Trust (12 page)

“GAIA, THE HUMAN HOUSEFLY,” ED remarked dryly.

Gaia frowned as she poured the fourth packet of sugar into her small coffee, then stirred the steaming liquid with a small plastic straw. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Across the booth, Ed raised his eyebrows. “I mean you eat more refined sugar than anyone I know,” he said. “You should weigh three hundred pounds.”

Gaia shrugged. The truth of the matter was that he was right. Her diet pretty much consisted of fat and sugar. But stress probably contributed to a lean figure. And she certainly had plenty of stress in her life. She glanced out the café window at the throng of pedestrians on Broadway. Judging from their hurried pace and all of the sour expressions, it seemed that
everyone
had a lot of stress in their life. But maybe it was just the cold. Whatever. This was New York City. Stress came with the territory.

“Hey, I'm just trying to make conversation,” Ed said. “Just trying to keep things light. You know, considering that Heather is in Sam's dorm room right now.”

As if we both needed reminding
, Gaia thought bleakly. But that was Ed: always speaking the truth, no matter what the consequences. Sometimes it was refreshing. Other times it was extremely annoying.

“Do you think she'll break up with him?” Gaia asked. Now that Ed had broached the subject, there was no point in trying to pretend that neither of them was thinking about it.

Ed sighed. “That's what she said.”

“I know,” Gaia said, looking at him squarely. “How big of a liar is she?”

Frowning, Ed turned toward the window. “Um, usually not much of one, I think. She usually just lets rip with the truth.” He snickered. “Kind of like you, actually.”

Blech
. She was actually being compared to Heather. She actually had something in
common
with Heather — besides her taste in men, of course. She took a sip of coffee. “So you think she's breaking up with him. Are you going to go out with her if she does?”

Ed turned back to her, his lips pursed. “Boy, you're really not holding anything back today, are you?”

Gaia shrugged again. What was the point of holding things back? They'd tried that system for the past four months, and it hadn't worked. If they were going to stay friends, there couldn't be any more secrets between them. Gaia understood that now. Besides, she was curious: about Ed's accident, about his breakup with Heather . . . about
everything
. Anyway, the more Gaia knew, the more she could help him, right?

Of course, Gaia still had no intention of telling Ed certain things about
her
life. But that was for his own safety. That was just common sense.

“I don't know if I'm going to go out with her,” he said finally. “What about you and Sam? He'll finally be free — no more Heather. Will the lovely and determined Gaia Moore finally manage to shed her —”

“Shut up!” Gaia snapped.

Ed flinched slightly. His face went pale. “Jesus,” he muttered.

Gaia swallowed, quickly glancing around to make sure no one was staring at her. All of a sudden she felt sick. What was her problem? Ed was just teasing her. Besides, he was asking a perfectly legitimate question, given the signals Gaia had sent him in the past. She'd pretty much confessed that her life's goal was to lose her virginity to Sam Moon. Ed had no idea that Sam was sleeping with her foster mother. How could he? It was too foul, too ludicrous.

“Look . . . I'm sorry, Ed,” she whispered, trying to smile. “I didn't mean to yell at you. It's just . . . I don't know. I'm kind of in a freaked-out state right now, you know?”

Ed nodded, his face relaxing a little. “Welcome to the club,” he said glumly.

In desperation Gaia almost blurted out the news about her uncle, that she was meeting him for dinner tonight — just to talk about something else,
anything
. . . but once again she decided against it. Judging from Ed's faraway expression, she figured he was just too wrapped up in himself right now to listen to her. But that was fine. Ed deserved to be wrapped up in himself every once in a while.

AS HEATHER WALKED PASSED THE guard — the doltish meathead who'd seen her come and go a hundred times — it finally occurred to her that this might very well be the last time she would ever set foot in Sam's dorm. She'd never see that guy again. He'd long since stopped asking to see her ID. He knew her by sight. She swallowed, boarding the rickety elevator. For a while it had seemed like she practically lived here.

Now she felt like she was returning to the scene of a crime. In a way, she was. She'd committed a lot of crimes here: the crime of lying, the crime of pretending to be someone she wasn't — all to please Sam.

The elevator lurched to a halt on the fourth floor, and Heather strode briskly down the hall to Sam's suite. As usual, the door was wide open. She paused for a moment, suddenly remembering that Mike was in the hospital. No wonder it was so quiet around here. She stepped inside and saw Sam kneeling by the door to his bedroom, a cordless drill in his hand.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

He glanced up at her and managed a smile. “Hey,” he said. He looked better than he had Saturday; there was color in his cheeks, and his tousled brown hair was combed and clean.

Heather peered down at him. “What are you doing?”

“Putting a deadbolt lock on my door,” he mumbled, standing up.

She laughed. “Finally,” she mused. How many times had people barged in on them because of his stupid broken doorknob? His roommates, Gaia . . . All of a sudden she sobered. Thinking of Gaia reminded her why she was here. It wasn't to benefit from the new security system. No. She sighed. It was time to get down to business.

“Want to come into my room?” he asked.

Heather nodded, feeling an uncomfortable twinge. Her breath came a little faster. Last time she'd been invited into Sam's room, they'd ended up having sex. The way a boyfriend and girlfriend were supposed to. But at the same time . . . not.

“Sorry about the mess,” he apologized, stepping aside.

Yeah, right. If he were sorry, he would have cleaned. Heather took a whiff of the air and tried not to grimace. Yuck. It stank in here. Why was it that all boys lived like pigs? Well, actually, Ed no longer lived like a pig — but that was only because he couldn't. He
would
if he didn't have to worry about getting his wheels caught on something and being stuck. Scanning the room, Heather saw a bare spot on the end of Sam's bed and quickly sat down.

