The Only Thing Worse Than Me Is You (5 page)

“Yeah,” sighed a mind-reading voice to my right. “It's a coup.”

I whipped my head and found Peter's towering frame leaning next to me. He blended in easily with the superheroes behind him. He nodded toward Harper and Cornell with a wry smile.

“Isn't this what the kids call a tête-à-tête?” I whispered back, wrinkling my nose in distaste.

“No clue,” he said. “I took Mandarin.”

I snuck another peek at Harper and Cornell. “I should have known something was up. She refused to stop for Slurpees on the way.”

Peter chuckled softly, then winced as he adjusted his weight from his right leg to his left. The sound of his articular cartilage collapsing in on itself slipped through a time wrinkle and echoed in my ears.

“How's the knee?” I asked. There was no way anyone would ever forget last year's basketball playoffs. Peter had crumpled to the court like a felled tree, wearing his knee the wrong way around.

“Maimed,” he said. “I won't be playing this year. Or possibly ever again. We'll see.”

“I'm sorry.”

I'd never been the most athletic of individuals—other than a cricket ability that did not do me any good since the Mess had let me opt out of PE—but Peter had loved playing basketball since we were at Aragon Prep together. He always grinned when he was on the court, completely unstoppable. Now, he was permanently mortal.

“It's okay,” he said. “I don't really have time to play this year. I need to focus on my classes and the student council. Are you guys coming to the harvest festival next week?”

I glanced back at Harper and Cornell. She was holding up two issues of
Green Lantern
with her face screwed into a pensive frown.

“I couldn't get out of it if I tried,” I grumbled.

“It's going to be pretty cool this year,” Peter said. He looked over at West, who was yanking down Marvel titles left and right. “Right, Ben?”

“Oh yeah,” West said without taking his eyes off the
Avengers
comic in his hand. “Nothing like the usual kettle corn and bobbing for apples crap we normally do.”

“Really?” Meg asked, skipping around the graphic novels table to stand with us.

“No,” Jack Donnelly said, striding toward us. “It's going to be exactly like that.”

I jumped. I'd already forgotten that he was in the store. He may have been equally as massive as Peter, but he had a habit of clinging to the shadows. I think it was the way his forehead jutted out more than his brother's. It was like a skull visor, providing him with extra shadows.

“Not exactly,” Peter said, suddenly sheepish.

“Right,” Jack drawled. “We bought a fog machine for the haunted house.”

“That's cool,” Meg said.

Ignoring this, Jack tucked his single comic under his arm. “Let's go,” he said to his brother.

Peter's mouth curved into a frown that was more confused than insulted. “We just got here.”

“I'm good to go,” West said, his hands heavy with a stack of books roughly the same size as mine. He slammed them onto the counter. “I just need the new
Buffy
and we can roll out.”

“Buffy?”
Jack repeated with a derisive laugh. “Come on. Get your porn off the Internet like everyone else.”

“It's not porn,” West said with a sneer. “It's Whedon. The man does Marvel and Shakespeare. Joss is the nerd pope and
Buffy
is the first goddamn testament.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Meg.

I choked down my disgust. It was bad enough that West was in my comic book store. I did not need him to also start bandwagonning my fandoms. Was nothing sacred anymore?

“Well said, Ben,” Ralph said, scooping up the books and drawing them through the window. “Unfortunately, my last three copies are on hold for your female associates.”

West's head flopped back, exposing the lump of his Adam's apple. He aimed a groan of frustration toward the heavens.

“Of course they are.” He waved Jack in front of him and stepped aside, grinding the heel of his hand over his eyes as Ralph accepted Jack's money.

I stepped into line, examining West's apparent agony with relish.

“See this?” I waved a hand over him, indicating his tense shoulders and clenched jaw. “This is just a fraction of the devastation you'll be feeling in June when I beat you in rank once and for all.”

His chin snapped down, the joints in his neck audibly popping.

“Fat chance, Medusa,” he breathed, low enough that Jack was the only person who could have heard.

“You can take my copy of
Buffy,
Ben,” Harper said quickly, hopping into view with Cornell in tow.

