Love Fortunes and Other Disasters (7 page)

Fallon knew she wouldn't get anywhere with Anais glued to Hard-boiled Hal's voice. They listened for a few minutes. Grimbaud's high schoolers loved his radio show, ironically titled
Hard-boiled Hal's Practical Guide to Love.
His show had nothing to do with love except for the avoidance of it; he urged his listeners to embrace their unromantic sides. Words like “pink” and “hearts” and “pet names” were banned from vocabulary. He even had a monthly segment where he talked about the merits of farting and burping in front of the opposite sex. “Zita would powder me in glitter and candy if she knew who I was,” he said, chuckling. “Too bad for her. I choose to remain happily unwashed and unappealing, a constant thorn in her side. Just the way I like it.”

Fallon knew the appeal of such a show. Hard-boiled Hal served as a shrewd, pragmatic conscience in a town practically dotty with thoughts of love. He offered the townspeople relief from the pressures of Zita's love fortunes—as long as his identity remained secret.

As Hard-boiled Hal divulged his opinion on why giving lace as romantic gifts was a terrible idea, the front door jingled.

Anais, a smidge taller behind the counter, turned a deathly shade of white. “I'm not here,” she said, ducking underneath the counter.

“What are you talking about?”

“It's Bear,” she hissed. “Don't let him see me!”

Fallon stood on her toes and saw Bear enter the drugstore. Sweat darkened his muscle shirt. He wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand and headed straight for the fridges. Headphones covered his ears, keeping him insulated in his own world—he hadn't even turned his head to look at the counter when he came in. “What do you want me to do?”

“Pretend you work here.”

“In my bathrobe?”

“Make something up!”

Fallon sighed and turned down the volume on Hard-boiled Hal's show.

Bear grabbed a drink from the fridge and made his way to the counter. His eyes widened when he saw Fallon, as if waking from a long sleep. “Hey, Fallon, right? Anais's friend?”

“That's me,” Fallon said as cheerfully as she could.

“I didn't think you'd work in a place like this,” he said, taking a second look at the sticky floors and flickering lights.

Fallon's cheeks burned, and for once, she was thankful that the lighting was unreliable. If Bear was surprised, her parents would have been mortified. “I know what you mean, but I'm trying some jobs out. I can already tell that I'm not cut out for being a drugstore cashier. It's kind of scary to be working by myself in the middle of the night.”

“Oh. How long is your shift? I can wait for you.”

Fallon felt Anais's hand squeeze her ankle from under the counter. “Thank you, but that's okay. I have to grow up sometime.”

“But not from doing this job,” he said, smiling.

“Right.”

Bear slid the blue drink across the counter toward her; it was one of those energy drinks that left you wide-eyed and ready for another round of grueling training in the sport of your choice. Before she could fumble with the cash register, he eyed a display on the shelf behind her and pointed. “Wait. Can I get one of those biscuit tins too?”

Anais let out a whine.

“Sure,” Fallon said loudly. She stomped a little for extra coverage and stood on her toes to get the tin. “Chocolate-covered or plain?”

“Chocolate,” Bear said.

Fallon hid her smirk. The rectangular tin fit in the palms of her hands, holding only about a dozen chocolate-covered biscuits baked by Peak & Brown's. Situated just outside of town, the factory gave off the scents of crumbly biscuits and bittersweet chocolate. Thankfully, the student housing complex was nowhere near the factory, so Fallon didn't have to be tortured daily by mass-produced temptations. Peak & Brown's tins were collectibles. The tin she took off the shelf was decorated with gold-and-turquoise filigree; in the center, a charming little girl with blond curls beamed.

“My mom collects them,” Bear said, pulling money from his pockets. “I don't think she has that one yet.”

“That's nice of you.”

“You don't understand. Our dining room walls are covered in Peak & Brown's tins. I broke one of the shelves when I was kid while wrestling with my little brothers. When my mom discovered the bent tins all over the floor, she refused to speak to me for six months.”

“Really?”

“Really. I hate them.” Bear looked away, embarrassed. “But I keep buying them because they make my mom happy.”

