Broken Fate Page 7

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  I’m still awake when the alarm beeps in the morning, having spent the night alternately swearing to drive Alex away and then deciding I shouldn’t be that cruel. The only good news is I’m tired, crabby, and primed to be a total bitch to Alex and everyone else. I won’t have to act crazy. I probably will be crazy.

  My attitude goes to waste because Alex isn’t in school. I look for him in English, at lunch, and in calculus, but he never appears. I only have to deal with the grieving kids in the hallways, and they already know I’m a bitch. For once, I don’t even have to fake looking upset because I actually am a little sad over Alex’s fate. And I’m mad at myself for even caring. I’m sure it makes me look, if not grief-stricken, at least unhappy.

  After school, I walk with Lacey to our cars. Chloe has softball practice today, so Lacey and I are alone. I decide to find out what she’s hiding in that password-protected document and to find out why she cursed Alex.

  “So,” I begin, “what’s the deal with Alex Martin?”

  “Who?” she asks. Lacey looks confused, but I can tell she’s faking ignorance. I play along because I know it’s easier than calling her out on her childish behavior.

  “The new kid in school. He’s in a couple of my classes, so I got curious last night and pulled up his file. You’ve got him dying from a brain tumor in two months.”

  “Oh, him,” she says too casually. “Yeah, I know who you’re talking about.”

  She doesn’t say anything else, so I press her. “What’d he do to deserve that kind of fate? First you kill his mother, and then you give him terminal brain cancer. That’s kind of harsh.”

  “Why do you care?” Lacey challenges, swinging her long, brown braid back over her shoulder. “You never show this kind of interest in a human. I’ve handed out far worse, and you’ve never complained.”

  “I’ve talked to him a few times in class and at lunch,” I say. “He seems like a decent guy. Plus, Chloe and all the other girls are going crazy over him. They think he’s some kind of catch, but he’s not. He’s dying, and I just wonder why you gave him such a raw deal. Is he being punished for something?”

  “No, I’m not punishing him. And before you ask, I’m not punishing anyone else, either,” she says, cutting off my next question.

  “Why then? Is that what’s in the password-protected document?”

  Lacey narrows her green eyes at me, and I can tell she’s angry. She doesn’t like being questioned. Red blotches are creeping up her neck. I wait for the explosion.

  “You shouldn’t be nosing around in my stuff, Atropos,” she says.

  “Why not? It’s not forbidden. And it’s not your stuff. It’s our stuff.”

  “True, but you know there are decisions I make that you and Chloe don’t get to know about. Only Zeus knows certain things.”

  It chafes me when she gets all superior on me. I am, after all, the eldest sister. “So you aren’t going to tell me?” I ask.

  “No. But Alex’s fate does serve a very special purpose.” Her smile when she says that gives me the creeps, and I know this purpose can’t be good.

  “I’m sure he’ll find that comforting on his deathbed,” I say as I climb in my car.

  “I find it interesting that you care,” she retorts with a smirk as she gets into her own car.

  I curse her under my breath and resist the urge to get back out of my car and smack that smirk right off her face. She always acts like her work is more important than mine or Chloe’s. The power to manipulate destiny went to her head a long time ago.

  What she doesn’t get is that without Chloe, she’d be unemployed, and, without me, she’d have a lot more work to do. Managing an infinite destiny for every human would get time consuming. As it is, I kill people and let her off the hook.

  I drive by Alex’s house on the way home, but it doesn’t look like anyone is home. There are no cars in the driveway, and all the blinds are down and closed.

  When I get home, there’s plenty of work to keep my mind off Alex. I don’t finish until late and when I’m done, I’m too tired to dwell on Alex’s fate or whereabouts.

  Alex isn’t in school the following day, either, and I find myself relieved. His absence makes it much easier for me to stick to my plan of freezing him out. Out of sight, out of mind, and I don’t even have to try to be rude. It’s also easier to tell myself I can forget our afternoon on the mountain and that I had no fun whatsoever up there with him.

  School lets out, and I head toward the parking lot. A blonde girl I don’t recognize is standing by the doors, studying each student as they exit the school. She’s younger than the kids in the high school, probably middle-school aged. She’s obviously looking for someone.

  I come abreast of her, and she jogs to get in front of me.

  “Are you Sophie?” she asks, walking backward so she can face me.

  “Yeah.”

  She lets out a breath. “Thank goodness. I was so afraid I wouldn’t recognize you, but he said I wouldn’t be able to miss your red hair and leather jacket. But it’s kind of warm, and I was afraid you wouldn’t be wearing the jacket.”

  She inhales to continue, but I hold up a hand to stop her. “Who said? And who are you?” I ask.

  “Oh, sorry. My name’s Emily Martin. Alex sent me. I’m Alex’s sister?” The last is a question, as if I might not know who Alex is.

