Kiss (2 page)

GAIA MOORE MOVED QUICKLY ALONG West Fourth Street in the direction of Washington Square Park, not bothering to slow her pace for her friend, Ed Fargo, who wheeled along a yard or two behind her.

As she walked, Gaia switched the strap of her beat-up canvas messenger bag from her left shoulder to the right. It was a smooth, fluid movement — one she made often over the course of her day. If she was doomed to have the overdeveloped deltoids of a Russian gymnast, at least she'd make sure they were
equally
overdeveloped. Being a supermuscular freak was bad enough. Being a lopsided one was too much to bear.

Gaia was painfully self-conscious about her body. Even now she was aware of her muscular arms and shoulders, although they were safely camouflaged beneath the bulky yellow-green Polartec parka she'd started wearing since the weather turned cold.

Long ago she'd given up trying to fight it. No amount of doughnut scarfing could erase the six-pack definition of her abdominals. Her genetics were simply stacked against her. Her muscles were as much a part of her as her blue eyes and her light hair and her extreme devotion to chocolate.

“Jesus, Gaia, could you slow down? The speed limit is thirty miles an hour, last I checked.”

Gaia cast a glance back at Ed. “Why don't you speed up? You've got
wheels,
for God's sake.”

It was a game they played. If she'd actually slowed down for his benefit, Ed probably would have clocked her. He appreciated pity exactly as much as she did.

The chess tables were coming into view. Gaia hoped there would be a new face today so she could earn some money for lunch.

Over the past three months she'd developed a reputation among the chess players. When she'd first arrived on the scene, it had been fairly easy to score a twenty-dollar game. That was in late August. Now the only regular who would play her for cash was old man Zolov, an international master. Since Gaia had helped save Zolov's life back in September, the “undefeated chess champ” of Washington Square suddenly began losing to her at regular intervals. A little
too
regular. It seemed as if they'd traded the same twenty dollars back and forth ten times in the past week.

And then there was Sam Moon. Sam could also get a game off her, but he was a different story entirely. They had played only once. They played to a deadlock until she'd freaked out and forfeited her king. Sam wouldn't take her money, but he had walked off with her heart that day.

Impatiently Gaia gathered her long hair from where it blew in her eyes and mouth and threw it behind her back. She'd forgotten to bring a hair band.

Maybe if she were lucky, Zolov would let her win today.

If she were really lucky, Sam Moon wouldn't show up at all.

Ed had caught up and started badgering her the way he'd been doing all day. “Gaia. Do the line from the movie.
Pleeeease?”

And maybe — if she were really,
really
lucky — a certain someone would get his wheelchair caught in a sewer grate any moment now.

She glanced in annoyance at her self-appointed best friend. What had she done to deserve him?

“I'm not going to do it, Ed. So you can stop asking.”

“Please, Gaia? I'm going to Pennsylvania tonight, so I won't get to see you for a whole four days. Besides, I promise I won't laugh this time. I promise.”

“That's what you said the last time.
And
the time before that.” God, why had she ever attempted that stupid imitation? She was just fooling around in the cafeteria at school, and Ed acted like it was the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen in his life. He wouldn't shut up about it.

“That was the old me. I've changed since then. I swear.”

“The only thing you've changed is your underwear — and that's debatable.”

“Guy-uhhhhhhhhh . . .”

“Oh, sure, whine my name. That'll convince me.”

“I'll pay you.”

“You don't have enough money.”

“Oh, you might be surprised.”

“I doubt it. Seeing as you can't even afford socks that match.” She gestured at his feet.

Ed shot her a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

“Your socks. Are you celebrating Christmas a month early? Or did you get dressed in the dark this morning?”

Gaia had walked a good ten paces before she realized Ed was no longer at her side. She spun around.

He'd stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and was bent over in his seat, staring down at his feet with a strange, aggravated expression on his face. “Aw, man. You're kidding me, right?”

Gaia put her hands on her hips. “Kidding you? You put them on, elf boy, not me.”

Ed squinted up at her. “Great. Thanks. Make fun of the color-blind guy. Go ahead.”

Gaia cocked her head. “You're not color-blind,” she pronounced.

Ed frowned, crossing his arms. “I think I would be the one to know.”

Gaia stared at him. Her hands slipped from her waist, flopping at her sides. “Seriously? You're color-blind?”

“Hey — don't worry. You can't catch it.” Ed slapped his wheels, gliding toward her once more.

“It's just that you never told me.”

“Hmmm, that's funny. It's usually one of the first things I say to people: ‘Hi, I'm Ed. I'm color-blind.' I think it's good to get one's physical shortcomings out of the way, y'know,
up front.”
He rolled to a stop in front of her feet, then peered furtively around the park. “Now, uh, Gaia, don't let this next bit of info freak you out,
but . . .”
He leaned in toward her, shielding his mouth with one hand conspiratorially. “ . . . I'm
also
in a wheelchair.”

Gaia was too busy looking at Ed's feet to think of a good comeback. One green sock, one red. Could he really not tell them apart? Not at all? She raised her gaze to his eyes, studying them, not sure what she was looking for. They were a dark brown with gold lights. Eyes the color of a double espresso, she found herself thinking. Inwardly she groaned.
Guess you don't need those refrigerator magnets to write crappy poetry.
The point was, Ed's eyes didn't
look
color-blind. They looked . . . well . . . like regular, everyday eyes.

Regular, everyday,
annoyed
eyes. “Please, by all means, Gaia. Keep staring at me like that. It does wonders for my self-esteem.”

