Blood

by Francine Pascal

  Heather scrambled off her bed. Though NYU students were already back at school, her sister Phoebe wasn’t due back at SUNY Binghamton for another ten days. It was fun having Phoebe around. She was the coolest, even though she and Heather had had their differences in the past. But Phoebe had been really happy lately and really sweet to Heather. Maybe she’d be into catching an early movie at the Angelika or something. A sisterly thing.

  A bathroom connected Heather and Phoebe’s bedrooms, and Heather heard the shower water shut off. She gave the door a brief tap and opened it.

  “Hey, Feeb, I have a great idea,” Heather began.

  Phoebe had just stepped out of the shower and was reaching for a fluffy gold towel. It took only moments for Heather’s gaze to sweep her sister’s body. She blinked as Phoebe quickly wrapped herself in the towel, brushing long, wet strands of hair out of the way.

  “Whoa,” Heather said without thinking. “You’re … really skinny.”

  “Really skinny” didn’t begin to describe what Heather had caught a glimpse of. She knew Phoebe had been dieting a lot—an attempt to get rid of the freshman fifteen she’d put on last semester. But until now she’d simply thought Phoebe looked fabulous, model slim in her bulky winter clothes. Naked, Phoebe looked like something else. Heather could see Phoebe’s ribs, her hipbones. Phoebe was much too thin.

  Phoebe briskly started toweling her hair. “Thanks,” she said.

  Heather looked closely. Her sister’s skin seemed stretched over her facial bones. Her eyes looked deep set, her cheekbones carved and prominent. Without makeup her sister looked pale, anemic, underfed. With makeup, Heather knew, Phoebe looked stunning.

  Bending over, Phoebe combed her hair out with her fingers, then expertly wrapped a towel around her head. One, two, three … Heather counted the knobby vertebrae on Phoebe’s back.

  “Um, do you think maybe you’re a tiny bit too thin?” Heather asked.

  Phoebe stood up and tucked in the towel ends. She smiled at Heather.

  “Heath-er,” Phoebe said in an older-sister singsong. “I’m not dieting anymore. I’m just watching my weight. Trying not to go overboard. You wouldn’t believe how awful it was when I put on all that weight at school. It was like, I couldn’t button anything. I was practically a size nine! I’m never going there again, let me tell you.”

  Phoebe turned away from Heather and went into her own room but didn’t start getting dressed. She’s waiting for me to leave her alone, Heather thought.

  “No kidding, Feeb,” Heather said, moving into Phoebe’s room. “Maybe you don’t want to be a size nine. But you don’t want to be a size zero, either. I think you could lighten up on the diet, maybe even put on a few pounds.”

  “Oh, no way,” said Phoebe, sounding irritated. “My body is finally the way I want it. No way am I going to sabotage it now.” Her eyebrows came together, and she looked at Heather with narrowed eyes. “You know, maybe you’re just jealous because I’m where you want to be.” Phoebe turned her back on Heather and opened her closet door. “Okay, clear out. I have to get dressed.”

  It was a dismissal, and Heather cleared out.

  Glorious, Living Color

  SAM’S FIRST THOUGHT ON SEEING Gaia was that his sheer longing to see her had somehow made her materialize in front of him. He’d tried to call her from the dorm lobby, but Ella had answered, and he’d hung up. He’d decided to head to the library, keep trying to call, and maybe later go over to her house and—this was where the plan got fuzzy. Throw rocks at her window? Lie in wait for her all night? Now here she was, right in front of him, in glorious, living color.

  Looking at her, at her beautiful, solemn face, he felt like all of his fantasies had been fulfilled. In that one split second he imagined that yes, Gaia loved him, yes, Gaia had come to find him, yes, they were going to be together forever, just the two of them. …

  Then he saw the cold, forbidding look in her eyes, mingled with a flash of surprise and something else? Not longing. Not love. What? He couldn’t tell.

  As she stood there, seemingly frozen, her deep, ocean blue eyes locked on to his, Sam got up slowly from his chair.

