Complete Nothing (28 page)

He gestured over his shoulder at a table near the far wall, and I couldn’t help staring. His family. His made-up, completely fabricated family. His “mom” had highlighted shoulder-length blond hair and wore a light-blue fitted hoodie over black yoga pants. His “dad” had on a white shirt and a loosened tie and was checking his cell phone, simultaneously running a hand down the blond hair of Orion’s sister, Amy, who looked to be about ten.

“Weird,” I said under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. What can I get you?”

Orion placed his order, and I walked up and down the counter, slowly placing the cupcakes on plates. “So . . . how are things? With you and Darla?”

“Good.” He shrugged. “Fine. She’s pretty cool. How about you and Wallace?”

I turned around, banged an empty ceramic plate into the side of the display case, and sent the whole thing clattering to the floor, where it shattered into five jagged pieces.

“Oops,” Orion said as some of the patrons applauded.

“I don’t . . . what do you mean me and Wallace?” I asked.

“Wallace . . . the kid with the bangs.” He made this gesture over his forehead like he was combing his hair forward. “He’s your boyfriend, no?”

I stared at him, stunned. “Um, no.”

“Really?” Orion’s eyebrows shot up.

“Really.”

“You’re sure?”

“One hundred percent sure.”

Orion’s brow creased. “Oh. Well, that sucks.”

“Um, True? You gonna clean that up?” Torin asked me, holding out a dustpan.

I took the pan and practically collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as I swept up the mess. Orion thought Wallace was my
boyfriend
? How? Why? And what the hell did he mean by “That sucks”?

I stood up with the pan in my hand.

“What do you mean, that sucks?” I demanded.

Orion’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Just that I—I mean—I thought—” He cleared his throat and glanced over at his family,
who were happily chatting. I was so tense with anticipation I was starting to shake. “Every time I saw you, you guys were together . . . with the hugging and the earbud sharing and the lunch-having . . . so I just figured . . . Otherwise . . .”

“Complete a sentence!”

Orion blinked, startled.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” I took a breath, barely daring to hope, barely daring to think. “Otherwise what?”

“Nothing.” He suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “Forget it.”

Otherwise what?
I thought.
Otherwise I would have asked you out? Otherwise I would have let myself fall madly in love with you?

What, what, what?

“Hey, True. Your shift is over.” Torin helpfully took the dirty dustpan out of my hand. “Why don’t you go clock out? I’ll finish up here.”

I couldn’t move. They both looked at me like they were afraid I might explode. Which at that moment was a distinct possibility. What I really wanted to do was grab Orion and shake him, make him tell me what he was feeling. But I couldn’t. Not without him thinking I was even more insane than he already thought. So instead, I turned on shaky knees and somehow walked myself into the break room without fainting.

Otherwise what? Otherwise what?

For the rest of my existence I was going to hate the word “otherwise.”

Inside the office-slash-storage room, I leaned over the computer and carefully typed my employee code into the box next to my name, feeling half-catatonic. It was as if nothing around me was real. Nothing made sense. And I was moving in some sort of vacuum.

Otherwise what? Otherwise what?

At least my shift was over. I needed to go home. I needed to take a bath. I needed some time to think. As I slipped my arms into my denim jacket, I suddenly felt as if someone was watching me from the back of the room. Instantly the catatonia fell away and the tiny hairs on my neck stood on end, then started to dance. I felt a dread deep within my heart that could not be mistaken.

Apollo and Artemis. They’d found me.

I whipped around, my arms raised for a fight.

“Whoa! Hey! It’s just me!”

It was my manager, Dominic Cerlone. He must have come in from tossing the garbage in the Dumpster outside.

“Sorry!” I dropped my arms. “Sorry. I thought—” I paused. It wasn’t as if I could tell him what I thought. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, running his palm over his dark, thinning hair. “I just wanted to talk to you for a second.”

“What’s up?” I asked, glancing toward the door to the restaurant. How I wanted to walk out there and make him finish that sentence.

Otherwise . . . what?

