Kiss by Francine Pascal Page B

“Next?” he called to the person at the front of the line.
    Suddenly Gaia felt overcome by a wave of dizziness so powerful, it almost made her sick to her stomach. She grabbed the edge of the high counter to steady herself. “Ned! Ned. Please. Don’t be an asshole. Just listen to me for a minute, okay?” Gaia could hear her voice rising in her ears. “Ned! Ned!” God, if he weren’t enclosed in the bullet-proof booth, she’d love to belt him. “Ned!”
    The next thing Gaia knew, there was a police officer, a young Hispanic man with a crew cut, grabbing her by the arm. “Come on, miss,” he said. “There’s a long line here, okay? Gotta keep it moving.”
    â€œBut I —” Gaia grabbed her arm back. “My ticket got stolen. And all my money. And I really need —”
    Gaia stopped. He wasn’t listening. It was hopeless. She could tell the policeman was looking her over, and she could tell exactly what he was thinking, too. Gaia was wearing a shredded, clingy minidress, high heels, and a big bruise on her head.
    â€œCome on, miss,” he said again. His voice was patient, tired, pitying. “Do you want to step out of the way, or do you want me to arrest you? I’d think a girl like you would have good reason to stay out of the way if you can help it.”
    A girl like you. It was obvious he thought she was a hooker. A hooker addicted to drugs who’d just been shaken up by her pimp. It was ironic, but that was exactly what she looked like. While the actual drug-addicted hooker who’d been shaken up by her pimp was zipping off to Orlando in a pair of jeans and a fluorescent yellow-green Polartec jacket, carrying almost 450 bucks in her pockets.
    Gaia wondered if her luck could be any worse.

The (Other) Magic Word
    HEATHER LAY BACK ON THE COUCH and rested her head on Sam’s lap as he flipped channels with the remote control. Without looking at her, he rested his hand on her stomach. She felt her iridescent pink silk blouse riding up over her belly button. She studied his face above her. It was so unbelievably handsome. His strong jaw was smooth and clean shaven for this event. His brownish gold hair had gotten long and was curling around the collar of his cobalt blue oxford shirt. His complicated hazel eyes were framed by long black lashes. She wanted those eyes on her. On her face, her hair, her breasts, the bare swath of skin above her skirt.
    But at the moment his eyes were riveted on the television screen as he burned through almost a hundred channels’ worth of programming. It was hopeless sitting in a room with a boy, a television, and a remote control. You never got any attention or even the pleasure of watching any one show for longer than three minutes.
    She smiled up at him. She didn’t mind. This was the kind of relationship problem she enjoyed having.
    She heard clinking sounds from the kitchen. Her parents cleaning up the last of the dishes. She heard the faint sound of laughter — Lauren talking on the phone. From her and Phoebe’s room she heard the inevitable hum of the stair-climbing machine, Phoebe’s most prized possession. God forbid an ounce of turkey should stick to her hips.
    â€œHaving a nice Thanksgiving?” she asked Sam.
    â€œHmmm,” he said, his eyes not flickering from the screen.
    â€œMy dad loved your potatoes.”
    â€œMmmm.”
    Sam wasn’t going to talk, obviously. But he did move the remote control to the hand that rested on her stomach. He used his free hand to caress her fore-head, softly pushing her hair back from her face. She breathed in deeply and let out a sigh of pleasure. It felt so nice, she wished they could just stay like that forever.
    For the first time in weeks she felt truly relaxed. The dinner had gone fairly well. No hysterics or anything. She was relieved to have finally confronted Sam with the Gaia issue and gotten the answer she