Matters of Circumstance (5 page)

His wings whooshed out, hitting his beside lamp and sending the family portrait tumbling to the carpet. He righted the lamp before any damage was done, and when he picked up the photo there didn’t seem to be any problems with the frame, either, but Farrah could see tension in the way he clamped his wings against his body now.

Wing movements were also a sign of discomfort, it seemed.

“I don’t hate any of those things,” said Farrah. “But I don’t love them, either.”

“Alright, well we could always be the results of some effed-up experiment.”

As strange as it sounded, that was the thing Farrah considered. “Out of all the things you’ve said so far, that’s the one that actually sounds the most likely.”

“Yeah.” He closed his notebook and slid it underneath his bedside table—why he was doing that instead of putting it
in
the drawer or on his desk was anybody’s guess. “I thought that sounded better than being a living legend, too.”

“He’s started talking like you, you know,” Ruby said one day, as they were walking in between classes.

Farrah hadn’t had the faintest idea which
he
she was talking about—at least, that’s what she told herself. “What?” she said blankly.

“Don’t act stupid, you and Neal Sumalt have been practically attached at the hip these days. It was bound to happen to someone sometime.”

“Then wouldn’t I be the first to know I’m being mimicked? Because I honestly hadn’t noticed.”

“Hey O’Brien!”

“Farrah, what class do you have next? I’m going to History with Caldwell.”

“Ruby! How have you been?”

They both said their respective greetings as they walked, but in a pause Ruby said, “Maybe you wouldn’t, because it’s so familiar to you, but the next time he talks with someone else, just listen. It’s a lot like you.”

“Okay, I will, but I doubt it’s that obvious.”

Michael, who had class with them next, fell into step next to Ruby easily. “What are we talking about?”

“Apparently Neal’s talking like me now.”

“Yeah, what about it? Old news already, O’Brien—oh, speaking of which: you had better know about the party happening this Saturday. They’re trying to beat Robin’s, so it should be off the hook.” He gestured at her vaguely. Michael seemed to have made it his goal to get to her live a little. His efforts had lessened now that she had begun spending time with Neal (who was apparently good for her), but her party life was clearly still lacking. “You’re going, right Farrah? Tell me you’re going.”

“Saturday? Oh, I don’t know, schedule comes out today, so I’ll find out if I can go later.”

Ruby snorted.

“Yeah, uh-huh.” Michael said this with a teasing sort of smirk as they entered the classroom. “Who do you really want to be with, huh?”

Farrah rolled her eyes. “Michael, you know it’s not like that. I do enjoy a good party every once in a while.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we all know how much Farrah loves beer pong,” Ruby chortled.

He hummed, and Farrah knew at this point he was only doing it to harass her. “Yes, but that while is getting longer and longer…” he said in partial singsong.

At that moment the bell rang, so she was saved from having to come up with a response. She didn’t hear anything more about Neal’s alleged speech changes for the rest of the day. This was probably because the Robin-challenging party was the only thing anybody could talk about, but it gave her a false sense of security anyway. She made the foolish assumption that she wouldn’t hear mimicry comments again.

Naturally, she was proven wrong.

“Hi Shellie, what’s the toughest drink you guys make?” asked Neal, leaning against the counter and glancing up at the drink board above the register as if it was all written in Greek.

Farrah, who was supposed to be making the drinks, found herself completely unsurprised by this. How like him to harass her at work.

And Shellie, traitor that she was, told him exactly what the toughest drink was.

Neal’s face split into a mischievous grin. “Perfect. I’ll have that in a medium.”

“Oh you would, wouldn’t you?” said Farrah to herself. It wasn’t that she couldn’t make the drink; she just needed to concentrate on it in a way that none of the other drinks required.

Shellie told him the price, but he was already pulling the money out. “Sure thing—and Farrah? It’s nothing personal, I swear.”

Her
ass
it wasn’t personal. He was thoroughly enjoying himself right now. “Yeah, yeah,” was all she said.

He laughed and dropped his change into the tip jar (he hated loose change, she had discovered just recently) as he moved over to the pickup counter (“Thanks Shellie, you’re the greatest!”). When they were more or less facing each other he cooed, “Aw, don’t be miffed, Farrah. I’m paying for a tiny fraction of your paycheck by doing this.”

“Who says I’m miffed?” she asked, finishing off the drink with a caramel drizzle. She handed it to him with a customer-service smile. “I think you’re going to
love
how sweet this thing is, is what I’m thinking.”

This seemed to intrigue him. “Really?” Neal took a small sip and his eyes widened. “Wow—and you didn’t make it like this to pick on me?”

“No.” Only he would do that sort of thing.

He was really impressed by this. “Holy damn, cavity in a cup—no wonder you weren’t complaining about having to make it. I can feel the sugar rush already!”

“Double mocha cappuccino, cold, Farrah,” Shellie said.

“Oh, right, I’m distracting you—well, see you later!” With that Neal made his energetic way out of the shop with his coffee.

Farrah stared for only a second, and then she shook her head.

“He’s starting to talk like you,” Shellie commented in between customers. If Farrah was to be any judge, then she said it a little too casually.

For herself, she could only sigh. “Yeah. So says Michael and Ruby, too.”

“You doubt it?”

“I just talked to him, and I still don’t see it,” she said truthfully.

Shellie made a thoughtful noise, but nonetheless let the subject go. Honestly, it wasn’t as if the way Neal talked actually
mattered
in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t like it meant anything at all.

Yeah, that was what she would keep telling herself. That was it.

