Lost (8 page)

God, she was hitting the floor a lot here. There was a chance, even, that she might not be winning this fight. Not acceptable.

Gaia rolled over onto her stomach and got to her feet again. She swung a right with every ounce of her strength, but Jake dodged and it just glanced off his cheek. He responded with a nasty uppercut, and Gaia's head snapped back again, her nose jabbing up into her skull.

She saw spots. She couldn't think. Blood seeped from her nose. She had to get it together before Mrs. Argeski figured out what was going on. Gaia quickly wiped the blood off her nose with the sleeve of her shirt, then folded back the fabric to hide the stain. Then, as a preemptive strike, she caught Argeski's eye, put on a goofy face, and pointed to Jake while flexing her muscle, as if to show how much fun she was having “toying with the new guy.” Jake picked up on Gaia's charade and added his own little touch of authenticity by turning to Argeski and pretending to bite his nails in fear. Their performance did the trick—Argeski smiled and left them to their own devices. They were quite the little improv team, Jake and Gaia. But the moment Argeski was out of sight, it was back to business.

Jake took a fierce swing at Gaia. There was no way for her to block what was coming before it came. All she could think was,
Who is this guy? Where the hell did he come from?
He hit her blind side with a left hook, then swung back and backhanded her with his right. She was
on her knees again, and she was definitely losing. Right here in front of everyone. All she'd wanted to do was vent everything out of her system and instead she was getting everything
beaten
out of her system.

“I should've figured,” Jake said from somewhere above her as she stared at the ground, trying to get her bearings. Blood spotted the mat in front of her, and she sniffled. Her nose was entirely clogged.

“What was I thinking? You're just a chick,” he added with a laugh.

Gaia's throbbing fingers curled into fists. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched, sending out electric shocks of pain. It only made her angrier.

“Now you done it,” one of the guys in the audience said.

Gaia stood up, sprang into the air from her right leg, and landed on her left while kicking up with her right. Her foot whacked right into his jaw and kept going, cracking his head back. He staggered, surprised, and she pummeled his stomach with a left, right, left, right, left, right until he was backed up against the wall. Then she threw a right jab so hard, she came up off her feet from the force of it. He tried to counter with a right, but she ducked it. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him past her, shoving him to the floor. Then she grabbed his shoulders, yanked him up again, shoved him away from her, and jabbed a kick right into his chest.

Jake leaned back into the wall, choking for air. Gaia turned her back to him, grabbed both his arms and flipped him over her head onto his back.

Gaia was beyond ready to finish this. Jake was just too good, and this was the first moment she had him where she wanted him. The only people who fought like he did—the only people who made her think and pause and reel—were Loki's men. Was it possible that Jake was one of them? Had he been sent to her school to keep an eye on her, maybe to even kill her right here in gym class?

Jake sprang from his back and threw himself to his feet, and Gaia jumped back just in time as a roundhouse kick swung past her face, his foot so close, she could see the lines in the bottom of his sneaker. The force of throwing the kick and hitting nothing kept Jake spinning, and when he was turned away from her, Gaia jabbed a kick into the small of his back. His knees hit the floor, but then he quickly swept out his leg and took Gaia off her feet. She hit the ground on her butt—hard—and Jake was instantly on top of her, trying to pin her down.

God, he was strong. His hands pinned her wrists as he tried to flatten her legs with his knees. Gaia flailed in an attempt to at least get her legs free and suddenly realized that he was going to win. After all this, he was going to pin her. She was not going to wipe the cocky grin from his face; she was only going to make it cockier.

And he was laughing. In her face. He was already laughing.

Gaia let out a loud, cathartic growl, and somehow she managed to free her right leg. She crossed it over her left under his torso and swung it up, with all the strength she had in her, to meet his side. Jake was thrown off of her to the right and lay on his back. Gaia pushed off the ground with her hands, landed on her feet, and shoved her boot into his neck just as he was trying to get up. He struggled, but she only pressed harder. When Jake finally started to choke, Mrs. Argeski stepped in.

“All right, Ms. Moore, that's enough,” she said, walking over to stand next to Jake's prone body. “I think you win,” she said with a satisfied smile.

