that I hadn't listened to those messages. But I had all the rights in the world to be angry! How could he make a bet like that? But I couldn't see why Candy would deceive me in order to get me to forgive him, unless she had some really convoluted plan that not even I could attribute to her. And if he had repented, then did I have a reason to be angry anymore?

  But- forgive him? That would be conceding, and I couldn't do that. I had promised myself 3 years ago that I would never be so dependant that I would sacrifice my pride like this. And I especially couldn't now; that would be condoning what he had done- though he was sorry. But I couldn't just let it go like that; I wasn't that kind of person. I couldn't.

  o0O0o0O0o

  Once again, it was quiet. But this time the silence was nowhere near absolute, not when outside I could hear the crowd rumbling and the MCs finishing their skit. But on the stage, the heavy air pressed around me, all warm, full darkness. Nervously, I fiddled with my loose pant legs that billowed around my legs even as I stood stock still.

  I couldn't concentrate. That was not good. Messing up now would be bad, very bad. Not to mention the physical part, it would prove to everyone- to me- that I couldn't do this, not anymore. But… Darien had occupied my mind for the whole afternoon. Should I forgive him?

  Slowly, dramatically, the curtain rose, revealing the pitch-black stage to the onlookers. A muffled murmur ran through the spectators like a wave. I took a deep breath, and gazed out on my audience.

  It could have been my imagination, because there had to be at least 500 people out there, all their faces blending into one glorious mass. But I didn't think so, not when the on face I could see clearly had eyes of lapis lazuli blue and were staring, challenging and proud, at me in a way I knew far too well, but with something I had never seen before. It wasn't arrogance, or even friendship. It was a true and sincere apology. And in that face, through my shock at what I saw, I read the answer to my problem.

  The light flicked onto me and any sight I had of Darien's face was lost. But not the decision I had made, that I had had to make.

  Yes, I realized as a long, high note of a flute rang throughout the theatre, Yes.

  * * *

  Darien

  * * *

  4 days. That's how long it had been since Emma spoke to me. 3 days. That's when I last leaving her messages on her phone. Not that I was counting, or that those figures meant anything to me, but I had always been good at math. Numbers stuck in my head. And those resonated in my brain until they drowned out everything else, the sound that wasn't a sound growing exponentially as the days multiplied. Until now that is, when I sat in the auditorium, waiting for the curtain to fall, and all other thoughts had fled.

  Next to me, Lex shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As much as he loved his stepsister, anyone and everyone could tell that he wanted nothing more than to be hunting Candy down right now, even if, as he had found out during intermission, non-performers weren't allowed backstage. Still, I would have thought – had I been able to hear my thoughts anymore – that Emma should appreciate his self-restraint. Later, we would decide that he wanted to make sure I didn't mess anything up for Emma. Ha. Like I would be that stupid or desperate.

  On my other side, Brock shot me an anxious glance. I had worried him by demanding on going; he, like Lex, probably thought that I would do something drastic. He should have known better. Emma would have.

  Finally, finally (though it hadn't been more than 30 seconds since the MCs left) the curtain moved, exposing a stage black as pavement covered with ice. A lone figure was barely visible in the middle, but I had no problem recognizing her. The scant glow cast by the emergency signs reflected off of Emma's white skin as she stood, still as a statue, as straight and tall and proud as any Athenian goddess. Her eyes glinted as green as summer leaves, and for a millisecond, they locked with mine.

  To anyone else, she would have seemed unchanged. But I could see that her eyes widen in shock and understanding the instant before a fiery red light flashed on from the ceiling, creating a lone column of air and dust cast in stark relief around her, twining about her and staining her baggy pants and form-fitting, leotard-like top a purple as deep as the night sky.

  The theatre was deathly silent as a single high note sounded, pure in its simplicity. Her hands rose to meet over her head and dropped back down in front of her chest like a yoga sun salutation, that one note still ringing on, like some sort of African sunrise ritual. And her, the priestess through whom the magic, joy, and power ran.

  Full stage lights burned on at the exact moment as the music smashed into some sort of techno beat and she threw herself backwards into two continuous back handsprings, her pants streaming behind her as she flipped faster than I would have thought humanly possible. My jaw dropped, and I didn't bother replacing it.

  No longer a safari sun priestess, Emma had become a whirl of black hair and blue cloths and white skin, moving so quickly that she almost outlined the figure of someone dancing with her, parrying her strike. For, as I speedily realized as she jumped and kicked and flipped and struck to the pounding beat, this wasn't just a dance. It was a lethal display of her fatal skill; and she was no longer human, but a deadly sword, perfect in its danger. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

  The music screamed to a crescendo and ceased as Emma landed, as light as a cat, at the front of center stage, one hand raised to strike.

