Annabeth Neverending Read online

  Isn’t that what I just said to his brother? “I suppose.”

  Bernadette is clearly mortified that I’m even second-guessing it. But she doesn’t know how complicated things are, how I can’t outright assume anything without more investigation. Regardless, this is a horrible position for me to be in. I don’t want to choose between my best friend and my boyfriend. Then again, there isn’t much of a choice to be made. If only for my own well-being. Much as it pains me, I tell C. J. that we need to put “us” on hold.

  “For how long?” he asks carefully. He’s trying hard to mask his anger because displaying any sign of fury right now would be a very bad move.

  “It isn’t forever. Just long enough for me to clear my head, figure things out,” I say.

  Yes, he apologized, but that won’t put Hector’s teeth back in his gums. He’s going to need massive dental work.

  “Let me know when you’re ready to work through this,” C. J. says dejectedly.

  I’m inconsolable, depressed, despondent. I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel useless. Aimless. My life is on standby. Pause. Nothing happens; nothing is moving. I sleep late; I can’t sleep. I eat too much; I can’t eat. There’s no hope of happiness now.

  I want to feel whole again. But can I come to terms with C. J.’s jealousy?

  From my understanding, reincarnation is supposed to create a better version of you in every subsequent lifetime—though to look at me disproves that theory. Subtle personality alterations occur over time to everyone. And it has been thousands of years. I mean, even I’ve changed a lot since middle school…I’ve changed the most since I found the ankh. But C. J.’s sadistic streak is not a good change. It’s a terrible one. And it doesn’t seem to be the kind of thing that’s easily remedied. Can I learn to accept it?

  I confide my ambivalence in my relationship with C. J. to Mrs. Lansing, who comes by so we can go over the flea’s work schedule. We sit in the living room, reviewing her Excel spreadsheet, as Mew Mew keeps slinking past. Mrs. Lansing makes a sour face to show her disdain toward my cat. My sweet feline souvenir.

  “I didn’t realize your cat was an Abyssinian. Those eyes…are so off-putting.”

  Mrs. Lansing’s reaction doesn’t sit well with me. I want those who matter most in my life to get along with one another.

  “Why don’t you hold her? Then you’ll see how sweet she is,” I say firmly.

  “No thanks. I’m not a cat person.”

  I gasp. Isn’t everyone a cat person?

  “According to old wives’ tales, cats suck the wind from babies.”

  I jump when Mew Mew bares her fangs and hisses at Mrs. Lansing, and in that second she resembles a snake about to strike its prey.

  Mrs. Lansing sneers in distaste. “See what I mean?”

  I shrug apologetically, though I’m not certain who I’m saying sorry to right now.

  “Well, you know where I stand on the subject of your boy situation. Follow your heart, but listen to your head. Together, they’ll show you the way.”

  “Because you think they’ll lead straight to Gabriel.”

  “If that’s where they take you, so be it,” she says, laughing, and for just an instant the years seem to melt away, and I see the remnants of the pretty girl she once was. Her more youthful self seems familiar. Though I can’t figure out how.

  “Even if he’s evil?” I ask leadingly.

  “I trust Gabriel. Besides, it doesn’t sound like C. J.’s as perfect as you thought, does it?”

  “Maybe in his mind it was more about the spirit of competition than the heat of passion.”

  Mrs. Lansing tut-tuts to herself under her breath. “Right. Nice way to explain it all away. Look, don’t worry about slavishly following your destiny. That’s the coward’s way. You need to make your own path,” Mrs. Lansing states with conviction. “It’s like when I met Mr. Lansing. He was big hearted, thoughtful, handsome. But I felt like I was too young to settle down. So he said if I didn’t marry him, he’d shoot himself.”

  “He did?” I ask, surprised that she never shared this fascinating fact with me before.

  “Yep, and he made good on his promise. He shot off his big toe.”

  “That’s why he had a cane?” I say, figuring it out aloud.

  “The big lug. He couldn’t do anything right,” she says with a longing smile.

