KILL GAME
Francine Pascal
SIMON PULSE
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KILL GAME
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KILL GAME
Francine Pascal
SIMON PULSE
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Simon Pulse edition June 2005
Copyright © 2005 by Francine Pascal
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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Produced by Alloy Entertainment
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All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
For information address Alloy Entertainment, 151 West 26th Street, New York, NY 10001.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
FEARLESS is a registered trademark of Francine Pascal
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2004117303
ISBN: 0-689-87821-4
ISBN-13: 978-0-689-87821-3
eISBN-13: 978-1-439-12106-1
KILL GAME
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Gaia
Every now and then, when I’m sure that I’ve absolutely exhausted every other option for self-analysis, I allow myself to look back on my teens. And then I cringe. From all those memories. The word lost just wouldn’t do those years justice. Confused wouldn’t really cut it either. More extreme… terms are required to describe me back then. Clinically depressed? Not exactly. Tragically misinformed is more like it.
Of course, my “teens” only ended last year, but still, some of it seems so far away now—just a murky gray cloud in my head. Names and faces from the Village School in New York … Tammie Deegan and Megan Stein and the rest of the FOHs. I’ve already forgotten the details of their faces. With each year at Stanford they turned more and more into poorly drawn cartoons in my head; clichéd characters played by bad actresses in another mediocre movie about bitchy cliques and high school growing pains.
But other memories feel so fresh it’s like the last four years of college never even happened. The look on the face of my best friend turned boyfriend turned best friend again, Ed Fargo, when I turned around and left him for good in that dark alley on Forty-seventh Street. And of course … Jake. I don’t want to think about Jake.
The point is, there were so many things I thought I knew about myself back then—when I was seventeen. But I’ve finally begun to realize …
Maybe I didn’t exactly know everything I thought I knew? As in …
I thought I would never live to see twenty. I was wrong.
I thought that if I did live to see twenty, I’d be telling my story Holden Caulfield style, sitting in a white loony bin robe, strung out on Zoloft and lithium, talking to a kind but unresponsive therapist. Also wrong. And most importantly …
I thought that the dismal state of my life would never change.
This, as it turns out, was wrong, too. If there’s one thing I’ve learned now, after three years at Stanford University, it’s that things do change.
It just happens very slowly.
I finally ended up with a life that works for me. Right in time to graduate.
It wasn’t easy. Not after what had happened to Jake. I mean, I’d watched him, my seventeen-year-old boyfriend, get shot in the chest. I watched him die on the floor right in front of me. And I knew he’d died for one reason and one reason only. He’d gotten close to me. He’d fallen into my tragic little vortex and become another one of its victims. That’s why I’ve been careful not to make any real friends at Stanford.
Well, I guess there was that Kevin Bender guy. He was a senior transfer who definitely challenged me for the title of “Biggest Loner on Campus,” but he was sort of a quasi friend. We probably would have been fine if we hadn’t had that weird night at the library. I’d been a little too nice to him and I think he got the wrong idea. After that, I really had to pour on the distance.
So there really are no Stanford friends. That’s one of the reasons I’m able to graduate so early. It’s also one of the reasons I’ve never let my dad visit me up here, even though he’s coming up now for graduation. I just didn’t think he’d want to see this new careful life of mine. Not that it’s a bad life. It’s not. Like I said, it works. I have acquaintances, of course. People I say hello to on the quad every day. There were study group partners, and lab partners, and professors who’ve given me nothing but straight A’s. But I’ve never really gotten to know any of them, and they’ve never really gotten to know me. And that’s how I wanted it.
It’s taken me three long years of self-imposed psychological boot camp, but I think I’ve finally managed to achieve some sort of Zen-like balance at Stanford. Well, not exactly Zen-like. More like stoicism.
It doesn’t quite qualify as “happiness.” But I have come to accept it as a close enough facsimile. Especially when you compare it to the endless psychodrama that my life used to be.
No, this will be good. This graduation thing will be fine. I mean … I think this will all be very good.
closer is not my forte
TEARS OF JOY
Gaia couldn’t stop fidgeting in her black graduation gown. The nylon fabric felt uncomfortable in the early-summer weather. The California sun was hot and bright, and the air was clear and dry. Gaia was used to all that—in three years she’d come to accept the endless parade of picture-postcard days. After years spent in the humid, foggy summers and whipcrack-cold, snow-drenched winters of New York City, the uniformly perfect weather was actually a nice change.
The rooftop of the Roth Library in Palo Alto was a wide, tiled expanse lifted six stories off the ground on one side of the Stanford University campus. Gaia and her father stood near its center, surrounded by dozens and dozens of Stanford graduates and their parents and friends. A catering table had been set up along one side, serving champagne and wine and hors d’oeuvres on expensive-looking white plates. Stanford knew how to throw a graduation party—and this year the university community were enjoying the added benefit of this brand-new library rooftop plaza, probably, Gaia thought, named after some wealthy donor somewhere who had enjoyed a postcard-perfect graduation day like this one and had never gotten over it.
