Chemistry (18 page)

Here it comes. Gene’s been building up to this, and I see his eyes sparkle as he prepares to deliver. “Well, I’ll have to travel to the schools and talk to the counselors there.”

“And?”

“And I’ll need some money for the trip.”

“Of course.” I can’t resist a smile. “Unfortunately, I’m broke.”

It takes Gene a moment too long to react, as though he doesn’t really believe in what his own ears have told him. His smile lingers a few seconds after the sparkle leaves his eyes. “I… don’t understand.”

“It’s simple. Between you and Valentine, I have nothing left.”

He frowns, an expression I have rarely seen cross his face. “I guess that settles it. There’s only one option left to me.” He waits for my response, but I give him none, so he continues. “I’ll have to join the Court of Miracles.” And he cringes because he expects me to shout at him, to chide him for being shortsighted. He expects me to be so horrified that I give him whatever he wants.

All I can do is stare at my baby brother as every conversation we’ve ever had steps into the spotlight of my memories. He knows me. He knows how to get what he wants from me, and he’s never had a problem with it before. Now he’s pulling out all the stops for the last of my savings.

While it stung to watch Valentine betray me the way he did, this should be unbearable. My brother. Gene. No matter how much I adore him, how responsible I feel for his well-being, or how much effort I put into becoming a meager replacement for the parents he lost, he will never love me. Not like I love him. He doesn’t even see me as a brother. I’m just a sucker he can beg for money. I’m a means to an end.

The family I thought I built is a lie and always, always has been. I ought to feel lost, but I don’t. Instead, I feel like the universe is forcing me down the path I am destined to take.

I push past Gene and say, “Join the Court of Miracles,” without even looking at him.

People always talk about the beginning of the end, and I usually roll my eyes when I hear it. But now I can feel the end creeping up on me. The planets are aligning, so to speak. The stars have taken their places and await the command to fall. And Gene… My aggravation rises until I can feel it coloring my cheeks. So many years I have provided shelter, money, and tutoring to the people I cared most about. And they never even saw me. Not one of them ever knew me or tried to know me. Not one of them thought to find out what I wanted, what I needed, what was broken in me.

I’ve never been quick to anger, but a slow fire burns hotter. And I am searing. I enter the sanctuary and march down the aisle toward the priest’s antique Bible, the one treasure in my care that hasn’t been tarnished by my hands. It’s worth a few thousand dollars, at least—more than I’ve ever seen in my life, more than I need to turn my idea into an active plan.

I enter my private room and cross to the desk, behind which I intend to hide the Good Book until I find a buyer. The streetlamp outside my window illuminates several rolls of laundry quarters I’ve managed to save by washing my clothes in the sink and hanging them to dry. I grab three rolls and open my window.

Gene has rounded the church and is just passing by on his way out. I call to him. When he turns, I throw a roll of quarters at him. Then another. Then another. The third hits him hard and breaks apart. Quarters rain onto the pavement, ringing all around Gene, who looks confused as to whether he should be angry at the abuse or happy for the cash.

“That’s the last you’ll ever get from me!” I shout to him. “Just remember that while you’re smoking it!” And I slam the window shut, leaving him to collect his winnings.

I have no family.

III

I am obsessed and giddy with the prospect of my future. Everything is coming together beautifully. So far, the cruise line has been tremendously helpful. Peter has access to Esmeralda’s apartment and, therefore, all her paperwork, and he’s not inclined to question why I need it. We have the Court of Miracles on our side… or on whichever side they believe is Esmeralda’s. And I have over six thousand dollars from the discrete, online auction of the antique Bible I stole.

The more things fall into place, the more I begin to enjoy seeing Esmeralda mope around the church. I will make her happy soon. Right now, she’s sitting on the steps of the altar, reading a novel by inadequate light. Her hair is tied back in a messy ponytail and she’s wearing unflattering, but comfortable clothes. She looks like she’s home. And the thought that my home is also hers warms my heart until she glances up, sees me watching, and snaps her book shut. She won’t say a word to me. Why should she? But I know she’ll have to one day, even though right now she’s stalking from the sanctuary in a bad temper.

I feel a touch on my shoulder and turn to see Valentine. He’s also troubled, and I can’t help but wonder why. He doesn’t leave me wondering long.