  He walked toward her. He didn’t think about the boyfriend Ella had told him Gaia had. He didn’t remember that Gaia had never acknowledged the gift he had given her—a finely carved wooden chess set in a small red box. He didn’t remember that he had sent her e-mails that she never answered.

  All he knew was that her best friend had died, that he had let her down, that she must be hurting. That possibly she hated him.

  Sam swallowed dryly, forcing himself to remain calm. As he approached her, Gaia turned and headed to a chair over by the window. She set down her black nylon bag. His gaze focused on her strong, beautifully shaped hands. Her knuckles were scraped, and the blood looked fresh.

  Sam felt hyperaware, like he and Gaia were suspended together in a time warp. He could hear her unzip her bag. Hear the chair cushion rustle as she sat down. Hear her click open her pen.

  He took a couple of deep, calming breaths. “Gaia,” she said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the library’s silence.

  She froze again, then slowly, deliberately turned her head to gaze up at him.

  He steeled himself against the coolness in her expression. “I just found out about Mary,” he said in a blunt whisper.

  Her delicate brows drew together, and her eyes widened. He saw her swallow, then glance away from him.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, sinking to a crouch next to her chair. “I didn’t know until an hour ago.” He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. I wish I’d known. I wish I’d been there.”

  Now she was actively glaring at him.

  Sam floundered, not knowing what else to say. I love you? I’m sorry? I made a huge mistake?

  “Did you … was there a service for her?” he asked.

  If he didn’t know better, he would swear that Gaia had just flinched. But she wasn’t a flinchy sort of girl.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Gaia said.

  Sam held up his hands. “I understand. I know you must be … Well, it’s a tragic thing to happen. I just can’t believe it. And you guys seemed like really good friends.”

  Gaia’s jaw clenched, and Sam felt like he was drowning. If she burst into tears right now, he would sort of know how to deal with it. Hold her close, pat her back, stroke her hair, murmur soothing words. But she was just looking at him steadily, as if he were a microbe. An interesting microbe, perhaps, but a microbe.

  Sam took a deep breath and surged forward. “When I first read about Mary in the newspaper and realized what night it was, I was just so shocked,” he blathered on. “I feel like it’s my fault because I wasn’t … wasn’t there. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that, about that night, why I left—I just—I um …”

  “You think it was your fault?” Gaia said. He picked up on the anger in her voice.

  “Well, because I was supposed to be with you guys on New Year’s,” Sam said. “And … I’m so sorry I wasn’t. I shouldn’t have left. Maybe if I hadn’t, Mary wouldn’t have … died.”

  “So you could have stopped it,” Gaia said sarcastically. She was keeping her voice down, but people still turned their heads to look at them. “The mighty Sam,” Gaia continued. “The wonderful Sam. Everything revolves around Sam.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Sam said, feeling defensive. “I just meant—”

  “You know, Sam,” Gaia interrupted coldly, “I hate to tell you this, but this isn’t about you. This isn’t about how you’re sorry. How you could have prevented it. How everything would be perfect if only you were there. The fact is, you weren’t there. I don’t care why. But you weren’t, and as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter if you’re ever there again. Now, if you don’t mind, I came here to study!” She leaned forward and hissed the last word. It felt like a slap in the face, and Sam recoiled.

  He started
to speak again, but she fixed him with a glare so fierce, his face felt sunburned. Feeling like a total and complete ass, he rose to his feet, backed away from her, and slumped back in his own chair.

  That had gone well. He reviewed what he had said, and it seemed not too bad. Gaia had deliberately twisted his words. Okay, she was angry at him. That much was clear. She must be superupset about Mary. Too upset to let him comfort her. Too upset to forgive him for letting her down.

  Sam sat, smoldering, in his library chair. Having Gaia ignore him so steadily was like having a weight on his chest. But he wouldn’t give her an easy out. He was going to sit right here until he had reviewed his comp anat notes, and if that made her uncomfortable, it was too bad. Maybe she would even relent. Maybe he might possibly get another chance.

  Did she remember that one amazing night when he had come home to his dorm room to find her asleep in his bed, wearing only his tank top and a pair of his boxers? Every detail of that night was burned into his memory.

