Rebel (6 page)

Gaia suppressed a smile.
For once, Ella didn't have a comeback.
Of course not. She knew that Gaia was absolutely right.

"You are so goddamn selfish," Ella whispered. "George worries about you so much, and all you do is torture him with your--"

"You know, it's funny, Ella," Gaia interrupted. "You're always yelling at me about how I torture George. But he and I get along fine. When he's actually here."

Ella shook her head. She looked like she could spontaneously combust.

"Besides," Gaia added calmly, "I'm not the one torturing him. You are."

"Excuse
me?" Ella barked.

"You're hiding something from him,"
Gaia stated.

Ella's eyes turned to ice. Neither of them moved. It was as if they were on-screen, playing roles in a film that had been paused in the middle of a scene.

Gaia met her gaze unflinchingly.

"You're obviously up to something," she said. "And it's something you don't want George or me to know about. This
act
you play around the house isn't the real you. I don't know what is."

Ella blinked.

The mere batting of eyelashes could betray so much.
In that instant Gaia knew that her suspicions were right: Ella
was
a fraud. Something in her face had changed--very subtly and only for the briefest moment. It was as if a mask had slipped. And the expression underneath registered an emotion Gaia had never seen in Ella before.
Fear.
The fear of being exposed.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Ella whispered. But the words were flat, unconvincing.

"Look, I don't know what kind of scam you're running," Gaia grumbled. "And to be honest, I really don't care. I just want to be able to cohabitate in peace, all right? We owe George that much at the very least. Even
you
can appreciate that."

In a flash the mask was back in place. Ella took two quick steps forward. "I will
not
be accused of this ... this
crap
in my own house!" she snarled.

Oooh. Scary.
If only Ella knew that she intimidated Gaia about as much as a newborn puppy, they could avoid these cheesy showdowns.

Gaia took two steps forward as well. Their faces were now only inches apart.

"Then let's do something about it," Gaia murmured.

Ella blinked again. "What are you talking about?"

"I propose a bargain," Gaia said. "In keeping with the Christmas spirit. An armed truce. Like what the opposing armies did in World War I."

"Like
who
did?"

Sometimes Gaia had a hard time remembering
that age and ignorance were not mutually exclusive.
Ella probably didn't know jack shit about World War I. She didn't seem to know anything about history, or literature, or politics--or anything that mattered, really. The sum total of her worldly knowledge was limited to the careers of Mariah Carey and Celine Dion.

"It was Christmas Day in 1916, in France," Gaia explained impatiently. "The Allies and Germans came out of the trenches and played soccer with each other. They acted like friends. Then the next day they went back to their trenches and started killing each other again."

Ella snorted. "You're not making any sense, Gaia."

The woman's thickness was astounding.
"Fine." Gaia moaned. "Then let me spell it out for you. On Christmas let's just put all this BS behind us. Let's act civil. I won't tell George you're playing him for a chump, and you won't tell me how to live my life. For twenty-four hours we'll act like a normal family." She flashed a big, fake smile. "Deal?"

Before Ella could respond, Gaia brushed past her and marched up the stairs.

"There's only one problem," Ella called after her. Her voice was mocking.

"What's that?" Gaia asked, rolling her eyes.

"You said an 'armed truce.' But we're not armed. Not unless you're hiding a gun in your room. Which wouldn't surprise me."

Gaia paused on the top step.
Oh, please
. A month ago Ella thought she was hiding drugs. Now guns. What next? Uranium?

"We're armed with our secrets,"
Gaia said without turning around. "I'd say that's plenty of ammunition, wouldn't you?"

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Why Christmas sucks

Time:
1:34 P.M
.

Mary--

You would not believe the shit I had to deal with this morning. George bought me a pink cashmere sweater that could barely fit a five-year-old. It was nice, but I'm worried he thinks everyone under forty dresses like his wife. That's George for you. Sweet but clueless. Then Ella screamed at me for (a) not buying George a gift and (b) not being more appreciative. I told her that I didn't celebrate any Christian holidays, as I worshiped the devil. She didn't find it funny. So how was your morning? Merry Christmas, by the way.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Holidays with the ex-coke fiend

Time:
2:34 P.M
.

Get this, Gaia. The only presents I got were books about the dangers of drugs and alcohol. It was like a comedy skit or something.
Drinking: A Love Story, Go Ask Alice, Smack ...
My family
must have bought out the Addiction & Recovery section of the bookstore. It's enough to make a girl want to freebase. Just kidding. Anyway, ready for some more truth or dare? How does tonight sound? I can't wait to get out of this apartment. Everybody keeps trying to get me to confess all the terrible things I did and to talk about my feelings. I feel like I'm on
Oprah
.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
[no subject]

Time:
3:01 P.M
.

Hey, Sam. I was just writing to say Merry Christmas. I haven't seen you in a while. By the way, did we kiss on Thanksgiving, or was that just in my head? I didn't

<>

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
[no subject]

Time:
3:03 P.M
.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I

<>

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
[no subject]

Time:
3:05 P.M
.