“Sorry —” Gaia barely had time to scoot out of the way as Ed blew past her. “It's just that you're the first . . . I mean, I never knew a person who was color-blind. What's it like for you?”

God, I must sound ridiculous, Gaia thought, stepping after him. Why don't I just say, Hey, Ed, you can't see colors, and I can't feel fear. Let's start a club!

Once she was beside him again, Ed looked up at her, amused. “Are you feeling okay, Gai?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because you asked me a question.”

“And?”

“
And
. . . didn't you sort of stipulate way back when that we wouldn't ask each other questions because if
you
ask
me
something, that would mean
I
get to ask
you
something in return?”

This time it was Gaia who stopped in her tracks. “Right. You're right, Ed. Forget that I asked.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Ed said, swiveling around to face her with a mischievous grin. “Not so fast. You can't back out now. A deal's a deal.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “So — I believe the category is color blindness. What's the question gonna be?”

“Does it make you jealous?”
She was startled to hear her own voice saying those words. She hadn't meant to say them out loud.

Ed blinked a couple of times. “Jealous?” he repeated, sounding confused. “What do you mean?”

Gaia chose her next words carefully. “Do you ever feel . . . upset . . . that other people can . . . experience something that you . . . can't?”

“Upset? Not really.” He shrugged. “After all, it's not like being color-blind means everything looks black and white to me. I mean, I still see things in color. For example, I can tell that jacket of yours is the color of mucus. It's just that certain colors look alike to me. Mostly I have difficulty telling reds from greens.” He pointed down at his feet. “Obviously.”

Gaia self-consciously eyed her jacket. “Do you ever wish you
could
tell the difference?”

Ed nodded. “Well, sure. There was a pretty ugly incident involving hot sauce a few years back.” He grimaced at the memory. “But most of those taste buds grew back. Eventually.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Traffic lights pose a theoretical problem, but I figured out at a young age that red is on top, and green is on the bottom. Aside from that, I don't really think about it too
much . . . except when I commit the very occasional fashion faux pas and some heartless person goes and points it out to me.” He shot her a fake-hostile glance but quickly leavened it with another shrug. “But — honestly? — I can't say I'm jealous of people who aren't color-blind.”

“Why's that?” Gaia prompted. Ed bit his lip, thinking. “Hmmm . . . I can't explain it all that well, but it's sorta like this: I can't imagine a world with more colors than I see it in already. I just can't. And . . . well . . . I don't think you can truly be jealous of something if you can't imagine having it in the first place. Besides” — he ran a finger across the arm of his wheelchair, adding casually, almost to himself — “there are better things to be jealous of.”

Gaia gave him a rare smile. What
had
she done to deserve him?

After a moment he looked away self-consciously. “Uh . . . did any ofthat make sense?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

“Good.” Ed sat up a little taller in his seat. “So, I believe now it's
my
turn to ask
you
something.”

Gaia took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Shoot away.” Part ofher almost wished he
would
ask her one of her secrets. Considering all he'd witnessed over the past three months, she supposed it was a wonder he hadn't guessed them all already.

Ed stroked his chin thoughtfully, gazing skyward. “Let's see now. . . . I get to ask the mysterious Gaia Moore a question.” He was clearly savoring the moment. “Anything I want. . . . Anything at — ”

“You got five seconds, Ed.”

“Okay, okay!” Ed scowled at her. Then he snapped his fingers. “Here's one: Where'd you learn how to — no, no, scratch that.” He waved his hand in the air as if erasing an imaginary chalk mark. “I got a better one: Why don't you ever talk about your —” He stopped himself short again, reconsidering. “No, not that one, either. How about —”

Gaia let out a low grumble.

Ed looked up at her, as if he were just struck by an idea. “Say. Can I ask you to
do
something instead?”

Gaia cocked a wary eyebrow. This actually represented an easy way out, but she didn't want him to know it.“I suppose. . . .”

Ed grinned evilly. “Do the line from the movie.”

“Except that.”

Ed pointed at her with both hands. “Oh, no! You can't back out of it now. A deal's a deal.”

Gaia glanced at her watch. “Wow, what do you know? It's already the end of lunch period.”

“Gaia!”

She sighed, resigned. “Fine. But you better not laugh this time.”

Ed pantomimed zippering his lip.

Gaia held up a warning finger. “I'm not kidding, Ed.”

Now he crossed his heart, holding up three fingers in the Scout salute.

“All right.” She moved a couple of steps to a nearby bench, plopping down on the hard, cold slats. Clearing her throat, she cast a wary eye around the immediate area. Aside from a cluster of sooty-looking pigeons pecking at the ground nearby, this particular section of the park was empty. Thank God.

Ed repositioned his wheelchair in front of her for a better view.

Gaia sucked in a few shallow gasps of air, gripped the neckline of her coat with two white-knuckled fists, raised a pair of wide, haunted eyes to his, and whispered, over a trembling lower lip:
“I see dead people. . . . ”

Ed the Expressionless Eagle Scout managed to maintain his deadpan for an entire second and a half. Then he let out a guffaw so loud, it echoed clear across the park, sending the pigeons exploding skyward in a frenzied, flapping cloud. It was a wonder he didn't flip himself over backward.

Gaia slapped her hands down on the bench, standing up in annoyance. “What's so funny? I thought I was pretty good that time.”

“Good?” Ed was doubled over now, his face bright pink.
“Good?”
He could barely choke out the word through his laughter.

“Okay, that's it.” Gaia kicked the side of his wheel with her boot and huffed off. “I'm outta here.”