Fear (5 page)

As they sat down beside each other at one of the round library tables, Ed could still feel the memory of Tatiana's arms around him. She felt light and strong at the same time. It was a good feeling. A feeling that only made what he was going to say that much harder.

He cleared his throat again. “Listen, I came in here to talk to you about something.”

“Something besides your walking again?” Tatiana asked. She pursed her lips. “Why do I think this isn't going to be something good?”

“It's not bad. Or at least, I don't think it is.” Ed pushed an unruly lock of hair away from his eyes. “Here's the thing. We've been spending a lot of time together. You and me.”

“Yes.”

“And I've enjoyed it. Loved it, really. I mean, who wouldn't want to be with you?” Ed paused, searching for the next words.

Tatiana looked at him with a flat, knowing expression. “I can answer that question,” she said. “The answer is you. You don't want to be with me.”

“It's not like that,” said Ed. “Didn't I just say that I like being with you?”

“No,” said Tatiana. “No, what you said was that you
had
enjoyed it. Like it was something in the past. But it sounds to me like you're over that. It sounds to me like you don't want to spend any more time with me.”

Ed shook his head. “No. That's not right.” He drew in a deep breath. “Look, I do want to spend time with you. I want to spend a lot of time with you, really. I just don't want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea?” Tatiana said. “I have always had the same idea. That we were friends.”

“We are. Or at least I hope we are.” Ed reached across and took her hand. “Look, all I'm trying to say is that as much as I like you, I don't think we can be more than friends.”

Tatiana rolled her eyes. “You think I don't know this?”

“What?”

She patted Ed's hand, then pushed it away. “No matter what you say, I know where you've put your heart. You love Gaia. You know it doesn't make any sense because Gaia treats you like the underside of her shoe, but you love her, anyway.”

“I. . . yeah.” Ed shrugged. “I guess that's what I was trying to say.” He looked at Tatiana and smiled. “How did you get so smart, anyway?”

She grinned back at him. “In Russia, there's a lot less television and a lot more talking. You learn something about this mysterious thing called people.” Her smile faded, and she gave Ed a penetrating look. “So, when are you going to tell Gaia?”

“That I love her? I already—”

“No, that you are walking without the crutches.”

“Ah, that one.” Ed looked away. “I don't know. The way Gaia's been acting, I doubt she'll notice.”

“She'll notice,” said Tatiana. “She notices more than you think.”

Ed turned that over in his mind for a few seconds. “So, you're not mad at me for loving someone else?”

“Of course not. We're great friends, right?”

“Right.”

“Good.” Tatiana leaned in close and dropped her already low voice to a bare whisper. “But remember this, Edward. I am nobody's backup girl. You love Gaia, and I know that. I don't understand it, but I know. But if Gaia pushes you away again, don't expect me to make it all better.” She paused, and her eyes locked on his. “I'm not giving my heart to someone that doesn't really want it. I have to be the first choice. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Ed replied. “I think that was pretty clear.”

Tatiana smiled. “Good,” she said. “I would hate to lose your friendship.”

She reached out and picked up her sketchbook, flipped it open to a page near the center, then turned the book toward Ed.

It took a moment for the thin strokes of charcoal to come to life, to form a scene with depth, and motion, and emotion.
It was Gaia. And Ed. Together.

GAIA DIDN'T EXACTLY SLEEP THROUGH
her afternoon classes, but she wasn't really hanging on every golden word that came from the lips of her teachers. Instead of on calculus and world history, Gaia's thoughts were definitely more on where in the world was her father and what in the world was going on in the Heather zone. Gaia had told Tatiana about her trip to George Niven's brownstone, the outline on the floor, and the weird encounter with Heather. Only she hadn't told Tatiana everything.

The way Heather had talked, the way she had danced around the bloodstained room. . . Gaia kept that part to herself. It was all just too, well, too bizarre.

