Love Fortunes and Other Disasters (21 page)

“Sure, sure.”

Fallon didn't know the first thing about manning a popcorn machine, but she knew how messy a cotton-candy machine could be, and that was the other food option. She wrote the club's name next to the popcorn machine and passed it on.

When the meeting ended, Mirthe couldn't get out of her chair fast enough. She dragged Fallon outside as the other students filed out and said, “Femke and I have been searching for the perfect time to confront Zita—and this is it!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Welcome Love Fair,” Mirthe said, laughing. “The entire town is going to be distracted by the fair. There couldn't be a better time. While everyone's enjoying themselves, all the shops and caf
é
s will be closed. So will Zita's shop.”

Dread tickled the back of Fallon's neck. “Quiet down. What if someone hears?”

“How can I be quiet when I've found the missing piece?” Mirthe danced on her toes. “Phase three is going to be ready come January. We're going to meet Zita.”

Fallon lowered her voice. “We can't just skip the fair. We're going to get in trouble.”

“Then you'd better find someone to cover our booth,” Mirthe said, “because January thirty-first
will
be the night. We're going to change our fates.”

Leaves crunched behind them. Fallon jumped, gasping, and whipped around. “Someone's there.”

“Where?”

Fallon scanned the side of the building. The overgrown bushes lining the building trembled in the wind, but she couldn't see anything in the shadows. “I don't know.”

“I got carried away,” Mirthe said. “You don't know how long Femke and I have been struggling over picking a date.”

“It doesn't matter. I can't believe I had to tell
you
to be careful. Say a policeman heard us just now—good-bye, rebellion! Over before even finding Zita.”

Mirthe hung her head.

Fallon checked the shadows again. Nothing. A familiar, musky scent lingered in the air, though. She breathed it in deeply and shuddered.
Camille
.

 

chapter 17

THE FUTURE

After parting ways with Mirthe, Fallon hurried back to the complex. The tip of her nose was numb. She listened for footsteps and kept sniffing the air loudly, trying to detect a trace of Camille. Nothing suspicious. If Camille had overheard them talking, then she had probably already run back to Zita or whoever it was she could squeal to. Getting caught frightened her, but she did her best to sweep it from her mind. Her thoughts inevitably shifted to Sebastian.

She was the only girl she knew who had experienced a breakup without first dating the boy. The magazines she'd spent days reading during her search for love charms advised different approaches for surviving a breakup. Spend time with friends. Burn the presents your ex-boyfriend gave you. Eat ice cream straight from the container.

Fallon had stared at the cassette tape for three days now, but nothing could compel her to burn it. Remembering that night under the bridge still made her happy. So did thinking of Sebastian's jealousy when seeing her with Robbie. And the soft look he'd given her when he tucked the begonia behind her ear.

Your love will never be requited.

So far, Zita's love fortune had come true.

“I'm going to be like Ms. Ward,” she murmured, stomping on the leaves so they crackled and burst like fireworks—it reminded her of the first time she'd walked home with Sebastian, when he tried to startle her by doing the same thing. If things didn't change, her life would be a continuous spiral of breakups. Sebastian was only the first.

He wouldn't get out of her head.

Reaching her apartment, Fallon turned the key in the lock and stepped into the darkness. She felt around the wall for the light switch, just as she did every night. But when she turned it on, she found Anais and Nico occupying her couch with grins on their faces.

“Surprise!” they shouted, spilling confetti from their hands. All over her couch. For her to vacuum later.

“Happy breakup,” Anais said. She pulled a kazoo out of her pocket and blew on it.

“Shut up,” Nico said, jabbing her in the side. “She's not happy about it.”

“I am. Bastion is a loser.”

Fallon's eyes swept the room. Her friends had hung a pink banner that read
WELCOME BACK, SINGLE LADY
. They had tied pink balloons to her chairs. The kitchen table, lit with candles, boasted a small dinner of spinach souffl
é
and a dessert of strawberry shortcake.

