Liar by Francine Pascal Page A

following me or something.”
    â€œAre you serious?” Sam cried.
Shit.
His pulse picked up a notch. He stood on his tiptoes, peering over Gaia’s shoulders toward the lights of Broadway. But the street was nearly deserted—except for a few heavily bundled up college kids.
    â€œYeah.” Gaia’s face was twisted in confusion. “What’s the matter?”
    â€œNothing,” Sam lied. He took her arm and started hustling her across the street toward the park. No way could he let Ella interfere in this … confession. There was no telling what she’d say or do. Sam had to tell Gaia the truth
his
way so that at least he’d have a chance of making her understand the situation from his point of view. “So, um … uh, I was thinking—I was thinking about going to the … the Olive Tree Café,” he sputtered. “Have you ever been there?”
    Gaia gently extricated herself from his grip. For the briefest instant he felt an electric tingle as her flesh touched his. But it faded the instant their gazes locked.
    â€œAre you sure you’re okay?” she demanded.
    The two of them paused on the opposite corner. Sam couldn’t keep his eyes from flitting back toward Broadway. He had a clean view of all of Waverly Place, and it was now completely empty. He breathed a secret sigh of relief. Maybe she’d given up and gone on to stalk some
other
college-age chump.
    â€œThere’s something you aren’t telling me,” Gaia stated.
    Sam’s gaze flashed back to her. Now his pulse was in overdrive. He took a deep breath, suddenly acutely aware of the ticking seconds, of the freezing cold, of every sensation … then he realized something. Something inane, actually. The right-front pocket of his jeans was empty. He slapped at it—but there was nothing there. His wallet.
Jesus.
In all his freaking out about Gaia, he’d left his wallet back in his dorm room.
    â€œActually, there is,” he blurted out. “I just realized I don’t have my wallet. Wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.”
    Gaia’s jaw dropped. She looked pissed. “Wait here? But …”
    Before she could finish, he whirled and dashed up University Place toward Eleventh Street. The rat was on the run again. Procrastination, memory loss, and chickening out came in pretty handy sometimes.

A Monument to Human Filth
    WELL. THERE WAS NO LONGER ANY doubt at all in Gaia’s mind. This was definitely
not
a date. A guy just didn’t bolt from a girl and leave her standing in the freezing cold if he was taking her out. She scowled and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, trying to keep warm. Why didn’t he just ask her to come with him? What was he so
scared
of, anyway? Gaia used to think that she’d never wish the fearlessness gene on anyone—even her worst enemy—but now she took it back. She would have happily loaned it to Sam for a few seconds at least, so he’d just spit out whatever he had to say and be done with it.
    She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced into the park. A peculiar numbness tugged at her stomach. Asking her to meet him
here
was a pretty thoughtless decision, too. The memories associated with Washington Square Park didn’t exactly fill Gaia with the warm fuzzies. Mary had been shot here less than two weeks ago. People got killed here all the time, in fact. Or so it seemed.
    The danger was what she used to love about this place … the feeling that anything could happen at any time. Now the uncertainty just made her depressed.The park was a monument to human filth, to people’s worst impulses: to the desire to kill, to rape, to hustle, to poison one another’s bodies with drugs.
    Her gaze roved over the barren tree limbs, over the rusted iron fences and frozen lawns. What
was
it about this place that drew people here, anyway? It was a dump. But even now—even at night in the