Normal

by Francine Pascal

  Gaia didn’t feel like answering. She was tired, and her head hurt. She had her eyes closed, with her head resting on the smooth flaps of the cardboard box in her lap. She said, “Mmm,” and hoped he would understand: not great, but fine.

  Jake’s hand squeezed her shoulder for a second and then pulled away. He understood. She didn’t want to talk. He also understood that she’d hurt her arm; Gaia could tell by the gentle way he touched her. She was beginning to like that about Jake: he caught on to things. He didn’t make a big deal about it, but he kept his eyes open.

  Just a few boxes, Gaia thought. That’s all my life comes down to, really.

  It was true. She had her clothes—really just a collection of worn-out T-shirts, sweatshirts, and jeans—and what passed for her “toiletries” and a few pairs of shoes, all in a garbage bag on her lap. Jake, next to her, held another, heavier box, with her school-books and a few other things. He had insisted on taking the heavy box, and Gaia hadn’t stopped him. He had a point: after that crazy, inexplicable fight she still felt weak. In the cab’s trunk were two more boxes. And that was it. That was all it took to relocate Gaia Moore from East Seventy-second Street to her new home.

  “Still got that headache?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was one hell of a fight.” Jake was keeping his voice low—but he sounded almost excited. He wanted to talk about that freak show. “How could they move like that? The guy who tried to stab me was so fast.”

  He sure was, Gaia thought. Any faster and you’d be dead.

  “We creamed them, though,” Jake went on. “Two against—what was it, seven? I mean, I’d give us a pretty high score, given the odds.”

  “Eight,” Gaia said. She wanted him to stop talking, but she couldn’t say that. “It was eight. And we barely made it, Jake. What the hell were they on? What was their deal?”

  “So how would you score us?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Gaia said, sitting up straight and looking at him. “I don’t keep score. This isn’t a game!” It’s my life, she thought bitterly. Assassins and headaches and homelessness and welcome to it. “You almost got killed, Jake. This wasn’t some sparring exercise.”

  “All right.” Jake had his hand back on her shoulder. His head was backlit by the streetlights; she could see his chiseled profile as he glanced at her. “All right, sorry.”

  “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Gaia said. “But that freaked me out, Jake. Those kids were so messed up. Did you see their eyes? And the stuff they were yelling about ‘God’?”

  “That was crazy,” Jake said. He was leaning forward, looking at the buildings they were passing. Gaia realized she’d hurt his feelings. He was adrenalized and injured, and he wanted to have a bonding conversation about their side-by-side fighting skills, like they were some kind of dynamic duo. It wasn’t his fault. It was all new to him.

  And there’s fear, she reminded herself. He got scared. This is how he deals with it—acting like it was a PlayStation game and not a real knife cutting his shirt open.

  She always forgot to take fear into account. She forgot to translate into everyone else’s language.

  “Jake,” Gaia said. She reached out and touched his sleeve. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt. I’m glad you were there, fighting with me.”

  Jake smiled. He seemed embarrassed—and then he suddenly leaned forward. “Up here, driver,” he yelled. “That big brownstone.”

  They were on Bank Street already, Gaia saw. The taxicab cruised to a stop. She got the door open and climbed out, holding her box of clothes, while Jake paid the driver. She looked over at the brownstone.

  It wasn’t bad, Gaia thought. She had to admit it; her new home—the Collingwood Residency Hall (a fancy way of saying “boardinghouse,” she knew)—looked nice. It was an old-fashioned six-story brownstone with ornate columns, bright windows, and a wide set of stone steps that led up to a dark mahogany front door.

  But she didn’t want to be here. Another false home—another room with another bed, for a short while, until things changed again. Gaia thought about other high school students, who complained about going home to their parents’ houses, about rules they had to follow, about their annoying younger brothers and sisters. All they did was complain.

  But it didn’t sound so bad. To Gaia, it sounded like a dream come true.

  “Come on, Gaia!”

  Jake had the boxes from the trunk—he was already bounding up the steps, the boxes stacked up in his arms. Trying to look strong, Gaia thought. Like he wasn’t hurt—like he didn’t have a gash in his shirt and a big bruise on his bicep and dried blood all over his knuckles from the fight.