  A second of silence; the ultimate praise of any performer. Her face, apathetic as the weapon she had revealed herself to be, stared fearlessly out at the crowd, her chest heaving despite her frozen stance. And then the cascade of applause broke, thundering around the room with all the sudden force of a summer storm. A brilliant grin split her face, and she was human again.

  I let out a breath, not knowing if I had held it in awe or horror. She had been beautiful during her dance, but it had been a remote, sexless loveliness that had made her something other than human, above my petty admiration. But she was Emma again, the Emma I knew and missed. Horribly.

  She bowed eastern style, the curtain dropped in front of her, and the show went on. I didn't pay any attention. A new thoug
ht consumed me, the unequivocal certainty that I would force her to forgive me. But drumming underneath that, in a constant refrain that wouldn't stop no matter how resolutely I ignored it, was the thought: God, she's beautiful.

  o0O0o0O0o

  "Lex!" Candy's high, piercing voice rang over the sound of the mob that crowded the hall out of the auditorium, "Lex!"

  He glanced up eagerly, brown eyes impatient. Brock and I also looked around, trying to find the source of the sound, but before we could even begin to search, Candy had appeared in front of us, the evening gown she had worn to sing exchanged for a short pleated skirt and a halter that dipped just low enough not to be immodest. But only just.

  "So?" she prompted, giving Lex a sidelong glance that made Brock and I exchange knowing looks. She wanted him so badly it wasn't even funny. They really just had to hook up already and kill this whole sexual tension thing.

  Brock and I murmured our congratulations, and she nodded her acceptance, but her eyes didn't move. She was waiting for one person, and anyone else didn't really matter.

  "That was really good, Candy," he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably, obviously having difficulty articulating his awe, "Your voice is really pretty."

  Her smile could have made plants grow. Lex grinned tentatively in return, which only made her smile brighter. Brock and I stood awkwardly. This was one of the moments when I really wanted Emma there. She had known how to break an awkward moment. Damn it, why was I thinking of her in the past tense?

  Candy broke the silence herself. "Wait here," she ordered suddenly, disappearing back into the mass of people. Lex turned to us, confused, but before his question could find its way to his lips she was back, herding another girl in front of her whose protestations stopped when she saw that she had an audience.

  Emma glanced up, saw who was there, and dropped her gaze again, almost as if she were ashamed. "Hey," she muttered.

  "Good job," Brock smiled at her, though I thought I could see something in his eyes that was almost a demand and almost a plea.

  "Yeah, that was awesome," Lex agreed distractedly, his eyes fixed firmly on Candy. I didn't say anything. I would either get shot down or snapped at, and I didn't feel like fighting a losing battle, not tonight when I didn't have a plan to make it a winning battle.

  Candy's gaze flickered from me, to Emma, and back again. Bright blue eyes, almost the same shade as Troy's but not quite as pure, rolled in annoyance. "Oh, come on," she commanded, grabbing Lex's hand and giving Brock a significant look, "There's, like, food and stuff downstairs. You guys can, like, come stuff your faces." They didn't need telling twice, following her obediently, leaving Emma and me alone.

  Finally, the pressure of strained silence that persisted despite the roar of the mob around us overcame my reluctance to speak - but there had never been weird silences between me and Emma before - and I broke it. "That was really cool," I told her hesitantly, braced for the inevitable blow, "And you did really well."

  She looked up at that, one of the quick glances through her dark lashes that made her appear so innocent and appealing. "Thanks," she replied almost shyly. Something was different here. Was I- oh joy of joys- forgiven? I had to try, if only I had some sort of chance…

  "Emma, I'm-" I took a deep breath, swallowed my pride and upbringing, and continued. Emma was more important than my unwillingness to apologize, no matter what I had learned from my parents. "-sorry. I was stupid, and you were right, and-"

  A gentle finger on my lips cut me off.

  "Yes, you were," Emma agreed without triumph or hatred in her voice or eyes, only a sort of exhaustion. "But I overreacted as well. So I'm sorry too." It made me feel a bit better that apologizing sounded painful to her too.

  "It's fine," I told her, not believing my luck. This was turning out so much better than I ever could have expected. I had anticipated at least a little violence or yelling, not this calm acceptance and forgiveness, and even this shouldering some of the guilt herself. Was this even the real Emma? "We're cool."

  She beamed at me then, a brilliant, glowing smile that transfigured her face and made her eyes incandescent with unadulterated joy. Those glittering jewels captured me in their magic that was as powerful as anything she had had during her performance, but human and so that much more magnetic.

  'So," I said, casting around for a subject that would bring things back to normalcy and distract me from the sudden awareness of how tantalizingly the leotard hugged her modest curves, "You proved me wrong."

  She raised her eyebrows, inviting me to continue. "Oh?"

