My gut tightens. Middle school. Back before Agatha. Back before I had to be good at all. Back then, you’re justcuteandcuteis enough. I’ve never been stupid enough to tell Momanything I want to be again, not after art, so whatever little skits I came up with were probably nothing more than playing pretend to her. I almost reach for a braid, but nervous Calypso who has something—or a dozen somethings—to hide isn’t the role I’m playing right now. “Well, auditions for this year’s play have already passed. Next year, I need to start focusing on the classes more specific to my major, and becoming an actress isn’t in the cards.” None of it is a lie. It’s all just worded and said in the right kind of way.
Huffing, Mom nods. “Interior design. I remember. I can’t argue with you being smart and choosing something that guarantees work. But are you going to be happy picking colors and, I don’t know, lampshades? You’ve always seemed so much more…” She waves a hand like that defines whatever it is she’s trying to find. Maybe she feels she’s overused the wordbrilliantby now. One can certainly hope.
Her words sound pretty and encouraging now, but I know how fast they can change. I echo a statement she’s drilled into me and hope it will be enough, “Stability will allow me room for whatever else I want to dabble in.”
Mom sighs, and the disappointment in the air is tangible. Because there is no winning here. Mom doesn’twantme to be an actress. She just wants me to be constantly great, at everything. But when I try, it’s still never enough, and I don’t know what to do to make her happy. It stings deep in my chest. She murmurs, “You used to love so many things. Then high school hit. I wish I’d had the time to homeschool you. Whateverthey did to you there killed my wide-eyed little girl.” The grumpy edge in her tone crushes the air from my lungs and makes it feel like I’ve done something horribly wrong, but then her eyes roll and her voice calms. “Or maybe you just became a teenager. I have faith you’re still gonna grow out of that.”
Ignoring the voice screaming thatshewas the one to kill her wide-eyed girl when she made my passion for art a roller coaster on her whim, I mumble, “I’m twenty-one. I ‘grew out of that’ two years ago.”
She chuckles. “Keep believing that, honey. I swear, teenagers are getting older and older every year.”
I don’t have the heart or energy to argue, so I just pull dinner off the stove and help set the table.
Lex
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I do not see the problem.” Jason stuffs a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and sits in the embrace of his giant stuffed sloth on his bed. I sit on the floor in his room, back to the side of his desk, one leg propped and the other extended.
Stirring my mint chocolate chip ice cream, I grumble, “We hit eleven weeks Monday.”
“Yeah. And?”
“That’s over two months. Normally, I’m over it by now. I didn’t hear from her all break, a full week and a half, and still I was giddy to come to school today.”
Jason’s goofiest smile appears. “It’s been over a year, and you still love me.”
“You know as well as I do that I even have trouble maintaining my relationship with you. When was the last time we chilled like this outside of class?”
“Gonna pretend you said that to Bartholomew.” He eats another bite of ice cream and snuggles back against “Bartholomew.” “Face it, Lex. Maybe you aren’t a heartless—” He swears. “—and you should stop thinking about Calypso, a real live person, like she’s a hobby you’re going to get bored of.”
“That’s just it. I can’t. I can’t because my brain is treating it like that’s what she is.” I stuff a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth. “It’s giving me anxiety because I don’twantit to die into boredom.”
“Has it occurred to you that you mightlikethe girl?”
I cringe. I’ve thought about that more times than I want to admit by now. I’ve never treated any girl the way I’ve treated her. I thrill every time something I say makes her flustered. I’m looking forward to when we reach Kenneth and Harriet’s kissscenes a little too violently. She’s beautiful and enchanting and precious and— “Oh, crap.”
“Uh-huh.”
I look down at my shirt, at the bright green ice cream that has just fallen onto my chest. “I forgot I was eating.”
Jason leans forward, then plops back. “Really, Lex?”
“Yes, really. Don’t joke about that. We’re in entirely different worlds.”
“Ugh.” Jason points his bright blue plastic spoon at me. “If you tell me that your father is planning a political marriage, I’m going to assassinate him myself. So what if you’re rich and she’s normal? Life isn’t governed by social standings like that anymore. At least not here. I don’t know. Maybe in some country with princes and stuff.”
“That’s not what I mean. She’s the one out of my league.”
Jason’s brows shoot up. “’Scuse me? The great Lex Hawthorn believes a girl is out ofhisleague? Is there any hope for the rest of us?”
“I mean it. There’s something about her that’s unique and special. She’s the kind of person who goes on to make history. I’m just going to head a dull business and be forgotten when the world shifts and makes whatever it is my dad does obsolete.”
“Yes, yes. A dull multi-million dollar corporation. Do you want to wipe your tears on hundreds or thousands, my liege?”
I glare at him. “Just pass me a napkin, stupid. This is soaking through my shirt.” I pull the collar over my chin, and Jason passes me a napkin from the little hoard in his nightstand.
Then he throws me an extra. “For your tears.”