  The doorbell rang loudly, deep in the brownstone. Gaia heard footsteps clattering around and saw shadows moving on the curtains. She could hear voices approaching.

  Please don’t let this suck, she thought. Please let this be a halfway decent place.

  The door swung open.

  A tall, slender Japanese woman stood in the bright hallway. It was one of the cleanest, neatest spaces Gaia had ever seen. There was a dark hardwood floor and lemon yellow wallpaper. Gaia could hear footsteps pounding on the ceiling above; someone else was home.

  The woman wore a beige business suit over a white shirt with a tightly fastened collar. She was smiling ferociously.

  “Gaia!” the woman said warmly. She had a very mild accent. “So good to meet you finally. I am Suko—Suko Wattanabe. Please, come in. So many boxes,” she added.

  “Thanks,” Gaia said, forcing herself to smile. “I’m Gaia. This is Jake.”

  “Hey.” Jake’s face was blocked by the boxes. He stepped forward.

  “No, no,” Suko said quickly. She had raised a hand, as if warding off traffic. “I’m sorry; the rule here is that boys are not allowed.”

  Here we go, Gaia thought. Her heart was sinking. Here’s where it starts sucking. And I’m not even in the front door.

  “He’s got to help me with the boxes,” Gaia said. “He can come in the front door, can’t he?”

  Suko smiled, but the smile didn’t affect her eyes—they stared back at Gaia, reflecting the orangy streetlights. “I’m sorry; the rule’s pretty strict,” she said—apologetically, as if it were all out of her hands. “Jason, just put the boxes down; one of the other girls will help.”

  Jake was putting the boxes down. Suko noticed the slit in his shirt and the dried blood then—she seemed startled. But she recovered fast, turning her smile back to Gaia. She put out her hand, very primly, to shake.

  Come on, Gaia, she told herself. Make this work.

  “Hello, Ms. Wattanabe,” Gaia said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Suko beamed. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gaia. I’m sure your stay with us will be a pleasant one. We’ll have plenty of time to—ah!”

  Suko turned expectantly. Someone was clumping loudly down the stairs. Gaia and Jake looked over.

  A girl descended into view. Gaia saw her shoes first—expensive, gleaming Robert Clergerie shoes. Then she saw a plaid skirt, like a girls’ school uniform.

  It was a girls’ school uniform, Gaia realized, although it was artfully disheveled and sloppy. The girl galloping down the stairs was tall and skinny, with long blond hair. She wore a tartan skirt with a pin holding it shut, but the top of the uniform was replaced by an oversized Eminem T-shirt. Gaia saw a small gold stud on the side of her nose.

  As she came down into view, the new girl looked over curiously at Gaia and Jake. Mostly at Jake.

  “Zan, this is Gaia Moore,” Suko said warmly. Her gestures were very formal, and she never seemed to stop smiling. “She’ll be joining us.”

  “Great.” Zan looked right at Gaia. Her face suggested that it was anything but. Her gaze went from Gaia’s head to her feet and back up. Blatantly sizing her up.

  Gaia stared right back.

  “Please,” Suko said, “would you help Gaia with her boxes?”

  Zan took a second. She kept lookin
g at Gaia with the same regal look, like she was Scarlett O’Hara coming down the staircase in a southern mansion for a great ball. Then she turned and smiled tightly at Suko. The smile didn’t look very genuine.

  “Sure,” Zan said.

  This is a girl who doesn’t like to take orders, Gaia realized. And I don’t think she likes lifting boxes, either.

  But she was obeying.

  “I can manage,” Gaia said quickly. “It’s really no trouble.”

  Zan took the top box from the floor in front of Jake. She got very close to him to do it. “You notice she didn’t introduce you,” Zan said. She flipped her hair back from her face as she smiled at him. “So I don’t know your name.”

  “Um—” Jake had nothing to say. Suko was watching carefully—she seemed determined that Jake not move a single inch into the building.

  “No boys allowed,” Zan told Gaia. It was friendly enough, but Gaia suspected that she was making a show for Jake’s benefit. “You heard that, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Zan, please show Gaia into the front room with the window,” Suko said. “Jason, we can manage the boxes.”