  “Oh, hi. He mentioned he has a sister.”

  “Huh. That’s surprising. Usually, he tries to forget about me. Says I’m too annoying.”

  I can’t help but smile at the girl. She sure is peppy. “What can I do for you?” I ask.

  “Alex hasn’t been in school for a couple of days, and he sent me to see if you could get his assignments. He said you have two classes together, and that maybe you could get the rest? He said you’re the only person he knows here, and he hopes you’ll help him out.”

  Done delivering her message, Emily stops and waits for my verdict. I’m trying to figure out why a dying kid cares about homework. He isn’t going to finish school, so why does it matter? If I were in his shoes, I’d say, “Screw school,” and go do something fun with the time I had left. Anyone else would probably do the same thing. But that’s what makes Alex interesting. He isn’t like me, and he isn’t like other humans.

  “Why don’t you get them for him?” I ask. “It would be easier.”

  “Oh, I don’t go here. I go to St. Margaret’s School for Girls. Security doesn’t allow kids who aren’t students in there,” she says, pointing toward the doors where the guard is checking the IDs of everyone going into the school.

  “Oh. Right. Well, I guess I can do it. Do you have his schedule?”

  Emily thrusts a piece of paper into my hand.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she says. “Can you bring it by the house later? Alex said you know where we live.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Emily runs off to the bike rack and hops onto a pink-flowered contraption. She pedals off, throwing a wave over her shoulder in my direction.

  I go back inside to hunt down Alex’s other teachers. After an hour, I have all of his assignments and I can finally go home. I figure I’ll go by Alex’s house after dinner because I have my own chores to take care of, first.

  When I finally get home, I kill a few people and set up tomorrow’s work before going upstairs for dinner. We’re eating together as a family tonight, which is rare. Usually at least one of us is missing from the table. I eat in the basement a lot, grabbing bites in between line cuttings. Tonight, I’m free, but I still bolt down my food and quickly excuse myself.

  “Where are you going?” Mom asks.

  “I have to take some assignments to a classmate who’s out of school for a few days.”

  “Since when do you volunteer?” asks Lacey.

  “I didn’t volunteer. His sister asked for my help.”

  “Who is it?” Chloe asks.

  “Alex Martin.”
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  “Ooh. Can I go with you?” she asks.

  “No. I think he’s sick. He doesn’t need you drooling all over him or pumping him for information about a girlfriend. I’m just going to drop off the work, answer any questions he has, and come home.”

  “Don’t rush. Stay as long as you can,” Mom says with a wink in my direction.

  I roll my eyes. “It’s nothing like that. I’m just the only person he knows at school.”

  Lacey snickers into her salmon.

  “What’s with you?” I ask her.

  “Nothing. I just think it’s funny how you spend a lot of time justifying your interactions with Alex.”

  Chloe looks at Lacey, and then at me. “What’d I miss?” she asks.

  “Nothing,” I say, shooting Lacey a look that dares her to mention what we talked about in the parking lot yesterday. “And I’m not justifying anything.”

  “Okay. I just can’t remember you ever being so nice to a human. Makes me wonder what’s up,” Lacey says.

  “Nothing’s up. Good grief,” I say as I grab my coat and the folder with Alex’s assignments off the hall rack, slamming the door shut behind me.

  It’s chilly but not cold outside, so I decide to walk to Alex’s house. The sun is setting. I’m grateful Alex’s house is to the west so I can appreciate the reds and golds in the sky as I walk. I don’t spend as much time outside as I would like, so sunsets like this one are a rare treat for me. Taking my time, I tell myself I’m enjoying the view when the truth is I’m stalling.

  Emily didn’t say Alex was sick, but that’s the only reason I can think of for him missing two days of school. Unless he’s in trouble with the law again, but I don’t think it’s that.

  I wonder how bad his illness is. I know he isn’t dying yet, but whatever’s keeping him from school is likely the beginning of the end. I mentally brace myself for whatever I’ll find when I get there.

  The sun is fully down by the time I reach his house, the sky a deep purple. After ringing the bell, I glance around the small, shabby yard illuminated by the porch lights. With all the illness and grief in this family, I’m sure no one has time for yard care and it shows. One brave plot of daffodils by the porch steps adds a little color, but weeds are nearly choking out the flowers. I bend over and pluck the largest weed. It helps, but not enough.

  I hear light footsteps coming toward the door, and I straighten. The door opens, and Emily greets me with a big grin.

  “I knew you’d come,” she says.

  “If Alex is asleep, you can just give these to him later,” I say, holding up the folder of assignments.

  “No, he’s up. Come on. I’ll take you to his room.”

  “Is that okay? I mean, I don’t want your dad to get the wrong idea or anything.”

  “Get the wrong idea about what?” asks a booming voice.

