Fearless: No. 2 - Sam (Fearless) (8 page)

"WAIT, SO YOU RE NOT GOING TO
Robbie's tomorrow night?" Melanie asked Heather, scrambling to keep up with her friend's long, efficient strides. "According to Shauna, it's a two kegger with zero parents."

Heather shook her head. "Nope. Other plans." She smiled in a way that was mysterious and maybe a tiny bit smug. She glanced up the crowded block of Eighth Street. There were two good shoe stores before they even got to Patricia Field, and Melanie and Cory Parkes were already loaded down with shopping bags and struggling to keep up. Heather was famous among her friends for being a very fast walker and an intensely picky shopper, but the truth was, she no longer had a duplicate of her parents' credit card, the way many of her friends did.

"Other plans?" Cory demanded, gulping up the bait as always.

"Sam and I are . . . getting together," Heather offered.

"So bring him to the party," Melanie said, falling back for a moment as she rearranged her bags between her tired hands.

"I promised him we'd be alone for once," Heather explained.

"Oooh. Does this mean you're taking things to the next level?" Cory asked.

Heather smiled ambiguously. "It's a thought."

Melanie was getting that look. Her face crumpled a little when conversation turned to Sam, partly because she was envious that Heather had a mythically desirable boyfriend but also because it got in the way of Melanie's supercontrolling go-girl solidarity. Heather had a
pessimistic feeling
that Melanie's allegiances would change once she found a guy she thought was worthy.

"Besides," Heather said. "You know I can't drag him to high school parties anymore." She pulled up short at Broadway Shoes, one of their regular destinations. "Do you want to go here?" she asked.

"Let's go straight to Patricia Field," Melanie said. "They have these really cute mod dresses."

Cory strode alongside Heather eagerly. "Are you going to get the orange skirt with the thingies along the bottom you tried on last time? It looked so, so cool on you."

Heather shrugged. "Maybe. The lining was kind of itchy." The lining was only mildly itchy; the skirt cost ninety-five dollars.

They were a few yards down the block from Ozzie's Cafe when Heather's stomach dropped. It was funny. She saw Ed Fargo most days of her life. It had been over two years since they'd broken up. Yet still her physical reaction on seeing him was always the same -- sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker,
but always present.

He was sitting in his wheelchair at a front table by the window, seeming to scan every person who passed. His dark hair was crying out to be combed, and his awful midnineties cargo pants belonged in a Dumpster. But Ed managed to be powerfully attractive nonetheless. His jaw was a little sharp and his straight nose was a little long, but he had possibly
the most beautiful mouth that had ever graced the face of a man.
The parts of his face, though not flawless the way Sam's were, came together in a striking and disarming way.

As often happened, Heather had that strange, sad feeling of disconnect, knowing the ghost of the person she'd loved desperately, the one with legs that worked, was lurking within the person in the ghastly wheelchair, who needed special ramp entrances and kneeling buses.

She was shallow. She knew that. Ed was still the same person inside. He was still the same person inside. No matter how many times she said it and thought it,
she couldn't make herself believe it.

She stopped abruptly and rapped on the glass. Ed looked up and smiled. It was a guarded smile. She was in a position to know the difference.

Her friends were already several steps ahead, but they had stopped now and were waiting for her. "Go ahead," she called, waving them on. "I'll meet you there in, like, five minutes." When they paused, she gestured again, less patiently. "Go. I swear I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Once her friends started walking again, Heather stepped into Ozzie's and was embraced by the thick smell of coffee. "Hey, Ed," she said, sitting down in the empty chair across from him.

"Hey," he said back. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just, you know, shopping with the girlfriends."

Ed nodded.

"You're waiting for someone?" Heather asked. Before he had a chance to answer, she said, "Let me guess. Gaia Moore, right?"

He looked uncomfortable. "No, not really."

"Oh, come on."

"What?" Ed said defensively. "Sometimes she comes by here after school and we have coffee. Sometimes I have coffee by myself."

Heather put her index finger on a drop of coffee that had spilled on the table. She spread the liquid in a widening circle. "You guys have gotten to be good friends, it seems like."

"Yeah."

Heather laughed at a memory,
pretending it was impulsive.
"Did you hear about her classic line in Rupert's class today?"

Though still guarded, Ed now looked interested in spite of himself. "No. What?"

"Rupert asked her why she wasn't paying attention, and Gaia said, and this is an exact quote, 'I was thinking about sex. I was thinking about having sex.' " Heather laughed again. "What a freak. People were mimicking her all afternoon. I'm surprised you missed it."

Ed waited for her to finish without even a smile. What had happened to the guy's sense of humor?

Heather needed a way in. She needed to make Ed talk to her. She sat back in her chair and rolled a piece of her hair between her finger and thumb.

"I've heard Gaia's stoking a major crush," she said, tossing a dart into the winds.

Ed remained wary. "Oh, yeah?"

"So says the rumor mill," Heather said provocatively. She took a
calculated risk
with a second dart. "Word is, the crush is on you. Tannie got a look at her notebook in precal. . . ."