  “I’m Jake,” he told her. “Gaia, um—”

  “I’m sorry,” Gaia told him. Her headache was still there, throbbing dully behind her forehead. She stepped over and kissed him quickly and then hugged him. Zan was carrying one of Gaia’s boxes up the stairs.

  “I’m sorry, Jake,” she repeated. Suddenly she felt very alone and very, very tired. “I’m sorry you can’t come in.”

  “Not your fault,” Jake said. He put his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her face, concerned. “You sure you’re all right? You want me to buy you a cup of coffee or something?”

  “I just want to sleep,” Gaia said. She knew what he was really saying. He wanted to talk. But there was no way. She was barely ready for that conversation, even if she’d been wide awake.

  “All right,” Jake said. “So, take it easy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” She squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Jake. Thanks for—”

  Fighting next to me? Nearly getting killed? Patiently waiting while I put off our “big conversation”? Carrying my boxes? Obeying the stupid rules of this place? Saving my life? Again? Understanding that I can’t talk yet?

  “—everything. Thanks for everything.”

  Jake smiled. “Sure.”

  Then he nodded at Suko and turned around and walked down the wide stone stairs into the night. Gaia watched his dark silhouette move down Bank Street and out of view.

  He’d do anything for me, Gaia realized. Anything.

  So why can’t I talk to him? Why can’t I give him what he’s asking for?

  Gaia didn’t know.

  “Well!” Suko was swinging the wide mahogany door shut. She seemed visibly relieved now that the threat of a male intruder had passed. “I’m sure you want to settle in, Gaia. Zan will help you. Dinner is at seven sharp,” she added. Suko turned the door’s locks, and the harsh sound echoed through the gleaming room.

  “Thanks,” Gaia said.

  She felt like crying suddenly. She had no idea why—it came out of nowhere. Gaia squinted for a moment and concentrated and it passed, and she felt fine again. An old habit. But she was trying to force things to be right, to be bearable . . . and it wasn’t working.

  Come on, Gaia, she told herself. Time to be new Gaia. There’s nothing wrong with this place. There’s nothing wrong with Jake. There’s no reason to be angry. She turned and followed Zan up the stairs.

  A Bare, Clean Mattress

  “HERE YOU GO,” ZAN SAID. “HOME sweet home and all that.”

  Gaia looked through the door. She could see a very small bedroom. It was so narrow that the bed took up nearly the entire room. Gaia could tell, looking at the walls, that it had once been part of a much larger room—it had been partitioned off. There was a tiny wooden desk with a bright shaded lamp, and, at the other end of the narrow bed, a big window showing nothing but black night.

  There were no posters. There were no pictures or any decoration at all. The bed was unmade—a bare, clean mattress with sheets and blankets piled at one end. The floor was gleaming bare floorboards. A streetlight outside shone yellow on the bare ceiling.

  “Great,” Gaia said. She tried not to project any sarcasm, but it didn’t work. “Thank you, Zan.”

  “No worries.” Zan was putting down the box she’d carried upstairs. She grunted with the effort. “What the hell is in here—rocks?”

  “Some books.”

  “Anyway, that’s me.” Zan was pointing at the next doorway. “If you need anything.”

  Gaia caught a glimpse of another, larger bedroom. The streetlight shone in the window, illuminating a Massive Attack poster. “Okay.”

  Zan followed Gaia into her tiny bedroom. Gaia went over to the window, peering out into the darkness. She could see the bright streetlamp and the shadows of the trees on the street. “So was that your boyfriend downstairs?” Zan asked. “He’s a little bit cute.”

  “He’s—” Zan had asked a very good question, Gaia realized. What was Jake, anyway? “He’s my friend. I’m not sure.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Too bad he couldn’t come in.”

  Zan frowned, squinting. “There are ways.”

  Gaia sat down on the bed. It was very firm. She could hear the springs creaking.

  “So, you like to party?” Zan asked.

  “Um—sometimes, I guess.” It was a lame answer, but Gaia had no idea what to say. There was just no way to explain her life to this girl. And what Gaia really wanted to do was sleep—at least at that moment. Her headache was just beginning to fade.