  “You can’t stop true love, right? I guess there’s no point in trying.”

  “No, Annabeth. That’s the problem. You don’t let the emotions control you. You can choose the boy you let yourself love.”

  “I will,” I say.

  Mrs. Lansing is right. Just because I have feelings for someone doesn’t mean I have to act on them. Though seeing C. J. ruthlessly injure Hector bewilders me all over again. Just when I thought I had a handle on things.

  “Don’t be with the boy you think you should be with; be with the boy you want to be with.”

  I tell myself that they’re one and the same. Do I mean it?

  At that exact moment, totally unprovoked, Mew Mew turns to Mrs. Lansing and arches her back. She sets her ears against her neck, staring daggers at my neighbor with her tail bolting straight upward.

  “Dear, I can’t come over again if this cat is going to act so aggressively toward me.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

  Even my cat is trouble. When did everything go so wrong?

  22

  I drag myself to C. J.’s house to see if there’s any way to salvage things. I can’t give up on us yet. On the way, C. J. appears, walking right toward me. At the same exact time. I guess we both had the identical thought at the identical moment. Though our brain meld shouldn’t surprise me. He’s probably learned to anticipate my every move—just like Sethe.

  C. J.’s hands are in the pockets of his wrestling jacket, his posture stunted with defeat. Is he wiping his eyes? Is he sniffling? Is he crying?

  He looks at me hopefully, pitifully. “Annabeth, can you ever forgive me?”

  “I don’t know. I’m worried that jealousy might become a pattern with you.”

  C. J.’s lip starts trembling. He sure is sensitive for somebody with a hair-trigger temper. It somehow makes me want to comfort him, when he’s the one at fault. It’s the opposite of “blame the victim”; it’s reward the attacker!

  “I’m afraid of losing you,” C. J. says. “I feel like I’ve lost you before…And I don’t want it to happen again.”

  Did Ana really lose Sethe? Oh God, what if she did?

  “And I want to be with you,” he says, looking at me with pleading eyes. “But I know I don’t deserve you.”

  “That isn’t true!”

  C. J. shakes his head, refusing to accept what I have to say. “Yes, it is.”

  “Maybe we should—I don’t know—end this now before it gets too deep, and it hurts too much?” I ask.

  What if C. J. and Gabriel were reincarnated as brothers because we aren’t meant to be together? I mean, why do I deserve to have my soulmate, anyway? Why am I entitled to find true love above anyone else? Aren’t there people out there who die brokenhearted and alone?

  Maybe finding him is supposed to be enough. Maybe that’s closer than most people get, and I should be satisfied knowing that I can love, that I have loved, and that, possibly, I will love, even if in the present day that love isn’t quite working out.

  According to what I’ve read, those who believe in reincarnation posit that love at first sight occurs so quickly because it’s a love that’s happened before. It’s more a rekindling than a newborn flame. But C. J.’s snuffing us out.

  What’s the point of being tortured so mercilessly? The thought of meeting and then losing my true love, even if he’s imperfect, after all this time, isn’t just unfair; it’s downright tragic. I must have done somethin
g awful. Terrible, even. And this is the karmic return I’ve wrought. What goes around comes around. It could be that lifetime after lifetime, I miss out on the right one, having to settle for someone who never measures up.

  Timing is everything, isn’t it? If you don’t have the right moment, the right century, everything can fall apart. What if C. J. and I are just ships passing in the night? What if there will always be insurmountable obstacles that we can’t overcome? Maybe there’s always going to be something standing in my way that I can’t fix or change. The episode with Hector could be the first in a line of many.

  Has C. J. changed so drastically that Gabriel is the one for me after all?

  They’re both pretty flawed. Do their flaws cancel each other out? Is this a draw? And if not, who wins?

  “Maybe it would help if you could explain. Tell me what happened out there.”

  “Annabeth, I didn’t do it. I mean, I’ll be honest. Knowing that Hector had feelings for you at any point made me insane with jealousy. My body did it, and I couldn’t stop it. But—and I know this sounds crazy—it’s like somebody else, outside of me, was controlling my movements.”

