Payback (2 page)

BY THE TIME THE DIGITAL CLOCK
next to her bed switched from 6:59 to 7:00, Heather Gannis had been staring at the red numbers for three hours and twenty-three minutes. Her eyes were dry. Her stomach was empty. But she didn't want to get out of bed. Getting out of bed meant facing her parents. Her sisters. The world in general, and she just wasn't up to it.

The past two days had been bad enough. Waiting for Sam to call. Trying to look like she wasn't waiting for Sam to call. Inconspicuously picking up the phone five times an hour just to make sure the damn thing was still working. It always was.

But now it was morning again. Two whole days had come and gone.

Still no call, even though he'd broken her heart.

And walked out on her.

And told her he was obsessed with Gaia Moore.

After everything she'd been through -- everything she'd tolerated and fought against and forgiven -- this could really be the end. Of SamandHeather. HeatherandSam.

The end of everything.

Heather squeezed her eyes shut, telling herself to get a grip. Self-pity wasn't something she entertained very often. Hardly ever, actually. But it was hard to avoid this time. It was the holidays. The one time of year she wasn't supposed to have to
pretend
to be happy. The one time of year when it usually came naturally. But not now. Thanks to Sam.

The only thing keeping her going was that the words had never been said. No one had said "I think we should break up," or "It's over." Sam hadn't out-and-out dumped her for Gaia. And even though she'd told him she didn't want to see him, it wasn't too late to take it back.
She
had kicked
him
out. She could take him back.

There was still hope.

There was a tentative knock at her door, but Heather ignored it, rolling onto her other side so that the clock wouldn't be able to mock her anymore. She wasn't going to move from this bed until she heard the phone ring. Or until Sam showed up at her door with flowers and possibly jewelry. Until he . . .

"No," Heather said to herself suddenly, finally sitting up and pulling her covers away from her body. She wasn't going to wallow. She refused. Heather knew from experience that there was only one way to deal with a situation like this.

Distraction. Forced activity. She'd get dressed. Go out. See people. Maybe even buy something if she could scrounge up enough cash.

And sooner or later he would call. He had to.

He always did.

Eventually.

GAIA STOOD ON LINE IN THE CAFETERIA
on Monday afternoon between two groups of people who couldn't possibly have been more irritating. The FOHs -- short for Friends of Heather -- and the turtleneck-wearing jock boys. If there was ever a time to cave in to modern technology and use a Walkman, this was it. Words were being wasted all around her, and she would have given anything for a nice pair of headphones and a lot of guitar-type noise.

"Omigod!" one FOH squealed. "You totally should have been at CBGB's last night. The hottest guy opened for Fearless. He was like a Lenny-Rob hybrid."

"Not possible," FOH number two said, sniffing a bowl of Jell-O in a perfect imitation of a rabbit and replacing the bowl on the counter. "God couldn't possibly have blessed anyone with genes like that."

"He's playing again in two weeks," said FOH number three, the one with the biggest hair ever to spring from a scalp. "Come and see for yourself."

"I am so there," FOH number two promised, placing her nearly empty tray in front of the register.
"I
was at the Melody last night, and you ..."

Foe number two trailed off as she glanced in Gaia's direction and noticed her not-staring. Her top lip actually curled up, and she huffed as she turned her back on Gaia, adjusting her tight leather jacket.

"Do you
see
what she's eating?" FOH number one sneered. All three FOHs turned to glare at Gaia's tray. Meatballs. Mashed-potato-like substance. Bowl of Jell-O not sniffed by FOH number two. Roll with tons of butter patties.

"Do you want some creamed corn, hon?" the lunch lady asked in a pleasant voice.

"Yeah," Gaia answered, mostly to disgust the FOHs. It worked. They all exchanged a very unoriginal look of grossed-outedness, paid for their food, and scurried away.

"There you go, hon," the big lady behind the counter said, heaping on the corn. She smiled at Gaia like she always did, and Gaia attempted smiling back. It didn't work, of course, but it was worth the try. Every student in this school might hate her, but at least she was universally loved by the lunch ladies. Gaia was pretty sure she was the only one who actually ate their food.

Gaia handed the woman at the register a crumpled ball of cash and automatically headed for the table she and Ed usually shared. Back corner, underneath the graph that broke down the four food groups. She was about to cut left when someone blocked her path.

This was so not the time for anyone to be starting up with her. Not on a Monday on which she'd woken up with a headache and the knowledge that Sam hadn't contacted her once all weekend.

Actually, maybe someone
should
start with her. She could use a scapegoat. "You're a brave girl," a slow, drawly voice said.

Gaia looked up into the deepest brown pair of eyes she'd ever seen. Spiky, messy hair. Sideburns. Expensive flannel. Not threatening. Definitely not asking for a beating.

"Are you going to move?" Gaia asked, shifting her tray slightly. Bad idea. Her plate of meatballs slid precariously close to the edge, taking everything with it. It was going over, and there was nothing she could do. More public spillage for the Spillage Queen.

"Careful," Sideburns said, righting the tray with lightning-quick reflexes. The kid in the chair next to them pulled himself a little closer to his table.

"Uh, thanks," Gaia told Sideburns. This was exactly the type of situation Gaia attempted to avoid at all costs. Was she supposed to try to converse with the guy, try to ignore him and look cool, try to ...
flirt?
It was all too much for her socially impaired self to handle, so she attempted to move again. Unfortunately, he was still holding on to her tray.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I think you're so brave?" he asked, ducking his chin in an attempt to make eye contact. What was this guy's deal? Was he immune to basic get-away-from-me signals?