Anais whimpered. Fallon tapped her fingers on the tin to mask the sound. “So not even the little girl can make you think kindly on the biscuits?”

“That face haunts me.” He shuddered. “Can you bag that?”

Fallon tried recalling whatever memories she had of Anais and her father operating the cash register, but it was no use. “Sorry, I still can't get this thing to work,” she said. Grabbing a piece of scrap paper and a pencil, she added up the prices, plus tax, and had Bear look it over. “I hope you don't need a receipt.”

“Nah. It's okay.” He took the bag and dug some coins out of his pocket for exact change. “I've got five more miles to run before heading home, so I better go.”

Fallon waved and watched him leave. At the sound of the door closing, Anais popped back up. Her cheeks were smeared with tears.

“Did you hear that?” Anais blubbered. “He hates her. He hates me!”

“Don't overreact. It's just a tin.”

“Peak and Brown's has ruined my life, I tell you.” She plucked a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.

“Didn't Zita's love fortune insist that you be yourself? You need to share everything with Bear if you want to keep him.” Fallon gestured at the store and then the tins. “Everything.”

“No way. I can handle this, Fallon.” Anais mopped up her face and fixed her hair. She still looked endearing, even with the splotchy red skin. “No one I date ever has to know my horrible secrets. I am simply Anais Jacobs, a normal girl whose face is
not
printed on biscuit tins.”

Fallon shrugged. When Anais was stubborn, as she was most of the time, it was hard to get through to her. And it wasn't as if this was the first time they'd had a conversation about Anais's “horrible secrets.” The first secret was, of course, her grubby father and the drugstore—no boyfriend of hers should ever know she was associated with it. But the bigger secret was that Anais was, in fact, the little girl on the Peak & Brown's tin.

When Anais was a toddler, she had been spotted by a marketing representative from Peak & Brown's. In the middle of the supermarket, the Peak & Brown's representative knelt down on one knee, examined the giggling toddler with a magnifying glass, and offered Anais's father a substantial amount of money if he'd allow Anais to become their mascot. She had been photographed and painted at least a hundred times over the course of a week so that her likeness could be preserved for the future history of the bakery. Anais's toddler-self haunted her over the years, a source of misery rather than pride. “I don't have such rosy cheeks,” she'd say, stabbing at the tin with her index finger, “and I can't make my eyes twinkle like that anymore.”

“I know you're upset,” Fallon said, catching the last drop of mucus with her own tissue, “but your secret is still safe, thanks to me. Will you open the storeroom?”

Anais glared at the tins on the wall and nodded. “Remember what I said. Don't touch anything unless you're taking it with you.”

*   *   *

Fallon woke with a paper cut on her cheek. Uncurling herself from her sheets, still tucked neatly at the corners, she sat up and scratched off the dried blood. The culprit lay on the pillow next to her: an ancient teenage girls' magazine boasting tips on how to dress for a first date.

She switched off her alarm and groaned, tired from hours of sifting through Mr. Jacobs's storeroom. Anais had been telling the truth about the storeroom: it was a mess, covered in cobwebs and piles that only just made sense if you looked closely at how items were grouped. Fallon had pinched her nose as she rounded corners, avoiding the cheese samples that reeked despite still being wrapped in plastic. Mr. Jacobs had a section for books, but the only ones he had been sent were humorous or useful like a turnip cookbook or a guide on five ways to mow your lawn with your eyes closed.

Fallon had taken magazines aimed toward girls and women. The magazines, full of advice, would surely contain charms to attract crushes or deal with exes. She had looked at a few men's magazines too, but they seemed focused more on hobbies than on doling out love advice. She had promised Anais that she would give back the magazines she didn't use, and pay for the ones she did. So far, Fallon feared that she'd have to give back the entire stack. No charms in sight.

After returning to the complex with her arms full of magazines, Fallon had washed her hands and face thoroughly and set to work, moving through the pile. She made it through three fat magazines before falling asleep. Her dreams had swarmed with designer shoes, exercise routines, and quizzes.