  "You do have talent," I admitted shamelessly. The concession didn't hurt as badly as I thought it would, probably because there was a certain dignity in deserved surrender freely given. "That was really cool. How on earth did you learn how to do that?"

  She gave me a long, considering look, her emerald eyes boring into me like they were weighing my soul against the feather of Truth of Egyptian mythology. But my question hadn't merited this. It was supposed to be simple.

  "Let's go someplace quieter," she said just loud enough for me to hear. I looked askance at her, but her expression, as usual, gave nothing away. She wouldn't try to murder me in a back alley, would she? "I think," she answered my unasked question, "I owe you a story."

  After that, I couldn't not follow her outside. She led me to a small nook set just off the sidewalk, where there were a few benches placed under some trees that isolated it from the path. A perfect place for a lovers' tryst, my unruly mind informed me before I could squash it.

  "I never told you why I stopped partying, did I?" she began rhetorically as I leaned against a tree, preparing to listen. Emma stood in front of me, alone, as if she were on trial.

  I stood bolt upright. She knew about that? That meant she remembered the kiss, and hadn't said anything, which meant- something. Did it not mean anything to her, or did it mean too much? Until I figured out what that something was, I wasn't about to call her on it. "No. No you didn't," I replied cautiously, settling back into my relaxed pose.

  "Actually, the story starts before that," she continued as if I hadn't spoken, staring off into the dark night, seeing something (or someone) I didn't playing out on the starry sky. "It starts- and ends- with Dan."

  I didn't say anything. I had been wondering about him for a while, but she didn't need me to speak. She was years away, and my voice would only break the spell.

  "I met Dan a few months into 8th grade. I was already into the party scene, but he- he kept me there." She sighed. "He was perfect. Older- at least 17- sophisticated, worldly, charming, and hot. Gorgeous, really. Long brown- almost black- hair, tall, muscled, and with these amazing eyes. They were so deep a blue that they were purple, and I could just lose myself in them." My fists clenched. I didn't like this boy, not at all. She shook her head, jolting herself from her reverie. "Anyway, he was perfect. I thought I was in love. I was certainly infatuated." She sighed again, and the pain in her voice was enough to make me put aside my irrational anger. This story wasn't totally for me; it was for Emma too. "And things were amazing, for months. Dan and I, me and Dan- we were inseparable. I don't know, looking back now, whether he really loved me. I mean, would it be possible? But it doesn't matter now, and it didn't then. I loved him, and that was what mattered to me." She snorted without mirth. "I was a fool. But no matter. Anyway, I thought things were going great. I had the best boyfriend in the world, parties were loads of fun, school was a breeze, and Mom had just gotten a new boyfriend too- her boss, Jack Lexington. I should have known things were going too well. The gods don't like mortals to be too happy, after all."

  She was pacing now, her agitation plain despite the toneless apathy of her voice and mien. I watched her, hating how helpless I was against these old ghosts.

  "8th grade had just ended. I would have gone to Dan's high school in the fall, and we wanted to celebrate. God, I don't even remember where we were going or coming from! But Dan was drunk, and I was being
distracting, and the streets were crowded and-" She broke off, her eyes staring once more at horrors I couldn't imagine, rubbing her wrist as if pained by a phantom hand. I wanted to put out a hand to touch her, to comfort her, but what could I say to counteract something like that? What could anyone say?

  She took a deep breath. "I broke two legs and my arm," she said, her voice hoarse and her eyes nearly closed, but with the tone of one reciting a grocery list, "The driver who we hit got a concussion. Dan-" another long, rattling breath, as if she were about to cry, "Dan broke his neck."

  I couldn't conceal my sharp intake of breath, but I don't think she heard it. She was lost in old agony, drowning in a sea of what was. "He died before the medics got there. I haven't had alcohol again, until this year." Her voice was soft now, barely audible, except for the pain that made it crash into my ears. "I got better- eventually. Got therapy and all that. Started over at a new school Jack managed to get me a scholarship at a school where I wouldn't be constantly reminded of Dan. I learned akido- that's what I just did- because the physical part helped me heal, and the mental aspects, well, they made me focus more on the here and now, less on the then. I got other hobbies that distracted me from what I had left. I kept myself busy, because than I wouldn't have to think about anything- about him. I stopped making friends, because then it wouldn't hurt as much when they left. I lost all faith in whatever it is people call love." A single tear dripped down her face.

  "I mean, how could he?" she demanded, her voice suddenly rising with terrifying intensity. "How could he just leave me? If he had loved me, he would have lived for me and not left me alone!" For all the rage in her voice, only grief showed on her face, a terrible sorrow that I decided should never be allowed on her face again. She would never be that lonely again, not if I could help it. "He should have been here tonight! He should have been there when Mom and Jack got married! He shouldn't have left!" No tears had followed the first. Her misery was too deep for that.