Fake (5 page)

“I'm sorry,” she said, sobbing. “I'm so,
so
sorry.”

“Shhh.
It's okay.” He continued stroking her hair as he talked, his voice a series of soft notes, like a lullaby. She could feel herself relaxing, crumbling under his kindness. How could she have ever thought him scary? Her vision of him had probably been just that—a crazy vision.

“Just promise me,” he whispered. “Promise you won't leave me like that ever again.”

“I promise,” she replied. “I won't ever sneak out again. I swear.”

Skyler smiled. “Good girl,” he said, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “That's all I wanted to hear.”

Gaia felt overwhelmingly awkward, hyperaware of the fact that her breasts were completely visible through the faded meshy material of her bra.

Autopilot Urge

TENNIS BALL GOES UP. TENNIS BALL
goes down. Tennis ball goes up. Tennis ball goes down. Tennis ball goes up. Tennis ball bounces off my head.

“Ow!” Ed exclaimed, rubbing his skull while the Day-Glo green ball disappeared beneath his bed.

He heaved a long, loud sigh and glanced around his room. Now what?

God, he was bored. Not just bleary-eyed, yawn-in-your hand bored, but bored to a near-pathological level. This prison cell of a bedroom was about as mentally stimulating as a bowl of oatmeal. How could he have lived here all his life and not realized that?

He now knew, for instance, that there were 120 dingy white ceiling tiles in his room. There were also seventy-two slats in the miniblinds, six hairline cracks in the walls, and two cobwebs. Reading and listening to music just wasn't cutting it anymore. And watching TV or surfing the web only reminded him of the world outside that he was presently held back from. He was the virtual boy in the plastic bubble. Only without the thick saran wrap barrier and cheesy background music.

Ed wanted so badly to breathe outdoor air. He'd gladly trade the choking aroma of well-used bedsheets and that
red zinger tea his mom kept bringing him for lungfuls of car exhaust and the briny scent of urine-soaked sidewalks. But nooooo. Mom wasn't going to let him dangle his toe out of doors until the hospital called with the final test results.

He'd tried using reason. Why would the doctors release him if he wasn't completely better? Couldn't she tell by looking at him that he was fine? All he wanted to do was hang out at the coffee shop, not go deep-sea diving.

But his mom, of course, had all the answers. Ed knew precisely from whom he inherited his mouthiness. The doctors had released him into
her
care, she'd explain, patting him on the head like a puppy. Yes, he looked great, but there were still some scan results that hadn't been ready and they wanted to make sure there were no
internal
complications. Yes, she knew he missed his friends, but if they were truly his
friends,
they would understand. Besides, he was welcome to invite anyone he wanted to come visit.

Not a chance. He loved his mother. Really. And he appreciated her concern. Truly. But nothing would make him lose points faster than being babied by his mommy in front of his friends. And stuffing more people into this cramped, dull room wouldn't solve anything anyway. What Ed really wanted was to get out. To move.

He had fantasies of flying down a road on his skateboard. He imagined racing around the Central Park
reservoir, slowing down only to check out any passing babeage. He even envisioned himself frolicking through a grassy field, kicking out his legs and lifting his arms to the sky, like some character in a feminine hygiene commercial. Whatever—he didn't care. He just wanted out of bed. Being cooped up like this was too much like being paralyzed again.

Of course he knew he could venture into the living room. But doing that would only encourage his mom to turn her fussing instinct up to eleven. And even though she seemed to mean well, Ed couldn't help wondering if she was enjoying this beyond the degree of concerned mother.

It irked him to hear her relate the whole drama to her friends when they dropped by with casseroles. She would lower her voice and relate the general details of his attack to choruses of gasps and sympathetic coos. Then she'd thank them profusely for their food offerings, her tone taking on a sticky sweet quality, as if she'd just gargled with maple syrup.

He wasn't sure why his mom's attitude bothered him. Maybe it was because when he'd had the skateboarding accident and was facing the possibility of permanent paralysis in his legs, she'd been nowhere near this understanding and attentive. Instead she'd become distant, and Ed had even sensed a veiled anger within her. He told himself she was probably mad at the world for allowing this to happen to her son. But
deep inside he worried constantly that she was angry with
him.

