Almost Everything (16 page)

Bea helped me to my feet. She must have seen the question on my lips, because she shook her head again and whispered, “Later.” Malcolm came over and patted me on the back kindly. Malcolm was tall and slender, and very proper looking. You almost expected him to have a British accent like Don Cheadle in
Ocean’s Eleven
. I could see why he appealed to Bea, with his mahogany skin and closely shaved helmet of curls.

I checked around for a sign of Nikolai, but, if braided snake-tattoo lady was to be believed, he’d been taken off to the urgent care clinic for stitches. I somehow doubted that, though. He might be a powerful magician, but it would take some trick to convince a doctor that he or she wasn’t sewing up bite marks.

I wondered if news of my “accident” would reach Thompson.

When I saw the crowd parting, I hoped it was him. I could really use some strong arms to support me—especially ones that wouldn’t ask any awkward questions.

Unfortunately, the form I saw barreling toward me was none other than my mother.

O
ne look at Mom’s face and I knew no amount of magic could deflect her anger. I really missed Thompson’s broad shoulders to hide behind. Instead, I brushed the grass stains off the butt of my jeans and waited for the storm to hit.

“What happened
here?” Mom demanded, sweeping everyone, even poor mundane Malcolm, with her laser stare of doom.

“I fainted,” I lied easily, because even if she wanted the truth, this was hardly the place to broadcast it. Malcolm wasn’t the only norm within earshot. “Nik cut his hand.”

Mom stood with her hands on her hips, considering us. We hadn’t spoken since this morning, and a lot of unresolved tension hung in the air between us. Her eyes flicked and her mouth twitched. It was obvious to me that she didn’t believe me; yet when her eyes fell on Malcolm, she nodded curtly. “Is Nikolai okay?”

“Yes, Dr. Parker,” Bea said, and they exchanged some kind of meaningful look. Maybe they shared some kind of secret code that only the Elders knew. I couldn’t fathom it, but it seemed to mollify Mom a little. I strained to sense any magical bindings or manacles being manifested, but I could only smell the remains of Bea’s forget-me spell.

Mom gave me
one final withering I’ll-deal-with-you-later grimace, and then turned to start addressing the crowd like a police officer shooing people from the scene of a crime. She sent people to help Nik’s band break down the set. Others were assigned cleanup, etc. It was impressive in its own way, especially when I felt Mom’s deep, earthy magic strengthening Bea’s forget-me spell. By tomorrow no one would remember seeing me bite Nik’s hand.

Malcolm leaned close to me and said, “Your mom is scary.”

I let out a little laugh. “Yeah, she can be.”

“What do you want to do now?” Bea asked.

I wanted desperately to talk to her about what I’d overheard Mom say to Mr. Kirov and about what the hell happened when I bit Nik’s hand, but I could see that Malcolm had attached himself to her side. “I lost Thompson over by the food. Maybe we should go find him.”

“I’m starving anyway,” Malcolm agreed.

His choice of words made me choke and laugh all at the same time. When Bea started to giggle, I lost it. We both collapsed in a fit of hysteria.

“What’s so funny?” Malcolm wanted to know.

“Sorry,” I said through tears. “The way you said that just reminded us of something else.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” he said doubtfully, but he didn’t press us for details.

After
fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, I began to suspect that Thompson ditched me. We had wandered over to the man-made waterfall and duck pond close to the zoo entrance. Bea and Malcolm tossed bits of gluten-free rice bread at an unsuspecting mallard, while I sat on the park bench and dialed Thompson’s number.

When he picked up, I asked, “Where are you? We’ve been looking all over the park.”

“I’m in my truck.”

It was a very strange answer, and I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “Um, why?”

“I had a power bar in the glove compartment and decent music on the radio.” There was some subtext that I clearly wasn’t getting, because he sounded kind of angry or put out, even though he was the one who ditched me.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I mow your lawn. Not on a regular basis, but, yeah, your mom has hired us.”