Bull's-eye. Ed's cheeks flushed. He met her eyes with poorly masked excitement and curiosity.

On the one hand, Heather was pleased that her instincts served her so well. On the other hand, it pissed her off that Ed was obviously falling victim to Gaia, too.
Had Gaia Moore been put on earth to punish her?

Ed crumpled an empty sugar packet tightly between his fingers. "I don't know about that," he mumbled. Guarded as he was, he did want to talk. "I think it's more about sex."

Heather yawned. Once she got started, it was genuine. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know." Ed seemed to wave a thought away. "She wants to lose her virginity. I guess if she's telling Ms. Rupert's class about it, it's not a big secret."

Heather looked in her purse, ostensibly for lip balm. "And who's the lucky guy?" she said suggestively.

"She hasn't said. It's a mystery."

"Aha." In near perfect detail, Heather's mind called up the image of Gaia and Sam sitting together on that bench in the park. Heather was starting to get an unpleasant feeling about this.

Heather located the tube of Chap Stick and ran it over her lips. "It's not a mystery to me," she said confidently.

"What do you mean?" Ed asked tentatively, crushing the bit of paper in his palm.

"It's obvious," Heather said, getting up from the table, "that the lucky guy is you."

It was a mean thing to say since Heather didn't believe it, but when she saw the naked hope and pleasure in Ed's eyes, her anger took over and she told herself he deserved it.

Stupid, moron, shit-head CJ was sticking his stupid gun in her face again.

EVER SINCE SHE'D WOKEN FROM THAT
dream, Gaia was so distracted, she could hardly remember to breathe regularly or feed herself or put one foot in front of the other when walking.

Ow. She kicked her big toe hard against a ledge in the cracked cement sidewalk and stumbled forward.

She certainly couldn't be bothered to come up with
appropriate kiss-ass behavior
for the vice principal, which was why she'd sat through detention, which was why she was walking home late.

She arrived at the corner of the park. Cut through or take the long way?

In her state, the right thing to do was go around. How was she going to make the dream happen if she got shot today?

She cut through, anyway. To do anything else was
purely against her nature.

Would Sam be at the chess tables today, and if so, what should she say? It was time to get serious about her plan. No more being shy. No more being awkward. Her dream emboldened her.

Oh God, and there he was. She spotted him from the back, playing chess with Zolov. His elbow rested on the edge of the table, and he cradled his head in his hand. The last of the day's sun turned his tousled hair into gold. She could see a bit of his profile, the sensual curve of his mouth.

It was the perfect opportunity to proposition him, but she couldn't seem to make her feet go forward. She called up the dream again, but far from emboldening her, it turned her cheeks red and made her feel very shy. Those were the lips that had made her feel . . .

She heard scrambling behind her and spun around.
Oh, shit
. She took off at a run. CJ was lying in wait, of course, as she certainly knew he would be. Why was she so stupid? Couldn't she give up the death wish for even a day or two? At this rate she
deserved
to die
a lonely, bitter, parentless virgin.

She cursed herself as she sprinted through the park and westward toward Sixth Avenue. It would be busy there this hour, hopefully busy enough to lose him.

Gaia raced onto the avenue.
Beeeep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!

"Get the
hell
out of the
street!
" somebody screeched.

A maroon commercial van swerved to avoid her and plowed into the back of a taxicab. Gaia heard the crumpling of metal. The taxi rear-ended a black Mercedes-Benz convertible. The Mercedes drove up onto the sidewalk and crushed its headlight against a parking meter.

Oh, Jesus. Gaia ducked behind a stopped garbage truck as the air filled with shouting drivers slamming doors and the excited buzz of pedestrians crowding to watch the show. No one was hurt, Gaia was pretty sure of that, and the chaos gave her a second to collect herself. She spotted CJ on the curb, his eyes wildly scanning the street for her.

Don't move
, she told him silently.
I'll be right there
.

This was all she needed -- a chance to see him without being seen. She noticed with huge relief that he'd stuffed the gun back in his jacket. The sidewalk where he stood had largely emptied of people, who were drawn to the activity a little ways down the street.

Ducking as she crept along, she used the line of stopped cars to conceal herself. She had him directly in her sights,
not ten feet away.
Now go!

She pounced. In a single graceful move she captured both of his arms and wrenched them behind his back. She dragged him several yards off the busy avenue to the relative backwater of Minetta Lane. CJ growled and twisted his body to free his arms. He succeeded, or at least he thought so. The truth was,
she was happy to let him come at her
as long as the gun stayed out of his hands.

"Bitch," he hissed at her with a snarl. He took a step back to get some leverage, drew back his right arm, and launched his fist at her face. She dodged it easily. She felt relaxed, even -- shamefully -- a little excited. For Gaia a fistfight against one other person hardly drew a sweat.
And CJ was just the kind of asshole she most enjoyed putting in his place.

He hauled off again, this time aiming the punch at her stomach. She caught it long before it landed. His exertion threw him so far off balance, she used the offending arm to lay him out on the pavement with the smallest effort.

