We fall silent and I think we’re both imagining Gretchen’s childhood. She doesn’t talk about her adoptive parents. Ever. But from the few hints she’s let slip, I gather they are pretty rotten excuses for human beings. Abusive addicts. I gaze out the window. It breaks my heart to think of her growing up in that environment. I may not have had all the economic advantages that Greer has, but I have parents who love me, who care for and provide for me. Gretchen definitely got the short end of the stick.
“Does it frighten you?”
I look up, startled by Greer’s question. “What?”
“Our destiny,” she says. “This guardianship we’re supposed to take up. Does it ever scare you?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Of course it does.”
She looks at me, studying me. Her elegantly waxed eyebrows pinch into a scowl.
“Any time I let myself stop to think about it for too long,” I say, “I’m terrified.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t show it.”
“Maybe I’m like you in that way,” I say with a smile. But I don’t think she wants a flip answer. “Every time I start to get scared, I think about our ancestors. About Medusa and how she gave her life for this destiny. About all the generations of ancestors after her who worked and sacrificed to keep our line alive.”
“And that helps?” she asks with disbelief.
“A little,” I say. “When I think of everything that’s been done to make sure the three of us would be right here, right now … Well, it makes the thought of walking away unthinkable.”
Greer nods, as if my answer helps, and goes back to her gelato.
I think we just bonded. To keep from beaming at her—that might undo our progress—I turn and study the world outside.
Across the street, I notice a familiar-looking boy standing outside a Mexican restaurant. He’s of average height with brown hair that’s golden at the ends, like he spends a lot of time in the sun.
“Oh, hey, isn’t that your—” I catch myself when I see who he’s standing with, and how they’re standing together. A girl. Close together.
But it’s too late. Greer turns and looks.
Maybe I’m wrong, maybe it’s not the boy I saw her with at Fisherman’s Wharf. Maybe it’s not her—
She slams her bowl down on the table. “That scumbag.”
Nope, not wrong.
She’s out the door before her spoon, bounced free from the bowl, slaps to the floor. I start to follow after her, to be her support. But then the thought of her boyfriend seeing me, her identical triplet, stops me short. That could only make the situation worse. I watch, helpless through the glass, as she crosses the street to confront him.
CHAPTER 14
GREER
Kyle has his back to the street corner, so he isn’t aware of my approach. The girl he’s wrapping his arms around, however, has a full-on view.
She must sense my fury, because she says something quietly to Kyle and pulls out of his embrace. I’m already not having the best day ever. If she’s smart, she’ll back far, far away.
As I close the distance between us, Kyle turns around. I catch just the hint of shock before he recovers. His mouth spreads into a vast surfer-dude grin and he says, “Babe!”
My palm connects with his cheek before the drawled-out word is done. He lifts a hand to his stinging cheek.
“Babe, I can explain.”
“Don’t. Call. Me. Babe.” How many times in the last year have I asked—ordered, begged—him not to call me that? Countless. But has he listened or learned or even cared that it bothers me? No.
“Look, Greer,” he says, dropping the surfer-dude affect, “this isn’t what it—”
“Looks like?” I interrupt. “Then what exactly is it? Is she some long-lost cousin? Or a helpless girl you met on the street who can’t stand without help?”
“Greer—”
“Or maybe this is exactly what it looks like.” I spear the girl, who is cowering behind Kyle like a frightened kitten, with a fierce glare. My voice honey sweet, I ask her, “Is this a date?”
Her eyes widen, like she’s been hoping to be left out of this confrontation. No such luck. She nudges Kyle from behind.
“Listen, Greer,” he says, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk about this?”
“Is this a date?” I repeat, trying to sound more reasonable myself.
My entire life as I know it might be spiraling out of control, but I can still keep my emotions in check. I can control them, if nothing else.
Kyle glances over his shoulder as if he’s hoping the girl has disappeared—nope, his hoochie chick is still there—and then back at me with sad eyes. As if I might sympathize. He doesn’t have to say anything. I know the answer—and not because of my special mental powers, either. A girl just knows.
“I cannot believe I wasted my time on you,” I say. “I’m so much more than you deserve.”
A look crosses his face, a combination of shame and anger. I’ve wounded his pride and now he wants to win it back. Not by apologizing, I’m sure. There is something hateful on his tongue and I don’t need to stick around to listen. I’m not sure I could handle it at the moment.
I spin on my heels and storm away, ruining my perfect exit by stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk. Kyle calls after me and I have to fight the urge to lift my hand and show him a crude gesture. But no, I won’t let him make me stoop to his low-class level. I stalk to the end of the block and around the corner with my head held high. My dignity intact.