Love Fortunes and Other Disasters (10 page)

Fallon was about to argue, but he seemed so serious, so unlike himself, that she reluctantly agreed.

Once Sebastian pressed the record button, the world took notice. The steady wind that had been whistling under the bridge died off. Frogs ceased their croaking. Even the water murmured as softly as a mother around a sleeping child.

Fallon brought her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. The silence didn't make her drowsy, like she expected. Instead, thoughts swirled in her head like a flock of birds. When the fifteen minutes were up, a bicycle raced across the bridge; her eyes flew open at the sound of tires on cobblestone.

Sebastian craned his neck, grimacing at the bottom of the bridge as if he could see through it. “That's always the worse part. We're lucky a car alarm didn't go off. That happened to me once. I swear my heart jumped up into my throat.”

She hugged her knees.

“Now you know a terrible secret about me,” Sebastian said lightly. “Not the secret you want to know, but this is a good one. I've kept this from every girl I've ever dated.”

“I don't think they'd understand.”

“There are less bizarre ways to scare a girl off.” Sebastian sighed. “I prefer the regular breakup speech. It's straightforward and quick.”

“It hurts them either way.”

He sounded bored. “Don't we break each other's hearts anyway? That's our world. We're born with china toys in our bodies and we let people smash them over and over again.”

She dismissed his comment as a defense. “So what does recording silence have to do with it?”

“Nothing. You were right before, guessing that this was a hobby of mine. I like to wander around Grimbaud at night when people are asleep. And whenever I find a patch of quiet, I record it.”

“Why don't you just listen to blank tapes?”

“Too artificial. Sounds that sneak into the recordings mean something. They help the quiet seem real. They're probably sounds that you would hear even if this town never existed.”

Fallon wished she could see his face better in the darkness. Who was this boy who spoke of such philosophical things? Did someone trade places with the cold heartbreaker she knew?

“I hated sitting still as a kid,” he said. “I climbed trees despite scraping my skin on the bark, chased stray dogs until my lungs burned, and got a good few scars from tussles with the neighbors' kids.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“You don't strike me as that kind of troublemaker,” she said.

“I was unhappy then.”

“What changed? Something did.”

“I went to stay with my grandmother when I was twelve.” She heard the smile in his voice. “She runs a veterinary clinic in Glastonberry. It's beautiful there; the clinic's overlooking the sea. Grandma Marion's a rough sort of person. She yelled at me regularly during the first few months, and I can't say I blame her. I stormed the clinic the same way I had done back home, opening cages and trailing cat feces into the house. But in the end, we developed a truce.”

“So she straightened you out,” Fallon said with a laugh.

“She made me care about myself. Then I became handsome.”

Fallon snorted and covered her mouth.

“What? It's a fact. Remind me to show you pictures.” Sebastian said. “Anyway, Grandma Marion is a believer in meditation. She used to make me meditate with her, facing the sea. I thought it was stupid until I moved here for high school. Finding quiet, so rare in Grimbaud, became a way to battle my homesickness. I feel like I'm back at the clinic with her when I'm listening.”

“Don't you go home for the summer?”

“Yes, but it's not the same. Summer's a busy time for the clinic. Grandma Marion started signing me up for grooming classes last year. I spent my summer cutting terriers and poodles. They bite. A lot.”

“No scars?”

He wiggled his fingers. “You can inspect them if you like.”

Fallon snatched his hands before he could pull them back. If she couldn't see his face, maybe his hands could provide answers. His palms were rough and warm, a little slippery. Was he nervous?

“These hands have cut the hair of a hundred dogs. It's a privilege to touch them.”

“You could have fleas.” She dropped them.

“Don't be so quick to dismiss me,” he said. “I can actually cut human hair too. I cut my own hair. If you ever want a trim or something, I could do it.”

Fallon touched her hair. Her mouth scrunched into a frown. “I don't think so.”

Sebastian grabbed his bag and stepped past her. Once he left the shadows of the bridge, he was visible again, if only dimly. “Sorry, that must sound like an insult—a groomer cutting a princess's hair. Well, if anyone needs grooming, it wouldn't be you. You've got that down to perfection.”

