Annabeth Neverending Page 19

  We arrive at the dance, and it looks just as I envisioned. Of course, I’ve spent many hours in the gym making it so. My attention to detail was no doubt galling to the students on the dance committee, which I joined at the last minute, and whom I pushed into staying late and coming in early in an attempt to make sure that everything was historically accurate, or, as I like to think of it, memorially accurate. C. J. was the only one who never complained.

  Huge black backdrops cover the field-house walls, with tiny white Christmas lights strung everywhere to represent stars. From the Sphinx to Abu Simbel, ancient Egyptian monuments are depicted in all their paper maché grandeur. There are multiple fake but convincing palm trees and large pyramids made from stacked Kleenex boxes that have been painstakingly spray painted beige.

  Monuments were not the plain, dusky color we’re used to now. Back in the day, they were covered in eye-poppingly bright designs. But I don’t want to confuse the dancegoers with crazy-looking decorations. Attention to period detail is important, but something had to give.

  “Last time, we were in the right outfits, wrong surroundings. Now it’s just the opposite. Are we always meant to be out of time and out of sync?” I ask.

  “Let’s hope not,” C. J. replies.

  As C. J. and I walk in together, I savor the looks we’re getting. Within seconds, every insecurity I’ve ever had has been wiped away; every feeling of inadequacy has disappeared. Even though for the most part, thanks to C. J., I’ve ceased to care about my reputation, it’s nice to be the object of envy after being one of ridicule: I know that every girl in here wishes she were me right now. It’s a strange feeling, one I’m not used to, but one I’m enjoying wholeheartedly. Though I’m not enjoying the understandably awkward tension that results when we run into Hector and Bernadette.

  “How are your teeth doing?” asks C. J. regretfully, shamefully slouching.

  Luckily, Hector’s face has healed for the most part, and there are only minor telltale scratches and yellow bruises. But when he smiles and his metal braces catch the overhead lights, I’m reminded of what happened.

  “Well, I only have a few left. But they’re fine.”

  They seem to be getting along, considering, so I grab Bernadette, and we go to grab some punch at the refreshment table. I involuntarily ogle Kerry, in her white spangly dress, and see her hand slip into Gabriel’s as they make their entrance.

  “She looks like a slut, huh?” says Bernadette, scrutinizing the contents of her plastic cup.

  “What’s new?” I ask. Even though she looks gorgeous and couldn’t look less slutty if she tried.

  I sneak a glance at Gabriel’s outfit. He’s wearing an Arundel flea special. I even saw it hanging on a rack at our competitor’s booth. Only he could carry off a suit from the eighties, with narrow lapels and keyboard tie.

  Just the sight of him makes my skin crawl…in a good way?

  I guess I asked for it. Gabriel wanted to skip the dance altogether, but I insisted that he come and prove to himself that he could manage his magic. I just hope I don’t regret it.

  “This would be better with booze. Too bad spiking the punch bowl has become such a cliché,” says Bernadette, taking a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 out of her purse and pouring it into the bubbly mixture of lime sherbet and Sprite.

  “With that much liquor, we’ll all be sluts before long,” I say.

  “I wasn’t going to mention it again, but I still can’t believe you stayed with C. J. after what he did.”

  “Sometimes things get heated. Hazard of the sport,” I say, though I feel a bit uncomfortable making excuses. But then I can’t exactly come out and say that Gabriel was the one behind it.

  “Annabeth, C. J. may look good on paper, but he’s not a good guy. You should end it and never look back. What he did was out of line. It was vicious!”

  “You don’t know him like I do,” I say, having a rotten time defending his actions.

  “What’s happened to you? You’ve changed,” she says mournfully.

  “No, this is the me I’ve always been. I just didn’t know it yet,” I insist. “Besides, he feels terrible. He never intended for Hector to get injured. I mean, there’s no way I can excuse it. But people make mistakes.”

  “Let’s just hope you don’t end up on the wrong end of his temper.”