“She’s going to the prom,” he signs. He hasn’t spoken aloud since the incident with the baseball bat. I wonder whether I will ever hear his voice again.

“Does that bother you?” I sign back.

He nods.

“Because you’re not taking her?”

His cheeks flush, and he runs an enormous hand through his red hair. “I need you to take me,” he signs, hastily. “I can’t go without a date.”

Of course, he can’t; he’s not a senior. His absence has always been part of my plan. But I don’t like the way he’s looking at me now, like he suspects Peter’s inviting Esmeralda is more than just a chance occurrence. More than anyone else in the world, it’s Valentine’s judgment I can’t bear.

I grit my teeth and try not to avert my eyes. Valentine’s suspicion could destroy everything. Esmeralda trusts him almost as much as she trusts Peter. She might listen if Valentine advises her not to go.

“I didn’t want to get you involved after what happened at the last dance,” I sign. “This is Esmeralda’s one chance to talk to Phoebus before graduation, so she insists on attending. The only problem is her attackers will be there, and she won’t talk to the police about it because she fears deportation. I know I can never make up for what I’ve done.” I can’t look him in the eyes, even though most of what I’m saying is true. “But I have to try. So I’m going with them. It’s a masked ball. Esmeralda won’t know it’s me. I just want to make sure she’s safe. I promise.”

He shakes his head and signs, “I’m coming with you.” I can see the struggle in him. He wants to believe I’m a good person, that I’ve fully repented and that this is my penance. The truth is I want to believe it, too.

“You know she’ll never love you,” I sign to him, but really, I should be saying it to myself. “She’s obsessed with beauty. She won’t touch anything that doesn’t please her eye.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he signs. He’s so close to breaking. It’s painful to see him like this.

“Why are you doing this for her if you know she’ll only hurt you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He lifts his head and his one, good eye burns a hole into my heart. He sees so much. I know now that he recognized my love for Esmeralda long ago. I know now that his betrayal was not accidental. He made his choice. Now it’s time for me to make mine.

“What the hell,” I sign. “I’ll register you as my date, so you can get in. Let the gossips have a heyday. Peter and I could probably use your help.” And it’s done. I will use Valentine to my advantage. He’s not a person any more. He’s a chess piece. He’s a rook.

Valentine stares up at me, doubting. I won’t show him how afraid I am, how the look on his face makes my vision blur and my palms sweat. Even though I stand taller than he does, even though he’s given me authority over him, if Valentine wanted to, he could crack me in half with his bare hands.

He shifts and signs, “Thank you.” And then he shuffles away.

I do what I can to remain on my feet until he’s out of sight. Then I fall into a pew and catch my breath. What am I doing? This is crazy. But I can’t go on trying to be who I’ve always been. I don’t want to go back to that person who doesn’t feel anything, who’s too proud to see his own weaknesses, who believes he can shoulder the burden of every lost soul he finds. The lost guiding the lost was every bit as crazy as my new plan. But this time, I’m not kidding myself. This time, I’m going in with my eyes wide open.

IV

The evening air is warm but still has that spring crispness to it. I’m kicking stones behind the church with my hands shoved into my pockets, waiting for Peter to show with my costume.

Two weeks ago, I handed him several hundred dollars and asked him to get the best costumes he could find for Valentine, Esmeralda, and myself. I had only two requests for him. I wanted my costume to completely conceal my identity, and I wanted Esmeralda’s to be white. “She doesn’t trust me,” I told him. “It’s better if she doesn’t know who I am.”

“Gotcha,” he said. “And why is hers white?”

“It will make her easier to spot in a crowd,” I lied.

Now I see him walking toward me, a tall phantasm, clothed in black and painted gray from his head to his chest. He has a gray wig and false beard, which he wears around his neck like a tie. His eyes are the worst part of his costume. He’s wearing those white contacts that make them look milky all over.

“What are you supposed to be?” I ask when he’s come close enough to hear.

“Can’t you tell?” He puts his beard in place. “I’m the bust of Homer.”

The blind poet. How appropriate.

“Here’s yours.” He throws a shopping bag at me, and I open it to see the brown, cottony material inside.

“What is it?”