So why aren’t I enjoying this?
Gaia wasn’t sure. Part of the problem was her father. He wouldn’t stop looking at her, for one thing, and when he did, his eyes kept filling up with tears. Sure, they were tears of joy, but she still couldn’t deal. She had hardly ever seen her father cry, with the exception of the darkest day of her life, and that was the last thing she wanted to think about on this auspicious occasion. She did everything in her power to avoid his glistening neon blue gaze, but there was no way to dodge his words. He wouldn’t stop talking about her mother.
“I just wish she were here to see this.” His voice cracked slightly on the last syllable. “Summa cum laude from Stanford—in three years, Gaia. She would have been in seventh heaven today.”
“Yeah,” Gaia said. He probably hadn’t meant to mention her mother and heaven in the same sentence r
ight now, but the unpleasant effect was palpable.
Say something else, she told herself. She kept avoiding her father’s gaze by staring at the other students. They all looked so ridiculously happy. They had grins like infants: completely guileless and wide, revealing their perfect, featureless joy. Other moms and dads with cameras circled around, taking photograph after photograph and filling the rooftop with their tuneless chorus of, “Cheese!” over and over. And many of them, like Gaia’s own father, were crying.
Talk to Dad. He needs this—he needs this day more than you do.
It had been true since he arrived—since that uncomfortable moment they’d spotted each other at the airport the day before, when Gaia saw her father’s beaming face and thought, I’m really in for it. Since that moment her father had been in nonstop pride-o-rama mode, a font of endless congratulatory remarks. Looking around at the other graduates in their identical black gowns, Gaia wondered how they were all doing it—how they were putting up with it.
But that’s easy, Gaia thought. They’ve got friends.
It was really as simple as that.
It was supposed to be one of the greatest days of her life. She was graduating from Stanford University with the highest honors. She had worked her ass off to finish school in three years. She was supposed to look like they did. She was supposed to feel like they did. But she didn’t. Something was missing. And it wasn’t just her mother.
She raised her hand to her mouth and let out a faint cough to mask her discomfort. A hollow sort of ache crept up in her chest. Though the truth was, she’d been plagued by that sensation all day—even when she’d walked up onto that stage and accepted her diploma. She’d heard all the people applauding as she shook hands with the dean, but their applause had felt so devoid of meaning. It had felt like such an empty victory—because the people here didn’t really know her at all.
“Gaia, smile, for God’s sake.” Her father laughed, squeezing her shoulders. “This is the best day our family has had in a long time. Aren’t you walking on air? I haven’t even seen you in a year.”
“I know,” she said, feeling a wave of guilt pass over her.
“Oh, it’s all right,” he assured her. “I understand. I do. But I’m here now, so …” He grabbed hold of her hand and took a step toward the crowd, clearly expecting Gaia to guide him through a host of gleeful introductions to her dearest friends and respected professors at Stanford, but Gaia didn’t move. Instead she threw her arms around her father and hugged him tightly.
“I really did miss you, Dad,” she said, resting her chin firmly on his shoulder. “I really did.”
“I missed you,” her father said, hugging her back. “God, we haven’t even talked about your plans. When can we get you moved back to the city? There are so many people I want you to meet—I’ve talked to some friends at the Agency about you already, and they’re dying to—”
“Dad.” Gaia’s body suddenly went very stiff. Her dad could obviously feel it in the awkward silence. He slowly dropped his arms from her shoulders and took a step back, which was very much what Gaia wanted him to do.
“What?” he asked quietly. “What’s wrong?”
Gaia crossed her arms and lowered her head, staring down at the red sunlit tiles of the roof. She needed to remain quiet for a moment so she could control her frustration.
“We’ve already had this talk,” she said, speaking directly to the ground. “I thought I’d made myself clear.”
Her father let out a long breath. The bright yellow light was bringing out all the new speckles of gray that had cropped up in his dark hair. “Look … sweetheart … I know we’ve had this talk. And I understand your reservations. Of course, I understand. But Gaia … the worst is behind us now. Your uncle Oliver is not a threat to us anymore. This family is free and clear now. We can start again in New York, and you can talk to—”
“I’m not going back to New York. I told you that.” Her volume had taken an unfortunate leap. A few classmates turned in her direction, and she strained to lower her voice. “I am never going back,” she added in a self-conscious whisper. “And I won’t be having any ‘talks’ with any intelligence agents. We’ve been through this. That part of my life is over, Dad. It’s over and done with.”
