Tears by Francine Pascal Page A

China by now.
    â€œI can’t tell you what’s happening right now, but I swear, Gaia, this is not about us. I need you. I—”
    Sam broke off. Gaia turned to him. She shivered momentarily, struck by how ghastly he actually looked up close. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with nervous energy and the kind of glazed look that only comes from not sleeping. His cheekbones protruded, too, underscored by bruiselike shadows. When had he gotten so gaunt?
    â€œWhat’s happening to you?” Gaia whispered softly, forgetting herself, suspended by Sam’s obvious distress. She saw it in his face again—the same emotion she’d seen on Mott Street. Fear.
For some twisted reason, the inability to feel fear herselfonly made her hyperaware of its presence in others.
And then she felt like kicking herself. Seeing Sam so spooked, she suddenly felt like she’d been walking around in a blind stupor for the past week, if not longer.
    â€œYou have to know you can trust me.” Sam’s voice was low and strong. “And I know you’re worried, but you have to believe I’ve got this covered. But if you leave me, Gaia, I—”
    She threw her arms around him, cutting off his speech, cutting off the need for speech itself. She felt absurd doing so, but it was the only option left. She was worn out from playing hardball. Whatever Sam was going through, he needed her support, not her anger or interference. And if he needed her to trust him and keep out—then hard as it was going to be, she had to give it a shot.
    Or something like that.
    Gaia tightened her arms around him, wondering if she’d just made a huge mistake in this single act. But it was a bit late to backtrack.
And there were worse things to be than a complete sucker.
A complete cynic, for one. Of course, that was something the old Gaia would never cop to. But this was the new Gaia, for better or worse.
    â€œThis is just a temporary thing that I have to get through,” Sam whispered into Gaia’s hair. “And when it’s over, I promise there won’t be any more secrets. Ever.”
    â€œOkay,” Gaia whispered. She stepped away from him. “But only if you do something for me. It’s going to be difficult. Maybe even painful.”
    â€œWhat?” Sam asked, edgy.
    â€œHave dinner with me and my dad. Tomorrow night.”
    He blinked. “That’s it?”
    â€œThat’s it,” Gaia said. She could feel a smile curling on her lips.
    Sam laughed, heaving a sigh of relief. “Of—of course,” he stammered. “I’d love to have dinner with you and your dad.”
    Gaia tilted her head to kiss him. “Swear you won’t let me down,” she demanded, staring into his eyes. “Don’t screw me over here, Sam.”
    â€œI swear,” Sam murmured. Gaia felt a flare of warmth somewhere deep inside her chest. Oddly enough, she felt it on her head, too.
    Something warm and oozing and wet. She reached up and touched it.
    â€œCrap!” Gaia cried. Her face wrinkled. Her hand came back dripping with a runny, chalky substance. It smelled like ammonia. “A pigeon just shat on my head!” She glanced up, searching the gray skies, but the offending bird had fled.
    Sam smiled and put a hand to Gaia’s cheek. “That’s good luck.”
    â€œNo, it’s not. If bird shit lands on your
shoulder,
it’s good luck.” Gaia fumbled in her messenger bag for ashred of Kleenex she’d once spotted lurking inside. “I think on the head is a bad omen.”
    Sam didn’t say anything. And that was good. Because in those kinds of situations, it was best to keep one’s mouth shut.
    â€œI’M BORED,” HEATHER COMPLAINED, sitting against the wall at the back of Ed’s bed.
    Wide Open
    Ed rolled his eyes and looked back at her from the front of the bed. That was no surprise.
Nor was it a huge surprise that she was picking