Exposed

Something in Jake's mind clicked. Oliver had told him to be on the lookout for anything new, and Invince, well … that was new. Was it just a coincidence that Gaia had started acting insecure and timid at around the same time that half of New York City was dosed with fake adrenaline? It seemed like a long shot—but then again, he didn't have any shorter shots left.

Don't miss any books in this thrilling series:

FEARLESS
™

#1
Fearless

#2
Sam

#3
Run

#4
Twisted

#5
Kiss

#6
Payback

#7
Rebel

#8
Heat

#9
Blood

#10
Liar

#11
Trust

#12
Killer

#13
Bad

#14
Missing

#15
Tears

#16
Naked

#17
Flee

#18
Love

#19
Twins

#20
Sex

#21
Blind

#22
Alone

#23
Fear

#24
Betrayed

#25
Lost

#26
Escape

#27
Shock

#28
Chase

#29
Lust

#30
Freak

#31
Normal

#32
Terror

#33
Wired

#34
Fake

#35
Exposed

Super Edition #1:
Before Gaia

Super Edition #2:
Gaia Abducted

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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 September 2004

Copyright © 2004 by Francine Pascal

Cover copyright © 2004 by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company.

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Printed in the United States of America

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Library of Congress Control Number: 2004100273

ISBN: 0-689-86918-5

eISBN-13: 978-1-439-12109-2

To Sabrine Mrabet

For
a long time—in fact, for as long as I can remember I thought I was a freak.

Forget “thought.” I
was
a freak. I
am
a freak.

Doctors weren't sure what was wrong with me or what had transpired in my genetic code, but somehow, I was literally incapable of feeling fear. I didn't have the gene for it. Some sort of genetic mutation.

See? A freak. Sideshow attraction. Ship me off to the carnival.

GAIA
I hated it. I hated myself and all of the icky by-products of being different. I hated the fact that my father had trained me to kick ass. Sure, pounding the crap out of some low-level street thug is satisfying, but I always dreamed of being a girlie-girl. Being able to thwart a mugger didn't take away the sting of being shunned by my classmates, who thought—rightly so—that I was oddly aggressive and always
involved in one shady incident after another. From the days of elementary school, when my teacher scheduled a conference with my father to discuss my “combative tendencies,” I was always the outsider.

And the social implications were only the tip of the dysfunctional iceberg. As a result of these attributes, people were—
are—
always after me. Always hurting the people who are important to me. Someone's always out to get me, manipulate me, dissect me. Like my genetic makeup is some sort of prize to be attained and exploited. No wonder my father, agent extraordinaire, worried so much when I was a kid. He knew what was in store for me.

So yeah—lack of fear? Not such a thrilling talent to have.

Lately, though, I've come to understand the benefits of my freakdom. Because lately, I've come to know fear.

Thanks to Dr. Rodke and his incredible medical advances, Gaia
the Unfearing was temporarily transformed into a living, breathing regular girl. For the first time ever, I was really, truly afraid. Make that
terrified
. Everything I encountered—from the social mafia at the Village School to the prepubescent drug dealers in Washington Square Park, from the crazy homeless man outside Grey Dog Coffee to a random dog tied to a parking meter—
everything
scared me. I was petrified of my own shadow.

And let me tell you: it sucked.

'Cause the part of me that had grown used to ignoring the cheesy morons at school or that wouldn't be bullied by creeps in the park had also grown accustomed to taking all of those unsavories on, to the point where I almost thought of it as some sort of sick duty. If I saw a girl getting hassled in the park. I broke it up. Because I could. Because I wasn't afraid.

But with my newly manipulated
fear, I was helpless. Simpering. Practically useless. I ran from a fight while my boyfriend stood his ground. God only knows what that did to his opinion of me (yet another superfun source of anxiety in itself). I let my best friend (well, once best friend, anyway) and his new girlfriend get jumped. I didn't step in. Because I was
afraid
.

I let the FOHs, the ridiculous divas who-in their minds, anyway-run the Village School social scene—make me feel insecure. I sought out their approval. God help me, I wore a baby tee. The Village School saw my navel, no joke.

But worse than any of this was the fact that I let down my guard.

The foremost piece of information that my father passed along to me was to
never
let down my guard. He knew better than anyone that someone is almost always after us. He knew that I need to be constantly alert, to trust no
one. And for as long as I've understood that, I've adhered to it. At least half the people who've made their ways into my life—Uncle Oliver, Ella, George, Natasha—have been out to get me.

So needless to say, suspicion has been a pretty useful emotion. One that's generally validated.

I'm not saying that fear reduced the element of suspicion. That's not the case at all. If anything, fear made me even more nervous around people, warier. Eventually I was checking my cell phone every three seconds to see if my boyfriend had called or, as previously mentioned, I was donning a baby tee rather than throwing it at Megan and her cronies and telling them where to shove it. But fear clouded my judgment. I started to doubt my own instincts, which, unfortunately, haven't failed me yet. I started to second-guess myself—the only person, ironically, that I can even trust. In fact, my own rational thought was clouded to
the point that I actively sought out someone else's approval, someone else's direction, someone else's …
control
.

I'm not totally sure at what point I realized that my dependence on Skyler wasn't completely normal. It was like I looked up, and in the blink of an eye, it occurred to me that there was no good reason for turning over practically my whole persona to him. I've never relied on anyone before—namely because there was never anyone truly reliable in my life. Yet I was willing to give over all of my decisions to someone I barely knew. And why? Because he happened to come along and offer comfort on a night when I particularly needed it? Because he was authoritative? Because he was good-looking?

I'm sorry, not good enough.

That's exactly how it happened, though. The Rodkes came to town, and I met Liz and Chris, who were both amazing and
cool in an I'm-so-cool-I-don't-even-notice-or-care-how-cool-I-am kind of way. The antithesis of the usual “worship me, I wear Juicy Couture” attitude I encounter at the hell dimension otherwise known as high school. And, stranger than fiction, the two of them seemed to like me, seemed to like hanging out with me. Before I knew anything about their father and his scientific interests, I was well into the Rodkes. I didn't even know who Skyler was.

But yeah, from the minute I laid eyes on him, there was something. Some spark between us—not exactly sexual, but not exactly brother-sister, either. Some completely unidentifiable, indefinable quality. And when I was feeling nervous or jumpy (which, let's face it, has lately been, uh,
all the time)
, he was reassuring. Calming. Authoritative.

Insistent.

And I went along with it.

When Skyler told me to blow
off Suko and stay all night in his apartment, I did it. When Skyler told me to shut off my cell phone and concentrate on our time together, I did it. When Skyler intimated that I'd be better off going to the prom with him and not with my—at least I think he still is—boyfriend, I agreed.