Matters of Circumstance (8 page)

“I have to say, Fare, you can be a little too trusting sometimes,” said Neal, folding his arms and resting his head on them, looking right at her. He was lying close enough for her skin to prickle, but not enough for their bodies to touch. A part of her wondered if he was purposely doing it to tease her or if he only wanted the nearness for his own sake. “The time your wings started to hatch, for instance. You hardly questioned me at all; you just let me lock myself in a bathroom with you.”

“You said yourself, I was hysterical and covered in pus. Who would take advantage of that?” she retorted. Then more seriously, “Besides, I did think about it, and your story checked out. You managed to predict everything perfectly, and you just…” She trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I’m pretty good at smelling bullshit, and you didn’t stink. It wasn’t that I was being too trusting.”

He thought about that for a moment, his eyes distant and his expression unreadable. When he refocused on her he had rolled onto his side and his hand seemed to touch her face of its own accord. The contact was tentative, however, as if he expected to be brushed off any second. She didn’t, and after a moment of quiet his thumb slowly stroked along her cheekbone.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “Maybe it’s just because I’m me, but if I had seen a hysterical you being taken around by some guy I didn’t know I probably would have freaked out.”

“No, I see what you’re saying,” she said as she leaned into the touch, covering his hand with hers. They didn’t have to kiss just yet to be intimate, really; it was just hard to see that sometimes.

“I don’t want to be your dad, though. I just wanted to tell you what I felt. You don’t have to listen.”

“I would have freaked out, too, if I saw what happened that night from another perspective.”

“And we actually haven’t known each other all that long,” he said, his hand slipping form underneath hers to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. It was usually wavy and somewhat bushy—clear evidence of her Hispanic heritage—but she and Ruby had straightened it the other day to see how it would look. After all that work Farrah hadn’t had the heart to immediately wash it back to normal, so it was currently much easier to manipulate. She liked that Neal seemed to notice.

“Feels like we have,” she murmured. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.”

“I know, but in reality…”

“In reality it doesn’t actually matter, does it?” she asked, searching him with her eyes.

Neal grimaced slightly. “That came out wrong. I was just trying to make a point. It doesn’t really matter, but at the same time I don’t want to go so fast it ruins everything, you know? I—yeah. I don’t want anything to get screwed up.”

She saw what he was saying, she truly did. This relationship obviously meant something to him, and he didn’t want to see it destroyed. When Neal sat up so did she, and she said, “Me neither.”

His smile was so charming that her stomach flopped. Somehow it made everything worth it, even if it hadn’t gone exactly as she had planned.

Then his smile disappeared, and so did their eye contact. “This sounds so lame. You probably think I’m just making excuses for having bad breath or something.”

“No, I don’t,” Farrah said, leaning forward and hugging him. That should be okay, since they had done it so many times before. “I actually think you’re being really sweet.”

His arms went around her somewhat belatedly, as if he had wanted to make sure she didn’t regret what she was doing before he responded. She heard more than felt the soft kiss he planted on the top of her head. It made her whole body pleasantly warm, even though a part of her still wanted to feel it on her mouth. However, she didn’t want to do anything that would make him uncomfortable. It that meant having more moments like this and less governed by lust, well…

When it was phrased like that it sounded like she got the better end of the deal.

His wings moved, rubbing lightly against her knuckles. It was all it took to remind her: “Hey, were you planning on going to prom this year?”

“Prom?” Then Neal seemed to catch on to the change of subject. “Well, I originally thought I would, but now I’m not so sure since I’m apparently part-avian and all,” he said half-jokingly. “That would be hard to hide.”

Farrah pulled away just enough to see his face. “I think you should find a way to go anyway. It’s your senior prom.”

“Yeah, but I was never all that into dancing anyway, and you know my wings. They’ll probably bust free of my rent-a-tux and give everyone nightmares.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I still think you should try—I don’t know. Use me as an excuse or something. Say I don’t want you dancing too close to anybody because I’m possessive.” Anything to stop him from losing one of the highlights of being a senior to circumstances he couldn’t control.

He shook his head. “Avoiding everyone on the dance floor will be too big a hassle.”

“It won’t be it it’s something you want to do.”

“But that’s the thing: it’s not that big of a deal to me. It’s not even a deal at all, just something I thought I’d do to pass the time.” Then he gave her a Look. “And if you can harass me about prom, can I harass you about telling your parents? At least let them know I exist, you know? I mean it; I’m sick of my house—I want to see yours for once.”

She knew he was trying to guilt trip her, but the problem was that it was working. Farrah looked away. “I know, but it—it all feels connected. Saying that we have any kind of anything feels like walking around with the wings totally exposed. I know it’s not, intellectually, but at the same time I—I can’t seem to separate it, and it’s not you I don’t want to talk to them about. They’d like you just fine, I know they would, but what if they see how I am now and they can’t stand me anymore? What if my relationship with them just—falls apart? That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Farrah supposed it wasn’t, but that whole rant felt like the most she had ever said at one time. It felt like the whole of her secret thoughts were exposed for the whole damn world to see. The only comfort she had was that Neal gave her his undivided attention as he listened, and while she probably deserved it he didn’t seem inclined to laugh or criticize.

“It sounds like your folks are more conservative than mine,” he said. “But it’s not fair to lump me and wings together like we’re the exact-same thing, either. I didn’t give them to you, I just happen to have them.”

“I know, and I feel terrible,” she groaned, burying her head into his chest. “I’m a total bitch, aren’t I? I didn’t even try and I’m bitchy.”