Visions of Heather bouncing around that bedroom had made their way into Gaia's dreams, and the image still seemed to be waiting for her whenever she closed her eyes. There was probably some
big hairy metaphor in the scene.
After all, the room had once been Gaia's bedroom, and then it had become a place for violence, murder, and weirdness. Wasn't that the way it went with everything in Gaia's life? Things started out looking good, then
bam, thump, one order of insanity coming right up.

When the bell rang for the last class, Gaia gathered up her untouched notepad and walked out into the hall. She had started to take a turn for her locker when shouting pulled her back in the other direction. At first she was just going to check it out, see if there was any need for Gaia, unappreciated defender of the week and righteous kicker of bullying asses. But as she got close, Gaia recognized the voices. One belonged to Megan, a girl she knew from chemistry class. The other belonged to Heather Gannis.

Gaia let her books fall to the floor and sprinted around the last corner. The hallway beyond was nearly clogged by observers to this strange drama. Gaia pushed herself through the crowd until she could see what was going on.

Megan was pressed back against one wall. Her hands were held up over her face, shielding herself. It might have just been because Heather was yelling at her, but from the look on Megan's face, Gaia was willing to bet more than words had been flying.

Standing ten feet away was Heather. Actually, Heather was pacing, bouncing, and jumping up and down. Anything but standing. As far as Gaia could tell, Heather was still wearing the same sweatshirt and jeans she had worn the night before at the brownstone. Her hair had gone beyond tangled, into rat's nest territory that even Gaia rarely reached.

“You. . . you. . . ,” Heather said. She backed up a step, came forward, tightened her hands into fists. Then backed up again. “You think you know what's important, but you don't because, see, you're afraid. You're afraid of everything. I thought I knew, but I was wrong because tiny, tiny. . .” She stopped and her throat worked up and down, as if there were more words down there, but she couldn't choke them out.

At first Gaia could only stare in amazement and horror.
The Heather that showed up at the brownstone had definitely been playing hockey with a warped puck.
This Heather had thrown the puck away.

Gaia stepped forward. “What's going on, Heather?”

Heather's neck snapped around, and her face took on a smug, satisfied expression. “There you are. I knew you would turn up.”

“You did?” What was it they said in all the psych books? Talk in a calm, rational tone. Make eye contact. “Were you looking for me?”

Heather snorted, a big honking snort-laugh that would have had the old, sane Heather blushing with embarrassment. “I wasn't looking for you. I'm never looking for you. I don't care if I ever see you.”

Yeah, I love you, too.
“So, what's wrong, then?”

“Wrong? Nothing's wrong.” Heather spread her arms wide, like she wanted to give the whole planet a hug. The expression on her face changed to a broad smile. “For the first time in my life, everything is absolutely and completely right.”

Across the hall, Megan took this opportunity to flee into the crowd. Gaia could hear the girl crying as she ran down the hall. Heather didn't seem to notice.

“Why don't we go outside?” Gaia suggested. “Maybe we can find a—”

“Why don't you go to hell?” said Heather. Strands of dirty brown hair spilled down her forehead, and there was a
dangerous shine in her eyes, like someone running a high fever.
She stepped forward until her face was only inches from Gaia's. “You think I'm afraid of you?”

Despite herself Gaia felt the warm surge and tingle that came with a fight. The muscles in her arms and legs tensed. “I don't know. Are you?”

“Not anymore. I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of anything.” Heather took a step back and put her hands on her hips. Suddenly she smiled. “I'm free, see what I mean?”

Gaia relaxed. Heather was being erratic, but she didn't seem to be actually—

The punch caught Gaia at the corner of the jaw and knocked her back. She stepped back in surprise, and then the fire was burning through her. She wasn't just ready to fight; she was in a fight.

Heather waded toward her, her arms waving through the air. “See! See!” she shouted. “I'm not afraid. Not afraid.” She sent a roundhouse punch toward Gaia's face.

Gaia blocked the punch with a forearm. It was a clumsy punch, really, but Heather delivered it with unexpected force. Gaia blocked a second punch, ducked a third, and stopped a jab against the palm of her open hand.