  Eager to change the subject, I gear the conversation back toward Kerry and Gabriel. Our eyes travel over to them, and we witness Gabriel lifting Kerry’s hand to his mouth and kissing it.

  “How pathetic is that?” I ask, trying to save myself from the image in front of me by making fun of it.

  “Why do you care so much?” Bernadette asks, even though it must be obvious, to her of all people.

  “I don’t,” I insist, not wanting to acknowledge that my inner green-eyed monster is making its way to the surface, slithering right out of me.

  C. J. rolls in, takes my hand, and spins me around. Then, the first slow song, a corny ballad that sounds like it was written just for high-school dances, starts up. It signals the “just friends” couples to exit the area. But I’m not among them. C. J. leads me to the middle of the dance floor and takes me into his arms. I fold, a letter being surrounded by his enveloping arms. He may be wearing a suit, but in my mind he’s the slave boy, outfitted in armor, seeking my heart and longing to protect me.

  I rest my head on his shoulder and drink him in. He smells…musky? Not animal musky, but musk musky. Nothing like Gabriel and his cologne. Though I did really like that scent. I think it was Cool Water. It was preferable to what my dad wears, Old Spice, unless he’s found a coupon for something else. C. J. caresses my back, and I remind myself that Gabriel is not my date.

  My eyes travel over to him nonetheless, and he’s swaying back and forth to the music with Kerry. He’s not much of a dancer, is he? Though Kerry seems oblivious. Did she really need to wear that skimpy of a dress? I mean, it suits her, but she could’ve done better. Strapless is so over. She probably got it for the easy access.

  Why am I being so catty? I guess I just don’t understand why he’s holding her so tight. What, is he trying to suffocate her or something? Oh God, now they’re…kissing. His tongue is inside her mouth. It’s like staring at a car crash. I want to know what happens even though gazing at it is making me queasy.

  Get a room! Actually…don’t.

  They finally decide to take a break from their face sucking. And then Gabriel looks right at me. Those icy blues are enough to make a girl go weak. And I feel myself losing strength fast.

  I go over it all again in my head. Gabriel is a diversion, a test. He’s a blip. All that should matter at this second is C. J. and me. Yet Gabriel keeps permeating my thoughts. Why are my emotions following their own path? I know what my destiny is supposed to be, but sometimes, it seems like my heart has gone rogue.

  Maybe I want him because I know I can’t have him, because I shouldn’t have him.

  There’s so much to take in. Even though being with C. J. is all I should want, the idea of finding my true love, at age sixteen, never seemed like it was actually going to happen. I adore C. J., but I desire Gabriel. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. I shouldn’t be confused. I shouldn’t be wondering if I’m with the wrong boy when my destiny is literally in hand.

  So why do I keep looking his way when C. J. could catch me in the act? Now, it’s like I can’t even help it. My pupils fly to him, searchingly, as if to anger C. J.

  It’s like I want to get caught. But I don’t. Not this time.

  “Should we go talk?” C. J. asks, pulling me from the fray.

  Because we’re in the field house, there are huge, stacked sets of bleachers where couples go to hang out, make out, and fight about potential cheating disasters. C. J. leads me over. He motions to me to sit down, and I follow his command. I’d do anything as long as he doesn’t ask me to say ho
w I feel about Gabriel right now.

  Seeing Gabriel and Kerry together, dancing, makes me realize that my feelings for Gabriel are more complex than I thought. They continue to linger, even though they have no reason to stick around. Even though I know he’s evil. I’ve seen it on more than one occasion. Why don’t I heed the signs?

  “Do you believe in magic?” I ask, knowing full well what a strange question it is.

  “I do. When you think about it, isn’t love a kind of magic?” replies C. J. confidently.

  “But what about black magic?” I ask, interrogating him further.

  “I guess that if good magic exists, bad magic must too,” he says.

  “Good point. Every yin needs a yang, right?”

  Gabriel would’ve said I was his yang, but C. J. merely nods. “Annabeth, if only you understood how much I care about you. How much I love you.”