"No," Gaia said. Exasperation. There. He had to get that.

He released her tray, crossing his arms over his rather broad chest but not moving out of the way. Gaia turned around to head back in the other direction, but a complicated melange of backpacks, chairs, and legs blocked her path. So much for the ignoring-and-looking-cool option.

When she turned around again, Sideburns was grinning. "It's just that in the three and a third years I've been here, I've never seen anyone eat Greta's meatballs."

Oh, how very original. "There's a first time for everything," Gaia said. She took a step toward him, hoping he wasn't going to force her to take him down with a quick flick of her foot to his shin. He seemed harmless enough, but if she didn't eat soon, this Monday was going to go from suckfest to hell pit in a matter of seconds.

"Okay, okay." Sideburns relented, turning sideways to let her pass. But as he did he flicked a little pink piece of paper out of his pocket and dropped it on Gaia's tray. It had black writing on it, and the only word she could make out without actually appearing to be interested was
music
.

"Having a little party tonight," he said, holding up his hands to give her more room. "You should show."

The irrational part of Gaia's brain couldn't believe that someone had just asked her to a party. Her. Public enemy number one. Other than Ed and Mary, no one had asked her to do anything at all since she'd arrived in New York. Except die, of course. The rational part of her brain formulated a sentence and sent it to her voice box.

"I'd rather sing 'Copacabana' in front of the entire school," she said, moving past him.

Sideburns laughed. "I'll rent a karaoke machine!" he called after her.

Gaia never smiled on Mondays. But if she did, the exchange might have been worthy of one.

AS GAIA LOWERED HERSELF INTO
the chair across from Ed, he plucked a little piece of bright pink paper from her overloaded tray.

"'Come one. Come all,'" Ed read aloud. "'Free beer. Free music. Free love.'" He chuckled and placed the tiny flyer on the table between them. "Going hippie on me, Gaia?"

She lifted one shoulder as she took a swig of her soda. "Some guy gave it to me," she said, jabbing a meatball with her fork. Ed's stomach turned over, and not just because she was actually consuming a cafeteria-made meat substance.

Another guy?

More guys?

Didn't he have enough to deal with?

"Who?" Ed asked, trying to keep the psychotic jealousy out of his voice. It was still there, but if she noticed, she didn't show a sign. She just chomped on another meatball as her eyes scanned the room.

"Him," she said finally, pointing with her fork across the large cafeteria at Tim Racenello. Abercrombie & Fitch boy. Skier. Former friend. Definitely charming. Damn.

"Are you going to go?" Ed asked, pushing his chicken noodle soup sans chicken -- a cafeteria specialty -- around with his spoon.
Please say you're not going to go. Please say you're not going to go.

"Ed. Come on. No," she said.

Cool.

"I was kind of thinking about going to see Sam tonight," she said, actually sounding tentative. "You know, find out . . . if there's anything to find out."

Not cool.

"Well, I'll go if you'll go," Ed offered, putting down his spoon and laying his hands flat on the table. The action helped to keep him from sinking into the bottomless black pit that had opened beneath his chair at the sound of Sam's name. Amazing. It was just one little syllable. Sam. More like a grunt than a name.

Yet it held so much power.

"Go where?" Gaia asked, confused. Ed felt his delirious mind step off its rambling path and snap into the now. He wondered if she thought he was offering to go to Sam's with her. Not likely.

"The party," Ed said, forcing a smirk. "Focus, G."

Gaia froze with a forkful of mashed potatoes halfway into her mouth. It took her a couple of seconds to decide whether to eat or talk. She did both.

"You want to go to this thing," she said as soon as she'd swallowed. Statement. Disbelieving statement. When had he lost the moniker of Ed "Shred" Fargo, party animal? As if he really had to ask that question.

"Tim's pretty cool," Ed told her, hoping against hope she would go against every fiber of her being and agree to go with him. "We used to hang out before my hanging involved the chair."

Gaia's gaze flicked in Tim's direction. "He stopped hanging out with you after . . ." She let the sentence trail off, probably because she still didn't know how Ed had ended up without leg power.

"No," Ed answered the unfinished question. "I stopped hanging out with him. I stopped hanging out with a lot of people." He immediately felt his spirits start to wane. He was coming dangerously close to losing the nonchalant thing he'd gone to great lengths to develop. Clearing his throat, Ed pushed all melancholy thoughts aside. He'd rejoined the social world a long time ago. There was no need to dwell on the dark past. The now demanded his full attention.

"So are you going to go with me or not?" Ed asked, downing a spoonful of his now cold soup. Somehow it tasted better cold. Took the edge off.

"I don't know, Ed. . . ."

She was thinking of Sam. He knew it. He could tell by the regretful little cloud in her eyes. Like she was thinking of him and ashamed of herself for thinking of him. There was only one way to make Gaia agree to party with him. The one way he could get Gaia to do almost anything. Get her angry. Or at least righteously indignant.

"Sam hasn't called, has he?" Ed asked, feeling like the soap scum wad in the corner of his shower. The one with the black mildew gathering on it.

Her eyes flashed. Score one for the soap scum. "No," she said flatly.

"Then why are you planning on going over there?" Ed asked casually, pushing his tray away. It hit Gaia's and moved it an inch over the lip of the table toward her.

"I'm not," she said, pushing her own tray back. Ed's went two and a half inches off the end. At least.

"Then go to the party," Ed said, pushing their trays back so that they were centered evenly on the table. He laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on the arms of his wheelchair. "Screw him."

Gaia blinked. Ed could practically see the little consonants and vowels that made up his words sinking into her brain.

"Fine," she said. "Let's go."