Yes,thatPT.
He’s dressed in a pair of dark blue coveralls today instead of his farm-stand clothes, but I would recognize that man bun anywhere. Not to mention his very distinctive facial features.
Still, I take a few steps closer, just to be sure. And that’s when I see theCOEXISTnecklace. Yep, definitely PT. So what is he doing here? And why is he wearing a pair of coveralls that read PT’s Oil and Heating? That’s about as far from cider-and-donut salesman as a person can get.
I tell myself to walk away, that it’s none of my business. But I’ve never been particularly good at that when my curiosity is piqued. Not to mention, I’d really like to know why he didn’t warn me about what to expect with that ridiculous bridge.
My brother, who ate all the normal donut holes, didn’t have a problem. Fifi didn’t have a problem. Arjun didn’t havea problem. No one had a problem but me, and the only thing I can think of is that it’s because of the defective donut hole.
PT really, really should have warned me what I was getting myself into.
I feel like if you’re selling tickets to Armageddon, you kind of owe the people who buy your tickets a little bit of notice about what to expect.
So instead of heading straight back to the dorm to prepare for the meeting—I’ve got time before it starts—I do a quick left turn and head straight into the amphitheater and right up to PT.
He’s on his knees now, underneath the cauldron with a giant wrench in his hand. I start to wait for him to notice me, but after a few minutes pass and he hasn’t so much as stuck his head out, I decide to take matters into my own hands.
I squat down next to him and say, “What exactly are you trying to do?”
He jumps so suddenly that he bumps his head on the bottom of the cauldron, knocking it off its stand completely. Seconds later, it hits the ground, side first.
“A little warning would have been nice next time,” he grumps as he sits up.
“Yeah, it would have,” I answer him with a roll of my eyes.
He lifts a brow as he pushes to his feet. “Something tells me we’re not talking about the same thing.”
“Unless that cauldron grows fangs and starts to smell like death, then no. We’re not,” I huff. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Trying to fix the fire.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What areyoudoing here?”
“That’s a weird question—especially from the person who sold me the donut hole that got me here.”
“I meant the amphitheater, not the school. And to be fair, I sold the donut holes to your parents. You were just along for the ride.” The left side of his mouth lifts up in a crooked smile that would be endearing if I wasn’t so annoyed with him.
“Yeah, well, it was a bad donut hole.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, mimicking my tone, “no refunds.”
“Seriously? I don’t want a refund. I just want to know why you sent me over that bridge without giving me a warning about what was waiting for me.”
When he just stands there looking baffled, I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot. I can wait.
He glances around. “You mean Anaximander’s?”
“Yes, I mean Anaximander’s.” I’m not exactly sure where my sarcasm is coming from—probably the last week of pent-up fear and confusion—but I’m not mad at it. Especially not when he’s playing ignorant after nearly killing me.
“I thought this was where you wanted to be.” He bends down and picks up the giant cauldron, putting it back on the stand like it weighs nothing even though it’s made of pure copper. Then he squats down and gets back to work doing I don’t know what exactly. “You definitely seemed eager to get here.”
I know adults can be hard to talk to sometimes, but thisguy is the worst. All I want is an explanation—and maybe an apology—and here he is pretending none of it ever happened.
“You’re not even going to talk about the snakes? Or the poisonous flowers?”
“What are you talking about?” His gaze shoots to mine and he stands back up again, looking much more wary this time as he studies me. “What exactly do snakes and poisonous flowers have to do with the bridge to this place?”
And just like that, something inside me snaps. This guy is the worst. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t know why I thought it’d be worth talking to you. If you didn’t warn me when it could actually help me, why would you say anything about it now?”
I turn and start marching down the aisle. I’ve got better things to do than try to get anything real out of PT.