West bowed to her. “You are a gentlewoman and a scholar, Harper Leonard.”

“I'm already way past my limit. I'll read Trixie's copy,” she said. She turned to Cornell, holding up her pile of books. “Okay, which ones can I live without?”

He gingerly lifted four books out of her pile. “There. Go ahead.”

Jack grabbed his receipt from Ralph and jerked his head toward Peter, who followed him out of the store, limping slightly. I paid for my own stack and made Ralph promise to continue putting aside one issue of
Buffy
for me every month for the foreseeable future. West let Harper and Meg go ahead of him in line. I waited for them next to the door, anxious to get in the car where I could demand to know when Harper had planned our not-so-accidental meeting with most of the student council.

Meg joined me near the door and we watched as Harper and Cornell exchanged a painfully awkward goodbye. I started to tell them to make out and get it over with already, but Meg caught me with a tiny pointed elbow in the stomach and I closed my mouth.

Harper adjusted her glasses, smiling dreamily as she followed me and Meg out of the store. Jack and Peter were standing in front of a silver hybrid, appearing—as usual—just as similar as they were different. Peter was drumming his fingers against the hood. Jack had buried his face in his comic again. I squinted at the cover and leaned over to Meg.

“Vault of Evil,”
I murmured. “That's comforting.”

“Bye, guys,” Harper said, eyeing the door as though waiting for Cornell to burst through and declare his undying love for her.

Jack didn't move, but Peter waved.

We started to walk back toward the yoga studio, but Cornell did, in fact, burst through Busby's door, calling Harper's name. Hair whipping around her like a ship's sail, she turned, unable to stop herself from looking delighted. She seemed to shake herself, her face settling into a slightly unnatural reserve.

“What's up?” she asked, her face flushing the same pink as the frames of her glasses.

Meg and I backtracked toward the boys as West walked out of the store. He jerked his head, indicating that we move away from Harper and Cornell. Meg grabbed my wrist and yanked until I obeyed, moving to stand in front of the hybrid.

A bright-blue plastic bag swung from Cornell's fingers. From its depths, he withdrew the four comics he had removed from Harper's original bounty. He held them out to her with a shaky smile.

“You needed all of them,” he said softly.

“Cornell,” she said, gasping. “You didn't have to…”

He grinned. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Meg made an involuntary sound, somewhere between cooing and moaning in jealousy.

“Dear God,” Jack grumbled into his comic. “Someone let me into the car.”

Peter shoved him, but Harper and Cornell didn't seem to notice that any of us were standing barely six feet away from them. Harper was staring up at him with wide eyes like a cartoon rabbit about to be trampled. She took the books, hugging them to her chest without looking away from him once.

I glanced over at West, who seemed vaguely queasy at the proceedings.

“Okay,” I muttered. “You were right.”

He quirked an eyebrow, glancing at me sidelong. “Usually. But about what in particular?”

I jerked my head to indicate Cornell and Harper's saccharine expressions. It was as though an invisible hand had cranked up their adorable quotient to the breaking point.

“Triplets,” I said simply.

West snorted and I was momentarily afraid that the pressure would suck his mustache right up his nose. “I think we have progressed into sextuplets.”

“You always go one too far.” I sighed. “That was a cheap pun.”

“All puns are cheap,” he said. “It's still accurate.”

“We could attempt to distract them,” I offered. “I bet if I ripped that thing off your face, they'd mellow out.”

His hand flew up to his face protectively. He seemed to realize that I'd found the chink in his armor and he glowered at me as he smoothed his fingertips over his whiskers.

“I'll be working for the first half,” Cornell was saying to Harper. “But maybe we could meet up after I'm done?”

“That would be—” Harper faltered, unable to access the thesaurus that lived inside of that massive brain of hers. I guessed it would be difficult to find a word that encapsulated all of her dreams coming true. She settled on, “Wonderful.”

“Yeah?” Cornell exhaled a shocked laugh through a toothy grin. “Great. I'll um…”

“See you tomorrow,” Ben prompted.

