Chapter 11

▴ Act Two | Passé et Présent ▴ 

That day, after school, I track Eris down in the parking lot.

She stands against her car—just as obnoxiously expensive as Axel’s—and fiddles with her hair like she always does. But unlike earlier today at Montoya’s office, she’s smiling. Laughing. It makes me sick. I straighten my shoulders and walk toward her little group until I’m standing face to face with the devil herself.

Her smile fades. Her arms go from her hair to her pockets. Her gaze moves from my face and down my body and then back to my face again—as if I’m a dead rat a cat has just dropped at her feet.

“The fuck you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” I say.

“Damn, didn’t think you missed me that much already.”

My jaw clenches. Her little girlfriend, the blonde whose name I don’t remember, is glaring daggers at me.

“Did you get my note?” I ask. Earlier, I left one in her locker, saying just that—we need to talk. I would’ve texted her, but I don’t even have her number, and I hate the idea of her being able to pester me whenever she wants.

“Oh, we got your note,” the blonde says. “And she’s busy today.”

“Gimme a second,” Eris says and walks away from the car, jerking her head to the side to indicate for me to follow her.

Once we’re a good distance away, she crosses her arms over her chest and asks, “What do you want?”

I have rehearsed this. I spent ten minutes in front of the mirror earlier in the bathroom, practicing the perfect glare, the perfect tone of voice—aggressive, but not so much that it would make her feel threatened. I have the right words on my lips, but part of me is refusing to say them. Eris scans every inch of my face.

“I’m sorry about what I did,” I begin. “But we need to win this competition. With the next painting, I’ll let you call the shots. We can do your idea. Would you consider being my partner again?”

Silence. She blinks once. I put all my effort toward keeping a neutral expression with the maximum amount of eye contact so as to make her subconsciously know that I am the dominant one in this situation. She blinks again.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not. I’ve determined that, despite you being an unpleasant person—” what I really want to say is insufferable brat “—working with you will guarantee our highest chance of winning. You need to graduate.” And I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist the urge to add: “With how often you skip class, you definitely need it.”

She lets out a little scoff. “Why don’t you go work with one of the dozens of other artists in this school?”

“They already have partners. And round one is already over, anyway.”

“Pretty weird how no one even wanted to work with the second best artist here, isn’t it? Why is that?”

“Second best?”

“I know. It’s because you’re an egotistical, controlling bitch. That’s why. No one wants to deal with that shit.”

I tell myself it’s not true. There’s no way people think I’m egotistical and controlling when I barely speak to anyone here. They know I’m a genius and not much else, but a lump forms in my throat. I did not rehearse this.

“You wanted to work with me,” I say quietly.

Her badly-applied eyeliner has smudged and makes her look even more raccoon than normal. “Maybe until you went and destroyed my work.”

She turns and walks away. I reach my arm out to stop her, but let it drop at the last moment, cringing at the idea of touching her.

“Eris,” I call out.

She stops. “What?”

I’m not the problem. She is. She’s always been. But I can’t tell her that.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice, cringing at the way it sounds coming from me. Good thing I don’t actually mean it.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to convince me.”

“Please,” I try again. Every fibre of my being protests in response. This is unnatural. This is against some unwritten law of nature. Any second now I’m going to disappear due to the violation of such simple truths.

“Say it louder,” she demands. 

“Please, Eris. It’s the most logical choice.”

She turns around. “The truth now?”

“That is the truth.”

“Dios mío, Ef, you’re either in an extreme state of denial or you’re actually an idiot. I just don’t know which one it is.”

“Just—please. I’m genuinely sorry. I was scared. The painting didn’t look the way I wanted to. I needed to make sure we passed to the next round. And next time I’ll listen to what you want to do, okay? I… I need you.”

That last part sounds so vulnerable, so intimate, and anyone listening would think there’s something more to it than just the competition, and it makes me want to take it back, erase the fact I’ve had to stoop this low. To need her, to be this dependent on her—I actually feel the puke rising in my mouth.

For a second, I swear I see her face soften, the angry wrinkle between her brows disappearing. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t budge. And I’m not going to rub my pride all over the floor. I’m not going to beg at her feet. If she doesn’t accept my apology, that’s not on me. The anguish accumulating for the past week comes crashing down on my shoulders, and I walk away, thinking about whether or not I’d kill her in the night and eat her flesh for sustenance if we were ever in some sort of improbable survival situation.

I’m five, ten metres away when I hear her footsteps behind me. My heartbeat soars.

“Hey, wait up!”

What a bitch. What a stupid, irrational bitch. I take a few deep breaths to compose myself and turn around to face her. “Yes?”

“I’ll work with you again. I’ll forgive you. But on one condition. You have to do something for me.”

“…what do you want me to do?”

“Come to an art show with me.”

That seems suspiciously too easy.

“Why would you want to take me to an art show?”

“It’s not the type of thing I can bring anyone. My dad was coming with me, but work stuff came up, and I don’t want to go alone.”

I glance at Eris’ friends, all talking and joking around—minus her girlfriend, who’s still glaring daggers at me.

“What if I don’t want to come?” I ask.

“What if I’m not giving you a choice?” she bites back.

“Oh, so you’re the boss of me now?”

“Yep. You made me your bitch for the first round of the painting, and now you’re mine. Taking turns, right?”

I absolutely loathe the sound of that. “You’re gonna make your girlfriend mad with that attitude,” I say.

“Not as if you didn’t do that already by leaving your little note in my locker.”

“Are we forgetting you also leave me notes?”

“You’re so obsessed with me, and it gives everyone the wrong impression.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoff. “I’m only obsessed with winning. And you just happen to always be in my way.”

