Fake (12 page)

“I'm sorry, Oliver,” Jake said morosely. He heaved a great sigh and sank back defeatedly into the chair cushions. “I tried everything. Skyler doesn't live on campus, and I couldn't get his address from any records or his family.”

“Do you mean she's still with this . . .
person
?” Loki continued to restrain himself.

“I—I don't know. I know she went back to the boardinghouse last night, but she left early this morning. She could be anywhere, with anyone.”

Jake's whining was becoming wearisome. Loki didn't have the time or the patience to bolster the boy's confidence. He could only continue to gnaw at his pride, in the hopes that it would spring back to life. “So you've given up?”

“No!” Jake cried. “I mean, not really. It's just . . . what am I supposed to do? I've already tried everything.”

“No, you haven't,” Loki said calmly. “You are simply not working hard enough. You might have tried everything that first came to mind, but that's not everything. There are always ways to get what you want—if you think of them.”

“Right,” Jake muttered. Loki could see him waver, see his ego gradually seeping back in his posture. All he needed was one final push.

“No,” he said with a sigh. “Perhaps I should apologize to you. Maybe I was wrong to send you on this mission. You're young. And you're close to Gaia. I can see how you might instinctively want to spare yourself any more frustration. Perhaps I should bring in someone else.” He stood and headed for his desk, waiting for Jake to stop him. It was a daring bluff. There was no one else he could call.

Sure enough, before he even reached the spot where the desk's shadow slanted forward along the stained concrete floor, Jake was back on his feet. “Stop,” he called out. “I can do it! I promise.”

Loki turned and pretended to be regarding him. “Are you sure? This is very vital. Gaia could be in even more danger than you or I realize. It's important that we act fast.”

“I know,” Jake assured him, his chin raised and his jaw set. Loki was glad to see that tough swagger reasserting itself. Boys like Jake were so predictable.

Jake paced in a small arc, his left hand massaging his right fist. “Don't worry, Oliver,” he said. “I have a plan. A good one.”

“Excellent,” Loki replied.
I hope that you do, Mr. Montone. For your sake, I sincerely hope that you do.

Primal

GAIA TWIRLED HER FORK COUNTER-
clockwise, making five concentric swirly patterns on her plate. The eggs Skyler had ordered for her had been vivisected enough to look like a few bites were missing, but the truth was, she still hadn't gotten up the nerve to try them. When they'd arrived, she'd been horrified by the mass of sauce covering the poached eggs—a gloppy, snot-colored substance interspersed with chunks of mossy green spinach.

At least the potato pancakes that came with it had been delicious. And the coffee was great, too—a strong European blend that had dispelled the last foggy remnants of sleep from her body. Now if she could just get rid of the rest of this grossness . . .

“What's wrong?” Skyler's voice cut through her thoughts. “Don't you like your eggs Florentine?”

“Sure,” Gaia lied. “I was just spacing out.” She held her breath and shoveled in a large spoonful, aiming for the rear of her mouth to avoid as many taste buds as possible. It flopped on the back of her tongue for a few seconds before sliding down her throat. “
Mmm.
”

The fact that she couldn't stand the stuff was only further proof that she didn't know anything. After all, this was one of those trendy bistros that had a chef instead of a fry cook. How could someone like her, who considered a bowl of Froot Loops to be high-class
breakfast dining, even begin to appreciate the finer stuff?

“So what were you thinking about?” Skyler asked.

“Stuff.” She knew that wasn't a good enough answer, but she didn't want to lie or risk insulting him with the truth: that she'd been formulating a plan to dump the contents of her plate into the nearby potted palm.

“Like what? Is anything worrying you?”

She thought of D. She'd checked her e-mail that morning, but he hadn't written her back yet. And calling him wasn't really an option . . . D. just wasn't built for talking on the phone. “Just . . . family stuff.”

He looked at her pityingly. “You must really miss your dad, huh?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but how can he just leave you like this for long periods?”

