Payback (5 page)

ONE PAIR OF CORDUROYS

One pair of jeans

Two flannels

One V-necked shirt

A Hawaiian print button-down

Two baseball caps

One fisherman's cap

A pair of sunglasses

Two pairs of sneakers

One pair of in-line skates (for kicks)

Three T-shirts

One pocket watch

One fedora

THREE PAIRS OF JEANS

Five of her sister's skirts

One skirt of her own

Three pairs of earrings

Her mother's pearls

One headband

Two barrettes

Three colors of lipstick, all in the brown family

One pair of ribbed tights

Four pairs of shoes -- one clunky, one practical, two deadly

Two belts

Five blouses

One sweater

Two perfumes

Five bags

One choker

ONE T-SHIRT

One hooded sweatshirt

One pair of cargo pants

One pair of sneakers

One blue sock

One black sock

One piece of Bubble Yum

HEATHER GANNIS WAS NOT A STALKER. She might have looked like one, hanging out in the shadows on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Tenth Street -- across the street from Sam's dorm -- intently staring past the traffic on Tenth to keep a constant watch on the door. But she defini ely was no a stalker. She was a girl with a boyfriend who was ignoring her. And that merited certain covert action.

Okay, certain stalkerish covert action.

Heather rubbed her gloved hands together and cupped them in front of her mouth, blowing into her palms. Her toes were tingly in her sexy-yet-unprotective shoes, and goose bumps were fighting their way to existence even under her thick wool coat.

Where was he? Sam was generally a nice guy. Couldn't he cut a nonstalker some slack?

The glass door of the dorm swung open just as a stiff wind blew directly into Heather's eyes, stinging them painfully and blurring her vision. There was a tall person-blob making his way down Fifth toward her, bending into the wind with his books tucked under his arm. It had to be him. Heather couldn't see his face clearly, but she could feel it in her gut. And the butterflies surrounding her heart started to do a nervous little dance.

It was show time.

She tossed her hair from her shoulders. Pressed her lips together. Straightened her posture. And started to search through her purse.

He had to see her first. That was key in the whole nonstalker plan.

Searching. Searching. He was coming across Tenth now. Searching. But there wasn't much more to search through. He was walking. Walking. He was right there. Her heart started to pound, and the search for nothing became more frantic. He was . . . He was . . . He was passing her by.

What?

"Sam?"

He stopped and turned around slowly, his whole body rigid. His face registered surprise, but the rest of him was pure discomfort.

Good.

"Heather," he said. He was probably expecting another fight. Or at least a reprimand for not having returned her e-mails and phone calls. He was in for a surprise.

"Hi!" she said brightly, walking up to him and givhim a quick kiss on the cheek. His stubbly face was still warm from inside, and as mad as she was at him, part of her just wanted to cuddle into him and not let go. Instead she pulled away quickly, pleased that he looked shocked. "Where are you going?" she asked.

It took him a moment to realize it was his turn to speak. "Library," he said. His gaze flicked over her outfit, and it was all Heather could do to keep from grinning. Now he would ask her where
she
was going, and she could say --

"I'd better get going," he said.

Wait. That wasn't his line.

"Uh . . ."

And that definitely wasn't hers.

Sam's face creased with regret, and he shoved his free hand into his pocket. "Listen," he said, backing away slightly. "I know we have to talk, but finals are next week, and I just got slammed with all this work --"

"I'm going to a party," Heather heard herself say. At least she thought it was her who had spoken. Her voice had come out sounding more like a plastic doll's with a voice box and a string.

"Good," Sam said. He couldn't care less.

What was going on here? When had she lost control of the situation? And why did it suddenly seem like all of the bundled-up passersby on the sidewalk were mocking her? Laughing at her. Telling her to wake up and see that it was all over.

Sam was on the move again. Backing away to freedom. "Well, I really have to . . ."

And then Heather was struck with an idea. She knew how to get his attention. And maybe hurt him the way he'd already obliviously hurt her.

"Everyone's going to be there," she said nonchalantly. "Tim, Megan, Ed, Gaia."

He stopped, and Heather's heart tore free from the veins and arteries that kept it alive. She hadn't counted on more hurt for her.

"Gaia?" he said.

