Bad (14 page)

 

GAIA

I
am going to go to Germany with Uncle Oliver. I am leaving town
.

No matter how many times I say that, it still doesn't seem real. I enjoy irony as much as the next girl, but this is out of control. For years I drift from foster house to foster house, speaking only to stray dogs and hustlers and homeless people begging for change. Then I land in New York, where I actually make what would pass under the dictionary definition as friends.

There's Ed. Definitely a friend.

Then there's Mary. She is—was—the only person who I ever allowed to paint my toenails, besides me. Now I wish I had admitted to her that I liked it. And I wish Mary were still alive. I think about her every day, along with my mother and all of the other people who were ripped from my life without giving me a chance to say good-bye.

And I find out I have an uncle
who actually wants to be a part of my life. Surprise! He's dying of cancer, and the only way I can spend time with him is to leave behind my new, real life—drumroll, please—boyfriend.

There isn't really a decision to make. I can't let down Oliver because I'm on a quest to lose my virginity. Or because Sam makes me feel like the star of a cheesy long-distance commercial. Or even because I think I might keel over and die if I have to spend a day away from him.

I don't get it. If the choice is so obvious, then why am I having such a hard time making it? The girl who has always fled suddenly wants to stay put—just when she's got a legitimate reason to go. Now, that's ironic.

 

Memorandum

To:
BFF

From:
L

Secure the following:

1. Hidden cameras at points
A, C,
and
F.

2. Wardrobe—white gowns, white pants, white paper shoes.

3. Alarm system. Change all codes for purposes of security, then call me with the new one.

4. Hang photographs in subject's room. Include the picture of the Empire State Building I shipped last week.

Subject and I will arrive in Frankfurt within the week. Contact me about any potential glitches. There can be no mistakes.

There was no reason to draw a simile or fantasize. At this instant, life was wonderful.

 

NEW YORK CITY HAD BEEN TRANS-
formed. The grimy sidewalks were blanketed with over thirteen inches of clean, white snow, and even the air smelled fresher. Gaia knew that by this evening, the snow would turn to slush. There would be dirty footprints and dark yellow streaks from the thousands of dogs (and people) who used the streets as their lavatories.

The Moth and the Bonfire

But right now—before stores were open and before millions of commuters tramped their way through Manhattan—the city was beautiful.

It reminded her of winter mornings of her childhood.

White powder sprayed out from beneath Gaia's combat boots as she picked up her pace. Ozzie's Café was just up the street, and her sixth sense told her that Sam was already there, waiting for her. She could picture him reading the front page of
The New York Times
and sipping a cup of hot black coffee. Gaia stopped in front of the window. There he was. Sitting in a corner booth. The newspaper was spread out in front of him. She knocked on the pane and waved.

“Hi,” he mouthed.

Gaia nearly tripped over herself as she rushed
inside to sit next to him. This whole relationship was starting to verge on pathetic. Well, at least comic.
I mean, look at me,
she thought. When she used to see other couples sitting side by side rather than across from each other, she'd always wanted to gag. But now . . . now she understood the need to be in physical contact with another human being at all times.
She felt like a moth. And Sam was her roaring bonfire.
She couldn't
help
but be drawn to him.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't so comic. Maybe it was just sad. Especially given the circumstances.

“How are you?” she asked. “Did you sleep after I left?”

He shrugged. “I dozed off for a while around four o'clock. I sort of spent the night having a one-way conversation with Mike.”

Gaia nodded. She could definitely relate.

“I've been thinking,” Sam began unceremoniously. “You should go to Germany.”

His voice was completely devoid of emotion. But maybe that was only because he was struggling so hard to control himself. At least, that was what she
hoped
it was. “Your uncle Oliver is the only family you have. At least right now. And if you don't take this chance to know him, you'll regret it for the rest of your life—”

“Will you be here when I get back?” she found herself blurting out.

It was the question that had dogged her since Uncle Oliver had announced his diagnosis. Leaving Sam was one thing.
She liked to be alone every now and then. Even for long stretches of time.
But not knowing whether or not she could come back to him . . . that was something else entirely.

Sam took her hand. His fingernails were bitten, their jagged edges rough against her skin. He was a wreck. “I'll wait for you. I promise.”

“Really? I mean, not to sound callous or anything, but years of cynicism haven't done wonders for my innate ability to trust.”

Fortunately Sam cracked a smile—which was her exact intention. “Really. Look, how's this? Instead of that cross-country camping trip this summer, I'll come visit you in Germany for a few weeks.”

She withdrew her hand from his and extended it over the table for a formal shake. “Deal?” she asked, cocking her eyebrow.

He hesitated. “You know, this works both ways,” he said, suddenly very serious. “If I wait for you, you
have
to come back to me. Otherwise I'll have to find you. And kick your ass.
I'll
learn kung fu, too, if I have to. Got it?”

All at once Gaia's eyes began to sting. She blinked rapidly several times. It was by far the most romantic
thing anyone had ever said to her.
No, it was the
only
romantic thing everyone had ever said to her.
There was no reason to draw a simile or fantasize. At this instant, life was wonderful. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Good,” he said. He took her hand, then brought it to his lips.

ACCORDING TO THE LOCAL MORNING
newscaster, Kathie Lee was ensconced in another scandal and there was a new bra on the market that guaranteed both comfort and cleavage. Tom couldn't believe that with all of the news in the world,
this
rated top billing. No wonder no one cared about peace in the Middle East or famine in Africa. They were all too busy debating the Disney-fication of Times Square.

Of the Utmost Importance

“Get to the weather!” Tom yelled at the television set. If this run-down dump had cable, he could switch to The Weather Channel. But Tom rarely
stayed in motels that had TV sets, much less satellite dishes.

His cell phone rang just as the image on the screen changed to a man in a plaid blazer standing in front of a map of the United States. The guy promptly slapped a fake storm cloud in the general area of New York.

“It's bad out there, folks,” the weatherman boomed. “Get out the hot chocolate and zip up your coats!”

Tom pushed mute on the remote control, then answered his phone. “Yes.”

“All of the airports are closed, Tom.” He didn't recognize the voice, but he often didn't. “No planes can come in or go out.”

“I suspected as much.”

“We'll let you know when we've got the all clear. Don't go anywhere.”

In the past, Tom had held a strong conviction that the work he did for the government was of the utmost importance. He saved lives on a daily basis. But what did all of that mean if his bosses couldn't even guarantee the safety of his only child?

Tom grabbed his overcoat and a black wool cap. They might be able to order him to leave the country. But they couldn't stop him from checking on his own daughter when she was just miles away. They had his number. They'd find him. They always did.

SAM STRUGGLED TO KEEP HIS EYES
open as Dr. Witchell droned on about the inner workings of the small intestine. Man. He should have dropped this class when he'd had the chance. He was already two chapters behind in the reading, and he had three labs to make up. So far, this semester wasn't going any better than the last one.

Private Mantra

But it's not my fault.

It had become his private mantra, his litany.
He'd repeated those five words to himself over and over again—a thousand times since he'd thrown up in that hospital, a
million
times. And yet he still didn't believe them. Mike's blood was on his hands. And all because Sam Moon had slept with Ella Niven. Or whatever her name really was. Sam had knocked over that first domino that sent the others tumbling . . . culminating in a boy's death. True, Sam hadn't known how insane Ella was when he had slept with her. True, he hadn't known what lengths she would go to in order to blackmail him. But that wasn't the point. There was only one point. Mike Suarez was gone.

“Mr. Sam Moon?”

His eyes popped open. He hadn't even realized they were closed. The blood instantly drained from his
face. The lecture hall door was open. Dr. Witchell was talking to two men in blazers and khakis who were walking into the classroom. One of them was glancing at a small notebook. Both wore badges.

“Mr. Sam Moon?” the guy with the notebook called.

Detective Mantis. It had to be. Sam's stomach clenched. This was bad. One hundred and thirty pairs of eyes turned to stare at Sam as he heaved himself out of his seat. His legs felt like Jell-O. They were barely capable of supporting his body.
Be cool,
he told himself.
Routine questioning. That's all.
The guys were probably questioning all of Mike's suite mates and friends. It was part of a standard investigation.

“Come along, Mr. Moon,” the professor said. There was no hiding the disdain in his voice. “You can get the notes from one of your classmates.”

Sam forced himself to follow the two guys out into the hall. Would they make him take a polygraph test? If his sweaty palms and quaking knees were any indication, he would flunk.
But he didn't do anything wrong. Not technically, anyway.
Morally, yes—but legally, no. So there was no reason to be nervous.

“What's this about?” Sam asked once the door was closed.

“I'm Detective Katz,” the one with the notebook
said. He had small beady eyes and a comb-over. “This is Detective Reilly. We'd just like to ask you a few questions. We'd like you to come to the station house with us.”

His pulse instantly tripled. He could feel his shirt clinging to his back. “Does this have something to do with Mike Suarez?” he asked. His voice was hoarse.

Detective Reilly, who looked like he spent all of his off-duty time at a local pub, nodded. “Yes. It does.”

A thought occurred to him. “Wait, where is Detective Mantis?” he asked. “I thought he was the guy handling the investigation.”

The two guys exchanged a puzzled glance.

“Detective Mantis?” the comb-over asked. “Never heard of him.”

“But . . .” Sam figured there wasn't much point in protesting. Whoever Mantis was, he wasn't here now. So Mike must have gotten the name wrong. He had been pretty out of it when Sam talked to him. Unless . . . unless Mike
hadn't
gotten the name wrong. Maybe the guy who had shown up in Mike's hospital room hadn't been a detective at all.
The guy could have been connected to Ella somehow.
Which meant that she had reached out from her grave to screw Sam all over again.

The knot in his stomach was starting to feel more like a noose.

HEATHER GRABBED THE APPLE SHE
had stashed in her locker, then slammed the door shut with far more force than necessary. She was only a few hours into her first day of school minus Ed, and it was a disaster. She was suddenly out of the loop. Just like that. When she had asked Megan and Ashley if they wanted to see a movie tonight, they had looked at her like she'd asked if they wanted to go to a Barry Manilow concert.

Sick Aunt Story

It didn't matter, though. She'd win them back. After all, she had
made
their image. Without her those girls were just a bunch of giggling morons with ten thousand dollars' worth of rhinoplasty between them.

Besides, Heather Gannis had never begged for anything.
She wasn't about to start now.

To top things off, Heather now spotted Gaia lumbering in her direction. Her perfect day was about to get even better.

“Hey, Heather,” Gaia said. It probably the nicest thing she'd ever said to Heather up until this point in their lives. “Have you seen Ed?”

I could walk away,
Heather thought. She could refuse to dignify Gaia's question with an answer and
simply flounce down the hallway. But that might be perceived as a sign of weakness, and Heather couldn't afford to let any of her soft skin show.

“I don't keep tabs on Ed, Gaia. He's a big boy.”

“Can we cut the verbal combat for two minutes? I really need to talk to him.”

“Ed isn't in school today.”

“Oh.” Gaia pivoted and took off in the opposite direction.