Annabeth Neverending Page 5

  “Lucky!” I say, playing along.

  “What are you, anyway? Queen Tutankhamen?” she asks.

  “Uh…sure,” I reply, even though there never was such a person.

  “Kerry, this is Gabriel. Gabriel, this is Kerry.”

  “A pleasure,” says Gabriel.

  “Nicely done,” Kerry says to me under her breath.

  “Well, what I can say…that he’s in college?”

  Bernadette joins us. I introduce her to Gabriel, and when he turns his head, she gives me the “OK” signal, opening her eyes wide.

  “I’m a sexy mental patient. And this party is making me crazy!” Bernadette cries.

  Her long, dark brown hair has been heavily shellacked and sticks straight out every which way, like she just underwent shock therapy. She’s wearing an ultrashort miniskirt with a classic canvas straightjacket. At one point it must have seemed like a clever excuse, but nowadays Halloween brings out the slut in every girl. Except for me. My neckline leaves a lot to the imagination.

  Hector, Bernadette’s dreamy Latino boyfriend, arrives. He’s tall, he’s dark, he’s handsome. He’s everything a girl would want in a boyfriend. And everything her conservative Asian parents wouldn’t. Even some of our classmates object to her choice of a beau: simply because he’s on Falmouth High wrestling. Which means that he’s an athletic rival and she’s a traitor. It’s like they’re Romeo and Juliet. Though hopefully this story will have a happier ending.

  Hector walks over to Bernadette and wraps himself around her. He’s wearing a Falmouth Yachtsman wrestling sweatshirt and sweatpants.

  “It’s bad enough you’re our biggest competition, but do you have to advertise it? Besides, you’re supposed to wear a costume.”

  He motions to his top.

  “I am. This is a JV shirt. And I’m on varsity.”

  Bernadette rolls her eyes. Both of Bernadette’s parents are fertility doctors (they’re responsible for Howie), and they were hoping she’d follow in their footsteps. But because she’s not particularly studious, she’s decided to rebel by avoiding AP classes, going out for pompons, and developing an off-color sense of humor. She smiles evilly. “Then you might want to work on your stamina,” she replies.

  “Annabeth wasn’t a fan, but what do you guys think of my Mark Walberg ensemble? Nice, right?”

  “Love it. But why aren’t you showing off your abs?” Kerry pushes.

  “No, not Marky Mark. I’m Mark L. Walberg…Antiques Roadshow.”

  “You wore a PBS costume to my party?” Kerry asks limply.

  “It’s the original pay-per-view, but you know, voluntary,” says Gabriel, which causes an unexpected laugh from Kerry.

  “Uh-huh. I’m sorry, but you guys will have to excuse me. I need to return to my hosting duties,” says Kerry, looking a little conflicted at having to leave us.

  While she goes to mingle, Bernadette and Hector go to make out. This means I’m alone with Gabriel. Which makes my insides flutter yet again.

  “Let’s dance,” he says.

  He grabs my hand and pulls me through wafting fake fog and laser lights as we weave our way between writhing dancers on Kerry’s makeshift dance floor. Gabriel and I start grooving. Because the music is so loud, we have to lean in close to each other to talk.

  We’re soon lost in the song while we playfully bump and grind. Bernadette and Hector come to join us. We trade partners and dance lightheartedly. It’s time to let go, to have fun, to be a normal teenager. Even though this, the most unusual costume I’ve ever worn, is that of…myself.

  Hector and I get down, and I back up—and slam into another party guest with all my weight, which seems to exert quite a bit of force. I turn around to apologize.

  I stop breathing.

  The earth stops spinning.

  Time stops moving.

  He looks just like I remember him. He’s even got on a replica of the slave uniform he wore in ancient Egypt.

  It’s Sethe!

  6

  No. Not now…not when things with Gabriel are going so well.

  Expletives swirl in my thoughts, foul four-letter words I’m tempted to shout. But I’m not one to resort to full-on swearing. The worst I can bring myself to mutter under my breath is “Dammit!”

