Page 11 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
“I’m sure,” he replies curtly and presses his palm against the middle of my back. “After you.”
I’m weak in the knees again as my cells sizzle. However, I keep it together, and it feels like I'm walking on air as I proceed past the door that he’s holding open for me.
We madeit out of underground parking into the cool but comfortable night. So far, other than the constant sound of traffic that rises from the streets of the city twenty-four, seven, all I’m paying attention to is the sound of our feet shuffling across the sidewalk. He’s so near. He’s also so quiet. I’ve never been good at small talk, but I’m finding myself wishing I was better at it.
“Why O’Brien?” he asks out of the blue.
I perk up, caught off guard by his question. I’m also confused by it. “Why was I talking to O’Brien?”
“Sure, why?”
I focus on the stained concrete. “Because he was the only person who talked to me.” Once again, I’m too honest with him. I regret my answer. I should have saved face and said something that didn’t make me look so much like a loser.
He turns silent for a while. I wonder what he’s thinking but don’t dare ask. I have this irrational fear of saying the wrong thing, which will make him walk away from me.
“I’m sorry about all the Grove-Valentine stupidity,” he finally says.
I start to recall the conversation I had with O’Brien before he brought me the spiked drink. The fact that he could smile so genuinely and be so kind before violating me the way he did makes me sick to my stomach.
“Yeah,” I whisper, hanging my head. “I just learned tonight why everyone treated me like crap this year.”
“You mean you never knew?”
I look up, and I’m immediately hypnotized by his penetrating glower. Could he look yummier than he does at this very moment?
Tongue-tied, I shake my head.
He grunts thoughtfully. “Damn. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I’m strong. I can handle it.”
We smile at each other. It’s so different experiencing him up close—it’s better.
He narrows an eye. “But for real, you never knew anything about that Valentine-country stuff?”
“Not really, no. I knew our families had issues with each other, but I didn’t know people at the school were treating me differently because of it. I mean, I just thought they were New York cliquey.”
Hercules snorts a chuckle. “New Yorkers aren’t known for being cliquey.”
I fall silent as I think about what he just said. Actually, he’s right. The few instances that I’ve gone out when Max or Treasure was in town visiting, we’d go to Skate or some other unmarked club or bar where people of all ages, ethnicities, eccentricities, and genders danced, laughed, and conversed with each other.
“Well, I meant the people at our school. You know, the rich and entitled sort,” I say, trying so desperately to sound like I know what I’m talking about for once.
He scoffs with a smile. “Like the Valentines and Groves?”
I have an immediate response to his sarcasm, but I don’t want to insult him. The truth is that the Valentines are snobby old money who made their wealth during the gilded age. History books record the Valentine family’s corruption and political power, which yielded them extraordinary wealth that was mostly depleted by the start of the twenty-first century. I heard that if it weren’t for a core group of Valentines who pooled what was left of their riches and resources and ventured into the new age of technology to revive their wealth, they would all be bankrupt by now.
My grandfather grew up in a modest middle-class neighborhood in San Pedro, California. He had a love of high tech, a creative mind, and savvy business sense, but he wasn’t that great a programmer. He attended MIT’s business school, where he sharpened his skills as the world’s top tech entrepreneur. My grandpa started with a loan for twenty thousand dollars, and he managed a group of talented programmers, pushing them to be creative and innovative in order to bring his ideas to life. His first product to hit the marketplace was Climate Condition, which replaced bulky and energy-consuming air conditioners. Climate Condition consists of a computerized strip that marries air capture with nanotechnology by duplicating and compressing the gases that make up air. Then, using a thermostat, that air is expanded and tempered before flowing through vents for cooling or heating purposes. That technology alone made my grandpa an overnight trillionaire. But to give future programmers and scientists incentives to work with him, he maintained the patents and licensing and only took forty percent of the profits. The programmers and scientists split the remaining sixty percent.
“Do you know why there’s so much contention between our families?” I ask instead of articulating the distinctions between Hercules’s family and mine.
He stares at me, blank faced. “No, I don’t. Do you?” His tone is flat.
For some reason, I don’t believe him. I look away from his face and whisper, “No.”
We’re only a few feet away from turning down my street. Pretty soon, we’ll part ways, and I already miss him.
“I want to say something about what happened to you at the party,” he says.
