Annabeth Neverending Page 7

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Just when were you going to tell me about that?”

  She points over to Mew Mew, who just slid out from underneath my bed and is now sitting in the corner, coolly licking her paws as though we’re the visitors in her home.

  “I found her last night when I came home from Kerry’s party. Can’t I keep her? Please? She isn’t just any old stray,” I say.

  “She’s not?” my mom asks.

  “Well, uh, she has two different-colored eyes!”

  “Your father and I will have to discuss it. Cats are hotbeds of germs, and I don’t want you catching anything…but maybe. She is beautiful.”

  She’s wavering!

  “But you have to put up signs first, to see if someone claims her.”

  I agree, knowing that nobody will. At least, I hope they won’t. But I’ll cross that bridge if I must.

  “Well, you better get moving, so you aren’t late. By the way, I’m sorry we’ll be missing your halftime performance tonight. Your dad and I both have a work function to attend.”

  “I forgot too. Don’t worry. You won’t be missing anything. Really. Except for my complete and utter humiliation, that is.”

  “Honey, you know you always bring it on.”

  “Right,” I say with a little laugh. I never “bring it,” and I definitely never “bring it on.”

  I got so caught up in the whole reincarnation/finding my soulmate thing that I blanked on the game. And I still haven’t mastered the toe touch…in this lifetime. Though conquering pompon choreography isn’t exactly at the top of my priority list right now.

  My mother leaves, and I look down at my hands with difficulty. I’m concerned that parts of my own body—objects in close proximity—are hard for me to see. With every additional flashback, it becomes more obvious that I’m not equipped to endure them without experiencing an awful physical backlash.

  I tell myself that this’ll dissipate. My vision will return. I just need some time. I will fully regain my sight…I have to. I mean, memory retrieval can’t bring me irreparable harm, can it? I refuse to accept the idea that I won’t be OK. Isn’t that an old joke, that “denial” is a river in Egypt? Surely it’s never been so appropriate.

  It seems like there’s always some sort of trade-off that must be made. But it’ll be worth it in the end. I’ll make sure of it.

  The fog envelops me as I walk outside. It’s one of those spooky coastal mornings when a thick white haze swallows up the surrounding landscape, adding a spectral dimension to the atmosphere. Unfortunately, this makes it even more of a challenge for me to see. And everything already seemed as though it was being put through a gray filter. I wish I could carry a flashlight, but that might raise eyebrows.

  I turn inward, my thoughts churning. My old life was full of surprises, wanted and otherwise. Why is it that Sethe was so…amazing? And why did Gabriel have to be so…off-putting? But I can’t base my emotions on what was, only what is. And right now, Gabriel is the boy I care about.

  I’m slowly learning more, but there’s so much that’s unknown. Do I have children, spread out across eternity? What’s it like to die? Does everyone get reincarnated? Is there something about me that’s unique? Or have I only been made unique as a result of my reincarnation? One thing is certain: even if everyone has lived multiple lifetimes, it’s unusual to have access to those memories. Otherwise history class would be way more interesting.

  While I wish I could gain more information about myself, there are also memories I want to repress. I was Ana, so that means that I was married off to my evil brother. Unless Sethe helped me somehow escape first. If only I knew for sure. I suppose the whole incest thing is the one drawback to knowing my birth family. Sometimes, ignorance really is more blissful.

  I stumble up to Mrs. Lansing’s door and knock just as the sun peeks through the fog, shining so brightly that everything looks crisper, more crystalline. I scan my surroundings, enjoying the newfound clarity, when Sethe jogs out of the haze, heading in my direction.

  It’s as though he’s an angel from heaven. A form-fitting tank clings to his muscles, mesh shorts cut off at the right spot to highlight his hardened legs, and I can’t help but feel a bit…hot. A tad…bothered.

  A jagged shard of memory juts into my brain. Sethe running toward me while training, looking much the same, wearing leather-strapped body armor.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” I ask C. J. as he catches up to me. He continues to jog in place on the patio. I’m assuming he doesn’t want to mess with his heart rate, even though he’s messing with mine.