  “I already do,” I say, astonished that things have progressed so quickly…and yet totally expecting it to happen again because there’s a precedent. “And I love you too,” I respond, saying it with as much feeling as I would’ve said to Sethe if the present-day me had been given the chance. The perfection of the moment is tarnished when I look into the distance and spy Kerry and Gabriel kissing again. They’re getting even more intense, which I didn’t think was possible. At least, it shouldn’t be this possible in public.

  I crane my neck and kiss C. J. to block it out. Our lips are enmeshed, our bodies making contact in all the right places. Everything else is futile, pointless. Why was Gabriel distracting me when kissing C. J. is…great.

  My temperature seems to be rising, and I can practically hear the sparks igniting between us…until I open my eyes and realize that there are real sparks flying through the air!

  Is this a nightmare? Another fantasy, but one gone terribly wrong? If only…

  Lines of bright orange fire tear through the center of the field house, spreading instantly from the black starry sheets to the beige paper decorations. Unfortunately, all the paper maché pieces are so flammable, we may as well have set out piles of kindling throughout the gym. Flames lick at the ceiling, the walls. Even the punchbowl is burning—how much booze did Bernadette put in there, anyway?

  The subtle, romantic lighting is a mere memory when floodlights are turned on full blast. Alarms blare, as shrill screams and the sound of scattering footsteps pervade the gym. The teachers and chaperones try to evacuate us, but everyone is so panicked there’s no sense of order. Chaos reigns.

  Though the light helps, the smoke has quickly overtaken the area, making it hard to see. The DJ’s turntable explodes, and sparks fly, spreading fire further.

  “Come on, kids! Out of here!” cries Mr. Albertson, who must be sorry that he got rooked into chaperoning tonight.

  The sprinkler system kicks in—it sure took long enough—and sprays of white, foamy water saturate the flames. It’s impossible to say who’s still there and who’s already gone because there are numerous exits. Gabriel and Kerry jet toward us, and we all make a run for it together, amid a mix of black smoke and caustic fumes that sting my mouth and singe the hairs in my nose. C. J. grabs my arm and pulls me along.

  “Come on, this way!”

  Gabriel and Kerry run toward us, and we exit, frantic, panting and screaming. We pass Billy, who’s standing there so shell-shocked he doesn’t move. I drag him with us, even though he’s the last person I ever thought I’d be willing to help. But I guess I’m rising to the occasion. Panic brings out the worst in some people, but I’m not that lost a cause.

  Some journey down the Nile. Turns out that this was a night to remember, all right, but for all the wrong reasons.

  Once outside the smoldering building, Gabriel and C. J. try to run back in to help any stragglers, but they aren’t allowed to enter.

  “We’ve got it. We don’t need more students to save!” shouts a fireman.

  We stand there idly, watching the flames demolish our beloved field house. Ambulances abound as victims of smoke inhalation and third-degree burns are being treated all over the parking lot. Some students are in shock; others are breaking down sobbing. Bernadette, Kerry, and I share a shaking embrace. We then turn to our respective boyfriends for comfort.

  C. J. and I hold each other, happy to have a bit longer to enjoy this particular existence. Hector grabs Bernadette’s hand and looks at her thoughtfully.

  “No offense, Bernadette, but I’m never coming back to your school again.”

  Kerry is hanging on to Gabriel for dear life, but he stands there, seemingly unaffected by the tragedy that surrounds him. I find this to be the strangest reaction because it’s a nonreaction. His face is free of emotion, and his eyes are strangely vacant. He stands there, dumbly…numbly.

  And I know why. Dear God, I know why.

  23

  The principal, Mr. Gruel, insists that the incident at the dance was caused by a shortage in the electrical system, but of course I’m skeptical. Then again, it’s not like any investigation is going to consider “black magic” a probable cause. The school and the whole town have been turned upside down by what happened. Mr. Gruel’s thin, manufactured explanation may provide closure for everyone else, but not me.