Neal took a moment to collect his thoughts, but in the meanwhile he let out a sigh and kept running his hand through the valley between her folded, feeble wings through her hoodie. The action was unexpectedly soothing. “Your perspective is never going to change until you start actively trying to change it,” he said finally. “You start by mentioning me around your parents, and then maybe I’ll come over, and work on it from there. If I’m not the problem, then get me out of the way and work your way up to wings. I’m not going to lie, Farrah, until you start acting less ashamed of me I’m going to be bitter about it, and I’m not going to give it a rest.”

Farrah really couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. She would be bitter, too—especially because this whole situation could have been avoided so easily.

*****

Sometimes Farrah really had to wonder just how Neal came to think that she was too trusting, because as far as she was concerned anything that looked even remotely out of place was something to be suspicious of.

Overly-curious adults in a fairly notorious teen hotspot like Joe’s Joe, for example. Farrah had never seen them before, and neither had Shellie. Nancy was currently out running errands and getting her teeth bleached, but Farrah was willing to bet that this pair would be new to her, too. They just had that aura about them.

“Shell,” Farrah murmured in between customers. “I really want to kick them out.”

“They’re just making conversation with people, they aren’t doing anything wrong,” Shellie said in her usual monotone. It was hard to see what she was thinking through her body language, too, so Farrah shut up until she had some kind of concrete evidence to support her instinct.

Technically, her co-worker was right. The pair (a man and a woman; they acted more like a couple than friends or business partners) were sitting on a table and asking innocent questions about the area. What were the highlights? The lowlights? Were there a lot of problems with crime, organized or otherwise? Did they as teens feel as if they had enough to do outside of school—and speaking of which, how
was
education in these parts?

It sounded like they were considering moving here and starting a family. They were fairly young, too (as far as adults went), so it wasn’t as if such an idea would be unrealistic. Really, all Farrah had was a feeling. There was just
something
that made all of her mental alarms go crazy, and nobody else seemed to be picking up on it.

Then again, she tried to reason as she went about making lattes and cappuccinos, considering her condition she was bound to be paranoid about some things that everybody else knew was harmless.

Wouldn’t Neal be proud.

Her peers and the adults went on talking for about a quarter of an hour more until the woman looked at the service counter and realized, “Oh! We’ve been using this place for this long and we haven’t even bought coffee!”

The man did not protest, merely asked for an espresso Americano. The woman nodded and stood up, excusing herself to go and make the orders. She was very friendly about it, too, but something about her behavior made Farrah’s stomach clench. All of her senses were telling her not to get too close, and it was all she could do to keep her cool as she plastered a customer-service smile on her face and handed the woman her coffees.

She thought that would be it, but then the woman’s expression changed to one of curiosity. “Excuse me, this probably sounds forward, but aren’t you hot in that sweater?”

That question pretty much squelched any and all of her attempts to give the benefit of the doubt. This couple was
not
to be trusted.

Farrah laughed lightly, as if she was asked that all the time. “Not at all, I have poor circulation,” she replied.

In actuality she was a little on the warm side wearing her hoodie in the nicely heated coffee shop, but she knew it wasn’t bad enough for her to start sweating. It wasn’t hot enough for anyone but her to notice.

The woman blinked. “That bad?”

“Oh yeah. I’m always cold.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed, placing her coffees back down on the counter. The sight made Farrah’s heart sink—she was preparing to stay for a while!

“It’s not that bad. I’m used to it.”

“Oh, well, if you say so…” The woman trailed off doubtfully.

“Farrah, I have orders for you,” said Shellie.

Farrah was so grateful for that rescue she could have kissed her. She pretended to snap back to attention and said to the woman, “Sorry, I’ve got to get back to work now.”

“No, I’m sorry for keeping you,” said the woman hastily, waving her hands.

Farrah turned away and started fixing drinks again, but out of the corner of her eye she saw that the woman had yet to move. It was sort of like the first time she met Neal, only much more gut-wrenching and ominous. The hair on the back of her neck kept prickling with the force of the gaze resting on her. Adrenaline began slipping into her bloodstream, making it so hot it was cold—or so cold it was hot, she couldn’t tell.

As she was passing the next two orders out to their purchasers the woman asked her, “So you seem like an honest girl. Have you noticed anything weird in these parts lately? Ever?”

“What, like hauntings or something?” said Farrah, playing stupid.

“No, I’m talking about tangible weirdness—like strange deaths or diseases.”

Farrah forced herself to blink and look as if that question had bewildered her. “Um, no? Should there be?” she said slowly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she woman said with a dainty shrug. “Nobody in here seems to know about it, but we heard rumors about that sort of thing earlier. I just wanted to make sure they really were rumors, that’s all.”

She spoke convincingly, but Farrah still didn’t trust what she was hearing. In her mind the words were shrouded in a dark haze that made her blood jump and her heart pound in her ears.

The woman knew Farrah wasn’t being truthful with her. She knew, and the real question was not how—Farrah knew she wasn’t the best liar—but rather
why
she and her husband/partner were here. Did they know about her and Neal’s wings? Were they the ones that somehow helped it to happen? Were they here to get rid of the freaks once and for all?

Farrah didn’t know.

She forced herself to smile anyway, and try not to make the expression too fake. “Okay. Glad I could help.”

The woman smiled back in kind. “Yes,” she said as she picked her coffees back up and turned towards her companion. “Thank you very much.”

For her part, as Farrah went back to work she had to work to control her shaking.