He pulls his beard down and grins. “Ambrosio, the villain monk.”

Of course. I should have known Peter’s costumes would be brilliant. He has a knack for irony.

“It’s a shapeless robe, a cowl, and a mask. You won’t stand out and you’ll be completely anonymous.”

“And Valentine?”

He throws me a second bag. “Phantom of the Opera. Saved you time and money. Since Val already has a tux, he just needed the mask.”

“Perfect.” I thank him and head inside.

Tonight, Peter will pick Esmeralda up at the church and take her to the ship. Valentine and I will go separately and meet them there. If all goes well, the Court of Miracles and the soccer team will keep Valentine busy, Esmeralda’s trust in Peter will extend to his anonymous friend, and my life will never be the same again.

V

I wish I could accurately paint this picture for you, but it’s half experience and half perspective, and there’s just no way I can give you my perspective. The ship, the lights, the crowd, and the costumes. I have never seen anything like it in my life. If you blindfolded me and brought me aboard, I would swear to you I was not even on a ship. That’s how unreal this is. That’s how enormous. This is not just a prom. This is what it means to have money, security, and powerful people who love you.

The Valentine’s Day Dance was amateur and cheap compared to this. Every metal surface is gleaming and tinted with gold. Instead of the strings of little white lights I have come to expect, real chandeliers glitter above us. The carpet is crimson. The curtains are satin. The tables are ornamented with gold-embellished wine glasses and red rose petals. Our senior class wanted the best prom the school has ever put on, and thanks to people like Phoebus’ parents, it looks like they got it.

From behind my mask, I stare out into a fantastic world peopled with fantastic creatures. Everyone has gone all out. Even though my costume is the best I’ve ever worn, it still looks drab in the midst of this. I’m standing in a sea of shifting fairy tales—mermaids, vampires, elves, and pixies—wearing a brown hooded cowl, a plain flesh-colored mask, and a big bronze cross around my neck. I feel stupid and ghoulish, but I suppose that’s the point. I don’t want anyone to talk to me.

I lean against a pillar of mirrors and watch the spectacle unfold. Valentine can’t sit still. He keeps circling the ballroom, looking for Esmeralda. Every once in a while, he comes back to me, and I have to remind him that she and Peter probably stopped for dinner. It’s difficult to calm him when I am every bit as anxious as he is. In another venue on this same ship, my secret, insane plan is unfolding. I haven’t gone to see it because I don’t want to miss anything here, but I’m sure it’s beautiful. I hope it’s beautiful. It has to be.

The longer it takes Esmeralda to show, the more concerned I get. I know I’m early. I know it could be another ten minutes before she even arrives, twenty until departure. Still I worry. But now, the eyes of everyone in the room are drawn to the door, and I can’t help holding my breath as I wait for my angel to emerge.

The figure that stalks into the ballroom is an angel, no doubt about that, but not one of mercy and not Esmeralda. No, this is a tall figure, cloaked in black—a shadow with the face of a skull and a scythe, which it uses as casually as an ordinary walking stick. I wonder how it got in with the scythe because, to me, that thing looks far from fake. In fact, the whole costume is unnervingly real.

The last thing I want to do is meet this character, but it’s headed right for me, and I see no sign that it plans to deviate from its path. It moves like a snake. I think about getting out of its way, but that would only draw its attention. I can’t possibly express how glad I am that my mask covers my whole face. I take shallow breaths and wait to laugh at myself as soon as the figure walks past. But it never does. It steadily, purposefully glides right to me, and stops only when we are standing toe-to-toe. Then it leans in. And its scythe leans with it, tilting over my head, shimmering in the soft light.

The figure examines me and says in a breathy voice, “Who are you?”

I have no answer. Even if I wanted to tell it who I was, I couldn’t. I don’t really know any more.

“Syd!” someone calls, and the shadow turns its head. “Syd, over here!”

So the specter is Sydney Clopin. It’s only Sydney. I feel like a complete ass. Of course, that bastard would wear a terrifying costume to the prom. I ought to have known. This means the Court of Miracles has arrived. I see a group of them huddled together at the back of the ballroom. I don’t know what they’re doing, and I don’t care. Then another one of them strides toward me. This time, it’s a knight in full armor carrying a wine glass full of something bubbly.