  It was Gabriel’s doing after all! And he made it look like it was C. J. He’s more cunning than I thought.

  “That happened to me when I was Ana. Oh, C. J., it wasn’t your fault.”

  “I should’ve known that out of anybody you’d understand,” he says, standing up straighter, looking more confident, his features softening in relief.

  “We can’t give up on us now,” I say, my heart swelling, knowing this is right.

  “In that case, you should take this,” C. J. says as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box. He hands it to me.

  “This isn’t…”

  An engagement ring?

  “I’m a hothead, but I’m not an idiot. Open it,” he says with his trademark wide-mouthed grin.

  I tentatively do as I’m told. Inside, there’s an ankh pendant made of gold. It isn’t my precious pendant, but it’s a beautifully made facsimile, with one addition: it’s inlaid with lapis lazuli, a royal-blue stone that was popular in ancient Egypt.

  “Did you buy this on Amazon?” I ask with a smile.

  “No. I had it made for you before…the incident.”

  I look at the piece. A new version of the old, just like he and I are reworkings of our former selves. The same basic shape, the same basic form, but with different details. Without asking, C. J. takes it from me and clasps it behind my neck.

  “I wanted to put my own spin on the ankh.”

  While no replica could ever replace the original, this comes close. It has instant sentimental value—and a new meaning.

  “So, you think you can find it within yourself to be with me?”

  I nod furiously, and his face erupts in a warm, aw-shucks sort of grin. How could I not melt at the sight of him? How could I not give my heart to him? He’s everything I wished for, dreamed of, desired. We can work out the kinks. Nothing’s perfect, right? Would I even want it to be? After all, perfection is what tempts fate, what angers the gods…God…whatever.

  I need us to be just a touch imperfect, just a shade flawed. And, well, C. J. certainly accomplished that. This is no longer a storybook romance. It’s tinged with reality. It’s a real-life love story, with all the problems and issues that come with it. That’s how it’ll endure.

  C. J. ropes me in with his heavy arms, and I relinquish myself to him.

  I get pulled away from my usual bout of insomnia-inspired tossing and turning when I hear a tapping at my window. I undo my restraints, and my wrists and ankles feel a bit raw, the skin chafed. I probably would’ve sleepwalked—sleptwalked?—had I been given the chance, which is an upsetting prospect, but I suppose things like that never fully go away. Which is why I’m going to keep it to myself, especially when there are more dire matters at hand.

  After all, it’s almost midnight, and that noise is persisting. Is somebody throwing pebbles at the side of my house? Or is the mugger trying to break in? Terrifying as that prospect is, I decide to face it. I turn on the light and go to the window. I peer into the darkness and see Gabriel’s distinctive outline. I push up the windowpane, and I’m overcome with a blast of freezing-cold air.

  “Annabeth, can I talk to you? Now? It’s important!” he cries. The motion light turns on and I see that he looks uncharacteristically disheveled. But more disturbingly he seems wild-eyed and crazed.

  I pause. He’s dangerous. But he’d never hurt me…Would he?

  “Sure. Climb up the trellis,” I say in a shout-whisper, hoping that I don’t wake up my family. Though after the pendant sale, I’m not all that concerned about angering them. It’s childish, but I’m a bit prone to holding a grudge. Wasn’t Ana the same?

  I drag Gabriel up the white latticework leading up the side of the house and pull him into my room to the best of my ability—and close the window as quickly and quietly as I can to shut out the wind.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask gravely.

  But he doesn’t answer me at first.

  “I think I’m the one who mugged you, though I don’t know what I was trying to steal,” he stutters, struggling to get out the words.

  My chest contracts with anxiety. Terror sweeps through me. I had always half suspected but never allowed myself to think it fully…even though it times out perfectly.

  Why is it that my deepest fears keep proving to be correct?

  “I’m the reason you were drowning in quicksand. And I’m the one who made C. J. beat Hector up. I had powers then. Didn’t I?”