  Sam shifted uncomfortably in his library chair. Don’t go there, he warned himself. But it was too late. His lips tingled as he remembered what it had felt like to finally kiss Gaia, hold her tightly, tell her he loved her.

  Sam stared blankly at his notebook. Minutes passed. Minutes during which Sam wondered if it was possible to redeem himself in Gaia’s eyes. Make her care about him. Make her see how much he cared about her.

  In a wild fantasy he thought about running upstairs to the tenth floor of the library and flinging himself through the glass partition. That would get her attention. He would plummet down, down, down and land with a satisfying, final splat on the marble tumbling-block pattern of the library floor. He would be lying there, flatter than a pancake but still somehow looking good. Gaia, realizing that nothing mattered but their love, would rush over and kneel by him, holding his hand to her breast while tears slowly seeped out of her beautiful eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he would whisper with his last breath. “I’m a dumb-ass, but I love you.” No, scratch the dumb-ass part. He would come up with something better. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole,” or something like that. She would forgive him. She would lean over him, her soft breath fanning his face. Her soft, full lips would gently, so gently touch his. …

  Sam realized he was breathing quickly. His hazel eyes pulled into focus. Get a grip. He licked his lips, glad that his face, which felt hot, was looking downward. Okay, he would let Gaia be furious with him for now. But soon he would get her to forgive him. Right after he broke up with Heather.

  Come On, Come On

  WHEELING UP TO GAIA’S FRONT door, Ed felt his pulse quicken. Come on, come on, he urged silently. Please be home, Gaia. Let me in. He pressed the doorbell.

  It was almost ten. Which was no guarantee that Gaia would be home from the library, if that’s where she had really gone. If her guardians, her foster parents, cared where she was and when, Gaia sure didn’t let it hamper her. But Ed had thought he would give it one more Boy Scout try. He just had to talk to her, had to get through to her somehow. He knew she was hurting. He was hurting, too. And the only person he really wanted to talk to about it was Gaia. Obviously they should be taking care of each other during this nightmare. So why was Gaia making him do this alone? Why wasn’t she coming to him so they could help each other? He had to make her see that she could lean on him. Even if she had to bend down to do it.

  George Niven opened the door. “Hello—Ed, is it? What can I do for you? It’s kind of late for a school night, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry about that,” said Ed, using his best speaking-to-parents voice. The one that had always worked on the Gannises. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.” He noted that Mr. Niven was wearing his bathrobe.

  “Oh, no, it’s okay,” said Mr. Niven.

  “Is Gaia home?” Ed asked.

  A pained expression crossed Mr. Niven’s face. “No, Ed, I’m sorry. She hasn’t been here since this morning. My wife says she mentioned going to the library, but I’m afraid that Gaia doesn’t always leave an itinerary with us.” He looked embarrassed, as if he should be doing a better job of keeping tabs on her. Good luck, Ed thought cynically.

  “Oh, well,” he said. Another wasted trip in the freezing night air.

  “Listen, Ed,” said Mr. Niven. Ed looked up. “Did you know Gaia’s friend who was killed? Mary Moss?”

  Ed felt a fresh stab of pain. “Yeah. We were good friends.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s a terrible thing,” said Mr. Niven. “Is Gaia … Does she seem very upset about it?” He looked concerned.

  For a moment Ed thought about how Gaia had been ever since Sunday night. “Oh, who knows?” he answered disgustedly. “Sorry to bother you. Good night.” He spun on his wheels and headed down the block quickly.

  He’d come all this way for nothing. His mom had asked him to run out to the bodega and get a quart of milk and a newspaper. He’d used the opportunity to come way over here to the West Village. The plan was to tell his mom that the store had been out, and he’d had to go up practically to Twelfth Street.

  Gaia, where are you? he wailed silently as he headed east on Bleecker Street. Don’t you need a friend? Don’t you need me? Aren’t I the only friend you have? Rhythmically Ed’s hands slapped against the wheels, keeping him moving forward.