“What do you think?” Nico said, tugging on his shirt collar. “The decorations were Anais's idea. I ordered the food from a place that uses organic ingredients, I promise. I can show you the receipt.”

Fallon rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, but she couldn't stop the sniffles. Their kindness overwhelmed her. In a second, she felt Nico's and Anais's arms wrap around her.

“It's okay,” Nico said, patting her back.

“You're so silly, Fallon,” Anais said sharply. “You shouldn't be sad alone. That's why we're here.”

She broke into laughter, the kind that rises from the belly like steam. Fallon hugged her friends tightly and thanked them for surprising her. The decorations carried Anais's somewhat crude humor, which made them a precious reminder that her friends cared for her. She was used to being the one solving their problems and lending an ear. Being on the other side wasn't as uncomfortable as she thought.

Before they sat at the table to eat, Anais gave Fallon a stern look. “I should be mad that you didn't tell me about Sebastian.”

“I would have. I just didn't see the rush, since you despise him. I'm sorry.”

“Falling for Sebastian was a stupid thing to do.”

“Because of my fortune.”

“No,” Anais said. “Because I want you to be happy with whomever you decide to love. And from what I'd seen of him, Sebastian couldn't make anyone happy. But maybe I'm wrong. You're the most meticulous of us. If you ended up liking Sebastian, you must have had a good reason for it.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” Fallon said lightly.

Anais passed her a plate with a generous slice of souffl
é
. “The school's abuzz about Sebastian's odd behavior. Everyone wants to know who's responsible.”

“Don't tell me there's going to be a mob.”

Nico laughed. “Just gossip. But Bastion's not talking.”

“Tell me you have a plan,” Anais said.

The souffl
é
tasted like clouds. Fallon scooped up a bigger chunk. “What kind of plan?”

“To seduce Sebastian,” Anais said bluntly.

Fallon almost choked. “What?”

“You want him back, right?”

“I don't know if I can. He's not a thing to be won. If he doesn't want to date me, I can't make him love me. I'm not Camille,” she said.

But Anais's demand for a plan kept her awake that night, long after the party ended. She stared at the ridiculous pink banner and ate another slice of strawberry shortcake from the fridge. Sebastian had used his dating rules as an excuse to leave her. Marlene might have been right when she theorized about an exception to his strict dating policy.

“If anyone's an exception, it's me,” she said to herself. No matter how confused and hurt she felt, she knew it was the truth.

*   *   *

Robbie always said that duffel bags were the enemies of clothing. Unlike suitcases that had little compartments built within, duffel bags were lazy. No pockets. No sectioning off. Anything you put in a duffel bag got wrinkled and twisted up. Still, Fallon refused to use her suitcase when she packed for her night's stay at the Spinster Villas. Suitcases represented family vacations and giant leaps toward her dreams, like packing her suitcase to attend Grimbaud High. She refused to use a suitcase for this trip.

The afternoon frost mirrored her brittle confidence; it broke underfoot. She wanted to believe that the rebellion would be a success.
This is not my future
, she thought fiercely.

All signs seemed to point otherwise.

It was too easy to imagine the villas as her home, the same way she could picture working in an hazardous kitchen before someone like her parents showed up to close it down. Her feet felt heavy. The townspeople she passed on the street looked impossibly happy.

This was not a trial period. This was an investigation. She was part of a rebellion that could free everyone if the plan came together. Without phase two, there could be no phase three. Femke and Mirthe knew what they were doing. They had to. And she needed to be strong to make this plan a reality.

She entered the courtyard and discovered women playing a game of croquet. The scene looked perfect, the front cover of next year's pamphlet. Innumerable cats patrolled the property. A tuxedo cat with lime-green eyes stalked past her, tail curled up.

“You're here,” Ms. Ward said, dropping her croquet mallet. The librarian wore a turtleneck sweater and a long skirt patterned with cats playing with yarn. “You can leave your bag at my place.”

The spinsters took better care of the property than their bachelor counterparts, but Fallon saw small signs of decay. Herbs drooped in their hanging posts. Laundry waved like flags between villas: ragged lingerie, muddy jeans, and sweaters damp with cat hair.