“He doesn't want to. It's just part of the job.”

“I think it's stupid that you have to stay in that depressing boardinghouse. I mean, why not live on your own? Or with a friend? With me?”

Gaia blinked up at him in surprise. Did he just mention her living with him? Skyler's features contained no hint of irony. He stared back at her, perfectly placid, waiting for her reply. “I guess my dad just thought I'd be safer there,” she replied.

“That's bull. My building is safe. I could keep you safe. Don't I always look out for you?”

“Yes. You do. But my dad doesn't know you. And he'd probably wonder—” She cut herself off, swallowing the words
what's going on between us.

Don't go there,
she told herself, staring down at her plate. Kiss or not, she didn't want to analyze what she had with Skyler. Something this intense had no real category anyway. It was special. It was hers. If she sliced it and diced it and placed it under a microscope, she could risk ruining it forever.

Skyler leaned across the table. “Don't you ever get lonely?” he asked softly.

Gaia's head snapped up. “What?”

“I just feel bad for you being alone like that. You should be with family, people who love you, look out for you. Your dad's missing out on so much.”

A cold sensation spilled through Gaia's chest. She glanced back down and began trolling her fork through the gelatinous goo, churning up chunks of spinach. Skyler seemed to be doing this exact thing to her mind—sifting through and extracting all her deeply buried frustrations. She realized she still hated her father for leaving her like this, even if she did understand it. “It's not his fault,” she said, to herself as well as Skyler. “He can't help it.”

“Can't he?” Skyler set down his fork and leaned back against the wrought iron chair. “I mean, hasn't he ever considered switching careers so he can spend more time with you?”

Gaia didn't reply. She threw down her fork and pushed her dish aside. Why
hadn't
her father ever thought about quitting? Was it because of Loki? Was it out of some overwhelming sense of patriotic duty?

Or did he just prefer being on the job to being with her?

Skyler reached forward and grasped her hand. “Sorry,” he said. “I know it's none of my business. I just want to see you happy. That's all.”

“I know,” she said, managing a brave smile.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

Gaia watched Skyler pay the check and marveled at his sharp instincts. Had the two of them lingered at their table for even a moment longer, Gaia might well have slipped into a deep funk. For a keen awareness of the lameness of her life had just begun to seep over her like warm tar. The mother who'd been murdered, the father who was constantly on the run, the brother no one else knew about, hidden away on an Iowa farm, possibly in danger, the grandfather and cousins locked up for unspeakable crimes, and finally, the only close-by relative,
her whack-job uncle,
all pretty much amounted to a family life worthy of shame. But Skyler's perfectly timed suggestion to leave was just the nudge she needed to get her mind off herself and onto more uplifting subjects. Like Skyler.

Or rather, how good Skyler was for her.

Alarm Bells

GAIA WAS FEELING AS CLOSE TO HAPPY
as she had since her genetic transformation. It was a comfortable sensation, not bliss or even true contentment, but a nice, easy equilibrium. She was happy-
ish.
Happy-
esque.
The weather was sunny and breezy. Her shoulder had stopped throbbing from her earlier run-in with the subway doors. And as she walked through the relative Sunday quiet of the Garment District with Skyler, she couldn't help feeling like she was making peace with the city.

They were making their way across Seventy-sixth Street toward Madison Avenue, peering into the boutiques and occasionally laughing at some of the more outlandish fashions—the feathered blouse, the jacket with puffy, balloon-shaped sleeves, the hats as large as microwave ovens.

“Check out that one.” Gaia pointed to a round red monstrosity that resembled a latticework sombrero. “That's definitely one for the boardroom, huh?”

“Yeah,” Skyler said with a laugh. “Wise business move. Sell clothing that will trap your customers in revolving doors.”

“Spoken like a future CEO,” Gaia said, raising her Starbucks cappuccino toward him. “I mean, that
is
the plan, right? You're studying business in order to take over your dad's company?”

