Wired (3 page)

Of course, maybe he
was
legitimately worried. He, of course, would know better than anyone what Loki was capable of when he was carrying out a vendetta. One thing she was certain of now: Sam knew how Gaia felt about her uncle, and he'd never prey on her
fears in a sleazy attempt to reconnect with her. If he was worried, there was probably good reason for it.

She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and called up her phone book. Sam's new number was the third entry. She scrolled through her negligible directory until his name appeared on the screen. Her fingers hovered over the call button, hesitating.

Gaia was so frustrated. Why would her own boyfriend refuse to see her side of things? Why couldn't he just take her word for it? Was Sam truly the only person who understood Gaia intrinsically? Was she fated to live mired in the past, unable to bond with someone who hadn't lived through the horrors of her life with her? Did this mean that Jake would never understand her? That she could never move on?

It figured.

She stopped in front of a newspaper dispenser, seeing that the latest free
Village Voice
had been distributed. She could use a little left-wing polemic to lighten the load of the day she'd had. Whatever. She'd go back to the boardinghouse, crash, maybe read some hipper-than-thou movie reviews, and put this whole encounter out of her mind. She leaned forward and reached into the dispenser, grabbing a paper from the top of the stack, slamming the door shut, and straightening again.

Wham!
“Hi, pretty girl,” a face murmured, hovering without warning mere inches from her own, dry lips stretching across yellowed teeth. “Can I have one, too?”

It was a random homeless man—totally common for New York City and especially common on a random Village street corner. She knew, without looking, that the streets weren't completely deserted, that there were any number of corner markets where she could quickly seek solace if she were truly concerned. But this man was no threat. Possibly lacking a screw or two,
definitely
in desperate need of a toothbrush, but not dangerous. She
knew
all of this reflexively.

It didn't matter. She jumped, shrank back from his probing hands, and without a word turned and fled.

Though she tried her best to keep her pace even, she retreated pretty damn quickly. She practically ran.

She practically ran like a
girl
.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Oliver

Sam—

I know we talked about your needing to start a new life, on your own, and I don't blame you for needing some distance from me. When I think about the dangers I involved you in, I don't have the words to apologize. So I will let you move on, but I need to tell you one thing: I think you were right. About Oliver, that is. I think he's… losing control. I think Loki is coming back. And I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'll do if—

[delete]

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Fear

Ed—

I won't even bother to pretend that I didn't just freak out in the hospital with you. There'd be no point, since for some strange and totally irritating reason you always seem to be able to see right through me. And since you can read me anyway, I figure I might as well tell you what was going on with me in that room. What's been going on with me, how I may have made a huge mistake, and now suddenly I am fearful of every creak on the staircase—

[delete]

Jake was obviously more partial to a contrite and touchy-feely Gaia than to a stubborn, hard-ass Gaia.

“YOU ARE GOING TO LOVE ME,” KAI proclaimed, taking a bright pink vinyl messenger bag off her shoulder, setting it down on one of the uncomfortable molded plastic chairs reserved for hospital visitors, and producing from within it a monster-sized chocolate chip cookie. She leaned across the bed and handed it to Ed. “Courtesy of Taylor's. Since I know the hospital food was starting to get you down,” she explained. “And we have to keep your strength up.”

“Excellent. But what will
you
eat?” Ed teased. The cookie was easily big enough to feed three people. He broke off a hunk and chewed blissfully.

“This may be your last chance for rebellion against the hospital diet” Kai mused aloud. “Seeing as how you're going to be sprung tomorrow.” She seemed as thrilled about it as Ed was, if that were possible.

“We should enjoy this while it lasts” Ed agreed. “You roc. You're like a crazed escape artist or something, ditching school and smuggling contraband junk food into the hospital. I'm leading you into a life of crime. I'm bringing you down.”

“I'll be Bonnie to your Clyde, no problem. I live for danger” Kai assured him.

Ed grinned through a mouthful of chocolate. With
her graphic T-shirt and oversized lavender cords, Kai didn't look particularly dangerous, but he was willing to play along. After all, he was genuinely glad that although they'd agreed not to date, he and Kai really could be friends. He still felt a little bit guilty that he hadn't been able to be a true boyfriend to her. Apparently he was so lame that he was still sort of semi-pining over Gaia, but shockingly, Kai had been totally understanding, and their breakup had been refreshingly drama free. One more reason why he was a total freak not to be with her. But it was okay. He was just glad that they could still enjoy each other's company. Jokes about killer couples on the lam had much more to do with her low-key attitude than with any lingering feelings for him, he was sure. He nudged a piece of cookie at Kai, but she refused it.

“I just ate,” she protested. “Anyway, it's for you.”

Ed frowned. He couldn't get used to Kai's birdlike appetite. Sure, he had dated Heather Gannis, and she and her cronies had practically been
born
on the South Beach Diet, but lately he'd been spoiled by women with heartier appetites.

Woman, Fargo. One woman
.

He tried to push the thought out of his mind, but it was true. There was one woman he knew with the ability to outeat a trucker, and despite the fact that Kai was beaming amicably at him with electric-blue-rimmed eyes, he couldn't get that one woman out of his mind.

Gaia.

Was he destined to live out his days like this, impossibly hooked on a girl he couldn't have? He and Gaia had been friends—
best
friends—and then more than friends, and here they were, things more awkward than ever. She'd gotten back together with her ex, Sam, or so Ed had thought (she swore they weren't involved, but it didn't take a genius to read the way they looked at each other), and now she was clearly being courted by Jake Montone. And she didn't seem to mind one bit.