  “Great. How are you doing, Annabeth?”

  I’m about to respond when Mrs. Lansing opens the door, her forehead lined in surprise. Surely she didn’t expect to find both of us here. Together.

  “Good morning, Annabeth. And hello, C. J. How are you enjoying the house?”

  “It’s so New England. Way better than the cookie-cutter places I’m used to living in.”

  “I’m glad it all worked out. Tell me, Annabeth; how was the party?”

  “Funny story. That’s where we met. He was dressed as an Egyptian slave,” I say, drawing out those last words.

  Mrs. Lansing looks at C. J., growing wide-eyed.

  “How…nice…”

  “I guess. It looked good, but it wasn’t that practical. I should’ve thought through the whole shirtless thing more.”

  “Fascinating,” says Mrs. Lansing, though it’s clear to me that she’s exploring an entirely different line of thought.

  “Well, I should, you know, run. Catch you two later!” cries C. J. as he bolts off.

  Mrs. Lansing shakes her head, looking flabbergasted.

  “C. J., Gabriel’s twin brother, is the reincarnated Sethe? What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Before, I was sure that Gabriel was the one I wanted to be with, but now I feel like fate is pushing me toward C. J. What do you know about him anyway?”

  “Look, I like C. J. He’s a polite boy, good-natured, bright enough, but he pales in comparison to Gabriel. He’s…special. You can fight your destiny, Annabeth. You don’t have to bow down to it,” says Mrs. Lansing imploringly.

  I know she’s right, but it isn’t that easy. Destiny is proving to be a powerful force. I feel like I’m nothing but a helpless follower, chasing after my own life and barely keeping up—certainly not leading it. But I have to take charge. Otherwise, I’ll be at the mercy of fate in the same way Ana was.

  “So, a bit off the subject, do you happen to know if the ancient Egyptians practiced incest?”

  Mrs. Lansing’s face twists in disgust, the hairline wrinkles in her lips now keenly visible.

  “I don’t think it was common for the general population, but I do believe that the royal family engaged in incestuous marriages. They were probably trying to keep the line pure. And just why are you asking?”

  “You don’t want to know,” I reply, my intestines tying into knots. Howie is no walk in the park, but he cares for me, whereas Amun seemed to be out for Ana’s destruction. It’s disturbing to think that he was selected to be her husband by Ana’s own—er…our own father.

  Gabriel idles up, wearing a weathered brown bomber jacket that looks like it’s really from World War II. Only Gabriel could carry off this look. Sometimes I think he should be a male model instead of an antiques broker.

  “Are you two ready for the estate sale? Because I’m raring to go!” announces my current crush, rubbing his hands together.

  “I’m feeling a bit run down today,” Mrs. Lansing says with a fake-looking yawn.

  “Will you be all right?” asks Gabriel, concerned.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just old. Why don’t you and Annabeth go alone? Grab whatever looks good. I trust your judgment.”

  “Thanks. I guess I do
have excellent taste,” replies Gabriel as he takes me in, perhaps a bit lustfully.

  It’s hard to know where to set my eyes; it’s all so lovely. The mansion, a wooden affair that’s painted lemon yellow, looks like it’s been frosted with layers of scrolling white woodwork. Spires of white jut into the air, giving it a Gothic feel. It’s officially known as the Bourne home, but locals refer to it as the “Wedding Cake House.”

  I’ve driven past it before, but it lies right on the main drag in Kennebunk. Stopping alongside the road to gape can land you a citation, though I’ve longed to try regardless. Now that I’m standing on the property itself, I can fully admire its splendor as an invited guest, and not as a trespasser.

  “When you said ‘estate sale,’ you weren’t kidding!” I exclaim.

  “I aim to please.”

