Alone (7 page)

EIGHTY BLOCKS DOWNTOWN, TATIANA
sat in a stuffy classroom, trying to keep her mind on the calculus test she was supposed to be ready for. She scanned the page of formulas she had already memorized, making sure every
x, y,
and pi was burned into her brain, but her eyes wandered out the window. There was Heather, the perfect American girl, poised on the steps at the front of the school. The sun made a rainbow of highlights burst from her long, straight hair. And she always had a distinctive look. Lately she'd been going for that slept-in-her-clothes look, the one that usually only worked on Chloe Sevigny. But what really caught Tatiana's eye was the way Heather glowed from within, filled with joy and excitement.

Tatiana followed Heather's gaze and saw the most massively cute boy standing a few feet away, grinning back. God,
he looked like he'd just stepped off a billboard:
athletic build;
just-right jeans; a tailored, bowling-style shirt casually untucked; and a shock of silky black hair that brushed over his forehead. Heather walked slowly toward him and greeted him by first reaching a hand forward, then letting him draw her in slowly for a sensuous, full-lipped kiss.

A kiss like the one Ed had given her. After which, by the way, he seemed to have completely forgotten her phone number, e-mail address, and place of residence. Ed seemed to be totally avoiding her.

Oh God! Was Heather going to take off for a quickie at lunch? Tatiana burned with envy. She tore her eyes away from the decadent display in front of her and tried to focus on the numbers and letters on the page, but they were dancing around, deserting their regular places so they could run off together to the dark corners in the margin and make out.
Sixes and nines hopped on top of each other in carnal abandon, and the ones and sevens were having a complete and total orgy with the
y'
s.
Ugh!

Tatiana let out a frustrated sigh. What she wouldn't give to be planted in one of the uncomfortable seats aboard Aeroflot, heading home to Russia right now. She'd spend the whole thirteen-hour flight scrunched between two fat Ukranians if it meant getting away from this stupid city with its annoying people.

Take Heather, for instance, who didn't even know
how amazing her life was: she was off somewhere making out with Josh Hartnett, and the only care she had in the world was whether to use gel or mousse when she blew out her hair. And Ed, who was so cute and charming and amazing, but would rather moon over the unattainable Gaia than admit that he and Tatiana would be a great couple. And of course Gaia, with all her possessions: boyfriend, beauty, and intelligence—Tatiana could tell she was incredibly sharp and smart, despite how she tried to hide it—Gaia was more interested in making everyone around her uncomfortable to the point of misery than in enjoying her life for even a moment.

It was enough to make Tatiana want to scream.

Everyone around her was blessed with everything they wanted, and here she was, stuck with a mom who was away half the time Lord knew where, a totally insane roommate, and a time-share boyfriend
.

God bless America
.

TATIANA COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.
She slammed her book shut, hearing the imaginary cries of the suddenly squished numbers and letters who'd
just been having such a good time, and stood up.

The student lounge was empty except for a couple knotted together on one of the two seen-better-days couches along the wall,
making out as if they'd just discovered these new things called lips and tongues
.
Tatiana hadn't even noticed them before.

Great. One more happy couple to add to my list
.

She strode out of the lounge, out into the hallway, not even sure where she was headed. If Ed wanted to ignore her, then he could ignore her. But she wasn't going to make it easy for him. If he came face-to-face with the girl he'd kissed, wouldn't he have to say something? Wasn't there a law? And if not, was there a committee somewhere working to put it into the books?

Tatiana was determined to force some kind of confrontation. She knew she was being a little overly hyper, but then again, Ed had been a little overly friendly and was now
a little overly avoiding her.

All right. So where was he? She knew he had AP history this period, but she wasn't sure what floor it was on. Anyway, she couldn't just go waltzing into his classroom and stand at the blackboard and announce that he was the kissing bandit. She had to be cool, run into him like it was an accident.

First floor.
Wasn't AP history on the first floor? Taught by Mr. Verrinder. Yes! She raced down the
stairs two at a time, hoping she wouldn't run into a hall monitor in her effort to make it down before the end of the period. Unless Ed was sent to the office at the same time, that would completely derail her plan.

The bell shrieked just as she arrived at the corner she had decided on, near the vending machines, and as the doors to all the classrooms slammed open in unison and began leaking high school kids, she straightened her sweater, tried to smooth her hair, and
attempted to be convincing in her sudden interest in the choice between Bit-O-Honey and jujubes.

She spotted him out of the corner of her eye immediately. He was hard to miss, of course. His hitching gait as his crutches helped him along set him apart from the rest of the crowd. So did his adorably rumpled hair and his unconsciously cute way of wearing his shirt untucked. But he didn't seem to see her.

Tatiana gave the vending machine a thump with her fist, then kicked it. This was a silly scene to be making, but what was the English expression? Desperate times call for desperate measurements, or something like that.

“Give me my Ho Hos, you stupid machine,” she said in a voice loud enough to make a few heads turn.

There. He looked up. And he was too close to get away with ignoring her.

She turned to face him as if she were just looking around for help. “Oh, Ed!” she cried out, with all the mock surprise of Bart Simpson finding out he was in trouble with Principal Skinner again. “I didn't expect to see you down here. Can you help me figure out this stupid machine?”

