The Fate of the Muse - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,2
him.
If anyone remembered that just a few short months ago Cruz and Megan were pariahs, with Shayla acting as their main tormenter, it didn’t show. Former mean-girl Shayla hung on Cruz’s every word, laughing with exaggerated gestures at his constant stream of witticisms. His kindness to her had changed her life, and she’d become his biggest fan. She proudly told anyone who would listen how talented he was, and that he was going to be a famous designer one day.
Megan had morphed into a sultry looking club singer, sporting a Marilyn Monroe inspired halter dress that suited her voluptuous figure. Cruz had broken all the rules by dressing a redhead in red, and the effect was stunning. She had even straightened her normally curly hair for the occasion, wearing it pinned back sleekly, exposing the pretty face she used to go to great lengths to hide.
She looked far older and more sophisticated than your typical high school senior, and she also looked irritated. Megan never did like suffering fools, and she was itching for the whole night to be over.
Shayla smiled happily and stood up straight, towering over almost everyone like a goddess among mortals. Cruz had outfitted her lean and lanky figure in a classic white column dress accented with hand-braided gold trim. Her makeup was flawless, her long blonde hair worn down and loose, and I could see many of the other girl’s dates sneaking a few furtive glances over at her. She looked every inch the sophisticated supermodel she would soon become.
Cruz caught my eye, standing in the middle of a crowd, surrounded, and yet somehow still alone. He watched the dancing couples with a wistful expression on his face, and it suddenly occurred to me that despite having all his friends around him, he was lonely. I wished that he had someone special in his life– someone that meant as much to him as Ethan meant to me.
“Look how much you changed Shayla and Megan,” Ethan whispered in my ear. I looked reproachfully at him, wishing he wouldn’t bring up my so-called muse powers.
“Cruz is the one who dressed them up,” I said defensively.
“Look how much you changed Cruz,” he countered, smiling wryly at my protestations.
I had started looking for any possible way to avoid taking credit for anything that my friends achieved. I hated the thought that their success was due in any part to me. The idea that I had somehow nudged them along made me uncomfortable, and I was having difficulty grappling with the ramifications.
Only Aunt Evie and Ethan knew about the strange power I had to enhance people’s innate gifts and talents, and that was one secret I desperately wanted kept from everyone else. As a fellow mermaid-human hybrid, my Aunt Evie was possessed of the same ability. Unlike me, she was a practiced manipulator, and she wielded her power with relish.
Evie couldn’t really describe exactly how it worked, but she said I’d know it when I felt it. She was right about that, for seeing my friends flourish brought me feelings of intense satisfaction that went beyond mere altruism. Apparently, the power was strongest when I really truly wanted someone to succeed, and capriciously affected some people more than others. Most disturbing, it wasn’t always positive, for I was capable of bringing out the worst as well as the best in people.
“C’mon,” Ethan slipped his arm around my waist, “Let’s dance.”
He’d surprised me earlier in the evening by knowing all the ballroom steps, and he took me out onto the floor for every slow one, leading us smoothly and expertly.
“Where did you learn to dance?” I asked him, watching as his face clouded over a little.
“I, uhm, well… I had to go to the prom last year.”
I realized that his former girlfriend had made certain that he knew how to dance properly for her senior prom. I smiled to myself; it had taken some doing, but I’d mostly gotten over being jealous of her. He was all mine now.
“Evie made me learn,” I teased him.
Aunt Evie had always stressed the fact that a social education was at least as important as an academic one. She was convinced that the hours I spent in dance and etiquette lessons would pay off someday; visions of me consorting with high society danced in her head. “Think of all the formal occasions in your future!” she’d say breathlessly, “You never know where you’ll end up being invited.”