All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [82]
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Eliot replied. “You think Jeremy’s like that?”
“No way. That guy is pure grade-A jerk.”
“Agreed,” Eliot said. “Have you seen Fiona?”
“No . . .” Robert looked around, uneasy, and Eliot knew there was something wrong between those two.
Apparently even Robert, who had been all over the world, and probably had had a dozen girlfriends, still had problems with girls. Somehow, it was reassuring.
“You headed out?” Robert nodded toward the front gate. “I’ve got to go. Too many people around for me to think.”
Eliot decided he could talk to Fiona tonight about Jezebel. Finding Robert in a talkative mood was a rare thing, and he wouldn’t waste the opportunity.
“Sure,” Eliot said. They walked together down the steps. “Maybe you can help me out. You ever been with a girl you thought hated you . . . but she really liked you?”
Robert laughed. “All the time.” He sobered. “Very recently, in fact—”
“You mean Fiona. She’s just worried about how the League would react if, you know, they found out about you.”
“I figured that out,” Robert said. “Figured, too, that there might no way for me to be with her . . . and keep my skin in one piece. It sucks.”
Eliot felt weird talking about his sister this way. Romance and boys and Fiona weren’t supposed to go together.
Maybe everyone had trouble when it came to intimate relations. Heck, if supercool Robert got his heart stomped . . . what chance did Eliot have?
They walked in silence, crossed the quad, and approached the main gate.
“So,” Eliot started again, “what do you do if you think you found the one special girl?”
Robert halted and looked him, one eyebrow arched. “We’re not talking about Fiona anymore, are we?” He smiled—but that vanished quickly when he saw the seriousness on Eliot’s face.
“Not Fiona,” Eliot admitted.
Robert started walking again, his hand cupped to his chin. “I’ve found lots of girls I’ve liked, and a few who have even liked me back. Nothing has to be complicated about it.”
Eliot wanted to believe that, but given his recent experience with girls—all one of them—he wasn’t sure.
“But,” Robert continued, “the problem is, I’ve never figured out how to get the ‘one special’ girl. That always ends up complicated.” He sighed. “But it’s the complicated ones who get you going, huh? The ones that keep you up at night thinking about them. Maybe that’s the way it supposed to be, I don’t know.”
Mr. Harlan Dells stood by the gatehouse. “Gentlemen,” he said, and flicked the switch that made the gate roll back.
As they walked through, Mr. Dells remarked to no one in particular, “There are some problems never meant to be solved: the philosophical struggle between good and evil, the many-body problem in classical mechanics . . . and women.”
He shut the gate behind them, leaving them to ponder this.
“Need a ride?” Robert looked at Eliot, decided something, and then added, “I’m headed to my place. Why don’t you come with me? We could burn a few hours on video games or something.”
Eliot started to say no; he had enough homework to drown in.
But who was he fooling? His brain couldn’t focus on mythologies and ancient families no matter how hard he tried. Not with Jezebel rattling about inside his head.
“Sure,” Eliot said.
Robert nodded down the alley in front of Xybek’s Jewelers, where he’d parked his motorcycle. The double-twined exhausts of his bike were mirrored chrome. The rest of the machine was a curve of black steel, looking like it was ready to pounce on prey.
Robert opened a saddlebag and pulled out a spare helmet for Eliot.
Eliot wormed the helmet on, which mashed his ears, then got on to the Harley.
Robert kicked over the motor and the bike thundered to life.
Everyone in the alley looked their way, startled—then annoyed at the ruckus.
Robert revved the engine in defiance and peeled out.
They rocketed out of the