  My gut clenches, and a sour taste coats my tongue. Please, God, don’t let me hurl. When you meet the person you suspect is your soulmate, it’s supposed to be a meet-cute, not a meet-puke.

  But it’s turning out to be neither. I manage to keep my churning stomach acid in check, and meeting Sethe at this moment is not the least bit cute. In fact, it has me enraged. Intellectually, I ache to run away, but my feet have turned to lead. While my brain knows better, my body…Well, my body is an idiot.

  Is he really here? Could I be seeing things? This too could be nothing more than a side effect from my ankh handling…

  I do a double take. And a triple take. But no matter how hard I try to blink him away, my heavily made-up eyes are not deceiving me. And neither is my mind. Here he is. In front of me. Flesh and bone. Muscle and blood. Breath is escaping his lips and entering our atmosphere. He’s the real thing. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.

  And to make matters worse, he’s drinking a Moxie!

  Well, was drinking a Moxie. His unmistakable orange-and-blue-labeled bottle is still dripping with the brown nectar. He spilled the precious stuff all over his costume when I rammed into him, and he’s waving his large hands in the air to dry them off.

  No, the Moxie is not a sign or a symbol that we’re meant to be together.

  It’s just an innocent bystander.

  Sethe scrutinizes me. With those eyes. The gold-flecked hazel orbs that I could pick out of a crowd at a New England Patriots’ game. His presence infiltrates me, entering my bloodstream with a jolt more powerful than a shot of adrenaline. And now the twitching begins. Surely my lip will never stop now.

  “I…I’m…sorry,” I say, searching not only for words but also for a napkin and finding myself luckless on both counts.

  “No harm done,” Sethe replies. Without a hint of anger or spite. If only he’d yell at me. If only he’d curse my name. Then I could walk away. It would be so easy to abandon him and return to Gabriel’s side.

  But…he isn’t angry. What’s galling is that he seems to find the whole episode amusing.

  “There’s more Moxie where this came from,” Sethe says with a laugh so warm it could melt better.

  His voice is the same. Deep, smooth, manly. My ears have been waiting for it. Hungering for it. I long for him to keep talking, anxious to be satiated. Even though I know it’s wrong. Even though, I remind myself, I came here with someone else.

  I don’t love Sethe. I just remember loving him.

  Sethe’s eyes travel down the whole of me ever so slowly, a grin engulfing his lips. This smile lights up his face in a way that it never would’ve in his last life. At least now he seems happy. Why must this thrill me so?

  “Looks like we were made for each other.”

  “It does? Why do you say that?” I ask, pressing. Demanding to know.

  “We’re wearing matching costumes,” Sethe responds.

  “Oh…yeah. I guess so!” I say, thunderstruck.

  He seems to consider my words but ultimately dismisses them. Now that he’s here, I feel our connection all the more acutely. He’s my reincarnation partner, after all. And though I may tell myself that Gabriel is my future, doubt is creeping in, slicing its razor-sharp talons into my soft and yielding sense of uncertainty.

  Civilizations have risen and fallen, species have gone extinct, our entire world has been transformed by both nature and technology, and yet we’ve found each other. We were born into the same century, the same part of the world. Any small shift could’ve made us wholly unsuitable for one anoth
er. But in this instance, the stars aligned; they did not cross. It doesn’t feel so much as a push but a pull. We’re two magnets of an opposite charge, drawn to each other, trying desperately to unite.

  I think?

  “So, are you, uh, here with anybody?” he asks. And while he says it with indifference, as though he’s making small talk, I’m convinced he’s doing recon.

  “I am, actually,” I say a touch flirtatiously, even though I regret it once the words, the tone, are out there.

  “A girl like you? That figures,” Sethe responds.

  Suddenly, Gabriel turns around and joins us.

  “Wow, this is a small town,” says Gabriel.

  “Some guys on the wrestling team invited me,” Sethe explains.

  My eyes go wide with shock.

  They know each other?

  Gabriel observes the bottle of Moxie in Sethe’s hand. He shakes his head in disbelief.