  A man built like a linebacker comes around the corner into the foyer. He looks like a bigger, older version of Alex, down to the perpetually pouting mouth. The only difference is that this man is blond like Emily, whereas Alex’s hair is dark. That must be his mom’s influence.

  “Are you Mr. Martin?” I ask to be polite, but I already know the answer.

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Sophie Moraine. I’m in classes with Alex, and I’m just bringing by his assignments. I can just leave these,” I say again, waving the folder at him, “if you’d rather I not stay.”

  “Damn waste of time for the boy to be studying, but he insists. You can go on back. Do him some good to have some company, I expect. Let me take your coat,” he adds, reaching for my jacket, which I hand over. He hangs it on the coatrack by the door before disappearing into the living room, where I can hear a ballgame playing on TV.

  “Come on,” Emily says, grabbing my hand and towing me down the hall.

  The hallway is lined with family photos, but most go by in a blur because we’re moving too fast. The only one I see clearly is a large wedding photo of Alex’s parents. I’d guessed correctly that Alex inherited his mother’s dark coloring, but beyond that, very little of her is visible in him.

  Emily drags me to a closed door with a Keep Out sign on it. Ignoring the sign, she throws open the door and lets it bang against the wall. I turn my head away. Since Emily didn’t knock, I don’t know if Alex is decent, and I don’t want to embarrass him if he needs to get himself together.

  “Geez, Em, Don’t you know how to knock?” Alex asks.

  “Sure, but why bother? Sophie’s here,” Emily says.

  “Great. Send her in. And shut the door on your way out,” he adds, clearly dismissing her.

  I slide into the room around Emily, who sticks her tongue out at her brother and slams the door behind her.

  “She’s real mature,” he says to me.

  I walk further into the room, clutching the folder to my chest. It’s a typical human boy’s bedroom. There’s a desk with a computer sitting on it in one corner. The closet door is ajar because of all the clothes and sports equipment spilling out onto the floor. The blue carpet has seen better days. Alex’s bed is pushed up against the far wall and when I dare to look in that direction, I’m pleasantly surprised.

  Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves bookend the twin bed. More shelves stretch lengthwise across the bed, leaving just enough room for Alex to sit up beneath them. Every shelf is crammed tight with books and the shelves above him bow alarmingly under their loads. If I didn’t already know how Alex will die, I would guess death by books when those shelves collapse one day.

  Alex watches me examine his room. I wander to the bookshelf on my right and scan the titles. Despite the disorder in the rest of the room, the books are organized by genre and author, the sign of someone who respects their collection. He has everything from classics including, A Tale of Two Cities, to Marvel comic books. There are more than a few children’s books, too. I smile when I see the complete collection of Frank Baum’s Oz books.

  “Those are some of my favorites, too,” I say, running my hand over the spines.

  “You can borrow anything you want,” Alex offers.

  “Thanks,” I answer, finally turning to him. “I envy your collection. We move so much that I don’t keep many books on hand. I mostly use the library, although I did get an e-reader last year. That’s allowed me to keep a few more books, at least.”

  “I’d love to have one of those. It would make taking books to all my doctor’s appointments so much easier. But since I had to give up my part-time job a couple of months ago, funds are low.”

  I glance at the table beside his bed. It’s covered in a fleet of prescription medicine bottles, a dosing cup, and several varieties of vitamin supplements. A glass of water, half empty, sits there, too.

  I look at him closely for the first time since entering the room. He’s wearing his pajamas, but he doesn’t look that bad. He’s a little pale and there are shadows under his eyes, but I can’t tell he’s dying just by looking at him. He looks like he could simply have a cold, or maybe he stayed up too late for a few nights.

  He meets my gaze squarely, as if daring me to look away.

  “Go ahead and ask,” he says.

  “Ask what?”

  “What’s wrong with me.”

  “It’s not my business. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

  “Brain tumor,” he says, tapping his forehead. His tone indicates total acceptance of his condition, but anger that it’s there at all.

  “Some days are better than others,” he continues. “The day I took you up the mountain was a great day, but those are getting rare. And when they do happen, they usually end up costing me. I overdid it that day, and so these last couple of days have been bad. Constant headaches and nausea.” He shrugs.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, having no idea what else to say.

  “Not your fault. It is what it is.”

  “Is it—” I start to ask if it’s fatal, since that’s the expect
ed question and I’m not supposed to know the answer already.

  “The doctors say I’m dying,” he flatly says. “The treatments don’t work anymore, so all they can do is make me comfortable. Like that’s really possible.”

  I’m silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” I say again, but this time, it comes from my heart. I am sorry that Lacey and I have laid this on him, and even sorrier that none of it can be undone.

  He shrugs, resigned. Trite apologies mean nothing.

  “If you’re dying, why bother with school?” I ask, handing over the assignment folder.