“It’s come to my attention that you’ve been giving away some free cupcakes lately,” Dominic said, sitting down on the edge of his beaten and battered desk chair. He folded his hands together in front of his mouth. “I need you to know this is unacceptable.”

My heart sank like a god falling to Earth. “Am I fired?”

“What? No.” Dominic laughed. “No. Every teenager I hire does this in the first couple of weeks, handing out food to their friends, eating dinner here as if chocolate and sugar are two of the essential food groups. If I fired every one of them, I’d be working the counter on my own.”

I leaned one hand into the shelf of cupcake wrappers and napkins behind me. “Thank you.”

“But it can’t keep happening,” he said seriously. “Consider this your warning. As of now, you’re on probation. A cupcake doesn’t leave that case unless some money goes into my register. Got it?”

Probation. I felt like I was on probation with everyone. Zeus, Hephaestus, Ares, Orion, even Claudia, in a way, since the jury was out on whether she was still down with my plan. Probation had become my natural state of being.

Otherwise what?

“Got it,” I replied. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” He nodded and turned to his computer. “Good night, True.”

“G’night,” I replied.

I was just about out the door when my cell phone rang. The screen read
GAVIN DUNNELLON
. I quickly hit the talk button as I stepped outside.

“Hello?”

“True? It’s Gavin.”

“Hey,” I said, taking a deep breath and leaning back against the cool outer brick wall of the building. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to tell you, it worked,” Gavin said. “I went with Peter and Josie to the soup kitchen tonight, and she made this huge scene and bailed. Peter is
pissed
. And he’s talking about getting back together with Claudia.”

“Really? That’s incredible!” I said.

At least something had gone right tonight.

“Totally. What’s up with Claudia and Keegan?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll call Lauren and get an update. We’ll talk at school tomorrow, okay?”

“Cool. This is fun.” Gavin sounded giddy. “I feel like we should have some kind of code name.”

“I’ll leave that to you,” I said. “I’ve gotta go. But thanks for calling.”

“See you tomorrow.”

As I cut across the parking lot, my feet crunching on the asphalt, I tried to focus on the positive. This thing with Peter and Claudia was going to work out. I could feel it. Before the end of the week, I’d have them falling in love for real, and I’d be two-thirds done with my mission.

And if not, then maybe I’d just have to move on to Wallace and Mia. Or find someone new. Maybe it was about time I kicked things up a notch.

“You didn’t really think you were going to get away with this, did you?”

I froze at the sound of Hephaestus’s voice, then slowly turned. He sat in the middle of the parking lot, vibrating with fury. In the palm of his right hand was my tiny, now useless, spy camera.

“How did you—”

“Get up to my light fixture?” he asked, wheeling toward me. “I had a hunch, so I got a friend from work to come over and he found it. Does Aphrodite know you were spying on me?”

His skin was waxy, and he spit when he talked.

“No,” I said. “She doesn’t know anything about it.”

“What did you see?” he demanded with a glare.

“Nothing.” I lifted my chin. “The camera died as soon as you fired up your magic mirror.”

He blinked and withdrew, as if he’d just been slapped. “How could you do this?” he asked. “Why can’t you just trust me?”

“Don’t you get it, Hephaestus?” I demanded. “I can’t trust anyone. How do I know you’re not working with Hera to sabotage me
and keep me and Aphrodite stuck here forever? How do I know you don’t still hold a grudge against my parents? If you had only been honest with me—”

“I have
always
been honest with you!” he snapped. “I kept the secret because your parents requested it of me. And the only thing I’ve done since arriving here is help you. If you can’t look to those facts and see me as a friend, then I don’t know what else to say to you.”

“So you have no ulterior motive?” I said, holding my jacket tighter around me. “You have nothing to gain from being here, other than feeling good for helping a friend?”

Something shifted behind his eyes. It was minuscule, but unmistakable. He
was
hiding something. I was sure of it.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, turning his chair around. He dropped the camera on the ground, then swiftly, ceremoniously, crushed it beneath his right wheel. “Until you come to your senses, don’t bother talking to me.”