  Making a split decision, Ed turned at the next corner and began the long, zigzagging route over to West Fourth Street. That would take him to Washington Square Park. He could pass through the park quickly on his way home. He could peek into the library. Maybe Gaia was even in the park, having a freezing-cold late night game of chess with Zolov.

  Ed was breathing hard when he got to the park. His lungs were burning from pulling in the cold night air again and again. His shoulders were tired, and his hands felt like they were frozen into claws. If his parents knew he was here alone at this time of night, they would kill him. Twice.

  Suddenly something ahead of him made Ed stop dead in his tracks. His stomach lurched as his wheelchair jerked forward.

  Oh.

  The scene was no longer marked by crime scene tape, and the chalk outline where Mary’s body had fallen had been erased by people’s feet and snow. But on the cobbled pavers, Ed could detect a faint dark stain. Mary’s blood.

  Ed’s breathing quickened as he stared at the mark. Was this all Mary’s life amounted to now? A stain on the pavement? His chest constricted at the thought.

  Almost simultaneously a light-colored flash caught the corner of his eye. Startled, Ed peered into the darkness of the shadows beneath the trees. There it was again. Moving away from him. A million women in the world had blond hair, but somehow Ed knew instantly who that particular blond head belonged to.

  He spun to the right, whipping down the path, and managed to intersect with Gaia just as she was emerging from the trees’ shadows onto the path again. They almost collided as Ed yanked his chair to a stop in front of her.

  “Hey!” She backed up, startled. “Ed!”

  “Gaia, what are you doing here?” Ed demanded stupidly, momentarily forgetting that he had expected to find Gaia here. “I just stopped by your house—they said you were at the library. …” His voice trailed off as he took in the conflicting emotions crossing her face. Four months ago he would have said Gaia’s two main emotions were impatience and irritation, but he knew her slightly better now. He was seeing confusion and almost—could it be?—embarrassment. Discomfort. She looked away from him, as if thinking of a story to tell him.

  “Gaia,” Ed said again, this time more deliberately, suspiciously. “What are you really doing out here?”

  She faced him defiantly. “I was at the library. It’s right over there, remember? What are you doing here?”

  “I went out to get milk for my mom,” Ed said. “I went over to your house. I’ve been worried about you. I’ve wanted to talk to you. I was almost home,” he recited, “when I just found myself coming here.” He shrugged. “This is where it happened.�
�� For a split second Gaia appeared to soften a little.

  “I had no idea seeing this would make me feel this way. I don’t know.” Ed looked at her, his dark brown eyes meeting her blue ones. “Maybe I somehow meant to see it. You know, to help me deal with things. But that’s not what you’re doing here, is it?”

  “Why not?” Gaia said.

  “Because you look weird,” Ed said flatly. “Because you’ve been acting weird.”

  “Thanks,” Gaia said snidely. “I already said I was at the library. I decided to hang out here for a while and get some fresh air on my way back to Perry Street.”

  Ed’s brain started humming. Obviously Washington Square Park was on the way between the NYU library and Gaia’s brownstone. But he knew she was lying. During the time he had known her, she had always been evasive and tight-lipped. But as far as he knew, she had never lied to him before. This was a first.

  Gaia shifted her weight from foot to foot as she stood in front of him. She grew visibly impatient. “Well, gotta go,” she said, turning.

  “Wait!” Ed’s voice came out louder than he intended. “I know what you’re doing here.”

  She turned as gracefully as a gazelle wearing construction boots. “Oh, really?”

  “You’re looking for Skizz.” Ed’s skin felt tight as he said it. The thought had just popped into his brain, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from. But as soon as it left his lips, he knew it was true. He could tell by the wild, wary look that flashed in Gaia’s eyes, the sudden tightening of the line of her body. The way her hand tensed on the strap of her bag. Her knuckles, he noticed, were grazed and raw.

  Then Gaia relaxed. Her face became a careful mask. “I wanted to ask him some questions.”

  Another lie. Ed saw it as clearly as if a neon sign had lit up over her head. Was this Gaia, the person who had been his closest friend for the last four months? Was this the same girl he longed for with an almost frightening intensity?