Gaia had to concentrate to make her foot move. Part of her wanted to snap the guy's neck. But when he got up, rubbing at his raw, red skin and looking every bit the confused, upset, humiliated teenage boy, she knew that Loki hadn't sent him. He was too authentic to be a spy. He was just a damn fine fighter.

As the class erupted into applause, Jake turned to Gaia, snapped his legs together, and executed a little bow. Gaia rolled her eyes.
What does he think he is, some kind of martial arts gentleman?

She pulled her arm across her face, and the blood from her nose left a long red streak on her skin. Mrs. Argeski appeared with a wad of towel and pressed it into Gaia's face, sending a fresh sliver of pain through her skull.

“Keep your head back,” Argeski warned.

“Gaia, are you all right?” Ed's voice asked from somewhere at her side.

But Gaia couldn't answer. Her vision started to cloud over, and she realized she only had moments. Moments before the postfight blackout she always suffered rendered her unconscious. That couldn't happen in front of all these people. They couldn't see her weakness. Jake couldn't see her weakness.

She turned and busted through the crowd, staggering for the locker room. She shoved through the door and into one of the shower stalls, where she was able to just pull the curtain closed before darkness consumed her.

Mocking Smile

“GREAT GIRL YOU GOT THERE, FARGO,”
Rob Jeffers said with a laugh, slapping Ed on the back as the crowd around the wrestling mat started to disperse. “She's gotta be a wild thing in bed. I bet she likes it freaky.”

“Rob, you don't even know what
it
is,” Ed shot back.

“Oh! Snap!” Javon Benton called out, covering his mouth in glee as Rob turned ten shades of red.

Ed slipped away from them and headed for the
bleachers, fighting to keep his face from betraying his irritation. In these situations it was always best to play along to cover his true feelings. In this case, embarrassment, resignation, jealousy. Who was this cover boy who had just rearranged his girlfriend's face? And was it just him, or had she seemed to enjoy it?

All around him his classmates were talking.

“Did you see the way she—”

“God, he was all
over
her—”

“ . . . bet he copped a feel at some point. Who wouldn't?”

Ed was definitely going to throw up.

“Still, man,” Javon remarked, shaking his head as he and Rob fell into step with Ed. He put his hand on Ed's shoulder companionably. “It can't be easy to watch your woman get all hot and bothered over the new guy.”

“Funny, all I saw was her kicking the ass of the new guy,” Ed replied.

“And that doesn't bother you?” Rob asked, grabbing his book bag off the bleachers.

Yes.
“Why should it?”

Javon and Rob exchanged a look. “All I'm saying is, maybe you should find yourself a woman who's actually a woman,” Javon said, slapping hands with Rob over his cleverness.

“Hmmm . . . Maybe that's exactly what I need,” Ed said, rubbing his chin with mock thoughtfulness. “Now, tell me, where did you get
your
blow-up doll again?”

The mocking smile fell right off Javon's face. “Dude, that's not right,” he said coldly. He turned and shuffled off toward the locker room with Rob trailing behind. “My boy's lookin' for a smack down,” Javon muttered under his breath, his head hanging sheepishly.

Feeling like he'd just emerged from a battle of his own, Ed lowered himself onto the bottom step of the bleachers. Sometimes being the comeback kid took a lot out of him. Especially when he was inclined to agree with his tormentors.

He pushed his hands into his hair at his temples and rested his elbows on his knees, his heart heavy. He was going to wallow in it for a while. Wallow in the mental image of Gaia pinned to the floor with that guy hovering over her. That hungry look on his oversized face.

Ed also hadn't missed Gaia's intrigue when she'd realized what a worthy opponent Jake was. He'd seen her smile. He'd seen that little spark in her eyes. Jake had challenged her. For a girl who loved to fight as much as Gaia did, that had to be a turn-on.

“Mr. Fargo, you might want to get changed before the bell rings,” Mrs. Argeski said. “I'm sure your next teacher won't appreciate you showing up in those shorts.”