“Fine,” I bit out. “I won’t.”

I waited for him to make his way around the corner of the building before I turned in the opposite direction and stormed off.

Peter. I was meeting Peter. I sat at my usual table in the library after school, not studying, because any second Peter was going to walk through that door and we were going to “talk.”

I looked down at my phone. The text he’d sent after fifth period was open on the screen. I’d looked at it fifteen thousand times in the last three hours.

MEET IN LIBRARY AFTER SCHOOL? I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.

Of course he did. Because he was jealous. Because he realized that I was in a relationship and, just like True had predicted in the beginning, wanted what he couldn’t have.

But that was what was really different now. He couldn’t have me. I was with Keegan. Keegan cared about me. He was coming to my recital on Friday, even though it meant coming straight from practice to be there on time. Keegan and I were a couple now. After what we’d done together yesterday afternoon, I was more sure of that than ever.

I just had to stay strong. If that’s what this was about. If Peter
really did want to get back together. Maybe he just wanted help with his math homework or something and—

There he was. He practically filled the doorway. And he was wearing that maroon-and-white-striped rugby shirt that I’d gotten him for Christmas last year. The one I loved so much I’d briefly thought about breaking into his room and stealing it during my darker moments last week.

He saw me right away and walked over. “Hey.”

Annoyingly, his voice still sent pleasant shock waves through me. “Hey.”

After a second, he pulled out the chair at the end of the table, diagonal from me, and sat. And then he took my hand, drawing it out of my lap and into his.

Holy crap. This was happening. And I couldn’t breathe. But I was with Keegan now. Keegan, Keegan, Keegan.

“I’m sorry,” Peter began, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry for breaking up with you. I was so stressed that day and I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m so sorry, Claudia.”

I cleared my throat. I thought of Keegan, who was supposed to call me later and maybe pick me up from dance class. Keegan, who gave me chills every time he touched me.

“Will you . . . take me back?” Peter asked. “Will you . . . be my girlfriend?”

His forehead was wrinkled, his eyes hopeful. My heart flipped and sputtered, bucking and tripping like a desperate, confused, newly born fawn.

And then I said, “No.”

Peter sat up. “What?”

“I’m sorry, but no,” I said, feeling a bit like I was about to jump off a building. “I’ve moved on.”

Peter dropped my hand. “With Traylor?”

I looked at him, annoyed by the accusatory tone in his voice, like he thought he might get to choose who I moved on with. “Yeah. With Keegan Traylor,” I said, my voice wavering annoyingly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. We were together for a year and half!” he protested. “I thought that you—I thought that we—”

I held my breath, dying for him to finish his sentence. Instead he huffed a sigh.

“What’s so great about Keegan Traylor?” he demanded.

My jaw dropped. “Well, first off, he’s funny. And he’s laid-back. He’s never once snapped at me for no reason.”

Peter hung his head.

“He’s coming to my recital on Friday, even though it’s not exactly convenient for him. He makes me feel like he actually wants to be with me, like he cares about the things I care about, which is more than I can say for you.”

Peter stared at me. He looked deflated. “I made you feel like I didn’t want to be with you?”

“Sometimes,” I said, faltering a bit at his naive tone. “For the last few months you just . . . I felt like you were pulling away. Every time I tried to talk to you about college, you bit my head off. . . . You walked out on me the day I got my audition. . . . It was like you were angry all the time.”

I swallowed hard, impressed by my own bravery. I’d told him what I really thought, how I really felt.

“Separation anxiety,” he said under his breath.

“What?”

“It’s a real thing!” he said loudly, like a protest. “I looked it up. You’re so afraid of someone leaving you that you push them away. It’s the subconscious exerting control or some crap.”

“Oh.” I felt this odd sort of pang in my chest. He’d broken up with me because he was scared of losing me? Was that possible?

He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands forming a teepee over his nose and mouth, and sighed. “I thought . . . I thought that you, like, couldn’t wait for us to graduate. I felt like you were trying to get rid of me. That there was no way for me to be part of your future.”