Ed's face betrayed no emotion—not surprise, not guilt, and not joy at seeing her.

Tatiana felt embarrassed and somehow naked, but it was too late to run away now.

Ed came over to the vending machine and studied it for a moment. “It says you didn't put money in,” he pointed out. “It says zero cents up there.”

Ugh.
Sure enough, the bright red LED display said zero point zero zero.

“Oh, but I did put the money in,” she complained. “That is why this machine is so stupid. I put the money in, but it didn't register somehow.”

Without a word, Ed reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out sixty cents, and dropped the coins in. The numbers leapt, and Tatiana's face burned.

“It looks okay now,” he said. “Were you trying to unload your rubles again?”

Tatiana gave
a shrill laugh, a ridiculous sound that bubbled out of her without her consent
. “Ha ha! Yes, perhaps I was using rubles,” she said, hitting the Ho Hos button for want of anything better to do. She turned to Ed.

“So, how are you?” she asked. “I have not spoken to you in a while.”

“I'm okay.”
Aha.
Was that what she thought it was? A look of embarrassment? Was he looking at the floor because he knew he'd screwed up? He had to apologize now. She had him! He totally had to. . .

“Well, see you later,” he said, replacing his crutches under his arms and hitching away from her without another word.

Oh my God,
Tatiana thought.
He hates me. I must be the worst kisser in the world!

No. He is the biggest jerk in the world!

Either way, she was the definitely most embarrassed person in the world, standing in a high school hallway with
a handful of Ho Hos and a heart full of hurt.

This place sucked.

Yes.
All right. I admit it. That was bad. Horrible, in fact. Maybe the primo worst move of my life. I'd kick myself if I could figure out how. Obviously I'm avoiding Tatiana, and I'm doing it with all the smoothness of George Constanza. But I have a lot on my mind.

First, my physical therapist informs me that, like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz,
I've had the power to get what I've wanted all along—I just didn't know how to use it. Heartwarming words. Then I try out her theory and literally fall flat on my face. So I pour my heart out to my old friend Heather, who, admittedly, was a poor choice of confidante since she's obviously got some completely weird emotional trauma of her own going on that makes her look like half a Heather. And so she goes all Mariah Carey on me.

Then I stop by the main office right before history class and find out Gaia's not in school
today. Not that I care. Not that Gaia matters to me at all. But that girl has a way of attracting danger. I'm just a little concerned.

And this whole time I'm supposed to be concentrating on Ed. Do you see why I don't exactly have the time or energy to be calling some chick I smooched?

Oh God. Did I just say that? I didn't mean it. Tatiana is an absolutely great girl, not some chick, and I smooched her because I meant it. And the not-so-unspoken rule of being a half-decent guy is, even if you didn't mean it, you call a girl after you stick your tongue down her throat. I mean, if she was willing to risk mono for you, you pretty much owe her that, right? If you're not interested, you let her know by saying you'll call again. She'll usually get the picture.

But you've got to make the first call.

And what kind of idiot
wouldn't be interested in Tatiana? She's absolutely perfect. Her body is smokin'—and her features are delicate, like a china doll's. And sweet. And friendly. No obnoxious comments bursting out of her mouth. No need to be on your guard with her. Tatiana. Of course I'm interested.

It's just with all the bizarro events of the last week, I need a little “Ed time” right now.

I am going to call her eventually. I'll owe her big time—I might have to treat her to something schmantzy, like a concert or something, to make it up to her. I'll just explain to her that I needed to figure some things out.

If I ever figure things out.

When
things come together this perfectly, it's very difficult not to congratulate myself. My own genius astounds even me.

I've managed to twist the brilliant Gaia into a knot of confusion. I have her believing every word I say. She is convinced that Natasha is a double agent, and she can't even figure out who her own father is. All because of my manipulation. Soon she'll be my pawn: it's so delicious, having her in my grasp.

And Heather. The beautiful fool. How easy it is to twist the mind of a young, impressionable girl simply by tugging on her heartstrings. What possible purpose could this total malleability have? Why did it develop in adolescent humans? Do they have no minds of their own? Whether it's devotion to the Backstreet Boys or a passion for a black stallion, the average sixteen-year-old girl would rather latch onto a faraway ideal than develop a single idea for herself.

This one especially. She considers herself an iconoclast, but look how I've drawn her into my web of deceit.

She is going to be a magnificent subject for my experiment. I'll be able to test the fearless serum on her: she is ready and willing to try it. In fact, if it works, she might turn out to be an even better operative than Gaia. Gaia, after all, did not have the opportunity to choose her fearless state: it was nothing more than an accident, a mysterious mutation that occurred in her mother's womb. And Gaia seems to spend her life cursing her fate, fighting against her status instead of embracing it and allowing herself to become the magnificent creature she has the potential to be.

Heather, on the other hand, knows exactly what she's getting into. She's lived a life cursed by the shadow of fear, so when she sloughs it off, she'll taste all the more piquantly the joy of
fearlessness. Even now, it seems as if she is without a conscience. Could it be that her view of life—unencumbered by a concern for others, however feigned that attitude may be—could be even more useful? Match that with an absence of cowardliness, and she'll be positively unstoppable.

A magnificent machine: the ultimate weapon, acting completely at my will.

It won't be long now.