He quickly found his feet and stood up, bellowing a long string of obscenities. He was squaring off, spitting mad, trying to find some way at her.

All right. It was tempting to linger but not a good idea. Time to close this thing out. He leaped at her sloppily, swinging both arms. She ducked and landed a swift, hard jab in his stomach. He doubled over, unable to breathe. She kicked him on the shoulder and sent him sprawling to the pavement. Now she knelt by his head, wrapped her forearm around his neck, and pulled him up onto her lap. She plunged her other hand roughly into his jacket, feeling around for the gun.

CJ gaped at her with surprise and fear, still unable to catch a breath.
He probably thought she was going to kill him.
And he did deserve it. What a joy it was to reverse their roles, to have him right where she wanted him. He should have known he didn't have a prayer against her one-on-one. Few people did. That wasn't bragging; it was just a fact. The gun was what threw everything.

"Don't you know better than to open fire in a crowded street, you stupid bastard?" she barked at him. Where was the damn gun? She tightened her grasp on his neck and made her way through his pockets. CJ's dark red wool cap got pushed to the side, revealing his stubbly bald head.

Unpleasant as it was, Gaia jammed her hand down his shirt. She saw the ugly black hieroglyphs carved into the skin of his chest
and made a mental note to never, ever consider getting a tattoo.

Okay. Now she was getting somewhere. She felt the cold butt of the gun with her fingertips. What a huge relief. In a rush of hopefulness she felt the possibility of this whole insane episode coming to an end and the world stretching out with her alive in it.

Maybe she could calm down about this sex thing and go about a relationship like a normal human being. Maybe she could take on the search for her dad in a thoughtful and intelligent way.

She gripped the gun, which CJ had secured in the tightly belted waistband of his pants.

Maybe she could --

Gaia shouted in surprise as an arm closed around her own neck. Her thoughts scattered, and she lost her hold on the gun as she was wrenched backward.

"Leave the kid alone!" a voice thundered much too close to her ear. She snapped her head around to look over her shoulder. Less than a foot away was the red face of a very large man in a disheveled suit jacket and tie.

What --?

The large man dragged her back another few feet. By now CJ had sprung to his feet and lightly patted the gun still tucked in his pants.

"Did she get your wallet off you?" the man asked CJ, concern clear in his voice. "You go tell the police all about it, son. There's a squad car around the corner."

Unbelievable.
Gaia was speechless.

This guy wasn't a friend of CJ's, a fellow thug from the park, as she'd briefly imagined. This was a suit-wearing, forty-something-year-old, white-collar stranger on his way home from work. This was an angry citizen taking justice into his own hands. A vigilante. He believed she was mugging CJ. He was
protecting
CJ!

What an awful joke. CJ, out on bail, concealing an illegal weapon, had every reason not to seek the help of New York's finest. He only stayed long enough to sneer at Gaia, pull his hat back down over his ears, and smile.

"You're dead!" CJ shouted over his shoulder at Gaia as he took off at a run into the bedlam of the Village on a Friday night.

The big guy was practically strangling Gaia, but she was too miserable at the moment to do anything about it.

"I've heard about girl gangs," the man was saying, not to Gaia, but not to anyone else, exactly. "That kid may not want to turn her in, but you can be sure I'm not letting her go."

Obviously the man meant it because he started yanking Gaia toward Sixth Avenue. Was there any point in telling him the magnitude of his mistake?

"Um, sir?" She loosened his grip around her neck so she could breathe and speak. "You have to let me go now." She locked her feet on the pavement and stood firm.

He stood up tall and puffed out his chest in indignation, even as he attempted to
crush her trachea.
He was at least six feet four and very powerfully built. His hair was dark and thinning on top. He looked like an ex-offensive lineman. Unless he was some kind of wretched, hypocritical wife beater, he probably wasn't used to fighting girls.

"Kids like you gotta be kept off the street," the man told her. "I don't want to hear any sob stories. You can save it for the cops."

Gaia sighed. Things were not going her way. "Look, sir," Gaia said reasonably. "I don't want any more violence tonight, but if you won't let me go, I'm going to have to force you, and it could hurt."

The man looked at her in disbelief. Then he laughed dryly. "You're going to hurt
me?"

"I don't want to. I realize you're just trying to help out. I appreciate that."

He laughed again.

"I'm serious," Gaia said. "Let me go now."

He stared at her with
undisguised amusement.
"You're scaring me."

"Sorry, then," Gaia said flatly.

She gave him about ten more seconds to withdraw. She actually did feel bad, but what was she supposed to do? She wasn't getting booked and spending several more hours of her life in a police station. It brought back memories of the worst hours of her life. There was just no way.

She placed both of her hands on the man's arm that circled her neck. Without any more force than necessary, she took a deep breath and
flipped him over her shoulder onto the ground.

He landed hard, what with being so huge and old. He let out a terrible squawk. As he lay there writhing in discomfort, staring at her as if she'd grown second and third heads, all traces of amusement disappeared from his face. She hoped very genuinely that he would feel better tomorrow.

"Sorry," she said again before she ran off.