Exposed (14 page)

“I need him,”
the girl shrieked. No one in the park seemed to even register that anything out of the ordinary was going on. Of course, this wasn't all that terribly out of the ordinary for Washington Square Park.

Damn, damn, damn
, Ed thought. He didn't want to make any sudden moves and propel this girl—or her nice shiny knife—straight into Gaia. What were his other choices? He'd only been out of the wheelchair for a few months now, and it wasn't like he had been the Terminator before his injury.
Damn
.

Gaia didn't look frightened, however. Just pissed. “Trust me, you don't want to get into this,” she said coolly.

“You can't hurt me,” the girl whispered. “Even if God's not here. I have his secret medicine.” She drew back her arm, preparing to stab Gaia. “NOW TELL ME WHERE HE IS,” she bellowed.

Gaia reached out reflexively and grabbed the girl's wrist, immobilizing the blade mere inches from her waist. She twisted and the fingers splayed, dropping
the knife to the ground. Ed leaned forward and snatched it up snapping the blade safely back into the handle and clutching it for dear life.

In one smooth move Gaia pulled the girl's other hand off her collar, raised herself to her feet, and yanked the girl up with her.

“My knife!” the girl cried, as if just realizing that it had been taken from her.

“It's his knife now,” Gaia informed her, nodding toward Ed. “Finders keepers, losers weepers.” She let go of the girl's wrist and whaled on her, slamming her fist into God Girl's stomach.

“Oof,” the girl moaned, stumbling backward. She glared at Gaia, her eyes narrowed to slits. “What the hell was
that?”
She charged forward, furious.

Gaia stretched out one leg and stomped on the girl's foot, sending her forward with the force of her own momentum. The girl did a heavy face-plant into the grass, and Gaia kicked at her. Ed noted that Gaia still seemed more irritated than anything else.

Gaia stormed forward and stood over the girl menacingly. “Seriously,” she said.

“Get gone.”

Oookay
.

It looks like Gaia's back.

I still have not the foggiest idea what the
hell
was going on with her the last few weeks, but something tells me that's not going to be cleared up for me anytime soon. Which, I suppose, is okay, because old Gaia is the one that I know and love, and hey—perfect timing! Thrilled to have ya back, sister!

ED
No joke.

The park hasn't been the safest place for me and for those near and dear, but for as many times as something shady has gone down for me, there have been an equal number of times that Gaia has come swooping in like Wonder Woman (though, sadly, without the gold bustier) and saved the day.

Gaia Moore is, like, my hero.

And she's back! How can I complain? She's surly, she's unreliable, she sticks to no one's schedule but her own. She dresses, uh, for comfort, totally
unaware of her own gorgeosity, and she's got the social graces of a leper. She can't be bothered with other people's opinions of her, and she doesn't take BS. And if you mess with her or (dare I flatter myself) her friends—she'll kick your ass.

Hallelujah!

Well, in that case, Fargo
, I ask myself,
what could possibly be your damage?

My damage? It's simple.
Self
, I say (on those rare occasions when I'm inclined to talk to myself, I'm equally inclined to answer. I mean, it's only polite, right?),
why the hell can't you ever get through to Gaia?

I'm selfish, I suppose. Narcissistic. Clearly Gaia is better off as Miss Independent. Clearly she is just fine without needing to hug and share and talk and grow. So my desperate need to be her sole confidant, her savior (as if!), is completely egocentrically motivated.

Human nature is a bitch, right?

But I'd like to think I have
something to offer her as a friend. I'd like to think that if she could bring herself to open up to me, I could find a way to give to her. It would mean something. She would benefit and take comfort. Not to stray too far into delusions of sainthood, but … yeah, it'd be nice to give something back. And since the idea of me busting out like Indiana Jones and saving
her
in the next knife fight is looking reasonably unlikely, this may be all I have.

Why doesn't she want it?

Or maybe she does. A part of me still believes that she does. I mean, she
must
. It's against the laws of God and man not to want to take comfort in one's friends, right?
Right?
It's sociological, or anthropological, or … or … pathological. Some sort of “-logical,” for sure. I mean, it makes sense. Humans need other humans. Adam needed Eve. Frankenstein needed the Bride. Nick needs Jessica.

Okay, maybe scratch that last
one. But you see where I'm going with this.

True, the couples I've named above are:

1. romantically involved rather than platonic; and

2. fictitious (with the exception of Nick and Jessica, who are just, well … really, really scary).

But I'm onto something. I'm sure of it. And the look in Gaia's eyes just before Jesus Freak came flying out of the clear blue sky and sailing into our salsa fresca (“extra, please”) told me she was getting ready to open up. To unload.

And now we've missed our moment.

Maybe I'm expecting too much. Maybe it's unreasonable for me to think that a friendship is always completely egalitarian.
(Egalitarian
. Good use of SAT word, Fargo. And you were afraid that Kaplan class wouldn't come in handy once the hellish tests were over.) Obviously whatever the typical “rules” of friendship
are, they don't apply to Gaia. Obviously I'm going to have to allow her some flexibility if I want her in my life. I thought I was starting to understand her, to get what makes her tick, but who was I kidding? I've barely scratched the surface. I'm still way back in Gaia 101. I've got to understand her before we can move forward.

I've got to learn her rules.

I've got to learn her rules before we can break them.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Guess

Who I ran into on my way out of school today. Fargo looking pathetic, as usual, waiting by Gaia's locker. Doesn't he know how cute he is? He can do soooo much better than that freak! Anyway, he was just sulking around, I guess, when who should saunter in but Queen G herself? Suppose she decided to grace him with her presence. I mean, aren't they supposed to be best friends?

