Love Fortunes and Other Disasters (8 page)

She sighed. After spending the last hour wading through more magazines, she'd only found vapid advice articles and fashion spreads. The clothing interested her, with wide-eyed models lifting their legs like cranes in front of city buildings and forests. Based on the prices of the clothes listed on each page, one would expect high quality. But Fallon wasn't so sure. Price was an old trick. What would Robbie think of these clothes? With just one look, her brother would know which blouse was cheap and which pencil skirt was quality.

Since school had cleared out hours ago, Fallon didn't shy away from reading the magazine in plain sight. No one was around, save for a janitor mopping the floor at the other end of the hallway. With the door to the round room locked, Fallon had made do by sitting on the damp, newly cleaned floor.

The round room had been named after its donut-shaped interior, reserved only for special presentations or student government functions. Three rows of wooden tables situated in stadium seating surrounded the middle of the room where guest speakers took advantage of the great acoustics. She could understand why the administration wouldn't let students wear down the furnishings with everyday use.

“Are you here for the student government meeting?” asked Martin, walking towards her. Being the student government president gave him the privilege of using the spare key.

Fallon shoved the magazine in her bag. “Yes.”

“First one here,” he said, almost sadly. But then, none of the officers were there with him.

“Where's Nico?”

“Who?”

“Nicolas Barnes.”

“Oh.” Martin's confusion gave way to a smile. “Sorry. I didn't know he had a nickname. Nicolas said he'd pick up coffee for the officers. He didn't have to. That's very kind of him.”

Not even the teachers called him Nicolas. Fallon bit back a laugh. “You should call him Nico, if you can. Everyone does.”

Martin scratched the back of his neck. “Are you his friend?”

She nodded. “Fallon Dupree. I'm representing the charm-making club.”

“You don't look familiar,” Martin said. He unlocked the door. “Is this your first meeting?”

“Yes.”

“Then you'll learn that everyone dreads these meetings. Even the officers. I try my best, but I can't seem to make them any less dull,” he said.

She glanced at the clock in the hall. Almost seven.

“They'll trickle in late.”

After Martin flicked the light switch, a dozen fluorescent lights buzzed to life. The round room smelled musty, a comfortable scent mingled with lemon cleaner. Photographs of Grimbaud High students from long past covered the back walls. Skylights, useless at night, revealed the darkening sky. Fallon took a seat in the front row and opened to a clean page in her notebook. Martin claimed the podium and unpacked his papers.

After ten minutes, students began filling the room. Conversations echoed. Officers shook hands and sat at the desk beside the podium.

Martin took off his thick-framed glasses and wiped them with his shirt. Since the room was already too loud, he turned on the microphone and warned everyone that the meeting would start in five minutes.

“Coffee's here!” Nico said, lugging a brown paper case with six coffees. He caught Fallon's eye on the walk down to the podium and flashed a nervous grin.

With only a few empty seats here and there, she worried that Sebastian would have to sit on the floor. Where was he? She didn't think he was prone to being late, except perhaps for dramatic effect, but no one would be paying attention to him at this meeting. Too many clubs. Fallon turned in her seat and scanned the two rows behind her.

Sebastian sat in the last row near the door. He frowned deeply, as if she were the one who was late, and gestured to the empty chair beside him.

No way
, Fallon thought. Why sit in the back when she had a perfectly good view of the officers? The seat to her right wasn't yet taken, so she pointed at it and then at him.

Sebastian mouthed, “I don't do front rows,” and sat back in his chair.

“You'd better move,” Nico said, resting his elbows on the desk. “Each club gets a chance to speak at these meetings and it'll be hard to confer when you're miles away from each other.”

“Do you want him to win?” Fallon asked.

“Just trying to help. Meeting's going to start.”

She lowered her voice. “Without Camille? I noticed she wasn't here yet.”

“Don't remind me. I wish we could have just one meeting without her, but I doubt she'd leave Martin alone so soon after the breakup,” he said bitterly.