Now I really felt like I was missing something critical. I felt like I should be apologizing for something, but I had no idea for what. Instead, I just said, “Okay. Are you coming back? Should we meet you at your truck?”

“I remembered her because she didn’t let us use the bathroom,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken.

“My mom is a world-class jerk to everyone, Thompson. I wouldn’t take it too personally. You should have seen her a minute ago. She scared Malcolm.”

“Matt,” he corrected. “Or, at least Matthew, okay? Why can’t you ever call me by my first name?”

It was habit,
really. When I went to watch our high school hockey team play, I got used to the way the announcers always called him out by his last name—Thompson for the score! It was the name emblazoned across the back of his letter jacket. “I’m sorry, Matt. Is that what you’re mad about? Can we talk about this in person?”

“Forget about it,” he said gruffly. “I’m just being stupid. Where are you? I’ll meet you.”

I explained and agreed to stay put until he got there. I clicked the End button but stared at the phone. What was that all about? I had a sinking feeling it had something to do with male pride. The morose way Thompson spoke reminded me of Elias going on about losing his place as my dad’s right-hand man, only it made less sense. Vampires, I could understand; regular boys, not so much.

Malcolm and Bea laughed about something, panicking the duck, which fluttered off to the far side of the pool. Malcolm was a normal guy. Maybe he’d have some insight into Thompson’s behavior. I called him over and explained the conversation to both of them.

Nodding sagely, Malcolm considered for a moment after I’d finished. “It’s a class thing,” he pronounced with all the seriousness of a doctor telling me I had months to live.

I suppressed my giggle because I wanted to understand. “Uh, okay. But, what can I do? I’m not even sure I know what that means to us.”

“It means you’re rich and he’s poor,” Malcolm said.

“What?
We’re not rich!” Mom only made a decent salary because of her dozen adjunct professor jobs. We’d inherited our Cathedral Hill mansion, but not much else.

“He thinks you are, Professor Higgins,” Bea said, referencing the play Thompson and I were in last year. The reference was a little off, however, since I had played the street urchin, Liza Doolittle, whom the professor transformed into a proper English lady. “Anyway, just treat him with respect,” Bea continued. “Act as though it doesn’t matter.”

“‘Act’?” Malcolm repeated, arching a thin eyebrow at me critically. “Does it? Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. You should see where he lives,” she said.

I didn’t get a chance to consider my own answer, because Thompson strolled up. His shoulders were hunched dejectedly and his hands were stuffed into his pockets, yet he smiled brightly when he saw me. I had a hard time believing things like “class” mattered in America in the twenty-first century, so I brushed it all from my mind.

“I saw that the band was packing up,” Thompson said. “I thought they just started.”

“Nik cut his hand,” Malcolm said.

“I hope he didn’t damage any muscles or has to get stitches. Depending on the hand, that could end his musical career real quick,” Thompson said.

I hadn’t thought about that. OMG. What if I just messed up Ingress’s chance to get a record label!? Nik was never going to talk to me again. He probably wasn’t planning to anyway, but that would be the end of things forever and ever and ever.

The boys
huddled together to talk about the music industry and other rock stars who had lost limbs. Bea came over to join me on the park bench.

“It’s just a bite mark, remember,” Bea said. “He’ll be okay.”

I rested my head in my palms. I couldn’t believe I bit Nik of all people, and in his hand!

“He still likes you, you know,” Bea said slyly and quietly with a glance over at Thompson.

I peeked through my fingers. “You mean Matt? I know—I was totally relieved.”

“No. Nikolai.”

“What? Before or after I bit his hand?”

“During.” I stared at her in utter disbelief. She continued. “He kept yelling for us not to hurt you. While you were sucking his blood! I mean, WTF, right? I was screaming at him to use his magic blade, cut you off, you know—but he wouldn’t. I bet he would have let you drain him dry before he lifted a finger against you. Crazy, stupid boy.”

