Page 84 of Torn

They’ve all had their shocks today.

Hoping to soothe his classmate’s torment, Anger gauges her nomadic mind and murmurs, “Reincarnation isn’t possible, Wonder.”

She gulps. “A lot of things weren’t supposed to be possible.”

Whether her suspicion is correct, she’ll find out. She’ll make that her mission, because that’s who she is.

Her face drifts back to Anger. “Today, you walked toward Love. But youranto Merry.”

And that’s what she leaves him with.

And that’s what Anger carries from the observatory, from the neighborhood, to the carnival. Or at least, just outside of it. He can’t bring himself to breach the entrance of arched branches and bulbs, much less step into the mass of lollipop strobes.

Settling on a bench, Anger gets a saccharine whiff of the blueberry lemonade that he and Merry had shared on that first night. Electronics jangles and buzzers resound from the Ethereal Arcade, the place where he saw her playing hostess to humans and then dancing on a countertop. The place where she’d later challenged him to race across the galaxy.

Somewhere nestled in the carnival, the carousel is rotating, and Sagittarius is trying to loose an arrow. That ride is where she got him to confide, to share things that he never had before. That’s where, for the first time, in a long time, he’d had fun. Nothing more than fun.

In the beginning, he’d sneered at the park for being a poor substitute, an imitation of the real thing. How wrong he’s been. He wants to revisit that place, walk those paths, feel that rush of adrenaline.

He doesn’t want to do it alone, but he has no other choice. Or does he?

Rides gyrate and cartwheel. Spastic bulbs flare, and sparklers splash the walkways with embers. Midday leaks into afternoon, afternoon pours into evening. The day has passed quickly.

How long has he been sitting here?

Too long. Long enough to watch the incoming brew, a pallet of grays soaking the atmosphere. From what Anger knows of tempests, it’s going to be a strong one, the wind howling and tossing debris all over the place, chucking the city in erratic directions.

It’s going to drench the theme park. And him.

Snowstorms are the worst of outbreaks, prompting his muscles to lock, his knuckles to shake, his aim to falter. That particular breed of turbulence is his greatest fear.

He’d once told Love that, reluctantly.

He’d once told Merry that, willingly.

Incoming thunder isn’t reassuring, yet he doesn’t move. He can’t abandon this view yet. Not just yet.

Your greatest wish isn’t to have your power back—it’s to make memories.

Does she know all that?

Love had hints. But she hadn’t known all that.

Only one person knows that much about him.

Clenching his eyes shut, Anger channels the stars. He latches on to them and sends a message, hoping they’ll funnel his words to the only female he wants to speak to. The only female he wants hearing him, knowing him, seeing him.

“You were born from a winking star,” he begins. “You’re a goddess of devotion and neon light. You see beauty in passion and tragedy, but you romanticize them to a fault. You can’t get enough of blueberry lemonade and vanilla gelato—so much that you don’t care if either stains your dress or your tongue. You fall asleep to records, and your favorite constellation is Sagittarius. You’ve made a skateboard into a weapon.”

He grins to himself. “You’re afraid of the dark, but not afraid of your superiors. You play arcade hostess to mortals who can’t see you. You have beautiful, fidgety hands covered in fishnet. You talk too much, but when you’re silent, the world becomes a desolate place. Your greatest wish isn’t to be loved—it’s to give love.”

He bows his head, clasps his hands. “You’ve put up with a stubborn archer. You’ve put him in his place. You’ve given him solace. You’ve given him a home. You’ve given him back his heart. And all he wants is to deserve you.”

He waits, and he waits, and he waits. Droplets plonk at his feet, pelting the grass and seeping into his garments. But still, he waits for an answer, imploring fate to be on his side.

Silence. Anger knows that she’s heard him. But for once, she’s not chatty.

For once, she has nothing to say to him.

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