Interim Goddess of Love #1 of 3 (COMPLETE)

Chapter 9

I love my mother, but hate that I inherited her skin. Oily everywhere, especially when I was deep in thought. Not sure how and why, but the shine just turned up whenever I did math homework, or during an exam. That was so annoying, to be mentally exhausted and look like it too.

So my facial routine since I turned twelve involved the following: gentle morning anti-blemish cleanser, toner so minty it stung, antibacterial acne cream medication, tea tree oil concealer, hypoallergenic face powder, oil absorbent facial wipes, stronger anti-blemish evening cleanser, stronger antibacterial acne night cream.

On the day that I was to meet Ian Carag, I noticed that I didn't need them that morning. And that I had, in fact, not been using the products for a few days (too sleepy one night, and running late another morning) and the world hadn't ended. I knew that eventually I wouldn't need them anymore, but I didn't think it would actually happen while I was still in school—when it mattered the most.

I needed to brag to someone about this, so I texted Sol: No more breakouts! Congratulate me, puberty has ended!

Sol, who had flawless skin since she was a baby (I saw the pictures), texted back: You are a swan princess!

* * *

Ian Carag was an SK just like me. Exceptional grades, had his pick of the top schools in the country and several others within a three-hour plane ride. But he chose Ford River, not sure why. Maybe he liked being a big fish in a small pond.

I was able to introduce myself to him by visiting his club's event that week. The Wine Appreciation Society had a tasting ("Wines from Chile"), but what we actually talked about while there was a TV show that had been cancelled for years.

"I've only really seen one episode of The X-Files," I admitted, wondering if that would kill my chances of getting anything out of him. "I was home sick and couldn't find the TV remote. Couldn't change the channel. But it was about a serial killer who targeted psychics."

"Oh, 'Clyde Bruckman,'" Ian nodded, excited. "From season three, one of the good ones. Did you like it?"

"I remember it being funnier than I thought it would be."

"The X-Files is hilarious."

I was a bit out of my element in this conversation so far. First of all, I knew nothing about wine, and must have nodded a hundred times as my more knowledgeable schoolmates discussed the finer points of stuff that tasted very nearly the same to me. Some shared stories of visiting Chile, not that I could participate in that either. And Ian wanted to talk about a show I never really watched.

"I guess I just never gave it a chance before," I said.

"It's not for everybody," Ian said. "You know Kathy Martin? She's the only one who's also a fan here, at least that I know of."

Now this is more like it. "Yes, I know Kathy. How do you know her?"

Ian knew her through a friend of a friend, and even in his mind he would put that label, that artificial distance between them.

"She and I... I mean, she's probably the only other person here who watches it. Usually if I meet a fan it's someone way older. But Kathy's cool, you know, even if we don't like it the exact same way."

"How can someone like it a different way? It's a show about aliens, right?"

He released a little laugh that carried much fondness. "She thinks it's a romance."

As soon as he said her name, I felt distinctly how he thought of her, and it was... how could I explain it...

Quin, by the way, demanded that I be more specific about this. A recap of a previous conversation: