A Goddess Wears Orange

Chapter 19

The Goddess of Love walked the halls of South Crescent High. 

Everywhere she went, heads turned, eyes widened, and jaws touched the ground in worshipful reverence. Wherever she bestowed her generous smiles, blood rushed, hearts pounded, and voices were rendered momentarily silent. Sighs and longings bloomed in her wake. Wishes and fantasies were laid at her feet. Lights twinkled from camera phones that sought to capture her image. And most importantly, as far as the Marketing Committee head was concerned, fruit-shakes were bought and sold in her honor. 

“How long do we have to do this?” Yumi whispered to the Marketing Committee head as they strolled through the corridors. There were more people today than ever before as a lot of families and students from the other schools took advantage of the fact that it was Saturday to check out the South Crescent High school fair. Some of the town’s businesspeople could also be seen perusing the booth offerings, and rumor had it that some talent scouts were prowling around, looking for potential recruits among the clubs that would be performing that day. For the students, the last day of the fair was D-Day and Judgment Day rolled into one. Judging for the best booth would take place that afternoon, and later, the Battle of the Bands would be held, with the winner being given the privilege of performing for Students’ Night. On a more personal level, today was the last chance for the dateless and desperate to alter their status in time for Valentine’s Day and/or Students’ Night, which meant brisk business for the love-and-romance-themed booths. 

“Until your partner shows up, that’s how long. Now stop looking so worried and smile, Goddess,” the Marketing Committee head whispered back as he pressed flyers into the unsuspecting hands of people who had stopped to stare at the Goddess. 

Yumi sighed and did as he said. It was all she had done for a while now—just promenade around the school looking as Goddess-like as she could, while the Marketing Committee head and three of their classmates trailed behind distributing flyers. They had already circled the second and third floors, and were now circumnavigating the first floor again while rethinking touring the quadrangle again—a serious issue since they were running low on flyers. 

In short, she’d done everything except her actual job. Almost two hours had passed since the café opened, and she’d only read four love fortunes before she realized she didn’t dare do any more. They’d had to pass numbered stubs around again, and the Marketing Committee head had suggested that if the Goddess of Love couldn’t use her power, then she would just have to make her presence felt in the mortal realm. Unfortunately, the list of clients waiting for their love-fortune reading was growing longer, and it wouldn’t be long before complaints started coming in. Which would be bad. But since the alternative was for her to puke her guts out, pass out, and remain out of commission for the rest of the day, she didn’t have much choice. 

The problem? The Goddess Consort was nowhere to be found. 

Ren, where are you? she wondered for about the hundredth time. She’d sent him increasingly frantic texts, none of which he responded to. She’d tried calling him, only to be told that the “subscriber could not be reached.” None of the others had better luck contacting him. Ren’s absence was a black hole that was inexorably sucking them into the void, and she prayed he’d show up soon before disaster struck. 

When the others asked her if she had any idea what had happened to him, she found to her horror that she didn’t know what to say. Guilt and hurt were eating at her, and it was getting harder and harder for her to keep on smiling. It’s my fault, a voice whispered inside her head. I shouldn’t have confessed to him. Now I’ve gone and traumatized him, and it’s the class who’ll have to pay. 

And behind that voice was a wounded, frightened thought: Have I lost him for good this time? 

She became aware that she’d stopped walking altogether and was just staring at the floor. Her vision blurred, and when she blinked her eyes clear, two small, wet splotches had appeared on the floor. Oh no, my mascara. Sniffling, she surreptitiously but very carefully wiped her eyes with her fingers, picturing her sister’s lips pursing with disapproval for ruining her hard work.