Chapter 12
12
With my new look complete, we cross the quad in the early-evening half-light. It’s ridiculously pretty, fairy-tale vibes. I’ll never forget how the orange fades from pink into purple over the rooftops.
Tonight, I don’t enter the dining hall alone. With me, Laurel and Brit wear fae gowns with glittering handmade headpieces. We share our favorite dialogue lines, finding out everyone loves one dark-horse favorite, the Oracle’s speech to Kethryn in The Shattered Court . We pile our plates high with roast chicken in some sort of spiced glaze. We struggle to remember whether the culinary choices reference any scene for the series, then settle for our dinner’s deliciousness regardless of its Elytheum relevance.
I don’t look for Scott. My new friends, however, do. Finally, he enters when we’re sitting down at one of the long tables.
I clench my jaw. He never passes up the opportunity for more fantasy-hero flaunting, does he? He’s changed clothes since our scuffle on the West College lawn. He’s dressed in all black, his shirt loose and billowing. It has the damnable effect of emphasizing the chest I could not help eyeing early this morning.
My friends notice. “Oh my goddess,” Brit says without subtlety. “Is that him?”
I face my new friends, lightly embarrassed to be caught in my watchfulness. “Yes. Has he looked over yet?” I ask, losing the war with my curiosity.
“Not yet,” Laurel confirms. “Jennifer,” she adds indicatively, “maybe you could get us some napkins?”
She nods, and I follow the pointed gesture over my shoulder—finding Scott at the condiments station near the extra napkins.
I grin. Laurel is right. The excuse is perfect. I stand up from my seat and cross the room to the condiments, enjoying the marching rhythm of my new heels on the stone floor.
When I reach the napkins, I don’t acknowledge him. I don’t even look up, knowing my friends will catalog his every reaction, which they will describe to me in detail, exceeding even Winters’s rendering of Kethryn’s first venture into the marvelous icy city introduced in The Ashen Court . Yes, maybe I lean over the counter a little more than needed—I want to enjoy the descriptions, don’t I?
Napkins in hand, I return to my seat, feeling like I’m walking off a battlefield victorious.
My friends affirm my expectations.
“He literally did a double take,” Laurel informs me. “He definitely checked you out and looked pleased.”
“Your mission was officially a success, Lady Jennifer ,” Brit concurs. “You’ve cast your rebound spell for sure.”
“If you hook up before the end of the week, you’re going to give us your clues so we can go on the date with Val, right?” Laurel presses me.
I laugh, although I admire her ambition for the scavenger hunt. Relatable. Still…Scott didn’t even want to be my friend, and that was before we hated each other for a year.
“Are we positive this is a good idea? I mean, he’s Scott,” I reply. “Surely there’s someone better here for me to rebound with. Like, anyone.”
As I say it, my friends’ faces close up. Laurel shakes her head subtly.
It’s in vain—the vow has left my lips. Needless to say, I know exactly who I will find when I look over my shoulder.
Scott stands over me. His expression is unreadable like the tearstained pages of a favorite book. I don’t know whether he heard what I said—and if he did, what do I care? He rejected me. So what if I reject him now?
I think the enemies-to-still-enemies trope is severely underappreciated.
I look up expectantly, hoping the purple glitter on my face contours my cheeks imposingly. Of course, I refuse to speak first.
Scott clears his throat.
“You look nice,” he says.
His voice is stiff. His compliment is, I reluctantly concede, surprising.
“Wow. You really are taking notes,” I reply, only just managing sarcasm past the uncomfortable pounding of my heart. “A compliment from Scott Daniels. You didn’t even burst into flames.”
“Did I not?” His voice is…seductive?
Brit stomps on my foot under the table.
Fine. Message received. “You…um, look fine,” I muster.
Actually, he looks good. Really good. The ebony shirt works for him. His pants are high-waisted, making him look much cooler than I’m used to. The “rebound spell” has indeed started to work, I fear—on me.
Scott nods in understated acknowledgment, his expression never once changing, and promptly walks off, saying nothing more.
What?
Brit voices my question. “Did he…walk across the room just to compliment you?”
It’s not like Scott to be cryptic. I chew the inside of my cheek, hating that I know exactly what I’m feeling.
It’s one of the favorite words of the fantasy canon. Intrigued . Everyone and everything intrigues romantically entangled characters. Intriguing. I’m intrigued. I confess, my queen, you intrigue me . Scott’s done nothing all day except goad and fight with me. Now he’s done something worse. He’s intrigued me.
I shake my head. No. No, he hasn’t. He’s confused me, which is different. Calculus class confused me. Fixing my malfunctioning printer confused me—I mean, really, it was like a Swiss watch in there. Scott Daniels isn’t my intrigue. He’s just my fucked-up printer.
“No. No way. I mean, why would he even do that?” I demand. “There’s nothing in it for him.”
Laurel fixes me with a look. “Because it’s just so true that he had to say it,” she declares.
I laugh harshly. “I suspect you might be projecting some romance here,” I say, like I wasn’t just contemplating the same potential purpose for Scott’s visit. “Believe me. We’re no Kethryn and Val.” I glance behind me, confidently checking for confirmation of my reading of events.
And I get it. Scott sits down next to a woman having dinner alone. I watch her clock his costume, his appearance, and light up. He says something introductory, which makes her smile. It doesn’t surprise me. While he’s not an extrovert, he’s not a total shy nerd, either. I couldn’t help noticing in the office how easily he could chat or persuade others with smart, plainspoken charm.
I whip to face my friends, kind of stunned how the sight stings. While I don’t want to feel intrigued , I don’t want to feel interchangeable, either.
“See?” I insist, fighting the waver in my voice. “He’s not even interested.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Laurel reassures me. “Remember him coming over here just to compliment you, like, five seconds ago? I still think you should get your rebound.”
“Maybe,” I concede without conviction. The truth is, I’m hesitant to put myself out there again with Scott, even if just for a no-strings rebound now that he intrigues me. Being rejected for friendship was unpleasant. Being rejected for something more would probably require me to quit my job, leave publishing altogether, and possibly move to New Jersey. “Whatever. It’s fine. I’m not here for him. I’m here for this .” I gesture to the servers, who have entered the dining hall in impeccable Elytheum costumes with the first course of dinner.
I wonder if my friends hear the forced nonchalance in my voice—until, I realize, maybe it’s okay if they do. I only ever planned on coming to the Experience to immerse myself in the dream of handsome fae, powerful queens, and courtly indulgence. Now I’m left asking myself—which fantasy am I chasing? The one where I’m a fearsome demoness from my favorite realm?
Or the one where I’m Jennifer, and I’m fine? Where I’ve forgiven and forgotten and found confidence?
Even when I was with Jordan, I yearned for the chance to come here and pretend I was part of my favorite fantasy. What’s the difference in conjuring up the life, the self, the hope I want in the real world? It’s what even Scott is doing, isn’t it? He’s going to carry the fantasy home with him, conjuring it whenever he wants.
Could I do the same? Maybe the problem in my relationships isn’t only that the men I pick don’t live up to my dreams. Maybe I’m not living up to them, either.
Perhaps it’s part of what stories like Elytheum offer. When I’m here, or when I’m reading, or when I’m perusing fan art, what if I’m learning how to find strength in fantasy? In imagining myself in the world of characters whose magic I’ll never possess, maybe I’m practicing how to imagine myself as the person I want to be.