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Why the hell hadn't Sam wanted to sleep with her last night? Her emotions kept flaring from anger, to amusement, to frustration—then back again to repeat the process, like some kind of traffic light. Green, yellow, red.

Stop it!
she ordered herself.

“. . . part of the dramatic form,” Mr. MacGregor was saying.

She pushed the image of Sam's body out of her mind and tried to listen to the lecture. Gaia had already been reprimanded twice in the past twenty minutes for not paying attention. She should probably at least
pretend
that she cared about Sophocles, the Greek playwright. But in reality, she'd already read most of his plays a long time ago. Sophocles was one of her father's favorites.

It sucks that I have to go through with this charade,
she thought, making a show of scribbling in her notebook.
In principle, she hated dishonesty
in any form.
And being here was dishonest. But showing up for school had been part of the deal. Uncle Oliver had said that if she stopped going, even for a few days, it could mean another call to George. And that was intolerable—

There was a knock on the classroom door.

Mr. MacGregor frowned. He put down his chalk and opened the door a crack. A pimply hall monitor whispered something to him. Why was it that all hall monitors seemed to get off on their power to give illegally roaming students detention slips?

“Gaia, you're to report to the office,” Mr. MacGregor suddenly announced.

Gaia blinked. She didn't know whether to feel wary or relieved. But any excuse to get out of
here
was fine by her. She grabbed her bag and coat and hurried to the front of the room. Could it be George again? Had he somehow figured out that she was planning to leave town? No. Not unless . . .

“I know—get the notes from someone after class,” Gaia said automatically when she passed Mr. MacGregor. He gave her a look but turned back to the class without further comment.

“Do you know what this is about?” Gaia asked the hall monitor.

He shrugged. “I was told to get you out of class. And to give you this letter. It was left by a family member. The secretary in the office said it was urgent....”

Gaia ripped open the envelope and pulled out a note. Not surprisingly, the guy didn't give her any space at all. Instead he stood right next to her, a creamy expression on his face.
Jesus.
One more thing
not
to miss about this school. She read quickly:

Dear Gaia,

I know this is sudden, but there has been a change of plans. We must leave for Germany this afternoon. Leave school immediately and take a cab to the airport. We'll send for your things when we arrive at our destination. It is of the utmost importance that we leave on TWA flight 344 at 2:35 P.M. I know you thought you would have more time with your friends before we left, but for reasons I'll explain later, this is how it has to be. I will meet you at the TWA skycap station at JFK airport.

                                Love,

                                           
Uncle Oliver

Also enclosed in the envelope was a passport for her. Gaia was numb. This was it. She wasn't going to be able to say good-bye to Sam . . . or even to patch things up with Ed. She was leaving New York today—right now.

She took a deep breath. Sam would understand. She would call him the minute they landed in Germany, no matter what time it was.

“Is there a problem?” the guy asked eagerly.

Gaia shook her head. “No. No problem at all.”

She turned and strode down the hallway. Strange. This would be the last time she set foot in this hellhole of a school. She almost felt sad about it. But not quite.

 

Ed loved the ocean in the middle of July. He didn't even need his wet suit as he paddled out to sea. He felt as if he weighed ten pounds in the water. Total freedom.

He looked out toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning to rise. This was his favorite time of day. There were only a couple of other guys out this early. He felt as though he had the whole Atlantic Ocean to himself.

Ed pumped his arms faster, eager to be far enough from shore to catch one of the giant waves that had been rolling in since late last night. This was going to be a great day.

Suddenly Ed clutched his surfboard. What was he doing out here? He was crippled. Crippled guys didn't surf. Crippled guys weren't even supposed to be swimming in the ocean. He was defenseless.

Fear gripped him as he began frantically to flail his arms against the rising waves. No! He had to get out of here. But there were no lifeguards, and the closest surfer was too far away to see that he was in trouble. He was going to die.

First his left leg began to move. And then his right. Ed began to kick, faster and faster. He wasn't paralyzed! He could move, just like he always had.

He felt a flood of relief. The wheelchair had been part of some horrible nightmare. But now that he was awake, everything was all right again. He was whole.

Ed stood up on his surfboard just as a six-foot, white-capped wave headed for him. The wave rose beneath his board, and Ed was flying. . . .

 

Agonizing Slowness

GAIA FELT AROUND THE BOTTOM
of her messenger bag as the taxi neared John F. Kennedy International Airport. She needed to find quarters. Lots of them. The driver was going to be lucky if he got his full fare, much less a tip. The thirty-five-dollar ride was going to deplete all that remained of her meager savings. But she wouldn't need them anymore.

“What airline?” the guy barked.

