Liar by Francine Pascal

that Gaia heard the truth. Besides, Sam had learned to live with self-loathing. He’d learned to live with an indescribable emptiness because he knew that he had nobody to blame but himself.
    The real kicker was that this meeting should have been perfect. He shook his head, sniffing the frigid night air, and glanced into the abyss of Washington Square Park. It was nearly deserted. The paths were shadowed by leafless trees. But the miniature Arc de Triomphe down the block was all lit up, jutting from the wintry landscape like a giant, glowing tombstone. Soon Gaia would be appearing out from under it.
    Yup. This should have been perfect.
    Everything was in place. He’d invited Gaia out to a late dinner on a Friday night, and she’d accepted. So if he’d done what he’d been supposed to do—meaning if he’d behaved like a decent, moral human being instead of a despicable, cowardly rat—then this could have been the beginning of a new chapter in his life. He could have taken Gaia out for aromantic dinner, then invited her back to his dorm room….
    But no.
    That wouldn’t happen. Instead of dumping Heather, he’d avoided her. Instead of running away from Ella, he’d slept with her—simultaneously cheating on his
real
girlfriend and having sex with the foster mother of his
real
love. Sam wasn’t a religious guy by any means, but still, he couldn’t help wonder: Exactly how many sins had he committed in that one heinous act? Enough to land him front row seats in the fiery pit of hell for all eternity—that was for damn sure. Then again, maybe he was in hell already.
    Strange. For somebody who was so good at chess, at
decisive
maneuvering, he’d made a mess of his life. On the other hand, it was unfair to compare a chessboard to the streets of New York City. You knew where you stood on a chessboard. You knew what the rules were. Here, out in the coldness and darkness and confusion, you pretty much had to make up the rules as you went along. Too bad Sam was no good at improvising.
    â€œSam?”
    He jumped at the sound of Gaia’s voice. She’d come from behind him—from the direction of Broadway, catching him totally off guard.
    â€œUh, hey,” he mumbled, struggling to collect himself. Even in the freezing cold, with her nose redand her cheek freshly scarred from today’s car accident, Gaia was still beautiful. The bruises and scratches on her face only added to her mystique … her paradoxical aura of both strength and vulnerability. She stood before him, shivering in her ratty overcoat, her blond hair flapping in the wind from under her wool cap.
    Staring at her made him feel sick.
    How could I have betrayed you like that?
he wondered for the hundredth time. Of course, he’d justified the betrayal to himself by rationalizing: It
wasn’t
a real betrayal. Technically he didn’t have a relationship with Gaia—except for a few moments here and there, a fleeting kiss at a time when she was basically concussive, and a lot of other strange encounters….
    â€œAre you okay?” Gaia asked in the silence.
    â€œHuh?” He shook his head, then forced an awkward smile. “Uh, yeah.”
    Gaia gazed into his eyes. “Did the accident shake you up?”
    He shrugged. “A little,” he said. Actually, the truth was that he was a lot more shaken up just standing right here, talking to her. “So … uh, where do you feel like eating?” he asked lamely.
    â€œAnywhere,” she mumbled. She glanced over her shoulder. “So long as it’s not on Broadway.”
    Sam frowned. “Why’s that?”
    Gaia turned back toward him, then laughed grimly. “I just don’t want to run into my foster mother. I caught a glimpse of her on West Fourth Street.” She shook her head, wrinkling her nose as if she’d smelled something foul. “It was weird. It was almost like she was