Fallon chewed her lip. Nico's anxiety rolled off him in waves. “Hey,” she said, touching his elbow, “Did he like the coffee?”

“I'm not sure. I thought he did, but Martin kind of stuttered when he thanked me. Like he was going to say something else.”

“I told him to call you Nico.”

He let out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, it was when he said my name. I'm still Nicolas. My president's too proper for nicknames.”

“Well, be persistent. Miracles do happen.”

“Like you moving to the back row?”

She grimaced. “I guess I should set a good example for you.”

As Nico returned to his table, Fallon grabbed her notebook and bag and climbed the steps up to the third row. She plopped down into the chair and refused to give Sebastian the satisfaction of seeing her frown.

As Martin started his welcome speech, Fallon caught Sebastian sticking his hand in her bag. He pulled out the magazine and placed it on the desk between them. “Research?” he asked.

Fallon slapped her hand on the page. “Do you mind?”

“Where did you leave off?”

She sighed. “Page fifty-five.”

He flipped through the pages to find an advertisement for perfume. “Not quite a charm,” he murmured, “though all fragrances promise romance, don't they?”

“Be quiet.”

“We're in the back for a reason. That's what I like about it: being on the fringe of the action.”

As Fallon jotted down notes, the door next to her seat opened. Camille Simmons stepped inside. She hadn't bothered to change out of her work uniform; Zita's standard pink dress and silver high heels sparkled under the fluorescent lights.

Camille crossed her arms and waited by the door, as if expecting the meeting to come to a grinding halt in her presence. But then she caught Fallon staring. “I remember you,” she said, not bothering to moderate her voice. “The girl with the bad fortune. I see you took my advice about the magazines … yet, they haven't helped. Better keep reading.”

Fallon's face burned.

Sebastian turned the pages loudly. He spoke to Camille with his typical bored tone. “This magazine has some great advice about handling exes. Maybe Martin would like to read it.”

Camille's smirk shattered. She knocked the magazine off the table. The sound startled the secretary, who had been reading last year's final meeting minutes aloud. All eyes swiveled to Camille. “Sorry I'm late,” she said loudly, rebuilding her false smile in seconds. She glided down the steps and shoved Nico's chair over so she could sit next to Martin.

Fallon touched her cheeks, feeling the lingering embarrassment there.

Sebastian calmly plucked the magazine off the floor.

Tension stretched thin as the student government meeting continued. The news of Camille and Martin's breakup was about as widespread as Sebastian's rotation of girlfriends. All eyes were on Camille as she pulled out a pink pen and chewed on the cap. Her arm and thigh pressed against Martin, but the president pretended not to notice. Nico sulked, his chin falling to his chest as he studied, perhaps too closely, the stack of bank statements in front of him.

Club representatives took turns talking about what their clubs did and any concerns they might have for the new school year. Fallon didn't know what Femke and Mirthe would have wanted her to say about the club, but she tried to make it sound as dull as possible.

After introducing herself and Sebastian, Fallon stood up like the previous representatives. “There are quite a few charm clubs already, but our club focuses on the study of how charms are created. We do this by gathering every week to go over formulas and recipes, as well as popular theories. By the time we're done debating these matters, we rarely get to make the charms themselves. So, I guess you could say we're focused on theory.”

A few attendees groaned. Camille smirked and wrote something on her paper. She pushed it over to Martin, who turned away.

“What do you hope to accomplish this year?” the secretary asked.

To overthrow Zita,
she thought. “We're actually planning on making some field trips to meet other charm-makers in the community. Our copresidents Femke and Mirthe De Keyser agreed to give us a tour of their parents' weather-charm business, but we hope to find other members of the community to learn from as well.”

Sebastian, still sitting, made a noise of approval.

The secretary smiled slightly. “Thank you. Next club.”

Fallon's job was over now that she'd spoken for the club. Hopefully she wouldn't attract more members or any unnecessary attention from the student government officers. At least Nico was an officer; he could warn them if anyone, namely Camille, came snooping around the club.