Hey, Sam. Want to play chess sometime? I think you need a good ass kicking.

<>

Never before had she so longed to be someone else, in another place--a million light-years from this living hell.

SAM MOON WAS NOT A SUPERSTITIOUS KIND
of guy. He didn't believe that he would be cursed for all eternity if a black cat crossed his path or that he would be stricken with cancer if he walked under a ladder. He didn't believe in
any
of that garbage. Life was not about luck.
And contrary to
Forrest Gump,
life was not a box of chocolates, either.
Life was a game of chess. Life was about strategy. About seeing the big picture. Fate played no part in it. He'd learned that at a very young age, when he'd first started hustling chess games.

So why had he come back to New York?

Good question. Why had he left his home in Maryland and taken the train all the way back to Manhattan on Christmas night? Because he honestly believed that if Gaia had miraculously appeared in his dorm room on Thanksgiving, there was a chance she might show up on Christmas as well? Was that
really
the reason?

Yes. It was pitiful and wrong and self-defeating, but that
was
reason. He was actually hoping fate would bring him and Gaia together again. In spite of everything. In spite of the fact that she'd stated very clearly that it wasn't going to happen between the two of them.

So he was actually relying on luck. He was relying on her to change her mind. Him.
Mr. Strategy.

He stood outside the grim dormitory building on West Eleventh Street, gazing up at the rows of darkened windows. He'd told his parents that he had to come back early to make up a physics lab assignment. Which was partially true, in a way. He
did
have to make up a lab assignment. Just not until after New Year's Day.

He should have stayed at home. He'd known that the moment he left, and still he'd come all the way back. His teeth were chattering. A light snow was falling. He was freezing his ass off. There was no
way
Gaia would come here tonight. As the cliché said: Lightning never struck twice in the same place. He could have been sitting by the fireplace right now, sipping a nice hot mug of cider (his mom made
killer
cider), playing chess with Dad....

The old, familiar anger returned.

He
should
be home. He shouldn't be thinking about Gaia at all. She was with her boyfriend. Whoever the hell
he
was. How could she have sent him that e-mail? Because she didn't have the guts to blow him off in person or even over the phone? Yes. She was a coward. A phony. And how could she have been so cold? Couldn't she have said something different? Like:
Dear Sam, Thanks very much for the beautiful chessboard you gave me. I'm sorry I have a boyfriend, but I'll cherish it always. Love, Gaia.

But no. For all he knew, she had thrown his gift in the garbage. It was a special gift, a
personal
gift, and she didn't care. She didn't care about anything else, either. Like the fact that he'd gotten her to the hospital that Thanksgiving night--the night they kissed. The night he thought they were destined to be together. He'd never experienced a more perfect, magical moment. It was the greatest kiss of his life....

In
his
mind, though. Not hers. A not so subtle distinction.

Clearly she'd been delirious. She probably had no memory of the kiss. No, she probably
did
remember it--but now was so ashamed and humiliated that she was doing her best to avoid him. She probably cringed every time she thought of it.
Kicked herself.
Made a sour face.

But even as images of Gaia's rejection whirled through his mind, he couldn't help but long for her even
more.
The less she wanted him, the more tantalizing she became.

He shivered again. He'd catch pneumonia if he stayed out here any longer. So he figured he had two options. Option one: He could go upstairs, sit alone in his squalid little dorm room, and stay up all night, thinking about Gaia. Option two: He could go to Heather's house and forget about Gaia altogether.

Gritting his teeth, he turned away from the dorm

and headed in the direction of the subway. He'd cut through the park and get there in no time. Yes.
This was the right decision.
It was time to finish the process he'd started three weeks ago--the process of making up with Heather. Of recognizing how lucky he was for having such an amazingly beautiful girlfriend. They were finally back on track. They were enjoying each other in a way they hadn't since they first started going out. Besides, the Gannis family would probably
love
to see him on Christmas night. And Heather would be thrilled. Of course.

Unfortunately he happened to catch a glimpse of his distorted reflection in the windshield of a parked car. Shit. He wasn't exactly looking his best.
Would
Heather be happy to see him? His skin was pale. His nose was bright red. His tousled brownish blond hair was matted and covered with snow. And his new wool overcoat made him look like
a desperate old pervert.
Which in a way, he was--

Wait a second.

He heard laughter.
Familiar
laughter. Coming from the park. He rounded the corner of Eleventh and Fifth, peering through the snowflakes at the Arc de Triomphe. Yes ... somebody was in there, behind the arch, weaving in and out of the leafless trees. Two people, in fact. Girls. Young. NYU students, maybe, like him. He picked up his pace, crossing Tenth Street in a hurry. His eyes narrowed. One had red hair....

They looked like they were chasing each other.

Another round of giggles echoed off the buildings. Whoever they were, they were having fun. But what were they doing out here on Christmas night?