  “Any idea why it’s decorated like this?” I ask while trying to figure out how many rooms the house holds. Maybe twenty? Though it’s hard to tell from the outside. At one point, a house so large would’ve been impossible to fathom, but the palace where Ana lived could’ve easily contained many Wedding Cake Houses inside its ample walls.

  “According to legend, a sea captain was forced to up and leave his bride before they even had a chance to cut their wedding cake. During his anguished hours at sea, he carved all this woodwork to prove his love.”

  “How romantic. Is it giving you any ideas?” I say while jabbing him in the side with my finger.

  “Yes, but none I can execute. I practically flunked out of shop class.”

  “Likely story,” I say, not buying it for a second. He probably aced every Tech Ed course he took.

  I blink ferociously, as the house seems shrouded in darkness. Clouds accumulate in the sky, crowding out the sun, making it even more difficult to see.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m having some vision issues. It’s probably just dry eye.”

  I can sense that Gabriel is watching me closely. We’re supposed to be working the sale, but sometimes it seems as though he’s working me. Making me care for him despite my confusion. Making me question my past because I feel like he’s my future.

  All I want to know is, does he, can he, accept the supernatural? That doesn’t seem like that hard a question to ask, though it may be a difficult one to answer. I’d like to ease into it, but there’s no natural segue. My muscles clench in anticipation as I pause, trying to collect my thoughts.

  I need to pull it off like a Band-Aid, I decide.

  “So, tell me…Do you believe in reincarnation?”

  He looks at me as though I’m an alien from a different galaxy. I guess it is a startling change of topic.

  “No. You know what? I don’t. It’s just a fantasy, a pipe dream people have come up with as a way of dealing with our own mortality,” states Gabriel with too much certainty for something that’s so unknowable. “The best part is that nobody ever thinks they were a servant; they were a king or queen or something.”

  “Good point. But I still think it could happen…may have happened…to one of us…even…,” I say shakily.

  Gabriel stands there quietly, his hands hanging out of his pockets. “I’m a pragmatist, Annabeth.”

  I’m not sure what that means, but I have an inkling that it won’t help my cause.

  “Death may seem like a strange and far-off concept to you. But my mother was ill for a long time. And I watched her die,” he says morosely, his eyes welling with water.

  “Gabriel…”

  “When I began grieving, I went through all the possibilities. What I’ve come up with is that you live and you die. And if you’re lucky, you find somebody you care about along the way.”

  “So you aren’t willing to consider that we’re reborn?” I ask, disappointed in the answer before he gives it.

  “No, I’m not. I like to think that there’s a natural end to things. The alternative? Well…All it does it draw out the agony,” says Gabriel, his mouth making a determined line.

  I don’t know how to respond. I can relate to a certain extent. I’ve had my own kind of loss. But his was different. She was in his life. And he saw it happen. As for my birth parents, I know that on a logical level they could be dead, but for now, I live with the hope, no matter how remote it is, that they’re still out there. Whereas Gabriel’s has been extinguished.

  “Or, it adds to the possibility,” I say gently.

  Gabriel grows thoughtful. I understand why it would take a leap of faith on his part to believe me. It might even rock the very foundation of his belief system to entertain the notion. But if he can’t so much as consider it, how can we go any further?

  “Well, we better get moving and pick up some antiques, so we can get you to the big game,” says Gabriel, flashing me a sideways grin so bright I can see it even with my damaged vision.

  “I wish I could skip it,” I say in a decidedly less optimistic tone of voice.

  “Come on. I’ve been waiting to watch you cheer.”

  “That’s cold, Gabriel.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks playfully.

  “You know I’m not on cheerleading. I’m on pompons. It’s totally different,” I insist.

  “If you say so.”

  9

  The floodlights blast the stadium with a lumiscent glow. The football field stretches out in front of me, a grassy carpet of green and white. I look up, noting that the black sky overhead is filled with an ocean of stars, the very same bodies that once shone down on Ana and Sethe. It makes time seem like a neverending continuum, one that once brought me and the love of my lives together.