When she sat down, Sebastian gave her the magazine. Jeans to fit all body types took up a six-page spread, but a quiz made her pause. The quiz was titled “How Visible Are You to Your Crush?” At the bottom of the page, beyond the point tally and evaluations, she found a small blurb that made her skin prickle:

Catching your crush's eye isn't as hard as you think. When your crush is near, say the phrase, “Confidence, Confidence, Unveil Me” out loud. Strength will flow through your body and that energy will capture your crush's attention. Just make sure to use the opportunity you're given!

This charm wasn't about attraction, but about building the confidence to act on one's feelings. She had no trouble expressing her feelings—not that she had ever had to do it romantically—but she didn't experience the anxiety that Hijiri evidently suffered when talking to people.

She didn't have a crush, but she decided to try the charm anyway. When the basketball club representatives boasted about last year's victory at the national high school competition, the room erupted in merriment. Perfect to mask her words. “Confidence, confidence, unveil me,” she said. A surge of warmth spread through her body, making her fingers and toes tingle. A cobweb-like net lifted off her skin and she was naked and utterly fearless underneath.

Camille suddenly stopped cheering; her eyes narrowed and swept across the room.

“Look down,” Sebastian whispered, slapping a folder over her magazine to hide it.

She dismissed his warning as soon as she heard it; confidence was a heady thing. Fallon cupped her hands over her mouth and let out a hearty cheer with the other students. She stomped her feet. When she shot a bold look at the student government table, Camille's eyes locked with hers. Fallon's breath caught. Camille's mouth curled. Dread poked its way through the charm's grip.

With the other officers distracted from the ruckus, Nico reached the podium and turned on the microphone. The feedback stopped the rowdiness; amplified by the acoustics of the room, it sounded like hundreds of crying cats at once. “Save your cheering for the games, guys! We don't want the administration hearing us,” Nico said.

Martin stood up, knocking Camille off balance. “Thank you, Nicolas. It's a privilege to be using this room. Let's continue.”

Nico's ears turned red as he shuffled back to his seat.

The energy from the charm drained out of Fallon. She sat back down.

“What were you thinking?” Sebastian hissed. “You can't do that, especially when one of Zita's employees is here.”

Guilt filled the gaps where her burning confidence had been. Fallon swallowed loudly. “I didn't think it was real.”

“Well, at least we know you found one,” he said.

“Sorry.”

“Don't apologize to me. I'm not mad, really. You just scared me.”

Fallon couldn't imagine scaring anyone, though her family's strict adherence to quality was sometimes uncomfortable for people who didn't put limits on what they wore, ate, and lived in. Harder still was picturing Sebastian scared of her—the girl he declared a princess. “Did you sense it?”

He nodded. “There was something pulling at me. When I looked at you, you started … glowing.”

Glowing? Did everyone see that? Was she exposed already?

“Not literally,” he hastened to add.

“But you knew that I wasn't just me.”

“That's right.”

As the rest of the clubs took their turns, Fallon dog-eared the page with the charm and refused to read the rest of the magazine while Camille might be looking. Working at Zita's must have made Camille extra sensitive to love charms. Fallon rubbed her arms. Did Zita train her employees to sniff out stray love charms? What happened to those who were caught? No one in Grimbaud had used alternative love charms since her grandparents' day, and what she'd heard about Zita establishing such a monopoly was vague.
One day she set up shop and everyone loved her love charms and fortunes so much that they gave up all others. Simple. Or was it?

The meeting wound down with the secretary reading the semester's meeting dates and times off the agenda. Then last questions and concerns. As chairs slid back and chatter rose, Martin asked for the officers to stay behind for a few minutes.

Fallon jumped out of her chair to meet Nico before the officers started their own meeting.

“How'd I do?” Nico said, leaning against the officer desk. “The microphone was a pain, but at least it woke up the gardening club representatives in the front. Who falls asleep in the front row, anyway?”