Sam remained standing in the doorway. Heather could still appreciate his cuteness, she realized — the way his bare feet jutted from under his jeans, and his shirt was only half buttoned and untucked. But she wasn't here to be nostalgic.

The seconds ticked by in silence.

“So,” Sam said.

“Sam, I came here today for a reason,” Heather blurted out. She stared down at her lap, then glanced up at him again.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I'm glad. We need to talk.”

Heather bit her lip. She had to get this out now; otherwise she knew she'd never be able to go through with it. Already she could feel a strange heat in her chest. A lump was forming in her throat. “Can I go first, please?” she said in a strained voice.

“Uh . . . sure.” Sam stepped across the mess on his floor and slouched down in his desk chair, his face unreadable. “Go ahead.”

She took a deep breath, then looked at her hands again. “Sam, we've been going out for nine months now.”
Oh, Jesus
. She was speaking in clichés again. Sam deserved better than that. “And . . . I mean, most of it's been great, you know? But sometimes . . . sometimes I think we've taken this thing about as far as it can go.” The words sounded lame, ridiculous, childish. But how else could she express herself? Maybe she should have prepared a speech.

Sam leaned forward. His forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Heather smiled wistfully. But she couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes from her hands, still resting in her lap. “Sam, you're a great guy, and it's been wonderful — mostly — being with you. But we're just not right for each other. I'm sure you feel the same way. I mean, you know, lately things haven't been like they were when we first met.”

He didn't say a word.

“It's just . . . I don't want to hurt you,” Heather went on, to fill the silence. God, this was torture. “And I don't want to be hurt anymore, either.”

“You want to break up,” he stated suddenly.

Heather finally lifted her head. His tone wasn't angry, or recriminating, or even particularly sad. It was just . . . flat. Tired. As if he'd just run a marathon and now needed to rest. And in a way, Heather was very relieved. But in another way, she was mildly offended. Wouldn't he want to put up some kind of a fight?

Sam nodded, then stood and walked three steps to the window. His only view was the ugly back of a building twenty feet away, which blocked light and gave his room the feeling of a prison cell. His face remained blank. But how
should
he react to this? Maybe she secretly wanted him to start crying, to apologize — and she would cry, too, and he would feel like an asshole . . . and then they would end up in bed.
No
. Her lips tightened. That couldn't happen. She wouldn't allow herself to be weak.

“I'm not surprised,” he said after a few seconds.

She blinked at him. “Are you angry?”

He shook his head, still gazing out the window at nothing. “I don't know what I am,” he said. “Just confused, I guess.” He glanced over his shoulder. “If you want to know the truth, I was going to break up with
you
.”

Heather scowled. “Really?” she asked. She wasn't sure if she believed it. This was just a little too easy. Then again, Sam had always been honest with her. In fact, she owed it to him to be completely honest right now, too.
Completely
. “Well, I'm glad,” she continued. “Because there's something I have to tell you. I . . . I think I'm in love with someone else.”

Sam's eyes widened. He seemed to stop breathing.

“It sort of snuck up on me,” Heather admitted. “I didn't expect it, wasn't looking for someone else. But it just grew and grew, and then . . .” Her voice trailed off, and once more she looked down at her hands.

“Are you telling me you've been seeing someone else?” Sam asked.

Heather shook her head. “Not exactly,” she said. “But over the last couple of days, I realized that I really wasn't being fair to you.”

Without warning, Sam stomped over to the door and threw it open. “Get out,” he barked.

“What?” Heather gasped, flabbergasted.

“You heard me.” He thrust an arm toward the hallway, averting his eyes. “Take a hike. I don't want to deal with this.”

Heather's lips started trembling. “But I . . . I can't believe you're so mean,” she choked out. “I mean, you practically told me you were in love with Gaia —”

“Get
out
, Heather,” Sam commanded.

It took her a moment to realize that
he
was crying, too. But she didn't care. She pushed herself off his bed and stalked out into the common room. To think that she'd wanted to spare his feelings . . . Jesus. What an insensitive
jerk
. But then she froze and whirled to face him.

“For God's sake, Sam, what the hell did you want me to do?” she found herself screaming. “Of
course
I found someone else. You never call me; you're totally uninterested in my life. . . . I feel like a piece of gum you want to scrape off your shoe! So just get off it, and get over yourself! We're
over!
”

And with that, she turned and bolted. The last image she had of Sam was of his mouth hanging wide open in a look of utter shock. And she was glad.

Well. That hadn't been so hard, had it?

Have
you ever felt like you were a complete stranger to yourself? Today I saw and heard myself acting like an asshole, and yet there seemed to be nothing I could do about it. I couldn't stop. I was utterly powerless. It was as if all the pressure and tension I felt over Ella and Gaia and school and Mike and Heather herself had reached critical mass and then
kaboom!
— it exploded. All I needed was the match to set it off, the little spark. Conveniently Heather provided it.

So now phase two of my plan has been completed. Heather is now officially out of my life. Problem solved. Not exactly the way I'd planned it — but hey, beggars can't be choosers, right? Still, I can't believe that
I
got pissed because
she
was cheating on me. I guess I was humiliated. But what the hell have I been doing?

Which reminds me, that new doorknob ought to keep Ella out of my suite. That baby is as solid as a rock. There's no way I'm going to let Ella spike
me
with a needle while I sleep. Damn it, though. Heather was just trying to be cool, and I screwed it up. We could have had a nice, civilized talk, hugged one last time, and both left feeling good about each other. Instead she hates me, and I'm disgusted with myself.

So I guess phase two wasn't so great after all.