  “How can you drink that stuff?” Gabriel asks.

  “Hello, it’s delicious,” Sethe replies.

  Be still my beating heart. For such a large muscle, it sure is weak.

  “This is the girl I was telling you about,” Gabriel says, his words ringing with pride.

  “And, Annabeth, this is my twin brother, C. J.”

  In this life, Gabriel is the sibling of the reincarnated Sethe. Everything is collapsing in on itself like a lost game of Jenga, and I feel like my head is about to shatter into a million pieces. Gabriel’s familial relationship with C. J. makes things more uncomfortable, and makes him less desirable.

  But everyone has baggage, right? Though Gabriel and his familial connection to C. J. feel like more of a matching set than just single pieces.

  They even shared a womb!

  I put out my nail-bitten hand. It seems a tad formal, but I need to clarify things. And having physical contact with the Sethe may do the trick. So that I can dismiss him outright.

  “I’m Annabeth.”

  Our fingers interlock, but everything is as murky and buried as ever. I was hoping for an explosion, a furious rush of memory, but there’s nothing. I’d expected too much. Feeling his skin isn’t as telling as holding the ankh. After all, that would be too easy. Besides, the ankh itself actually existed in ancient Egypt, whereas C. J.’s body…Well, it’s new. It’s hard. It’s…begging to be handled.

  This is the best worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

  “I don’t see a resemblance.”

  “That’s what everyone says. We’re fraternal. Poor C. J.,” responds Gabriel, deadpan.

  “Poor you!” C. J. counters, laughing.

  Kerry enters, holding a buttercream-frosted cake from Rossi’s Bakery topped with sixteen glowing candles. She heads toward me, smiling, and I ready myself to blow out the flames while all the zombies, vampires, and witches sing the “Happy Birthday” song.

  Of course Gabriel has to mark the moment and leans in to me, saying, “It’s a good thing you met me before your birthday, or you would’ve wasted a wish.”

  “Right,” I chuckle.

  I decimate the candles with one sharp breath, and everybody claps. But birthday wishes coming true must not really be a thing, because Sethe doesn’t instantly disappear. Or else, I don’t really want him to go.

  Bernadette cuts the cake, and Kerry quickly passes out its slivers, no doubt wanting to eliminate all remnants of my birthday as quickly as possible so that the party can resume on her terms.

  Gabriel and I continue to chitchat throughout the evening, but nothing he says registers. I’m too caught up in Sethe and his improbable arrival. But should it be such a surprise? Haven’t I met him around the time of my sixteenth birthday before?

  I watch him from the background, surrounded by admirers, the star of the party. He’s a new guy, the one everybody wants to befriend. Fresh meat is a rarity in the town, and being an athlete to boot? He’ll rule the school. Finally, Sethe is moving up in the world.

  The hours melt away and finally C. J. approaches us.

  “Let’s go. This party’s dying,” C. J. says, motioning to the emptied living room.

  Kerry attempts to intercept us as we head for the door. She pretends to be saying a sweet good-bye but whispers in my ear angrily, “You’re taking both of them? Seriously, can’t you leave one for me?”

  “But I need a spare. Besides, it is my birthday.”

  “Fine.” Kerry harrumphs.

  “Thank you so much for the cake. I really appreciate it,” I murmur consolingly.

  “Yeah yeah yeah,” she says with annoyance as she turns away to deal with the other stragglers.

  C. J. lingers a second to give Kerry his own farewell while Gabriel lightly takes hold of my arm and steers me into the darkness.

  Even though I live only blocks away from Kerry, I divert our walk to prolong my time with Sethe—I mean, C. J. I’m not sure I can ever get used to his modern name.

  This’ll be a challenge. Being with him makes me so jittery; I can barely look at him. I hate that he causes me to react this way. I just pray that Gabriel doesn’t notice.

  We take the “scenic route,” leading us to the York River. The waters run past, though the edges are starting to freeze in white opaque chunks. As my eyes linger on the still active parts of the flow, I notice that C. J. seems as caught up in it as I do.