*****

Farrah tried her best not to act like it, but privately she felt guilty for not talking to her parents about her condition.

“Morning,” she said as she came into the kitchen.

“Morning,” her mother intoned from behind the newspaper.

“Hey Farrah,” said her father with a cheery smile. “What’s the plan for today?”

“After school I think I’ll go to a friend’s house for a while,” she said, trying to ignore the pang of guilt. Her parents didn’t even really know about her friendship with Neal. “I’ll be home for dinner.”

“Oh, good. I woke up with the craving for pot roast today, so I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind making it, since yours always somehow turn out better than mine?”

Her mother made a small noise of amusement and turned the page. Since she couldn’t cook to save her life, she got her kicks out of listening to her husband and daughter shove meals on each other like this.

Farrah smiled reassuringly. “Sure thing. I can come home a little earlier.”

“Oh thank you. You know how much I love your pot roasts.”

She tried to imagine herself coming out with it all right now, revealing that her best friend was the guy responsible for helping her through the ordeal of growing wings. She tried to see herself lifting up her shirt and hoodie to show them the pale, leathery appendages folded against her back.

She knew that her parents wouldn’t take things as well as Neal’s. They would try not to let it bother them, but it would. They would both have a hard time looking at her afterwards; they wouldn’t be able to get past the fact that their only child, their golden girl, was a freak.

Farrah would rather hide in guilt than lose her parents to circumstances she couldn’t control.

She finished breakfast in a strangely melancholy mood. School did not make her feel much better, however, because it was positively buzzing with… inanities.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Neal was practically flabbergasted.
“The
Farrah O’Brien has no idea what’s going on at this school?”

“What do I look like, People magazine?” But at his expectant look her resolve broke. “I had a bad experience with rumors, once. Totally killed my impression of this girl I was really good friends with, and then I found out it wasn’t even true,” she confessed. “But it was already too late to fix things. That was middle school, and I haven’t let myself get involved since.”

“Hmm, good reason.” He was back to normal already, so she guessed that his ulterior motive had always been to know her story.

“What about you? You asked me, so you must have a grain of curiosity yourself.”

“No such thing. I was just making conversation—gossip is pathetic. I’m glad you think the same.”

Which wasn’t at all what she had said, but before she could point that out Ruby approached. “Hey guys.” There was an impossibly huge grin on her face.

Neal exchanged a look with Farrah, and after an embarrassingly obvious eye-conversation she asked, “So what’s got you so happy?”

“Well, you know that chick I hate? Chelsea?”

“Chelsea Malone? Yeah, you’ve mentioned it a couple hundred times.”

“Not that Farrah’s noticed or anything,” Neal said. He started laughing when she frowned at him.

Ruby was ignoring this. “Well, it’s about her—everybody’s talking about it!”

“Oh, okay.” And that was all she cared to know.

“Uh-huh. I’m totally thrilled,” she said as she pulled out her cell phone and made a quick text. Then she looked up. “So did you do your math homework? I tried, but I didn’t understand any of it.”

“Oh yeah.” Farrah rummaged through her bag and pulled out her notebook with last night’s homework in it. “Study away.”

“Thanks, Fare, much love,” she said as she whisked away—presumably to study, but no one could be sure.

Neal watched this with interest. “Is she going to give that back?”

“Oh yeah. I always see it again by lunch.”

“And if you get the questions wrong?”

She smiled wryly. “Somehow Ruby always understands what we’re being taught when she studies my homework,” she said. “She’ll let me know if I make any mistakes.”

There was a small pause, and then he developed a playful expression. He said, “So I’m
dying
to know: are you going to this Saturday’s rave?”

Farrah shrugged. “I don’t have work, but I’m still thinking about it. You?” Sometimes it didn’t seem like it, because he had recently been spending so much time with her, but Neal was pretty popular himself. His easygoing personality charmed nearly every person he met.

Not that she would know or anything.

“I’ll go if you go,” he said with raised eyebrows, daring her to respond in an original fashion.

“Sure, but I’m only going if you’re going.” She was only half-serious about this. “One of us has to decide sometime.”

“Okay, we’re not eight-year-olds here—”

“I’m not, anyway.”

Neal gave her a slightly exasperated look and she smirked. “We can either settle this the mature way, or the obnoxious way,” he said.

“I’ll follow your lead?”

He actually appeared to be considering something, and then he said, “Honestly, parties aren’t my thing. I don’t even really like drinking, much as the typical eighteen-year-old stereotype would like to differ.”

“Same here. I mean, they’re okay, but the only thing really great about them are the stories you tell later,” she said with a nodding. “I can do without just fine.”

“Actually, you know what sounds fun right about now? Laser tag at the mall—have you ever done that? It doesn’t sound like much, but the adrenaline rush is crazy.” It was funny, the way Neal’s whole face lit up at the thought of laser tag. He really was like a little kid.

There was something refreshingly incredible about that.

The moment was killed when he noticed the book sticking out of her bag. “Hey, isn’t that one about role reversal? Totally insulting to guys?”

“If you think about it, the way women used to be treated—still treated, in some countries—is pretty insulting, too,” she said simply. “And besides, it’s only an experiment with what would happen if women ruled the world.”

“Yeah, we read it in History last year—isn’t that why you’re reading it?”

She nodded again. “It’s pretty interesting, actually. Almost makes you glad the world isn’t run by estrogen,” she admitted.

“Yeah, don’t you feel bad for all those guys?” There was something strange in his voice, like an ulterior motive or something. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean.