Fake (6 page)

“What did they say?” Skyler asked, peering at her closely.

“Nothing,” she replied, her stomach churning with self-pity. “No one called.”

No one called.
The thought echoed through her head like a siren. Jake hadn't even phoned once. Why? Wasn't he even the slightest bit worried about her?

Course not,
she told herself.
All he cares about is playing Super-Secret Agent Man.
He was probably out with Uncle Ollie right now, learning all his tricks. First he'd master that unnerving coin thing. Then he'd take on a new moniker, like Loki Jr. or King Scumbag. Then he'd adopt the philosophy that relationships and personal loyalties meant nothing—that everything was secondary to supreme, dominating power.

Of course, maybe he'd already learned that. Maybe not calling was step one in Five Steps to a New Maniacal You.

She powered down the phone and squeezed it tightly in her palm. What did she expect? A voice mailbox full of pleas for forgiveness and invitations for dinner? Who exactly would be calling her right now? Her dad was too busy. Liz and Chris had quite the full, perfect life without her. Megan and the other FOHs had never really been that interested in including her. She'd effectively kicked Sam out of her life. And Ed, while not exactly out of her life, wasn't exactly
in
it either. So really, who would bother to call?

“Gaia?”

She suddenly realized that Skyler was talking to her. “What?”

“I asked if you were all right.”

“I'm fine,” she said, hoisting the corners of her mouth into a smile. She closed the phone with a snap and chucked it onto the nearby armchair.

“Fine?” he repeated doubtfully.

“Yeah. In fact, I'm fantastic,” she added, bouncing onto the couch cushions. “Let's blow off everything, like you said. Let's just hole up here and have fun.”

She was fooling no one. Not Skyler, not even herself. But she simply refused to acknowledge how pitiful her life was. There was one thing holding her upright at the moment: a flimsy, crooked buttress of pride.

That and Skyler.

She looked over at him and smiled. He was watching her with that spellbinding gaze of his. Equal parts concern and wonder and . . . something else. She couldn't quite grasp it.

“Okay, let's do it,” he said reaching over and mussing up her already-tangled hair. “I'll go out to the kitchen and get us some fattening snacks. You find something for us to do out here—a game or a DVD or something.”

She smiled at him appreciatively. “Sounds like fun.”

Gaia continued smiling at Skyler as he hopped off the couch and disappeared around the corner to the
kitchen nook. She'd never before met someone so willing to help her. It wasn't just friendship—it was like friendship plus. Friendship squared. Skyler always seemed to know what she needed and made it his all-absorbing mission to make it happen for her, completely subtracting his own needs from the equation.

How did she get lucky enough to find him just when she needed him most?

Power
is so clearly an illusion.

When I was growing up, playing make-believe with all my pals, most of them fought over who would get to be Tarzan or Superman or Caine the Kung Fu Fighter—whatever lame fantasy we happened to be into at the time.

But not me.

I suppose that was one reason they liked hanging out with me. I never presented any real or imaginary threat. Like Darrell Howe would actually cry if he didn't get to be Batman, but I'd always let him. I didn't care. I would much rather be Commissioner Gordon.

To me, that was where the power was. Why would I want to run around bashing my head in when instead I could sit in an air-conditioned “office” (the tree house Dad had built for us, which was, in fact, air-conditioned) and have a superhero at my beck and call?

That's what people don't get.
It's always, ALWAYS better to be the person the hero answers to than the hero himself. After all, Caine had to answer to Master Kan. And considering that Tarzan and Superman would do anything their women told them to, didn't that mean Jane and Lois Lane were actually the more powerful ones?

It only makes sense that someone with supreme power would get others to do their dirty work. And let's face it, Tarzan, Batman, and Superman are all about dirty work. So why be one of the spies when you could be the martini-swilling boss who sends them their self-destructing mission instructions?

Right now I feel like I did then. As if I'm living out my childhood fantasies. I finally have the opportunity to get a true warrior under my control—an opportunity I'd be an idiot to pass up.

It was stupid for me to shower and let Gaia out of my sight, but it doesn't matter. She learned
her lesson. Besides, it allowed me to drop off the hair sample alone without raising her suspicions. And it gave me more time to finish disabling her phone. No more interruptions. The better to work on you, my dear.

Actually, this is much more fun than our stupid childlike fantasies. This is real. Remolding Gaia is like the most thrilling rush ever. For the first time, I know what real power tastes like.

And you know what? It doesn't make me feel like Commissioner Gordon. It makes me feel like King of the Universe.

Freakazoid

THE SMALL BLUE DIE ROLLED ACROSS
the coffee table, stopping just before the edge.
Five.
Gaia bounced her small metal shoe around the game board and landed on Marvin Gardens, where, unfortunately, Skyler owned a big red plastic hotel.

“Damn,” she muttered as she scooped up $1,200 (a good half of her stash) and handed the money to Skyler. Monopoly, she was quickly discovering, was not her thing. Her railroads and utilities had prevented her from going completely broke, but overall it was becoming clear that she did not make a good capitalist.

“So . . . tell me about your love life. Is Jake your first boyfriend?” Skyler asked as he casually tossed the bills onto his stack of play money. She thought it was funny how he never sorted or counted his cash. Maybe rich kids tended to take it for granted, even in games.

“No. There was a guy before him. Ed. He's just a friend now. And one other guy before that. Sam. That one didn't work out either,” she said, reaching for the potato chips. “We had good chemistry, you know. But we disagreed on a lot of things. I was just too . . . different.”

“Sounds complicated.”

You don't know the half of it,
Gaia thought wryly. She sat back on her heels and rubbed her eyes. Skyler wasn't kidding when he'd said he wanted to know everything about her. For the past couple of hours
he'd been determined to hear her complete autobiography—from Huggies to high school. In a way, it was flattering that someone found her so interesting. She'd already told him about her father being in the CIA, but she'd decided not to risk much more truth than that. Still, it was tough editing out certain facts, avoiding certain topics altogether, and inserting the occasional bald-faced lie. He now knew, for instance, that her mom had been killed but that she'd been a victim of a hunting accident. And as far as he knew, she was an only child.

All that mental contorting was wearing her down. And she did feel guilty lying to him. But there was no need for Skyler to find out how freakazoid her real life was. Not yet.

“Hey, there.” Skyler was watching her warily. “You should tell me to shut up if I get too nosy. I don't want to upset you.”

“It's okay,” Gaia reassured him. She loved it when he got all protective of her feelings. Was this what it was like to have a big brother? “Your turn.”

Skyler rolled the dice and plunked his top hat onto the Chance square. “Go directly to jail,” he read aloud. “Do not pass go. Do not et cetera, et cetera.”

“Yes!” Gaia rejoiced. “Now get your butt in the slammer.”

“Aren't you forgetting something?” He held up a crisp yellow card that showed a cartoon guy with
wings flying out of a birdcage. “Get out of jail free,” he read aloud.

“Crap!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “See, this is why I prefer chess.”

Skyler shrugged. “Same game, different board.”

“That's not true at all. Monopoly's half luck. In chess you have to think ahead and—”

“Please!” he interrupted, rolling his eyes. “You sound just like Chris. Don't make me go all big brother on you.”

“Oh, really? What will you do? What do you do to Chris?”

“Chris is easy. All I have to do is get his CD collection out of order and he throws a hissy. But you? You're more complicated. With you I'd probably have to resort to my Liz tactics.”

“And they are . . . ?”

He leaned toward her, raising his hands in a menacing monster sort of way. “Tickling.”

Gaia made a noise somewhere between a shriek and a laugh and leapt to her feet. Skyler followed, pursuing her around the apartment until she ended up trapped between the armchair and stereo cabinet.

She backed up against the wall, holding her elbows close to her rib cage. Never before had she felt such a mixture of fun and fear. As he slowly descended on her, his wriggling fingers inching toward her torso, she stood there cringing but laughing at the same time.

“I haven't even touched you yet,” he exclaimed as she jerked sideways with a screeching giggle.

And suddenly, for the first time in her life, Gaia began to understand the absurd mystery of tickling. It wasn't so much the actual sensation of fingers digging into one's ribs but the anticipation of it that people responded to. She was laughing in expectation. A nervous, manic laugh, full of both dread and exhilaration.

“Don't worry,” he murmured. “I'll go easy on you.”

The next thing she knew, his hands were on her, fingertips burrowing beneath her arms. Gaia let out a loud burst of laughter cut short by a cry of pain.

Skyler instantly drew back his hands. “I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“No. It's okay. I'm just sore is all.” Gaia rubbed the tender spot on her side. Skyler's eyes were so full of pity and concern, the sight of them overwhelmed her. She had to turn away, focusing instead on the nubby weave of the carpet.

A somber air filled the room, as if someone had dumped a bucket of reality on their fun.

“I'm so sorry,” Skyler repeated. He reached forward and lightly grasped her sweatshirt. “Here. Let me see.”

Gaia moved her arms out of the way as he slowly lifted her shirt to reveal the wound.

“Jesus,” he whispered, his fingertips gliding over the raised, credit-card-size welt. His knitted gaze met hers. “Are there more?”

She nodded.

“Show me.”

Skyler led Gaia away from the wall and circled her, inching up her shirt to examine her back and sides. She stood there quietly, wincing as his warm hands touched her raw skin.

“Damn,” he said under his breath.

She couldn't help feeling like some battered, neglected mannequin, but she wasn't going to object. Skyler had the firm-yet-soothing voice of a doctor administering an exam. Plus she liked gaining his sympathy. She wanted more of his big-brotherly concern.

“Come over here,” he said, pulling her over to the bar stools. “We have to do something about this.”

“No, I'll be okay. Really,” she replied with a shrug. But even to her own ears her objection sounded weak.

“Stop it,” he admonished. “I know those have got to hurt. Just let me take care of you.” Setting her down on a stool, he began rummaging through a high kitchen cabinet, eventually pulling out a small tin box. He placed it on the counter and flipped back the lid, revealing a well-stocked first aid kit.

“Here, take off your shirt,” he directed as he unscrewed the cap of a long metal ointment tube.

For a fraction of a second Gaia hesitated. Then she dutifully tugged the sleeves of her sweatshirt off her arms. Again Skyler had that undeniable air of authority—like a doctor or a judge. She was just the
patient. The injured child. She would do as she was told.

Once her arms were freed, Skyler grasped the hem of her sweatshirt and helped her pull it over her head. The cool kitchen air breezed against her bare skin. Gaia felt overwhelmingly awkward, hyperaware of the fact that her breasts were completely visible through the faded meshy material of her bra. She might as well not have been wearing one at all. Under the pretense of being cold, she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest.

This was new. She'd never really been shy of nudity before. It wasn't that she loved her body—in fact, she'd always thought her long limbs and muscular build didn't suit a girl her age, making her seem more like a hard plastic action figure than a real live human. But before now—before fear—she'd just never seen what the big deal was all about.

And just as Gaia only understood nightmares and tickling since the onset of fear, only now did she understand why nudity was an issue. Sitting half naked under the yellow fluorescent lights, she couldn't shake the feeling of being on display. Was he judging her body? Did he think her breasts were too small? Too big? Did he think her bodybuilder arms were gross?

Get over it,
she scolded herself.
He's only trying to help.

Skyler didn't even seem to be watching her. He was
busy opening up bottles and little packets of cotton balls. Soon Gaia felt the cold bite of alcohol being swabbed against her scrapes. She flinched reflexively.

“Sorry,” his voice murmured in her ear. “It'll sting a little.”

After cleaning her cuts Skyler began rubbing a thick, warm cream into her wounds. His touch was deliberate yet gentle, and Gaia slowly relaxed into his care.

“Is that better?” he asked after a while, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Thanks.”