Ed looked at her, confused. He hadn't even realized she was standing there, yet she was only about a foot away, her hands on her tiny hips.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ed said. He clomped up a few bleacher
steps, grabbed his backpack, and then started back down.

“Snap out of it,” he said to himself under his breath as he trudged across the gym. “You and Gaia are together now. Stop being an insecure baby.”

Besides, Jake was so not Gaia's type. Okay, he was good looking. Ed hadn't missed the way every single girl in class had looked him over appreciatively and whispered and giggled as Gaia led him to the wrestling mat. He did have a certain dark, brooding, Affleck-esque quality. And for some reason the phrase “hunka hunka burning love” kept popping into his mind. (He definitely had to stop watching eighties sitcom reruns.)

But look at the two people Gaia had liked since she moved to the city. Sam Moon. Tall, preppy, scruffy, WASPy, smart. A chess master. Not a kung fu fighter. Not remotely.

And him. Ed Fargo. An ex-skate rat who'd been in a wheelchair up until a few weeks ago and had no proven fighting skills. And yeah, he had somewhat rugged good looks if he did say so himself, but he wasn't a big, beefy, slick meathead. He wasn't a broad-shouldered Greek or Italian or whatever god.

No, Jake wasn't Gaia's type. Ed was her type. Her only type. Ed had absolutely nothing and no one to worry about.

She would gladly meet him anywhere and promptly hand him his spleen.

Somewhere Here

HE SLUNK THROUGH THE LOCKER
room, flinching at every shout that echoed from the gym, every imagined creak of a door. Guiltily he yanked on lock after lock, cringing at the noise he was making, but none of them gave. These kids were too paranoid. Too untrusting. But considering what he was trying to do, they clearly had the right to be.

His brilliant plan for the acquisition of some normal clothing had tanked. He was at a loss. He came to the last row of lockers, ready to give up, and then he saw it. A large laundry bin with a handwritten sign taped to the wall above it.

Lost and Found.

He practically dove into the bin, pulling out a pair of shorts too small for a twelve-year-old, a T-shirt that looked like it had been used to clean up vomit, and a Lakers sweatshirt that had been cut down into a tank top. He tossed these items aside and kept fishing until he finally came out with a workable ensemble. He stripped out of his coveralls and shoved them into the nearest garbage can, then pulled on his new clothes and stepped in front of the mirror.

He looked ridiculous. He wore a pair of huge sweatpants he'd had to roll at the ankles, an ill-fitting
Creed T-shirt, and a zip-front sweatshirt with a broken zipper. The sneakers on his feet didn't match. One was a black high-top, the other a white tennis shoe. But it was the best the lost and found had to offer. Besides, his clothing didn't matter. He was here. He was finally here.

Suddenly the door to the locker room swung open, and his heart hit his throat. He glanced around wildly and jumped into the nearest shower stall, pulling the sheer plastic curtain closed and backing up until he hit the far wall.

“Man, can you believe that bitch?” some guy said. “That girl is wack!”

“Yeah, she's psycho, all right. I bet she could beat the living crap outta you, though, Gordo,” another voice answered.

“Please. She stepped up to me, she'd be down for the count before you can say jailbait, my friend.”

This earned some laughter. The fugitive closed his eyes and felt his whole body warm. They were talking about her. They had to be. There wasn't another girl in the Village School who could beat the living crap out of anyone, he was certain. Half of him wanted to fight them for what they were saying about her, and the other half wanted to kiss them for confirming that she was here. She was okay. She was alive.

“Whatever, brotha. That new guy is ripped, man. If she can take him, she can whip your sorry ass.”

The door opened again.

“Hold up, hold up. Here he is,” one of the guys whispered. A momentary hush fell, and then the talk started up again. Forced. Paranoid.

“So, G., you study for that Spanish test?”

The fugitive tuned them out after that. He waited patiently, barely breathing, until all the locker doors had slammed, all the laughing and gabbing had died away. He waited until he heard the bell ring. Then he waited some more.

By the time he emerged from the locker room, the halls were empty and silent, save for the occasional muffled, droning teacher's voice coming through closed doors. As he moved along the wall, every inch of his body tingled with anticipation. His fingertips, his nose, his stomach.