So naturally he was suspicious of this all-new, very-Brady mother.

The phone on his desk rang. Ed's heart practically skipped with glee. Along with gross motor skills, he was starving for any kind of social interaction.

“Hello,” he sang merrily into the receiver.

“Uh, yes. Is this the Fargo residence?” came a somber, official-sounding voice. “This is Dr. Wagner at St. Vincent's Hospital. I'm calling with Ed Fargo's test results.”

Ed sat bolt upright. “Yeah. Okay,” he said breathlessly. “Just a second . . .
Mom!
”

Mrs. Fargo appeared in Ed's bedroom doorway, looking confused. “What? What's wrong?”

He held out the phone. “It's the hospital. They have my last test results.”

She stepped forward and put the receiver to her ear. “Yes, this is Denise Fargo . . . yes . . . mm-hmm . . . yes . . . I see. . . .”

Ed bounced nervously on his bed. His mother's ultraserious tone and furrowed brow had him worried. Could the scans have turned up signs of infection? Would he be doomed to spend the next several days in his bedroom or—even worse—back at the hospital?

“Yes, Doctor. Thank you . . . Goodbye.”

Ed watched as his mother slowly, carefully replaced the phone on its cradle. The suspense building inside him was reaching critical mass. If she left him waiting much longer, he could burst open, spewing tissue, red zinger tea, and Campbell's chicken and stars all over his bedspread. And then—then she'd
never
let him leave the apartment.

“Well?” he prompted.

“You're fine,” she said finally. “The scans came back clear.”

“Waaahooo!
Fantastic! I can go back to school and everything, right?”

His mother smiled somewhat sadly. “I suppose so. But don't overdo it. No extreme sports for a while, okay?” She reached out and awkwardly patted him on the shoulder.

Ed jumped out of bed, threw his arms around his mother, and whirled her in a circle. She let out a little “oh” of surprise and then started laughing—a genuine, joyful laugh.

Ed was way too relieved to be mad anymore. Suddenly he felt real forgiveness toward his mother. So what if her doting seemed a little fake and self-serving at times—she tried, didn't she? Besides, he'd just been given a do-over. It was time to stop obsessing about the past.

“Now stop,” his mom chided gently, looking slightly flushed as he set her back down on the floor.
“I told you to take things easy.” She walked to the door, wobbling slightly. “I'll call you when I'm finished making lunch. In the meantime, try not to injure yourself while celebrating your recovery.” She flashed him a wide, knowing smile and disappeared down the hallway.

“Yes!” Ed's fist rose into the air. He was sprung. Fancy-free. Back in action.

He should call someone. There was so much to do, so much to plan. Bouncing back onto his bed, he reached over and grabbed the phone off its cradle.

“It's a beautiful day.
Yeeeaaah,
” he sang in his best Bono impression as his fingers punched out a number to the beat. “Don't let it get away. It's a beaut—” Ed paused suddenly, staring at his hand as if he didn't recognize it. He had just started dialing Gaia's number.

Oops.

Sighing defeatedly, he disconnected the line and replaced the receiver, his elation draining out of him like blood from a wound.

When is this going to stop?
he wondered. Whenever big things happened to him, he instinctively wanted to share them with Gaia. How could he deprogram this annoying default setting? Why couldn't he automatically think of Mom or Kai or . . . Arnold Schwarzenegger?

Because Gaia and Big Things went together. Because nothing but Big Things happened when he
and Gaia were girlfriend and boyfriend. She was, in fact, the very essence of Big Things.

Maybe he should just deal. It was natural he'd have these lapses, but his life was changing now. No more Gaia-the-girlfriend. No more Big Things.

Then again . . . had he been unfair to blame her for all the awful drama he'd been through while they were a couple? He'd had things happen before he met her—major things, like his skating accident. And obviously things were still happening now that she was just “a friend.” Maybe that was just life, whether Gaia was a friend or something more.