Ed wished he could believe that the only reason Gaia was on his mind was because she had been acting so strange lately. The last time she visited him, she was skittish, practically afraid of her own shadow—not at all the kick-ass chick he'd fallen in love with. And she had seriously wigged when he mentioned Heather's visit from the CIA. So much so that he'd refrained from ever following up with her, which was a direct violation of their no-BS policy. He himself wasn't convinced that ignoring what had happened with Heather was a good idea, but he didn't think now was the time to dig deeper with Gaia—and he didn't know who else to turn to.

So yeah, it made perfect sense for Ed to be thinking about Gaia in the context of a concerned friend, to be sure. He'd have to be a coldhearted freak not to notice when his ex-best friend/girlfriend/who the hell knew
what suddenly went from being crouching tiger to being afraid of her own shadow. But as for what to do about it, he had no idea whatsoever.

“Ed, your call,” Kai admonished, her voice breaking into his reverie.

“Huh? What?” It took Ed a minute to recover from his little internal monologue.
Smooth, Fargo
, he told himself as he frantically swept cookie crumbs from the bedspread to the floor. “Here. All clean.”

“Right, 'cause I'm such a neat freak,” she said, smiling. “Forgot the crumbs. Obviously you were totally captivated by what I was just saying. Listen: big-decision time. Daytime television gives us two choices: you've got soaps or talk shows. Your call.”

And that was just it. Plain and simple. Kai always made the choices easy for him. But it didn't make him feel any more for her. It didn't make her… Gaia.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Prom attire

So—

Just saw the cutest dress ever at BCBG SoHo during lunch. I put it on hold. Wanna come after school to check it out? Would
love
a second opinion.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Re: Prom attire

Totally. Can't wait. But don't you think it'll be hard to, like, totally get into the spirit of prom and graduation and stuff with all of the serious stuff going on lately? I mean, Ed in the hospital and that creepy “Droog” violence? It freaks me out.

And speaking of creepy, just saw Gaia Moore in her usual sweats du jour—big change from the little black dress of Wednesday night, you know? I mean, could someone please get the girl a brush? Tell me what a hottie like Jake Montone—who
clearly
understands the importance of personal grooming—sees in a girl like that? I'm still thinking we should plan a little low-level revenge since she did lie to us about the party—whether everyone else is into it or not.

Anyway, let's meet on the steps after last period. I need caffeine if I'm going to keep my strength up shopping.

LOCAL DROOGS ENGAGE IN A LITTLE OF THE OLD ULTRAVIOLENCE

IV heads, or “Droogs,” as they are coming to be known by the media, may have a new way of getting their fix. The next wave of testosterone highs comes from an “Orange,” so named because it comes in the form of a tab stamped with small orange polka-dot icons. These “Oranges” are the most concentrated form of IV available, and those who're hooked are acting out
Clockwork Orange
style—that is to say, indulging in a little of the old ultraviolence. IV almost completely inhibits fear, leaving those who've taken it free to wreak havoc around town in the form of pranks—some harmless, some less so. Police report that vandalism is up 12 percent since Oranges hit the scene and petty burglary 22 percent. Washington Square Park, sources report, has been heavily hit, and it is recommended that Village School students avoid the park after sundown.

“You don't want to be out in the park—or even anywhere near there—once the sun is down,” Sergeant Mike Donovan warns. “The Droogs aren't like other JDs. They're more like serious addicts. Which means dangerous with a capital
D
. They're not afraid of anything.”

With prom and graduation rapidly approaching, we at the Village School have to wonder if the escalation of IV-related crimes is going to rain on our
end-of-the-year parade. Prom night, for example, traditionally known for its high levels of underage drinking and drug use, may be more closely monitored. But according to Principal Hickey, there are at present no intentions to alter plans for graduation or prom. “We see no reason not to carry on as usual,” Hickey confirmed, “though we may heighten our security. Neither graduation nor prom should be affected by this recent wave of petty crime.”

Which means that for the time being, at least, prom and graduation—as well as all related events and ceremonies—will continue as planned.

GAIA FINISHED SKIMMING THE NEWS-paper article in the latest
Village School Weekly
and pushed the paper aside. She picked listlessly at her lunch—something vaguely Italian swam in a sea of watery red sauce, but it wasn't doing the trick—and thought about the Droogs. So they were fearless, huh? It was ironic that this group of tweakers would replicate her very own questionable genetic mutation at the same time that she was acutely, unavoidably fearing just about everything that she encountered. The idea of a bunch of scumbags getting their jollies in
her
park, making life unsafe for
her
friends was the type of thing that would normally have motivated her to kick some serious ass. She'd have
deliberately
headed to the park, looking for losers to stomp on. But now? Now she found herself distractedly thinking about prom, relieved, surprisingly, to hear that it was going to be held as usual but uncertain as to whether or not she'd be in attendance.

“You finished with that?” A skate rat she recognized as one of Ed's pre-accident thrill seekers leaned over her shoulder to get a better glimpse of the newspaper headline. He was breathing all over her Italian
surprise, she noted, which did nothing to enhance her interest in it.

“Huh? Yeah, take it” Gaia practically shoved the paper at him to get him off her back and out of her personal space. She pushed her lunch tray farther away, certain she wasn't going to touch it again.

“Sucks about prom, right?” the skate rat continued, smiling affably enough at her. Incredibly, he didn't seem to be picking up on her leave-me-alone vibe.

She managed a halfhearted grin. She definitely couldn't afford to alienate any other member of the student body, especially right now, after she'd pretty much killed any real chance she had of fitting in with the FOHs. Her internal monitors were on the fritz. Everyone was putting her on edge, and even the most benign gesture set off her sensors. Gaia wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy under the best of circumstances, but this was extreme. “I guess,” she grunted.