I let my hands drop to my knees. “Really?”

“Really,” she said with a touch of jealousy. Just for good measure, she added, “Oh, and if you ever go vamp on me without my permission”—she made the fingers of both hands into guns—“both barrels, sister.”

I stared at the spot just over my heart where her fingers pointed. It was true that Bea had been more a frenemy than BFF since I became vampire princess, but this little violent gesture was not cool.

“Nice. Glad to know you’ve got my back,” I said through clenched teeth.

Malcolm
and Thompson wandered back over. Thompson said to me, “I’ve been deputized to tell you that we’re tired of this party. We want to go somewhere else.”

There wasn’t room for four in Thompson’s truck. We all agreed that the cure for what ailed us was Porky’s hamburgers and onion rings. I buckled myself in and rolled down the window. I stuck my head out the window like a dog and let the wind pull at my hair.

My thoughts were as jumbled as my hair. What was my mom planning with Mr. Kirov? How did it involve Nik? Was Nik okay? Did he really tell everyone not to hurt me? Bea might have pissed me off, but I still wondered if she was right about Nik. Did that mean he still liked me—like, really liked me? And what if he did? What about Thompson?

Thompson drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting lightly on the stick shift. The radio was on. Some band I didn’t know was screaming about a crazy bitch who f—ked so good that it was all worth it or something. I didn’t really care for the message, but the tune was weirdly catchy.

I snuck my phone out of my pocket and pulled up Nik’s number. I decided there was no harm in asking him if he was okay, so I thumbed in the question and hit Send before Thompson could ask me about it. In fact, for good measure, I opened up another text to Bea.

My thumbs hovered over the pad, not sure where to start. “If there’s a big mtg 2nite, tell me?” I sent it.

We were
turning the corner in front of the Spruce Tree Centre when the phone chirped. The green shiny concrete block building had been voted “ugliest building in St. Paul,” and I could see why. It looked like a bad Lego model of a squat, fat pine tree—except with windows and a dead spruce tree in a plant container near the sidewalk. Sad.

I flipped open my phone, expecting some snide remark from Bea. It was Nik. Thompson didn’t seem to notice, so I opened it.

“Just bruised. R u ok?”

I knew he was more than just bruised. I’d cut through his skin. Just the memory made my teeth ache and my skin tingle with energy.

I checked Thompson before replying. He was watching the busy traffic along University Avenue. There was construction everywhere, and he clearly needed to concentrate. The radio now blared something equally as offensive as the last song. I returned to the screen. “Sorry,” was all I could think to reply.

“Ax-Man,” Thompson said with a smile, pointing at a square black building with a cartoonish hooded medieval executioner helium balloon bobbing on its roof. The sign in the window proclaimed free admission and lots of surplus. “I love that place.”

My phone beeped with a message. “We need to meet.”

“Uh, yeah,” I said stupidly, though we were long past the store. “We should go sometime.”

“You’ve never been?” Thompson was delighted.

“Tonight?” I texted.

“No,” I said. “Never.”

“It’s really weird, but kind of cool. You can find all sorts of stuff there, like chemical beakers, and they even have this huge iron lung. But they have all sorts of other remaindered things—party hats, crayon packs, stickers, gigantic rolls of felt. …”

I nodded, but I
wasn’t really listening. My eyes watched the phone. “B @ yr house @ 8.”

“OK,” I replied with my thumbs. My mouth said, “Sounds really cool,” hoping that was the right response to whatever it was Thompson was saying. I stuffed my phone into my pocket guiltily. When I looked up, I wondered if I’d missed a memo. There were families in lawn chairs and blankets sitting on the sidewalks and boulevards. People were sipping sodas and watching traffic, as if there were something to see besides a bunch of vehicles. I glanced behind us, half expecting a float or marching band. All I saw was one of those old cars you might see in a black-and-white movie starring Cary Grant. Somewhere behind us a horn tooted out the first bars of “Dixie.”