Free Tears by Francine Pascal Page B

then his eyes narrowed. Or. . . not. This one had close-cropped bangs and was more over-weight than muscular. She also had a lazy, milky eye that drifted to the side. Sam shuddered. What kind of a place was this?
    She stopped right in front of him. He looked at her. A curt nod was the only signal she gave. But that was all he needed. He handed over the package.
    â€œBetter get out of here,” she said, weighing the package in her hands, her good eye boring into Sam. “This is no place for a pretty boy like you.”
    Sam blinked. His stomach squeezed. Without pausing for another breath, he turned and bolted out the doors—nearly tripping on the stairwell, using his hands to propel him up the last few steps. There were no words to describe his revulsion: at that guard, at himself, at the stale jail air.
No place for a pretty boy.
The words conjured up images too sordid to ponder.
    He kept running as he hit the street, sprinting toward the nearest subway station. His heart knocked at his rib cage. He blinked rapidly, feeling the weight of tears behind his eyes.
    Why is this happening?
Why was everything falling apart, just when it had started to come together? But just as fast as self-pity swooped in, Sam felt the familiar gnaw of guilt. He was ashamed to feel so sorry for himself. At least he could feel
something.
Mike Suarez didn’t have that option anymore.
Maybe this whole situation—the mess with the police, the bribes, the photographs, the mysterious enemy—was his penance for Mike. Maybe that voice on the phone hadn’t been lying. Maybe that voice really
was
a messenger from beyond the grave.
    In which case, Sam might have to heed the voice’s warnings—even the ones that told him to keep away from Gaia.
    To: J
    From: L
    Date: February 13
    File: 001
    Subject: Dinner party
    Plans for the party progressing. Invitations have gone out. Costumes have been delivered. More to follow.
ED
    Why I believe I will walk again:
    â€¢
The doctors are optimistic.
    â€¢
I stood up.
    Why I believe I won’t walk again:
    â€¢
Doctors are optimistic by trade.
    â€¢
I fell down.

freaking posers
    Ashen faced, he opened his mouth, apparently searching for the right words to say. As if there could be any.
    GAIA NODDED COOLLY FROM THE fountain as Sam waved from the miniature Arc de Triomphe. He ran toward her, smiling.
    The Boyfriend-Girlfriend Thing
    â€œHey,” she called. But her voice betrayed her lack of enthusiasm. Her eyes were on the dry fountain bed, where old brown pennies lay like bits of dirt—dead wishes from some long-ago summer, when the water had incited people to throw their change away so that their dreams could come true.
As if it could make a difference.
    And then Sam was right in front of her. Gaia stiffened her neck and moved almost imperceptibly so that Sam’s mouth found her cheek and not her lips. He had suggested a walk after school instead of their usual get-together at his dorm. And as usual, he didn’t give any reason for the change in plans.
    More secrets. More deception.
    â€œHow’s it going?” he asked.
    â€œFine,” she lied.
    She hated lying.
Until very recently she’d made a hard-and-fast rule for herself: Always tell the truth, or don’t say anything at all. But that had been back when she was alone, on her own, with noattachments. She realized she’d learned a lesson. The closer you got to people, the more you had to lie. It was sick.
    Sam stared at her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then sighed. Gaia shook her head. Maybe he didn’t want to lie anymore, either, so he was just shutting up as well. She stuffed her hands inside her fleece jacket. She and Sam remained silent as they headed out of the park and south, over to Bleecker Street. Gaia concentrated on the drab gray concrete beneath her feet. It was so confusing: Until now they’d grabbed every available moment of privacy so they could