So why not just call her?
he wondered, staring at the cordless receiver lying in his hands.

No. Breaking up with Gaia hadn't solved his problems, but he still needed to limit contact with her. Pulling her in close again would only make things more complicated. She and Jake were on their way to happily-ever-after, no doubt filled with romantic strolls through the crime-infested areas of town, maybe a triathlon race down the aisle instead of the usual walk down it, and eventually lots of bodybuilding little kids. And Ed? Well, he had to take Kai to prom.

He was moving on to other things. Not as big but simpler and—hopefully—happier. Eventually he'd kick this autopilot urge to call Gaia first. Even if it took the rest of his life.

Friendship Squared

NO. NO! NOOOOOOOOOOO!
GAIA SAT
up, panting. She glanced around Skyler's bedroom and heaved a sigh of relief.

It had only been a dream. A bad one. Gaia couldn't quite puzzle the whole thing together, but it had something to do with being chased—or running after something she couldn't catch. The only detail she could remember was a pair of crazed, evil eyes. They weren't exactly following her, but everywhere she looked, they seemed to be peering out at her from the shadows.

She rubbed her eyes and massaged her temples, her hairline a swamp of sweat and alley grime. Eventually her pulse ceased its mad dash and her breath became deeper, more even.

Yay for me!
she thought grimly.
Yet another surprise bonus from my newfound fear: nightmares!

She'd had bad dreams when she was fearless, but never like this. There'd been no palpitations, no teeth gnashing, no gasping for breath. Mainly they were just these annoying little visions that needled her conscience, reminding her what a bad person she was.

Funny. She'd always wondered why they were called night
mares
. But in a way, it was like having wild horses stampede through her subconscious, kicking up all sorts of buried anxieties.

So this is what normal people deal with all the time,
she thought.
What a scam.
It seemed especially unfair that after battling emotional (or, in her case, flesh-and-blood) demons all through their waking hours, they couldn't even get away from it all with a good night's sleep.

She slid out of Skyler's bed and stretched out her arms. She was still tired, but she was even more tired of resting. It was sweet of Skyler to insist she lie down after the alley skirmish, but her limbs were starting to feel droopy and waterlogged from being in bed so much. Besides, she didn't want to be alone with the image of those cold, cruel eyes still fresh in her mind.

She padded across the carpet and peeked into the living area. The door creaked a bit, making Skyler look up from his
Sports Illustrated.

“Hey,” he said, smiling. Gaia loved the way his face brightened as he saw her. “Feel better?”

She nodded. She still had that heady, slightly pressurized feeling, but overall her body and mind were being much more obedient. “Yeah, thanks. I guess it's probably safe to go home now.”

Skyler frowned. “What?” He set down his magazine and pivoted around to face her. “Uh-uh. No way am I taking you back after everything that's happened.”

“But you have stuff to do. Homework and—”

“So?” He made sweeping motions with his arms as if pushing aside invisible stacks. “I'm blowing it all off. The only thing that matters is getting you rested.”

A snug warmth settled over Gaia. It was amazing how considerate Skyler was being toward her. But she couldn't take advantage of him any longer. “Thanks, but I really should check on some things. Besides, Jake's probably been trying to call me.”

“I've got an idea.” Skyler reached beneath the boxy end table and picked up Gaia's cell phone. “Here,” he said handing it to her. “Why don't you check your messages and call people from here? Save yourself the minutes.”

She gazed at him thoughtfully. Was he always this accommodating? Or was she somehow special?

Gaia turned on the phone and punched in her personal mailbox code. There came a series of clicks, followed by the faint drone of a recording coming on. “Message box empty,” exclaimed a female operator a little too cheerfully.

What?
She glared at the phone in her hand.
No one called? Not even Jake?
That couldn't be right. She vaguely remembered it ringing last night as they watched the movie.

She reentered the message box code and again the recorded voice unapologetically announced that it was empty. Whoever called last night must have hung up when she didn't answer. Either that or it had been a wrong number.