“Gaia, they’re just talks. I’m not saying you need to join the CIA or anything like that. I just think my friends at the Agency have a lot of knowledge to impart. They might have some ideas for you. Some job ideas, some ways you might be able to put all your incredible gifts to work—for the city, for the country, who knows. The sky is the limit for you—”
“No,” Gaia interrupted calmly. “No, you’re not listening. Why won’t you ever hear me on this?” She glanced back at the crowd and then pulled her father farther from the party, over to the waist-high ledge of the roof, where they could have more privacy. “Look, you have to listen to me, okay? Please. Because I can’t keep making this speech. I don’t want that life. That was your life, not mine. I don’t want my ‘incredible gifts.’ I don’t want to use them, I don’t even want to think about them anymore, do you understand? They’re not gifts, Dad, they’re curses.”
“How can you say that?” He leaned closer and kept his voice low. “Gaia, you have more skills than half the experts in this country, and I should know. I trained you for half your life. You’re stronger than they are, faster than they are, and you fear nothing. How can you not want to use that? To help people—to make a difference? How can you look at that as anything other than a blessing? It’s like you’re turning your back on everything that makes you special. Everything that makes you unique.”
“Exactly,” Gaia stressed. “I don’t want to be special. I dont want to be unique. I want to be a normal person with a normal life. Look at me. Look at this gown. I look just like them.” She pointed out to the crowd of joyful graduates. “And I just want to be happy like them.”
“But you’re not happy, Gaia. I’ve been watching you all day and I’ve barely seen you crack a smile. Is that how you want to go through life? Denying who you are?”
Gaia couldn’t respond at first. She hated hearing those words come out of his mouth. He made it sound so much worse than it was.
“You know what?” she said finally. “This is happy for me, okay?” She pointed to her face. “This is as happy as I get. And I’ll take it. Believe me, after everything I’ve been through …I’ll take it.”
She turned away from her father and headed straight for the hors d’oeuvres table. She was going to drink some wine and eat some cheese and have loads of delightful chitchat with the rest of her classmates, whether they knew her name or not. She was going to enjoy this day whether she liked it or not.
Gaia
My father calls it a blessing and I call it a curse. Though I admit, I’ve gone back and forth on this one more than a couple of times. To be honest, I’ve grown a little tired of trying to sort out the philosophical repercussions of the whole thing. I mean, yes, I am a genetic oddity. Yes, I was born without some chunk of DNA, and that freakish mutation has left me incapable of experiencing fear. But how many more times am I supposed to map out all the pros and cons before I can figure out once and for all whether I love myself or I hate myself?
I actually found an old list of pros and cons I’d written out when I was in high school. It was scrawled in the back of an old notebook that I’d brought with me to Stanford because I’d thought it was blank. It definitely rings of the old me:
BEING FEARLESS: LATEST PROS AND CONS LIST
Instead of MacGregor’s Pop Quiz
Finished the quiz in two minutes and I’m freaking bored.
PROS
Undaunted by knives, vicious dogs, criminals twice my size, nuclear weapons.
No trouble with heights, spiders, the dark, airplanes, circus clowns, the unknown, the end of the world.
Free to kick enormous amounts of ass.
That’s all I can think of ….
CONS
Can’t really enjoy roller coasters or haunted houses (trouble finding thrills in general).
Everybody who knows about me wants a piece of me (literal or figurative), thus people around me get hurt or die.
That annoying blackout period I have to go through after a fight—one day I could end up on a railroad track and get flattened.
Have no idea what it feels like to be brave.
CONCLUSION: I wish I were normal (that’s the 5,835th time I have reached this conclusion).
I guess maybe everything doesn’t necessarily change. I wrote that list when I was seventeen, but I’d still very much have to agree with the conclusion today. Like I told my father: these supposed gifts of mine … I don’t want them. I don’t want to have über-eyesight, bionic hearing, superhuman speed, or muscles of steel. I don’t want to be fearless. But I don’t want to be afraid, either. I want to be that thing I still don’t quite understand. That thing in between that everybody else is. Just a college graduate who doesn’t scare too easily. It shouldn’t be all that hard to pull off. Just as long as I stay out of trouble. I’ve managed that for three years. I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to manage it for three more.
SHINY HAPPY PEOPLE
“Was that your dad?”
Gaia was staring blankly at the table of hors d’oeuvres when that unmistakable deep voice whispered in her ear. She recognized the voice immediately.
“Hey, Kevin,” Gaia said, turning around. Kevin Bender was right there, his black graduation gown emphasizing his pale, mottled face and thin blond hair. As usual, he stood a bit too close—but on the few occasions she’d spent time with him, she’d gotten used to it. “Yup, that’s my father,” she confirmed, munching on a baby carrot. “In the flesh.”
“Okay.” Kevin smiled shyly, his plain face twisting pleasantly into the unfamiliar expression. Kevin never smiled—or rather, he never fake smiled. It was something Gaia liked about him. “I’m guessing it went a little something like this.” He broke into his imitation of the stereotypical father: “What are your plans, Gaia? What are you going to dooo with your life?”
Kill Game Page 1