  I watch the game vacantly, so consumed by my impending performance that I don’t know if the Wildcats are winning or losing. Though, to be honest, I never know anyway. I don’t have a head for athletics. I can’t seem to hold onto the rules; they simply slip away.

  I keep blinking, now at superspeed. Under normal circumstances, I hate these bright lights. They illuminate all my errors, highlighting them for the whole crowd to see. But today, I need them. Otherwise there’s no way I could perform. Though I probably shouldn’t pompon (can that even be used as a verb?) anyway. Vision impairment be damned—my toe touches are my true enemy.

  The marching band plays a bombastic version of “Louie Louie,” and we get into formation while we wait our turn. Standing on deck is the worst. The expectation, the nervousness before performing—it’s hard to contain. I look over my uniform—my thick two-toned sweater, my pleated skirt—to make sure it’s presentable. I think I’m ready. Well, as ready as I’ll ever be. Except—there goes my twitch. Hopefully it will be undetectable when I’m flashing my patented performance smile.

  Bernadette walks up to me, and she must be able to sense my trepidation. She tightens the obscene number of curled blue and white ribbons shooting out of my ponytail before putting her arm around my shoulder.

  “Now don’t sweat the toe touch. I didn’t wear bundies or panties. Nobody’s going to be looking at you,” Bernadette says, like only a true friend would.

  “That should make for an interesting kickline,” I reply.

  I envision it and giggle a little too hard, thanks to my nerves. I shake with apprehension, secretly hoping that some catastrophic event will suddenly bring the football game to an abrupt end. But my self-serving wish is not granted. Even if by some miracle Kerry is understanding of a failed toe touch, the crowd won’t be as kind.

  Gabriel and C. J. appear next to the field’s fence. They stand beside each other, looking nothing alike. Looking nothing like the brothers they are now. Have they been brothers before?

  “Ah, so you guys came…together.”

  “We wouldn’t have missed it. Good luck!” C. J. says enthusiastically.

  “I think you’re supposed to say ‘break a leg,’” corrects Gabriel.

  “No, pl
ease don’t. I’ve got enough problems as it is.”

  I look at C. J., and it’s clear that he’s checking me out, which causes my discomfort to heighten. If Gabriel notices C. J.’s clandestine glances, he pretends otherwise.

  “Can you sit with us after you perform?” asks Gabriel.

  “No, I have to sit with the squad. To show ‘spirit,’” I say, my bitterness evident.

  “Let’s meet up in the parking lot after the game. I’ll take you out for fried clams,” Gabriel offers.

  “With bellies or without?” I ask.

  “With…,” he says, looking at me, knowing that I’m weighing his answer carefully. I don’t look happy. “Out? Of course! Without. Who likes those nasty rubbery black circles?”

  “You do,” says C. J.

  My face softens. Hey, Gabriel is willing to bend on seafood, even if we don’t see eye to eye on our fluctuating states of incarnation. “Great.”

  “You coming too, C. J.?” asks Gabriel. I have a feeling he’s doing it out of a sense of obligation and not because he actually wants him to go with us.

  “Nah. I’m going out with the guys from the wrestling team,” C. J. says evenly.

  I nod and shoo the Danvers brothers away as the marching band files off in unison, their silver and yellow instruments shining and their flags swinging.

  “Tough choice, huh?” asks Bernadette.

  “You aren’t kidding.”

  “You should try to juggle them both. Who knows? They might be into it.”

  I contemplate that idea, which I have to admit has its merits, while Kerry commands that we wave our right arms in the air to do a pompon check. (Blue is always in right.) Once we’ve been “passed,” we enter the monstrous field and spread out into place as the pounding music blares.

  Knowing that Ana was willing to perform in front of hordes of people puts my puny high-school audience in perspective. And now that I’m less caught up in my pom career, thanks to my dalliances in ancient Egypt, something new pours out of me. Talent? I’m moving in time with the music! I know the choreography. I’m using my lips to smile instead of count. It’s…fun!