Or
are
they even friends? Like you can even be friends with someone after you break up with them. Like he's not still totally in love with her. And she can't even be bothered to settle on one guy. She has to juggle three people she's not even good enough for. Will wonders never cease? I mean, how
does
she do it?

Not that I care, anyway.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Totally

We are totally not caring, girl! Okay, yes, Gaia's game really gets under my skin—I mean, she is completely undeserving of the male attention that she gets,
especially
what with how she plays everyone—but we can't waste our time thinking about it. We've got
prom
coming up, and graduation! And now college to look forward to. And college boys. Or should I say, college
men?
Really, how much more insignificant will Gaia Moore be to us in the grand scheme of things once we're outta here?

She is nothing. Once a loser, always a loser. We have way bigger fish to fry.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Manly man things

Jake—

I
hate
to bother you, but as you may know, I'm on the prom committee, and, well, I've got a manly man task that needs taking care of. Josh Mayer lent me some speakers—I know the DJ has his own, but these are supposedly
killer—
and we need to transport them to the hotel. I mean, I should be able to just shove them in a cab, but the thing is, I can't really lift them. I know, so lame, but what can I say? I mean, I think the speakers weigh more than I do.

I'm appealing to your sense of chivalry, dude. What do you say?

ps: Megan told me that she saw Gaia go off with Ed this afternoon after school. I think it's great that she's out and about again—I know she's not always …
consistent
with attendance. I'm sure you were glad to see her in the hallways since you're always so inseparable.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Favor

Yeah, okay. I've got some things to take care of in the next few days, but if it can wait until the weekend, sure.

Something about this God guy left a bad taste in his mouth.

urban decay
JAKE SQUINTED INTO THE DAWNING sunlight once more before glancing again first at the digital wristwatch he was sporting and then back to the clock on the BlackBerry Oliver had loaned to him. Yep, three seconds had passed since the last time he checked his watch. It was officially 6:02:03. God was late.

Lifestyles of Urban Drug Pushers
He was being crazy, he knew. It wasn't like any of his watches, though synchronized, were set to, like, the universal clock or whatever (which, come to think of it, might just be an urban myth, anyway—he'd have to look into that). And though his knowledge of the lifestyles of urban drug pushers was blessedly limited, he wasn't totally sure whether or not punctuality was high on their list of priorities. Sighing impatiently and stealing another glance at his watch, he guessed not. Oliver would have
never
stood for this kind of laziness.

Jake was feeling testier than usual, even for a mission like this. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about this God guy left a bad taste in his mouth. A very bad taste. It didn't help that the sky was a clear, cloudless blue, birds were
chirping, and the park was actually, for once, populated with lolling, peaceful people who weren't involved in anything unsavory—just people out to enjoy a pleasant New York morning.
What are the odds?
Jake mused, savoring the irony.

Generally a bright, sunny day in the city would have been a welcome anomaly. Summertime in Manhattan generally brought with it steamy humidity that somehow coaxed the headier smells of urban decay to the forefront. Stale urine, garbage, body odor … these were Jake's fun-time-in-the-summer associations. So these springlike conditions should have been a sheer joy. But instead they were feeding into his anxiety. So incongruous was the sunshine with the task at hand that Jake found the whole experience just that damn much more disconcerting.

6:03:57
.

Not only did Jake not see anyone he suspected was God, but he also didn't see anyone who looked like he or she might be waiting to meet with God, which seemed pretty strange, too. True, he had heard that God only dealt with top-level dealers. But why weren't any of them skulking in the shadows, waiting for him to make his grand appearance? Or
were
they? Could Jake possibly have gotten
that
sloppy? From behind him a tree branch snapped under the weight of someone's foot, and he whirled around.

It was a dog. A freakin' yellow Lab.

Okay, so not God
, Jake thought, breathing deeply.
Not even close
.

He wasn't sure how long to give this man to appear. After all, there was no law saying that God had to be on time. Chances were that he made his own rules and held to his own schedule and that everyone else just worked around him. He could cruise by at seven and not have to worry about jeopardizing his client base.

Or … he could not show up at all. After all, what was Jake even basing his suspicions on? The ramblings of a lunatic, that's what. Real reliable sources. So how long, then, until he gave up?

Gave up, admitted defeat … and crawled back to Oliver in supplication.

Yeah, right
, Jake thought. He'd turn to stone waiting here for some sign of God if that was what it should come to rather than admit to Oliver that he'd fallen short. That he hadn't been able to hack it.

Jake sighed again. At least there was always cool people-watching to be done in the park. For instance, that yellow Lab was really kinda cute, gnawing away on the branch he'd ripped up before. And his owner—a lithe redhead anticipating the season in a strappy tank top—wasn't too bad, either.

And what about … Jake stiffened. It had been a gamble, standing where he was, to the north of the fountain. Who was to say that this was for sure where God was going to be? Jake had decided to come to this
part of the park because this was where his strung-out little informant had stood the other day. And look at that—he seemed to be having a bit of luck.

Jake could hardly have missed the man who was slowly but surely moving into the frame. After all, he wore a long, black trench coat and dark glasses.
Very cliché
, Jake couldn't help but think. His hair was a bright, spiky shade of blue. And now he was leaning casually against a tree and lighting a cigarette.

Blue hair and a weird, long jacket weren't so incredibly novel, so hugely bizarre, against the backdrop of Washington Square Park. Just in front of the fountain Jake could see a man break dancing to the Sex Pistols (no small feat), dressed entirely in gold lamé. Blue hair wasn't exactly extreme. But it was the
way
that the man tilted himself so lightly against the tree. As if he didn't have a concern in the world. As if he were the cat that had eaten the canary.