School would start with or without her. Fallon took a shower, prepared and ate breakfast, and barely made it out the door in time.

*   *   *

“How's the charm-hunting?” Mirthe asked.

Fallon pressed against the lockers, avoiding a flock of students newly released from gym class. “I was able to find some old magazines shipped from out of town. They've been decaying in someone's storeroom.”

“Have you searched them yet?”

“Not all of them.”

Mirthe pursed her lips. “Femke and I are going to start our own hunt tomorrow night, but we're going to need your help for that to work.”

“How?”

“Well, our parents will be out all night. Thursdays are date nights for them. Tradition.” She rolled her eyes but grinned. “Anyway, it's the perfect chance for Femke and me to ride our moped out of here and peruse Lambrechts's shops. There's just one problem. Student government starts up on Thursday night.”

“Are you an officer?”

“You've never been to a meeting?” Mirthe cocked her head. “I would have sworn that someone like you would be in many clubs.”

Fallon brushed off the remark. Since when did good grades and ironed clothes equate club membership? She was too busy for clubs. “Well, I'm not. Nico is treasurer this year.”

“But since he's an officer, he can't represent a club. That's where you come in. Each club has to have two representatives attend each month's meeting. If we're not there, our club will be suspended. It's important that our cover be maintained. I've already asked Sebastian if he'll go and he agreed. We need one more person and Hijiri seems to have disappeared on me.”

Her mood soured when she heard his name. “Are you sure this can't wait? I think I have something to do—”

Mirthe gripped Fallon's hands. “Not one second can go by. Consider everything we do urgent. The school year's just begun and the fortunes will have their way with us soon.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Good. The meeting's at seven in the round room. It's late, but you can always walk over with Sebastian.”

Fallon grimaced.

“Represent our fine charm-maker's club well.”

*   *   *

After school, Fallon spotted Sebastian out by the basketball court. He leaned against the fence with his hands in his pockets, his pant legs rolled up above his ankles. He had his eyes closed, as if savoring the taste of the breeze rolling through.

She started walking toward him. Maybe she could convince him to help her look for Hijiri, so that the girl could take his place at the student government meeting. Fallon decided that she wanted to support Nico, since he'd be facing both Martin and Camille that night. Sebastian couldn't have cared much about the meeting; it would be easy to talk him out of going. But as her feet took her closer to Sebastian, she heard giggling.

Three girls swinging their backpacks called out to him, “Bastion, what are you doing?”

He opened one eye and frowned.

One of the girls, pretty with blond hair in a braid, split from the group and placed her hand on his chest. She peered up at him, saying something that made him smirk. Fallon stared at the girl's hand, the way it rested over the fabric framing his heart. Sebastian drew the girl into a hug. Her friends stood there watching, giggling between their fingers, as if everyone had won an award by capturing Sebastian's attention.

Before Fallon could look away, she saw Sebastian lift the girl's chin. He kissed her with one hand still in his pocket, his face as smooth as a blank sheet of paper.

She felt sick. It wouldn't be so bad if he and that girl were dating, Fallon thought, swallowing hard. But she knew as well as anyone at school that Bastion only dated in pretense. He may have been a good kisser, but with her eyes closed, the girl couldn't see how little Sebastian cared. He was the kind of boy Fallon never rooted for in the movies. The boy who usually lost because his heart wasn't in the right place. Sebastian's heart was unknowable.

Fallon told herself not to worry. Bastion was strong, but she had an entire fortress around her heart. She refused to share it with someone who kissed girls freely and led them on, only to dump them when they got too close. He wouldn't get to her.

Sebastian wiped his lips on the back of his sleeve, causing the girl and her friends to yell at him. He saw Fallon. “Hey,” he called.

Fallon turned on her heel. As she walked away, she heard Bastion's name turn to poison. Another girl disappointed in him.

 

chapter 6

THE MINUTES

“Here are three steps to making up with your boyfriend,'” Fallon read, staring at the glossy magazine page. “‘First, set up a time to meet alone. Friends will only get in the way if you want to have a real heart-to-heart talk with him.'”