She steps closer to me. “You don’t want me out of your way.”

“It would make my life a lot easier.”

“But then I wouldn’t be giving you attention. You’d be so lost without me you wouldn’t know what to do. You’d have to face your issues instead of just hating me as a distraction.”

“Ooh, who gave you that psychology degree? Very cute you trying to analyze me.”

Not that I haven’t done it to her. And fuck, this time I think she’s actually right.

“You think I’m cute?” she asks.

“You’re revolting.”

“You really should get a girlfriend sometime, Ef. Might help with your frustration.”

“Girlfriend?” I laugh. “What makes you think I like girls? Or that I’d ever be remotely interested in a relationship?”

“You don’t fool me, Ef.”

“You’re projecting on me again. I’m not like you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I don’t.”

There’s something about her face today, how it’s all turned up and smiley, the way her teeth meet her lips when she says “Ef”, drawing out the sound more than necessary, that throws me off, keeps me from being able to focus.

“Okay, back to the subject,” I say, rubbing my temples. “If I come with you to this art show, you’ll be my partner again?”

“That’s the deal. The show is actually today, so we need to go now. It’s in L.A.”

“Oh, gross.”

I’ve never been to that city, but I’ve heard enough about it that I’d like to stay as far away as possible. It’s a melting pot of everything utterly deplorable about American culture—paired with desert heat and an absolutely abysmal public transport system.

Eris smiles a little at my disgust. “Yeah, yeah, I hate it too. We’ll take my car.”

The idea of spending hours in her car sounds downright miserable, but I don’t have a lot of options here.

“And then tomorrow we’ll start working on the painting?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says. “Now let’s go.”

I have to run a little to catch up with her pace. Her friends all stop talking when they see us approach.

There’s an odd bounce to her movements as she says, “Okay, pendejos. I’m gonna be busy today. Again.”

“What?” one of the guys blurts out, staring at me as if I’m some manipulative fiend who’s come to take Eris away from them, as if he himself isn’t only a sack of disgusting hormones and poor decision making—the principal elements making up the vast majority of teenage boys.

“Eris,” the blonde girlfriend says. “You said you were going to bring us the stuff before you went.”

“Nah,” Eris drawls. “Changed my mind. Can’t be taking on risk right now. My dad’s been on my ass lately about dialing back.”

“It’s my fucking birthday party tonight,” the guy says. “Eighteenth, too.”

“Yeah? I really don’t care.”

He steps toward her. Eris’ height is nothing compared to his, but somehow, standing like that with her chin up and her posture all regal, she looks just as tall as him.

“You said you would,” he says, almost growling.

She shrugs. “Drugs are very bad, you know.”

“Look who’s talking!”

“You all love to rip me off anyway, like I’m not the one lending you the money to buy from me in the first place. Go find your own supply.”

The guy steps back. I wonder if he’s resisting the urge to argue. I wonder if he knows better, aware that Eris’ drugs have to come from somewhere, aware she may be far more well-connected than she lets on.

The blonde points to me. “And why is she still here?”

“She’s coming with me to an art show,” Eris says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

“What?”

Eris shrugs. “We’re partners for the Olympiad. Figured we need to get some inspiration.”

“And you can’t take me?”

That’s what I’m wondering.

Eris pauses. Her poop brown eyes flicker back and forth, like she’s thinking of an excuse but comes up short. “I can’t, Sara.”

“Why not? What makes her more important than me?”

I really did not ask to be part of this.

“She’s not,” Eris is quick to say. “But, uh, you’re not even a painter, so like, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Of course I would!”

Eris rolls her eyes, increasingly more annoyed. “Bro, we’ve been dating for what, a week? You really need to back off.”

Tears form in the girl’s eyes. “You say she’s your rival, but I don’t actually believe you. I think there’s something going on.”

It’s so ridiculous I actually burst out laughing.

“Um, I’m straight, actually,” I say, remembering Axel’s lips against mine—my first and only kiss. It wasn’t amazing or anything, and I can’t imagine how a kiss with anyone would feel amazing—it’s literally just swapping spit—but I didn’t totally hate it. It was fine. And I guess I liked him in some way, right? Sure, I didn’t want to have sex with him, but maybe I’m just the type of person that takes things slow. Really slow. Hence, I’m straight.

Sarah’s face relaxes a little, but Eris is livid.

“Me and her?” she snaps. “Are you trying to insult me right now? You really trust me that little?”

“I don’t trust you at all,” Sara says. “You’re always keeping secrets from me.”

“I don’t blame you,” I say to her, and Eris actually raises her fist to punch me—as if on instinct—but then backs off once she notices how many witnesses surround us. They’re watching like this is some top-tier lesbian drama.

“Let me go with you,” Sara pleads.

“I can only bring one person,” Eris says.

“Bullshit. You can pay for one more ticket, can’t you?”

“There’s no tickets. It’s invite-only.”

“And you can’t take me?”

“No. I can’t.”

“Fine,” Sara huffs. “If you can’t even take your own girlfriend, I don’t think I want to be with you anymore.” She yanks a silver pendant from her neck and hands it to Eris. “Give it to Persephone instead.”

Eris doesn’t respond. She doesn’t beg for forgiveness. She doesn’t look sad, angry, or heartbroken. She looks like she’s feeling nothing at all.

“Well,” I say to break the silence. “That didn’t last long.”

The guy from before laughs into his hand. Eris is still motionless, staring at the necklace in her hand as her now ex-girlfriend storms away.

“C’mon, Ef,” Eris says without looking up. “Let’s get out of here.”

▴ ▴ ▴

a/n: this chapter is dedicated to VeraBrightens!! thank you so much for reading and the support!