  “Behold! The Nile of York,” I exclaim, gesturing dramatically at the sight before us.

  “If this is the Nile, I can’t wait to see the Sphinx,” Gabriel responds with a note of sarcasm.

  “Tell me, C. J., just where did you get your costume?” I ask, my voice breaking as badly as Howie’s when he first hit puberty.

  “Amazon.”

  But how did he know to do his eyeliner like that? Or how to tie his corded belt just so? Those tiny details must be second nature to him, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. He looks at me and parts his lips. Even his teeth—they’re the same as in my memories. Perfect. White. Sparkling. And his muscular arms look as welcoming and protective as a girl could hope for. If only I didn’t want him to wrap them around me.

  We continue along, past the whitewashed First Parish Church and the red-washed Old Gaol. My mind races. I have so many questions to ask, but where to start? I’m dying to know some specifics, though I’ll sidestep the most obvious question: “Do you remember when we were in love?” After all, that would make for some strained conversation with Gabriel around.

  “Did you pick it because of an interest in ancient Egypt?” I ask hopefully, disdainfully.

  “Nah, I bought it because it seemed badass. Although, to be honest, at first glance I thought it was a gladiator’s costume.”

  My newfound Egyptomania makes it hard for me to fathom this mortifying admission.

  “I mean, I think ancient Egypt seems interesting enough, though I don’t know that much about it. But I’ll bet Gabe does,” says C. J.

  “As an archaeology major, everyone expects me to be obsessed with the subject, but for some reason the era leaves me cold,” confesses Gabriel.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. What time period are you into then?” I ask, curious.

  “The Viking invasion of Britain,” he announces, as though it’s something to brag about.

  There’s no way to fully hide my disappointment. But I swallow it. “It’s like I don’t know you at all,” I say, and Gabriel chuckles.

  “Wait a minute. You don’t find the Vikings fascinating?” he demands.

  “Meh,” I reply with a shrug.

  “Have you ever heard of the Maine penny? It’s also known as the Goddard coin. It was found at a Native American burial site in Penobscot Bay. There’s a lot of controversy surrounding it, but assuming it’s legit, that means the Vikings came to the coast of Maine! For all we know, they could have been right here—in th
is very spot!”

  Gabriel grows moony imagining that scenario. It doesn’t seem quite as romantic to me, seeing as I’ve virtually traveled to ancient Egypt, which is far superior.

  “Tell me more,” C. J. says mockingly.

  “Give it time. You’ll catch Viking fever, Annabeth. It’s contagious.”

  “Really? Because I’m pretty sure I was vaccinated against that,” I say flippantly.

  Gabriel takes my gloved hand, easing his fingers into the spaces between my own. Instead of luxuriating in the moment as I would’ve done earlier, I watch C. J.’s face, searching for a response. But there is none. At least, not one that’s discernible.

  “Only two dates in, and we’re already at an impasse,” Gabriel says as he leads me to my house.

  “Well, thanks for walking me,” I drone as I drop Gabriel’s hand like a hot potato.

  I move to undo the rusty latch to the front gate. Situations like this are always a little awkward with a third wheel around. But it heightens considerably when said third wheel—the one who is not my date—is my first love.

  Was my first love.

  “You live here?” C. J. asks quizzically.

  “Yep. This dump is mine,” I say, hoping that owning the obvious will make it less embarrassing.

  “No, I mean…We’re home too,” C. J. responds.

  “Huh? Are you going to live with me? Because you’ll have to share a room with my brother. And he’s a mouth breather.”

  “Not exactly. Our family just moved in there. Today.”

  C. J. points to the slightly asymmetrical house next door. It’s a tall brick number with emerald-green shutters. A house I’ve been inside a million times since my childhood, some years more often than others, depending on how well my parents got to know the cavalcade of neighbors who’ve marched through.

  “Are you serious?”

  “I was going to tell you tonight. I wanted it to be a surprise,” says Gabriel, looking irritated that his brother beat him to it. “Our parents are the ones who bought it. They just closed the other day.”