  “Because there’s always a chance I might beat this, and, if I do, I’m not repeating a grade.”

  I turn back to the bookshelves to hide my emotion. I can tell him fighting is just a waste of energy, that he might as well enjoy himself because the date is set, but I’m forbidden from doing that, so I sigh instead.

  “Come sit down,” he says, patting the edge of his bed. “You’re pacing, and it’s making me tired to watch you. Talk to me for a while. I don’t get many visitors.”

  I perch on the edge of the bed, facing Alex, who is propped against the headboard. I don’t know what to talk about. I’m not good at small talk, with humans or gods, under the best of circumstances. Making small talk with someone I have to kill in a few weeks is beyond uncomfortable.

  “Do you have any questions about the assignments?” I lamely ask.

  He flips through the folder. “No. It’s pretty clear.”

  We lapse into silence again.

  “It’s a buzz kill, isn’t it?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “Me dying. Makes it hard to talk to me now, doesn’t it? The other day, you had no trouble telling me off, and now you can’t come up with a single word. Happens all the time. People find out I’m dying, and they don’t know what to say.

  “It’s okay, though. You can say anything you would have said to me before you knew. You can even tell me to get lost some more.”

  I smile. He’s right, of course. But I don’t think I’ll tell him to get lost. “What are you reading now?” I ask, leaning over to see the cover of the book lying beside him on the bed.

  “A Game of Thrones. I saw a kid reading it during a chemo treatment and wondered what the hype was about.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “So far, yeah.”

  I reach over him and pick up the book, opening to the page he’s bookmarked. I nod, seeing he’s at the part where Eddard leaves home to become the new Hand of the King. “I remember this one,” I say. “Read it a couple of years ago. I’ve read all the ones that are out so far.”

  I don’t tell Alex he’ll never see the end of the series, but I know he won’t. Hell, he probably won’t make it past this first book. Alex will never find out how it all ends. I wonder why he’s even starting it, but I guess it’s for the same reason he’s still in school. He has to believe he might live.

  Somehow, that thought depresses me more than anything else. That an avid reader such as Alex should start a series with no hope of reaching the end is just sad. I stare at the wall on the other side of the room so he won’t see the sadness on my face. He doesn’t need pity, especially over something as silly as a book.

  “Will you read to me?” he asks.

  His request snaps my attention back to him. It seems like an awfully intimate thing to ask of someone he hardly knows. But then I remember that he’s really just a kid. He’s scared, alone, and sick. Don’t all kids like to hear stories when they’re ill?

  “You have a soothing voice,” he says.

  “That’s the first time anyone’s ever told me that. My sisters tell me it’s too annoying. Of course, I’m usually giving them orders,” I say with a little laugh.

  He raises an eyebrow at my offhand remark, but he doesn’t say anything. Thank goodness. I have to stop slipping around him. Normal people don’t give their sisters orders, do they?

  “Well, I think it’s comforting. Please,” he says when I try to hand the book back to him. He pushes it back at me. “The tumor makes my vision a little blurry, and it’s hard to read such small print.”

  I can’t resist the plea in his voice or the blatant need for companionship. Or the need to read. “All right.”

  I open the book and begin to read. Alex watches me, and I’m self-conscious at first. I’m aware that he sees me push my hair out of my face and scratch my nose. Eventually, he relaxes back against the pillows and lets the story envelop him.

  I get lost in the book, too, and read close to eighty pages before I realize how late it is.

  “Oh, crap,” I say when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I have a line cutting in twenty minutes. Even running home at top speed, I’ll be cutting it close.

  I slap the book shut. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’m late for something.”

  “You’re always running off,” Alex says.

  “I have obligations.”

  I don’t want to just leave him. He looks hurt that I’m so eager to get out of his house. I glance again at his bookshelves and make a snap decision I hope I won’t regret later.

  “Are you allowed out of the house?”

  “Maybe next week. I’ll have to see how it goes. Why?”

  “That part’s a surprise. Let me know when you’re well enough to go out. If you want to,” I add, scribbling my cell number on the assignment folder and tossing it onto the bed.

  I run out of the house, grabbing my coat as I dash past a startled Emily in the foyer.

  I run hard all the way home. Thankfully, I’m in good enough shape that I can run a six-minute mile. I make it down the stairs and into my workroom with three minutes to spare. I cut the lines and then drop into my desk chair to rest for a minute. I glance at my calendar for the coming weeks. I should be able to carve out some free time when Alex is well enough to go out.

  Just before I shut down the computer, I have another idea. I order a Kindle from Amazon and instruct them to send it directly to Alex’s house. While I’m at it, I throw in a gift card so he can buy a bunch of books. He’ll be able to carry the e-reader to his doctor’s appointments and adjust the font size so he can read even when his vision isn’t that great. Kindness isn’t my forte, but it feels like the least I can do for him.