“Uh ... TWA,” she answered distractedly.

He stepped on the gas, weaving through the five lanes of traffic that were circling the packed airport. The driver swerved in front of a huge SUV and jammed on the brakes.

“We're here,” he announced.

Gaia thrust two fistfuls of fives and singles into his hand, then poured the change on top of it. “It's all there.”

“Gee. Thanks, doll.” He grunted, then gunned the engine as Gaia slammed the back door.

One more thing she wouldn't miss: cabdrivers.

Immediately she began scanning the crowd for Uncle Oliver. He was nowhere to be seen. She walked toward the skycap station. She had expected him to be at the little counter, waiting, but he wasn't there, either.
He probably got held up in traffic,
she decided. If it hadn't been for her kamikaze driver, she wouldn't have arrived for another fifteen minutes. She circled the skycaps as they
tagged bags and sent them onto the conveyor belt. Still no sign of him.
Minutes ticked by, plodding with agonizing slowness.
The clock said 1:55. Their flight was in forty minutes. Didn't international flights require you to check-in an hour and a half early?

He's not going to show. He's not going to show up, and I don't even have a dollar-fifty for the subway.
Terrific. She would have to hitch a ride from the kind of sleazebag that liked to give young, strange girls rides into Manhattan. Which probably meant she would end up in a fight . . .

Had she hallucinated this entire scenario? Maybe there
was
no Uncle Oliver. Maybe she was so desperate for the love of her family that she had invented him. Like that movie
Fight Club.
Only instead of beating herself to a bloody pulp, she ate at expensive Italian restaurants—

“Gaia!”

A Pleasant Image

GEORGE WAS FEELING BETTER
already. The doctor had given him a shot of penicillin and a prescription for a full run of antibiotics. If only he could heal as quickly mentally as he was physically . . .

He tried not to think about the empty house. The house should have meant nothing to him, anyway. But the emptiness did. Ella was dead . . . not necessarily a bad thing. Gaia was getting out of school. Definitely a good thing. Of course, he always felt better when she was under this roof. But Tom had been clear that George shouldn't try to interfere with her normal routine. Her father probably had her under surveillance at this very moment—standing outside a diner window as Gaia ate cheeseburgers and french fries with her friends.

It was a pleasant image. George hoped it was also accurate.

He walked into the kitchen to get some water. He was going to fill a pitcher, then climb into bed with his electric blanket. The faster he recovered, the faster he would be of help to Tom.

But on his way out the door something caught his eyes. The light on the answering machine was blinking. George pushed the button, praying it wasn't a message from someone at the Agency, inquiring as to Tom's whereabouts.
But they would never call this number
. It wasn't a secured line.

“Hi, George. It's Gaia. Listen, don't worry about me. I just want you to know that I'm not going to be around for a while. But really, there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine. I'm only telling you because I don't want you to tear out your hair when I'm not home by
midnight. I'll be in touch.” There was a pause. Static filled the air. “And thanks, George. For everything.”

The beep sounded. The message was over.

Loki got to her.

George couldn't move. His heart froze inside his chest. He was literally petrified.
His feet were made of stone.

Loki got to her.

It was too late to do anything to stop him. George sank into a chair at the kitchen table and dropped his head into his arms. Hot tears rolled down his face. He had failed in his mission to protect Tom's daughter. He had failed in
everything.

One Last View

“NOW BOARDING FIRST-CLASS PAS-
sengers on flight 344 to Frankfurt, Germany,” a voice boomed over the PA system. “All first-class and preferred passengers are welcome to board at any time.” There was a crackle. “Also all of those passengers needing a little extra time.”

Uncle Oliver turned to her. Just being one step closer to the experimental treatment in Germany seemed to be having a beneficial effect on his health.
He looked far better than he had in the park yesterday. In his crisp, expensive suit and tie and elegant overcoat, he looked like a man without a care in the world.

“Ready, my dear?” he asked.

“Yep. Ready.” She stood up and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder.

Uncle Oliver put his hand on her elbow and guided her toward the employee who was taking boarding passes.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the woman said, taking the boarding passes from Oliver's hand. “Enjoy your flight.”

“Thank you. We will.” He led Gaia toward the long ramp that was attached to the door of the airplane.

“One second,” Gaia burst out. She stopped in her tracks, and Oliver stopped beside her. “I just need to do one more thing.”

She turned around and looked behind her. She needed one last view of New York from the ground—even if that view was of the inside of an airport.

“Okay, Uncle Oliver,” she said.
“Now
I'm ready. Let's go.”

Gaia turned back around and walked toward her new life. She had no idea when she would see Manhattan again. But she was doing the right thing. She was certain of it.