She scrambled after him, unsure of how to answer. There was real hurt behind his words. And if she wasn't mistaken, the distant streetlamp illuminated his bitter smile.

 

chapter 8

ASPIRATIONS

On Friday night, Fallon stayed awake long enough to finish searching through her magazines. School had been a blur of quizzes and class discussions and talk of weekend plans. She had seen Sebastian in the hallway after lunch, but, surrounded by girls, he was as unapproachable as ever. Still, she had wanted to talk to him. How unnerving.

After the episode at the bridge, Fallon and Sebastian didn't speak. She hadn't been angry at him for suggesting that her hair was less than stellar in its current style. Her straight hair had always been an adversary, lacking volume and thin enough for her to worry about future female-pattern baldness.

When she was eleven, her mother had taken her to a posh salon with marble rinsing stations. The stylist, named something trendy like Lexi, had given her a simple cut: a straight bob ending at the chin. No bangs. Lexi had insisted that the style best suited her brittle hair. And since it didn't bother her, Fallon had kept it like that. While other girls at the complex worried about finding the perfect style, Fallon could walk into any nice salon and get a trim.

She'd never been dissatisfied with her haircut, but something about his sincerity made her pause. Sebastian had offered to cut her hair.

Then something worse replaced the dissatisfaction: an epiphany. “Sebastian Barringer is real,” she whispered. He was human. He had feelings behind those cold, liberally given kisses and barbed jokes. Before he became “Bastion,” he had a life.

Last night she had dreamed of his grandmother's clinic. The ocean roared in her ears as she walked twelve dogs through the grass. Sebastian waved at her with a pair of silver scissors. When she woke up, thinking one of the dogs was licking her cheek, she found a puddle of drool on her pillow.

Saturday morning greeted her with watery sunlight and the hum of her heater. The complex was quiet, as it usually was on weekend mornings. Only the joggers and the ambitious woke up before noon. Fallon rubbed her eyes and climbed out of bed. She took a shower, standing under the water longer than necessary, and emerged from the steamy bathroom with her hair in a towel. She brushed her teeth before breakfast. The last of her eggs bubbled in the pan. She ate slowly at the kitchen table, never spilling a crumb.

Her teachers hadn't yet assigned anything bigger than a one-page essay on how she spent her summer vacation. Fallon's essay had taken her only an hour to write since she hadn't done much over the summer.
I visited my brother and his wife,
she wrote.
I shadowed my parents on a few restaurant inspections out of town.

Again, she thought of the clinic and Sebastian's dog-grooming lessons. How did his grandmother know that he would like cutting dogs' hair? Her parents just assumed, as they usually did, that she would follow in the family's footsteps and become a quality-control manager of some sort. They actually hoped she would become a house inspector, since that was the last chunk of uncharted territory left.

Fallon gathered the eight magazines containing charms. She needed to tear the charms out and put them in a binder for when Femke and Mirthe asked for them. The outdoors called to her, so she put on a thick cashmere sweater and walked down to the patio. The angle of the building blocked most of the wind, so she comfortably settled in a wire chair and smoothed the bent cover of the first magazine in her lap. The first charm she tore out was the one she had tried at the student government meeting. Touching the paper gave her the shivers, knowing how close she had come to being discovered by Camille. After using a hole puncher and slipping the page through the rings, Fallon moved on to the next one.

A rustling drew her attention. She leaned to the right in her chair and saw Hijiri kneeling in front of the potted ferns in the corner. She cut the leaves off the ferns and put them in a plastic bag.

“Are you working for Mrs. Smedt now?” Fallon asked. The caretaker sometimes hired a student or two to help her do the chores.

Hijiri flinched and dropped her bag.

“Sorry,” Fallon said, standing. “I didn't mean to frighten you. It's only me, Fallon.”

Hijiri's shoulders slumped, but she still wouldn't look up. The girl was dressed in baggy clothes and stained sneakers. Her long, oily black hair fell into her eyes and hid her face. “I didn't know anyone else was here.”