“I guess,” he said, shrugging and glancing skyward. “I haven't really decided yet.”

She nodded solemnly. Together they turned away from the shop window and resumed strolling down the street.

It was obvious Skyler didn't like talking about himself, which was ironic since she felt obligated to turn the topic of conversation onto him after he'd shown so much interest in her. She should probably just lay off, though. College was surely stressful, and he no doubt had family pressures she couldn't begin to fathom. Still, she couldn't help but be a little bothered by the fact that their friendship was so out of balance. All she wanted was to get to know him better, maybe even offer advice on something, the way he always did for her.

The shops seemed to be getting more expensive and formal as they continued walking. Eventually they found themselves in front of a swanky dress shop with a row of headless mannequins in the window. Each one was draped in a shiny or sequined formal gown, and the floor was strewn about with CDs of teen pop idols like Britney and Justin and Pink to indicate that the dresses were intended for prom.

Gaia leaned her forehead against the window, staring at the display. Alarm bells bonged through her brain, nagging her about what little time she had left until the “big night.” She should really decide on a dress and soon. Only . . . the last time she'd chosen a
fancy designer dress, she'd had Liz Rodke, the supreme fashionista herself, as her private personal shopper. There was no way Gaia could brave it on her own.

Ask Skyler,
came a voice in her head over all the distress signals.

She stepped back and studied Skyler's reflection in the window glass. Perfect. He always seemed to know what was good for her. Besides, the guy was probably born in formal wear. He'd be the perfect consultant.

“You all right?” Skyler asked, for roughly the forty-sixth time since emerging from the subway. It was thoughtful but also an eensy bit annoying.

“I'm fine,” she replied, her breath fogging the glass. “I was just thinking.”

“About prom?”

She turned and gaped at him. “How did you know?”

He smiled mysteriously and took a long, noisy sip from his plastic foam coffee cup. “I can guess,” he said eventually. “Wasn't that long since I was in high school. I know about such things.”

She turned back to the boutique's display window, trying to picture her head on any of them. Would black be appropriate? Would the snug purple one be flattering or too hootchie mama?

Of course . . . technically she hadn't even been asked yet. Was Jake ever going to get around to that? Did he not realize that prom required a level of planning typically
found only in the Pentagon? Or maybe he didn't want to go to prom. Or just didn't want to go with her.

“So who are you going with?” Skyler asked. Again he seemed to be expertly scanning her thoughts.

“I don't know. Probably Jake.”

“The Italian Stallion?” He snorted. “You're kidding.”

“What's wrong with that?” she asked, feeling slightly offended.

“He isn't good enough for you. I'm sorry, I know this isn't my business, but prom is supposed to be one of those personally historic moments. And he doesn't know how to treat you. Why waste a special evening on an insensitive goon like him?”

Gaia fiddled with the wrapper on her coffee cup. All the frustration and hurt feelings she had for Jake were suddenly jostling toward the forefront. It was true he was taking his own sweet time about asking her, and he had been giving her the silent treatment this weekend. Plus there was the Oliver worship. But did any of that mean she should give up on him? Skyler was being a little overly judgmental.
Or
—she suddenly thought of his kiss the night before—
could he be jealous?

“Well, it's not like I have lots of options,” she said, peeling off the Starbucks label in a long thin spiral. “I mean, technically Jake
is
my boyfriend.”

“If that's true”—Skyler stepped forward, compelling
her to look up at him—“why did you come to
me
after that fight instead of him?”

Gaia turned away, crushing her cup in her fist. She couldn't answer that. Because, frankly, she had no answer.

Skyler made an irritatingly good point. She
hadn't
wanted Jake that time. Maybe fear had given her some new animal-like instincts. Maybe all this time her body had been telling her what her mind wouldn't.

Was it over between her and Jake?

His embrace was extremely tight, almost frantic-the type of hug you'd give someone heading off to prison.