Somehow Heather smiled a beautiful, perfect smile. "Yeah!" she said, now backing away herself. "Tim Racenello invited her. You should have seen how psyched she was. I don't know, but I think there may be something there. You know?" She tucked her hair behind her ear and continued to beam as if she were talking about her best friend finding true love. "Well, have fun studying."

As if he was going to get any work done now. He was going to sit in the library, obsessing about this. Heather could tell by the stricken look on his face. Unreal. He didn't even try to hide it.

She turned and plunged onto Fifth Avenue without even looking up at the traffic light. Part of her truly hoped a nice downtown bus would come along and flatten her. It wasn't like it could do her much more damage.

GAIA STOOD IN THE MOST INCONSPICUOUS
corner of Sideburns Tim's apartment and watched the door, silently cursing Ed Fargo's name. Had they or had they not said they would be here at eight o'clock? She'd even swiped one of Ella's watches to make sure she'd be here on time. That was the last time Gaia would ever even consider being considerate.

There was something weird about this party. It was different from the last, and only, party she'd been to since she arrived in New York. The lights were dim. The music was low. Scented candles dotted the room, lending a heady aroma. Everyone seemed mellow. Comfortable. Cozy. It made Gaia want to crawl out of her skin. She gripped her water glass as if it were the only familiar object in the room.

"Gaia Moore?"

The grip on the glass tightened dangerously. It took Gaia about three seconds to recover from the surprise of someone actually saying her name. Of course, it was Megan Stein. Heather's right-hand snob, looking oh so fetching in some half-sweater thing over some half-shirt thing. She was standing there with another FOH, and each of them was sporting such overexaggerated expressions of shocked disgust, they could have just walked off a sitcom set.

"What are
you
doing here?" Megan asked, glancing at her friend, who smiled and looked away. Like the remark was so clever, she could barely contain her laughter. Like she really cared about sparing Gaia's feelings.

"Having the time of my life," Gaia answered flatly.

Megan let out a short laugh. "It must be so fascinating to be so weird," she said, looking Gaia up and down. Gaia immediately wished she had worn something a little less street rat chic, then immediately hated herself for having the thought. She placed her drink down on the glass-topped table next to her. When her inner Gaias were having conversations among themselves, it was definitely time to bail.

"Leaving?" Megan asked, arching one eyebrow.

Gaia wasn't about to waste another syllable on the girl. She pushed by Megan and her silent partner. She could practically feel the cold outdoor air on her skin. The second she hit the street, she was going to find a pay phone, call Ed and ream him out, then call Mary and tell her not to bother leaving the house. What was she thinking coming here, anyway? Did she think she was going to have fun? At this point, it was pretty obvious that on top of being less one fear gene, Gaia was also missing the gene that allowed enjoyment of life.

"Aw, look," Megan said from somewhere behind her. "We scared her away."

Stopping in her tracks, Gaia felt her hands ball into fists. Ignore her. Ignore her. Ignore her. Megan wasn't worth it. Heather, maybe, but not Heather Junior.

"Want me to kick her butt for you?"

Gaia glanced over her left shoulder. It was a guy. Tallish. Asian. Black hair almost hardened by gel.
GQ
handsome. Definitely Young Entrepreneurs of America. Definitely not the type of person who usually talked to Gaia of his own volition.

"What?" Gaia said, narrowing her eyes.

He walked over, brushing Gaia's arm with his own, and leaned one shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He studied Megan from across the room. "Because I think I could take her," he said. "I'm stronger than I look."

Flirting. Did everyone know how to do this but her? "I don't know," Gaia said flatly, pushing her hair behind her ears. "Girls like that have this habit of scratching. It's not pretty."

He laughed, and Gaia almost looked behind her to see who'd caused his mirth. But then she realized he was looking at her, his black eyes shining in the soft light. So he thought she was funny. Wittiness had slipped from her tongue.

"You should stay," he said, reaching past her to a bowl of peanuts on the counter. He grabbed a handful and cracked one open, letting the little shell shards pepper the plush burgundy carpet. He lifted his chin in Megan's direction. "She's a messy drunk. In about an hour I'm sure we could convince her to strip or chop off all her hair or something."

A short laugh bubbled out of Gaia's throat, and the guy smiled. She felt her face turn bright red. Had she been partially possessed or something?

"What's your name?" he asked, munching on a peanut and holding out a handful to her.