“Then you better watch out for me. I'm an early riser,” Fallon joked. She wanted to put the girl at ease.

Hijiri cracked a smile.

“Why don't you sit over here, next to me? I'm doing some work for the club.”

At that, the girl perked up. “I am too.”

After Hijiri pulled up another wire chair, Fallon explained what she was doing with the magazines. “I didn't try the others, but I'm sure they're all love charms.”

“Let me see, please.”

She handed Hijiri the magazines. “I bookmarked each one.”

Hijiri examined each charm eagerly. She sniffed the pages and rubbed her thumb over the print. Whenever she was done with each page, she nodded at Fallon before tearing out the page herself. “You've got good instinct. These are love charms.”

Fallon grinned at the compliment. “Thanks. How about you? What makes you so knowledgeable about the love charms?”

The girl shrunk into herself again.

“Hijiri?”

She took huge, gulping breaths before speaking, her voice just above a whisper. “I make them.”

“Charms? Like Femke and Mirthe?”

“Better.” There was no arrogance in her claim—only fear. “I've been making love charms since I was little.”

Fallon smothered her surprise.

“My parents noticed my talent early and wanted to enroll me in Grimbaud Middle School. But I wasn't stupid. I knew what was going on here with Zita's shop. No one but her is allowed to produce love charms. Even crafting charms in secret has risks, and I'm … not a brave person. I would have been content crafting my charms in my hometown rather than come here.”

But now Hijiri was in Grimbaud. A high school freshman. “Your parents won.”

“They wouldn't listen.”

Fallon understood that perfectly. “Where's home for you?”

“Lejeune.”

“Wow. That's so far from here!”

“I know. Yet my charms worked. Sometimes. That's how I managed to survive school until now,” Hijiri said, tugging at her hair.

Fallon pressed her lips together. She didn't want to steer the conversation into dark memories. The poor girl was already huddled in the chair, trying to compress herself into nothing. “Why haven't you told the club about your talent?”

“Grimbaud scares me. The way this town has been is not natural.”

“Zita.”

“Yes. This mysterious queen of love charms.” Hijiri rubbed her nose. “I'm supporting the rebellion because I want to see this town free again, but I can't be a fighter. I don't know how I'll help.”

“What about your own love fortune?”

“It's not surprising.”

“But it hurts.”

Hijiri ducked her head. “Making charms for others distracted me in the past. Now I have nothing to hide behind. But still, there's something I want to make. The ultimate love charm.”

Fallon leaned closer. “What is it?”

“You'll laugh.”

“I won't. I promise.”

Hijiri wiggled the bag of fern leaves. “Did you know that ferns symbolize sincerity? That's a powerful component to have in this love charm. Only true words and feelings can make it work.”

Fallon had never thought much about ferns. Mrs. Smedt kept the pots of ferns watered in the patio. “What kind of charm?”

“Something right out of a fairy tale. I want to make a true-love kiss.”

Fallon bit her lip.

“I told you not to laugh.”

“I'm not! It's just … wouldn't that be hard to do?”

“Love has called this town its home, so love charms made here are the strongest. I have a chance.” Hijiri raised her head. Her eyes, uncloaked by her hair, were startlingly dark. “True love's kiss is a thing of stories. It doesn't exist yet, but I want to create it in the form of a charm. If I succeed one day, it will work miracles.”

The complex stirred around them. Most students still slept, but someone's alarm went off nearby; the walls didn't stop such sounds from escaping into the patio. Fallon struggled to say something, anything, about Hijiri's grand dream. Her head told her that creating such a charm was impossible. That was why magic kisses only happened in fairy tales. But her heart leaped at the idea.

“Winter break will give me time to try some ideas,” Hijiri said, drawing Fallon back. “I should make progress on the charm. I
will
.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me.” Fallon rested her hand on Hijiri's arm for a moment.

The girl smiled and looked down again at her feet. “Thank you for not making fun of it.”