  Looking at Zan, Gaia realized she’d given the wrong answer. Zan was already bored with her.

  “If Suko tells you to do something, just do it,” Zan said.

  “So you can’t break any of her rules?”

  Zan smirked. “Like I said, there are ways,” she said.

  Then she left the room, and Gaia started unpacking.

  Claustrophobic

  “TONIGHT WE ARE HAVING TERIYAKI,” Suko said. “I have made it for this special occasion—a new guest has joined our little family.”

  This isn’t my family, Gaia thought. That’s not what the word means.

  The dining room was big and bright, lit by soft white lamps behind Japanese screens against the walls. The floor was covered by a straw-colored mat.

  Gaia moved toward her chair, and then they all sat down. The big oak table was surrounded by empty chairs. There was nobody there but Suko and Zan and another girl at the other end of the table. She wore thick glasses and a pink shirt. Nobody had introduced her.

  The whole scene was strange—and, Gaia thought glumly, she had to get used to it, because as long as her father was away, this was home. There was nothing to be gained by getting these people angry with her. She had to make it work. It was just a boardinghouse, after all—it wasn’t like anyone was torturing her. They were serving her dinner, weren’t they? The smells from the kitchen weren’t half bad.

  “Thanks,” Gaia said.

  Suko somehow managed to frown at her while still smiling. Gaia didn’t know very many people who could do that.

  Zan laughed.

  Gaia looked over at her, startled. The laugh had been very loud. Zan seemed beside herself—she was covering her mouth, trying not to laugh more.

  What’s so funny? Gaia wondered.

  The white kitchen door opened. An elderly Japanese man came in, wearing a blue apron with Japanese writing on it and holding a tray of covered platters. When he saw Gaia, he smiled, nodding slightly. Gaia nodded back.

  “Gaia, here at Collingwood we have many activities for our guests,” Suko was saying. “I personally give lectures on the martial arts, if you are interested. I am a black belt, trained by . . . Well, you know.”

  Suko seemed reluctant to mention the Agency, as if she didn’t want to break the illusion
that this was just another girls’ boardinghouse. As she spoke, the old man was carefully laying out the platters and taking the covers off. “When he is not cooking, Philip also gives talks about the history of the romantic period in literature. Zan, please.”

  “Sorry,” Zan said. She had still been laughing; her face was red.

  Gaia smiled politely.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Zan went on. “Gaia and me—we’re both sorry.”

  There was something strange about Zan—about the way she was acting. Something strange about the way her face looked. Gaia couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but it was quite different from the way she’d been upstairs.

  “Are there other girls living here?” Gaia asked Suko.

  Suko nodded enthusiastically. “Zan you have met. Her father also is busy, working for the federal government, as your father is. Alexa, at the end of the table, is the daughter of a—”

  “Shooting people,” Zan said loudly. “Dad’s in the Middle East, shooting people in secret. That’s his gig. That’s—”

  “Zan!” Suko was sitting bolt upright, glaring at Zan. “Please!”

  “Why he can’t be home for Christmas or Thanksgiving or my birthday. What?”

  The doorbell rang. Gaia recognized the sound from earlier, when Jake had rung it. It was a loud electric buzzer.

  “You’re being impolite,” Suko told her. The clanking of silverware went on as Philip continued to move around the table, serving each of them. “We’ve discussed this. Alexa, would you get the door, please? And explain that we’re eating.”

  “May I be excused?” Zan said.

  She’s high, Gaia realized suddenly. She’s high on something.

  Now that Gaia had figured it out, she was sure that was what was making Zan’s pretty face look so strange. Her pupils were expanded, like black basketballs. Her face was flushed. Her movements were exaggerated.

  Alexa, the quiet girl in the pink shirt, had stood up; she was folding her napkin, heading out of the room to answer the door.

  “No, Zan—you must eat with us. There aren’t special rules for you,” Suko said patiently. “Gaia, I’ll explain the rules to you in detail later. There’s a curfew each night that you have to obey—that’s one thing. We like to have everyone accounted for by 10 P.M. on weeknights, 11 P.M. on weekends.”