  York High has been closed for days to clean up the mess and allow the teachers who worked the dance and the students who attended some time to heal. Several of my classmates are still in the hospital recovering from smoke inhalation and severe burns. Their injuries aren’t pretty, but things could be even worse. At least nobody paid the ultimate price for attending a dance with Gabriel.

  I’m watching coverage of the fire on the local news when the doorbell rings. I answer it, finding a bleary-eyed Kerry standing there, her nose red and raw looking, like she’s been wiping it repeatedly.

  “Gabriel just broke up with me,” she murmurs.

  “He did? But why?”

  Kerry runs her fingers through her blond hair, which is unusually mussed, thoughtfully.

  “He said he has issues. And I’m pretty sure those issues are you,” she answers, like she’s dropping a bomb, though I saw this one coming from miles away.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, even though I don’t need her to explain it. But I can’t exactly act like I suspected it all along.

  “I don’t think he ever stopped liking you. I guess you can’t help how you feel,” Kerry reasons, resigned.

  “You know I’m with C. J.,” I say quietly.

  “Annabeth, some things just aren’t meant to be. At least, that’s the line Gabriel used on me. And maybe your relationship with C. J. is one of them,” she says, her bitterness palpable.

  “I never encouraged Gabriel. I swear.”

  “I believe you. But being around you…It’s just too painful right now. I hope you understand.”

  I nod sadly. I feel bad for her, but I get it. If her feelings for Gabriel are even a fraction of what mine were…maybe even are…Well, she’s in for a world of heartbreak.

  “Are you going to kick me off the squad?”

  “Why? That won’t change anything. At least this way, whenever you see me, you’ll feel guilty.”

  She’s got a point there.

  “The irony is, the whole reason I put you on the squad in the first place is because I felt guilty.”

  “About what?” I ask, not having the faintest inkling of what could’ve prompted those feelings in her.

  “Well, I’m the one who posted the video of you sleepwalking. Billy and I found you. It was so crazy, so weird; we couldn’t help ourselves. We taped you, and then we called the cops. When I got home, I had to put it up. But I’ve regretted it ever since,” says a weepy Kerry.

  So I didn’t earn my spot? It was given to me out of a feeling of remorse, a sense of obligation. Kerry did it only to ease her own conscience. Yes, it hurts my ego, but then again, I still got to b
e on the squad and proved my worth in the end. Whatever works, I guess.

  Of course I’m hurt by her betrayal. But it all seems so trivial compared to everything else I’m facing.

  “I just hope that someday you can forgive me.”

  “I already do,” I say. And it’s true. I simply don’t have the energy to hold a grudge anymore.

  “Just treat Gabriel well.”

  She’s bossy even now, but at least I appreciate where she’s coming from…a place of concern.

  “No matter what you might think, C. J. is the one I want,” I say.

  But my voice wavers as I say it. This poses a problem. If I can’t even infuse my words with certainty, how can I infuse my heart?

  Now that I’ve taken a little time to deal with the horror of the fire and gather up my courage, I go to find Gabriel. The fact that he dumped Kerry makes me worry about him even more. He isn’t returning my calls; he isn’t returning my texts. It’s radio silence. Even though I know the truth, I want to hear it from him. I hightail it to Brunswick and walk aimlessly around the storied Bowdoin campus until I find his social house.

  If only the foliage were still on the trees, in peak color, the campus would be even more spectacular. But they’re barren, leafless, seemingly lifeless. They don’t fool me though. They’re only sleeping, hibernating, waiting for the time to come when they can bloom yet again. When they’re reborn.

  Gabriel resides in Baxter, a large, white wooden building with stately pillars. Apparently, there are eight social houses on campus, and each one is designated for upperclassmen but affiliated with a freshman dorm. Being selected to live in one of the social houses is a highly competitive process. Of course they chose Gabriel.

  Did he use some black magic to push it through?

  I knock on his door. Nobody answers, but I can hear him stirring on the other side.

  “Gabriel, it’s me. Annabeth.”