The lending library sitting on the bottom step distinguished Ms. Ward's villa from the others. Fashioned from an old cabinet, the lending library came with a waterproof sign-out sheet for anyone intending to borrow a book. Fallon opened the cabinet doors and looked inside, finding weather-beaten travel guides and chick lit.

“Just a warning,” Ms. Ward said. “There's a war of smells going on inside. For the past few months, I've been trying to get a horrible stench out of my villa.”

Curious, Fallon climbed the rest of the steps and wiped her shoes on the welcome mat. Then she smelled a battle. The dominating scent of mothballs was suffocating; the second scent was the combined chemical army of air fresheners in varying stages of fading. The strongest smelled something like milk and honey. Fallon pinched her nose when Ms. Ward wasn't looking. “Where is it coming from?”

“The carpets, maybe.” Ms. Ward crossed her arms. “I can't afford to get new carpeting on my salary, but at least my villa doesn't smell like cat. I can't afford cats either.”

Ms. Ward's sense of aesthetics more than made up for the smell. Framed photographs displayed her years of traveling, capturing stunning mountain views and busy city streets. The walls were painted dark, passionate shades of blues and pumpkins; the living room and even the kitchen bore rows of bookshelves that touched the ceilings. The books were arranged by color, forming a dazzling rainbow.

Ms. Ward smiled proudly at the books. “Next month, I'm going to reshelf them by theme.”

“Why? It looks wonderful this way.”

“I get antsy when they stay one way for too long,” she admitted. “My own personal library doesn't need to make sense to anyone but me. And I can't stand them getting dusty, or remaining as still as statues for months on end.”

Fallon thought it best not to argue. The books weren't the only things in this house that wanted to change. “Where will I be sleeping?”

“Upstairs. I have a guest room,” she said, as if it were a joke. “I finally get to use it.”

“Doesn't anyone from your travels come visit you?”

“We stay in touch, but they have their own lives. If they saw me now, they probably wouldn't recognize me as the same girl. It's a sadness I'd rather not indulge in.”

The windows were cracked open. The floor creaked. The guest room was more like a closet, with a slanted ceiling that left Fallon little room to sit up in bed. A spinning globe sat in the corner next to the window. She placed her hands on the cool globe and squinted, reading the countries' names.

“I'll leave you to get comfortable,” Ms. Ward said. “Come join us outside when you're ready.”

Fallon unzipped her duffel bag. Her nightclothes were already wrinkled, but her clothes for the next morning had hope. She hung them up in the narrow closet and breathed through her mouth. The clashing scents, while not as bad as the odors downstairs, made her nose stuffy.

When she peeked through the curtains, she saw that the croquet game had been interrupted by her arrival. Rather than playing, the spinsters stood around talking, mallets in hand. When Ms. Ward came out, they descended upon her like a pack of vultures, eager for news of the new girl.

“I'm not the new girl,” she reminded herself.

*   *   *

Fallon would have preferred spending time alone with Ms. Ward, but she ended up sitting on a lawn chair while the spinsters continued their game of croquet. Yasmine tried talking her into dyeing her hair an outrageous color, like electric green.

“You can't have blue,” she said, petting her blue locks. “Only one person per color.”

Helena wore a bonnet tied with ribbon underneath her round chin and insisted on playing croquet with a lacy parasol on her wrist.

When the sun began to set, Fallon's legs prickled from sitting for so long. The community center had been prepared ahead of time for dinner and evening entertainment. All the spinsters sat down at a long table, straight out of a gothic romance novel, and passed around plates of mashed potatoes, braised beef, and green beans slathered in butter. The chandelier over their heads tinkled with fake crystals.

Fallon spooned a substantial helping of green beans onto her plate, but wouldn't touch the potatoes because they were powdered.

“Is something wrong with the beef?” said Justine, the woman who cooked the food. She wore a chef's hat everywhere and enjoyed flaunting her valued position in the villas.