  How do I say this gently? Maybe there’s no way to sugar coat it. “I’m pretty sure you were…a practitioner of black magic.”

  Gabriel runs his hands through his hair, roughing it up as though to spur on knowledge. “I keep having thoughts, twisted memories of things I hadn’t remembered. Moments that had been lost…blissfully.”

  He closes his eyes to block out the pain, the color draining from his face.

  “I’m sorry this is happening, Gabriel,” I say meekly.

  “Can you ever forgive me?” he asks.

  I’ve been granting so much forgiveness lately, as though I’m giving out pardons, like it means something.

  “Of course, Gabriel. Because even if it was you, it wasn’t this you.”

  He looks so tortured, his shoulders hunched over. His neck veins bulging. It’s as if every cell in his body is at war. “How can you be so sure?”

  “If you’re not doing it intentionally, you can stop it from happening again. You can take control of your powers!”

  I say the words, but I’m not entirely convinced. How could I be, when he just told me that he attacked me in a dark parking lot when I was at my most defenseless? That he knocked the teeth out of my friend’s mouth? That he tried to drown me and his brother in quicksand?

  But I’ll hold on to the dream.

  “Please, don’t tell C. J. He’s the only one in my family who’s on my side.”

  “I know you can fight this! Doesn’t good always win out in the end?”

  “I’m not sure that rule applies when the evil is inside of you,” he says in defeat.

  I take Gabriel into my arms and squeeze him tight. He needs me now. And I can’t refuse him.

  Once again, I’m in a fugue state, unable to concentrate on anything but Gabriel and his growing evil tendencies. I wish he’d felt comfortable confiding in me more fully. He only scratched the surface, giving me a superficial read on his situation. Enough to worry me, but not enough to inform me.

  I try to turn my attention to the dance. I’m wearing a tea-length satin gown with a fitted bodice that’s the same color as the blue stones in my new ankh. Apparently, the lapis lazuli was not only prized for its beauty by the ancient Egyptians but for its healing qual
ities. Maybe if I surround myself with the color, it will eradicate my attraction to Gabriel…or protect me from his magic.

  Going to the dance and seeing Gabriel there won’t be the least bit weird, I try to tell myself. Besides, C. J. and I had our big “drama,” and we worked through it; we triumphed. Doesn’t a broken bone mend to become stronger?

  My feelings for Gabriel are now resting safely in the past tense. The more I think about it, it’s like he’s insisting that I fear him. Bad things seem to occur whenever he’s around, so I should do my best to keep my distance. But that’s impractical, seeing as he’s dating Kerry, and I’m dating his brother. It’ll just make me look petty if I steer clear. Maybe it’s better if I try to keep an eye on him anyway.

  Mom, Dad, and Howie are all standing in a row to see me off. I hop around, antsy, as I wait for C. J. to arrive. He finally walks in, freshly shaven, with his hair gelled back. He’s wearing a dark pinstriped suit with a matching corsage in a clear plastic container.

  “I thought I said a wrist corsage,” I whisper.

  “But these are so much more fun to put on,” C. J. says with a chuckle.

  “For you,” I reply.

  I swerve just enough this way and that, so he can attach the blue flower to my dress without impaling me. My parents photograph the whole show for posterity. These are pictures I’ll be sure to treasure. Photos I can show my grandchildren of the night I attended a dance with their father.

  “What a beautiful couple!” coos my mother.

  Howie takes my mom’s camera out of her hands and scrolls through some of the digital photos.

  “Annabeth, I have a bad feeling the camera isn’t what added this extra ten pounds.”

  “Shut it, Howie,” I caution.

  I block him out while I pose for a litany of pictures with C. J. I want to cherish this moment forever.

  In the past, I couldn’t be with the boy I loved, nor did I have any say in who I was going to marry, whereas in the present I’m with him, and we’re going to a school dance, the pinnacle of YHS-sanctioned events. Yes, Bernadette and Hector may be rooting against us, and Gabriel could well end up being a wild card, but I won’t let anything mar the beauty of this night.