Gaia took one and crushed it in her fist, adding her debris to his. "Gaia," she said.

He glanced at her peanut crumblings with an impressed smirk and held out his hand. "Charlie," he said. "You have no idea how nice it is to meet you."

THE REFLECTION WAS ALL BLURRY. Heather couldn't decide if she was drunk or if the Racenellos needed to remodel their bathroom. She turned on the faucet, stuck her hands under the water, and immediately pulled them away.

"Ow. Hot," she squealed, holding the side of her hand to her mouth and sucking on the reddened skin. Then she laughed. "Definitely buzzed," she told herself. She smiled contentedly. It was nice to be buzzed.

Heather was about to turn toward the door and go when she heard a faint pounding. She paused and squinted around. Where was that coming from? She padded across the large bathroom, looking at the ceiling, the tub, the tiled walls. Then suddenly the glass shelves rattled, and Heather jumped.

"Oh, Michael."

It was faint, but she heard it. Accompanied by another rattle of shelves. Heather laughed and covered her mouth with one hand.

"They're having
sex,
" she whispered incredulously, her eyes wide. As if she didn't know half the bedrooms had already seen a ton of action tonight. She tiptoed over to the wall and put her ear to the cold tile. Somehow she could only hear less that way, so she pulled back again.

"Baby, you're so hot," Michael said. Heather almost gagged. How cheesy was that? Whoever that girl was, she should wake up and smell the bad cologne. The guy probably didn't even know her name if he was calling her baby.

That was when the moaning and intermittent yelping started, and Heather couldn't take it anymore. She lunged for the door and ducked out of the bathroom into the crowded hallway. A short guy who was definitely going to be balding in about three years was leading a giggling freshman down the hall toward Michael's Boudoir of Sex.

"Don't go in there," Heather warned as she shuffled by. "Give them, like, half a minute. He should be done by then." Then she cracked up at her own joke and kept walking, ignoring the couple's curious stares. Heather felt pretty good, especially considering her little encounter with Sam. She hadn't even thought about him once since she'd been here.

It probably helped that Gaia hadn't had the guts to show after all. If Heather had laid eyes on Gaia, she would have to be reminded of Sam. And how his eyes had finally focused at the mention of her name. And how the thought of Gaia going to a party had made him so jealous, his nostrils had actually flared.

Just as Heather hit the crowded living room, someone grabbed her arm and spun her around so fast, it took the rest of the room a few seconds to catch up with her. It all slid into focus and bounced to a stop like a ball on a roulette wheel.

"You're never going to believe who's slumming with Gaia Moore." It was Megan's voice. Her face wasn't all sharp yet, but it was definitely her voice.

"She's here?" Heather said, feeling the mixed drinks start to remix themselves in her stomach.

"Yeah. And she's talking to Charlie Salita," Megan answered, almost sounding pleased that she was the one who got to deliver this mind-bending news. Her little tendril curls bounced so crazily around her face, it made it all the more difficult for Heather to focus.

Heather turned, slowly this time, and scanned the fuzzy-figure-filled room. Sure enough, Gaia Moore was leaning against the far wall, looking like a homeless shelter reject, laughing it up with Charlie Salita, who was looking like he'd just stepped off a Milan runway. Charlie Salita. The unattainable. The only guy Heather had ever liked that she had never gotten to kiss.

Charlie laughed. Heather's stomach turned. It was either flee to the bathroom or the bar.

Heather chose the bar, although she was pretty sure she was done drinking for the night. She found a stool and plopped down next to one of Charlie's friends -- a semicute jock named Scott Becker.

"Can I get you a drink?" Scott asked, leaning toward her and grinning.

"Uh, just a water. Thanks." Heather threw one last glance in Charlie's direction, but she was determined to at least
look
like she was having a good time. When she turned back around, Scott was still grinning and holding a beer in his left hand.

"Thought you might like a beer instead," he whispered, nudging her. Something in his smile put Heather on edge.

"Whatever." She shrugged, taking the beer and sliding off her stool. As she started making her way back toward Megan, she looked over her shoulder toward Scott. He was scowling at her back as she walked away. What a creep, she thought to herself Heather Gannis knew when a guy was trying to get her drunk. And Scott Becker had picked the wrong girl to take advantage of, she mused, as she took a sip of her beer.