The moment ended like it'd been doused in ice water. Harper and Cornell scuttled away from each other, registering that they were being watched by five other people.

“Nothing ruins a tender moment faster than the dulcet braying of Benedick West,” I said.

West whirled on me. “It's Benedict, Dr. Freud.”

“Is it?” I tapped my chin with my index finger, scrunching my forehead as I pretended to think about this. “I could have sworn it was Benedick.”

“It was in sixth grade.” Peter chuckled.

“Have you sunk so low?” West asked. He was doing his best to remain cavalier, but I could see that the renaissance of the school yard nickname was starting to creep under his skin. I didn't go in for DC analogies, but it was kryptonite, pure and simple. “What's next? You want to find a set of monkey bars? I'd gladly throw you over—”

My hand shot out and two fingers wrapped around the edge of his mustache. I yanked, just once. He yowled like a jungle cat and staggered away from me.

“Hmm,” Meg said. “It is real.”

I nodded. “Who knew, right?”

“Of course it's real,” West snarled, stretching his face as he rubbed the injured portion. “God, you miserable harpy. I haven't reached out and grabbed your—”

“If you make one more comment about my chest,” I said, brandishing a threatening finger, “so help me, West, I will end you.”

Peter slid his cell phone out of his pocket and consulted it thoughtfully. “Five minutes. That's a new record for you guys.”

“It was four minutes too long,” West said. He glared at Cornell. “Geronimo, dude.”

“Yes,” I agreed, taking Meg's elbow and giving her an indelicate shove forward. “Let's go.”

“Finally,” Jack said to no one in particular.

Cornell reached into his pocket and withdrew a set of keys. He pushed a button and the silver hybrid's doors unlocked with an electronic whirr. Jack and West threw themselves inside without another word. Peter waved again before sliding into the backseat.

Harper, failing at concealing the crestfallen set of her mouth, gave a single sad cluck. Cornell smiled at her, rocked forward on the balls of his feet for a second as he debated following through on some kind of physical contact. He thought better of it and retreated toward the car, bidding all of us a fond farewell.

Two chickens in love.

Meg and I walked arm in arm with Harper shuffling behind us. We silently climbed into the car and buckled our seat belts. Three plastic bags rustled as they were set on the floor and shoved into backpacks. Harper was taking shallow breaths in through her nose, her hand hovering over the ignition.

“So,” I said, wedging my tongue into my cheek. “Slurpees? The park? Or should we just hightail it to the fabric store so I can start sewing your wedding dress?”

“Oh my God, Harper!” Meg strained against her seat belt and shook Harper's seat with both hands. “Oh my God! Oh my Superman, Sandman, and Thor!”

“Multiple pantheons, even.” I giggled.

Harper closed her eyes, biting down hard on her lower lip. Her jaw was trembling. For a minute, I was terrified that she was going to dissolve into tears. It'd been so long since I'd seen her cry that I couldn't really tell the signs anymore.

“Harper?” Meg asked, tapping on the back of the driver's seat again. “Hello? Harper?”

Harper opened her mouth. A breath of air went in silently and then a squeal rushed out. Her arms flailed against the steering wheel and her feet stomped a hollow report against the floor. Her hair flew around her face until even her freckles seemed to vibrate. It was the battle cry of the newly not-single nerd girl, the polar opposite of every furtive sigh she'd sacrificed to the altar of unrequited love for the last three years.

Meg bounced in the backseat, giggling uncontrollably as I bent over laughing. Harper came back to herself, staring blindly ahead at the yoga studio, where the dozen contorted sweaty people squinted back in horror. She adjusted her glasses.

“I am going to the harvest festival with Cornell Aaron,” she said tremulously. “He bought me comic books. I don't think I can even read them. Okay, no, that's crazy. I'm totally going to read them. But that does not diminish the fact that he bought me comics.”

“I know!” Meg crowed.

“The festival isn't for another week, though,” I said, carefully trying to avoid pricking the bubble of joy that had filled the car.

Harper turned to me. Her face was alight. “Then we have time to put together costumes. I know that you have a ton of homework, Trix, but can we please go to the fabric store and start picking out patterns?”