Heather laughed. She threw her punches cheerfully,
as if fighting was the greatest thing in the world.
If she noticed that none of her shots were connecting, it didn't show on her face.

“Ms. Moore! Ms. Gannis!” shouted a voice from the right. “Stop it this instant.”

Gaia didn't turn to look at the voice. She had already taken two shots from Heather. She wasn't about to lower her guard while Heather was still punching.

A tall man in a dark suit stepped through the crowd. He hesitated for a moment. “Ms. Gannis, I said that's enough. Put your hands down.”

Heather dropped her hands, still laughing. “See?” she said. “Did you see? I'm not afraid of anything.” She pushed her chin out toward Gaia, as if daring her to throw a punch.

Gaia slowly lowered her hands and looked over at the tall man. It took her a moment to recognize Vice Principal Stallman. Usually the man had a sour, commanding expression. Right now it looked like Mr. Stallman was more than scared enough to make up for Heather's sudden lack.

“Now,” the vice principal said in a squeaky voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Now, this kind of behavior is simply not allowed in this school.”

“Heather started it,” volunteered a student on the edge of the crowd. “She's acting crazy!”

The vice principal looked at Heather. “Is that right, Ms. Gannis? Did you start this fight?”

“I started it. I'll finish it, too, if you give me a chance.” She flashed another loopy grin.

“Fighting is strictly forbidden by school policy,” said Mr. Stallman. He was hitting his stride now, getting back to the standard I, teacher, you, student tone. “You're immediately suspended for the remainder of the day. Tomorrow morning I want you to report to my office and we'll discuss—”

“Boring!” shouted Heather. She turned, shoved two students out of the way, and sprinted down the hall. “Ring me when you have something more interesting to say,” she said over her shoulder.

“Get back here!” called Mr. Stallman.

Heather didn't slow. While the small crowd watched, Heather pushed open the door and plunged out into the cold afternoon.

Mr. Stallman seemed completely stunned at the events. For several seconds he could only stare at the door with his thin-lipped mouth hanging open. Finally he turned toward Gaia. “Are you all right, Ms. Moore?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Gaia nodded.

“I want you to see the nurse.”

“But I'm fine.”

“Yes, well.” Mr. Stallman cleared his throat. “See the nurse, anyway.”

“I need to go after Heather. Something's wrong with her.”

The vice principal nodded. “Clearly,” he said. He adjusted his tie. “But whatever's wrong, you're still going to the nurse.”

“Heather—”

“Ms. Gannis will have to solve her problems somewhere else. As of this moment, she is suspended from the Village School until further notice.”

THE CAPUCHIN MONKEY WAS ANGRY.
That wasn't particularly surprising—capuchins always seemed to be angry. In Josh's opinion, the little beasts were nasty, mean, and worthless. But this particular monkey was even more irate than the
snarly norm.

Ever since Josh came into the room, the monkey had been standing in the center of its clear Plexiglas cage. Screaming. These were not I'm-hungry screams or even let-me-out screams. These were screams for the sake of screaming. Absolute fury.

Josh pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to fight off the beginnings of a headache. He hadn't even known an animal could make such a noise. Compared to the sound made by this small smelly beast, fingernails scratching a chalkboard were a symphony. “Is this what you brought me down here to see?”

Dr. Glenn nodded. “Yes, this is the behavior I was describing.”

“How much longer is it going to—”

Before Josh could finish the sentence, the screaming stopped. The monkey stood up on its hind legs and flailed at the air like a miniature boxer. A shiver ran through the little primate's body. It stood a moment longer, its chest heaving as if it had run a marathon. Then the capuchin fell over on its side, jerked once, and lay still.

“There!” said Dr. Glenn. “That's the exact pattern I observed in the first one.”

“First one?” asked Josh. “What first one?”

Glenn waved him over to a cage farther down the wall. Inside, another capuchin lay lifelessly in the middle of a bed of pine shavings. “This animal demonstrated the same patterns before it died.”