Fearless: No. 2 - Sam (Fearless) by Francine Pascal

herself or put one foot in front of the other when walking.
    Ow. She kicked her big toe hard against a ledge in the cracked cement sidewalk and stumbled forward.
    She certainly couldn't be bothered to come up with appropriate kiss-ass behavior for the vice principal, which was why she'd sat through detention, which was why she was walking home late.
    She arrived at the corner of the park. Cut through or take the long way?
    In her state, the right thing to do was go around. How was she going to make the dream happen if she got shot today?
    She cut through, anyway. To do anything else was purely against her nature.
    Would Sam be at the chess tables today, and if so, what should she say? It was time to get serious about her plan. No more being shy. No more being awkward. Her dream emboldened her.
    Oh God, and there he was. She spotted him from the back, playing chess with Zolov. His elbow rested on the edge of the table, and he cradled his head in his hand. The last of the day's sun turned his tousled hair into gold. She could see a bit of his profile, the sensual curve of his mouth.
    It was the perfect opportunity to proposition him, but she couldn't seem to make her feet go forward. She called up the dream again, but far from emboldening her, it turned her cheeks red and made her feel very shy. Those were the lips that had made her feel . . .
    She heard scrambling behind her and spun around.
Oh, shit
. She took off at a run. CJ was lying in wait, of course, as she certainly knew he would be. Why was she so stupid? Couldn't she give up the death wish for even a day or two? At this rate she
deserved
to die a lonely, bitter, parentless virgin.
    She cursed herself as she sprinted through the park and westward toward Sixth Avenue. It would be busy there this hour, hopefully busy enough to lose him.
    Gaia raced onto the avenue.
Beeeep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!
    "Get the
hell
out of the
street!
" somebody screeched.
    A maroon commercial van swerved to avoid her and plowed into the back of a taxicab. Gaia heard the crumpling of metal. The taxi rear-ended a black Mercedes-Benz convertible. The Mercedes drove up onto the sidewalk and crushed its headlight against a parking meter.
    Oh, Jesus. Gaia ducked behind a stopped garbage truck as the air filled with shouting drivers slamming doors and the excited buzz of pedestrians crowding to watch the show. No one was hurt, Gaia was pretty sure of that, and the chaos gave her a second to collect herself. She spotted CJ on the curb, his eyes wildly scanning the street for her.
    Don't move
, she told him silently.
I'll be right there
.
    This was all she needed -- a chance to see him without being seen. She noticed with huge relief that he'd stuffed the gun back in his jacket. The sidewalk where he stood had largely emptied of people, who were drawn to the activity a little ways down the street.
    Ducking as she crept along, she used the line of stopped cars to conceal herself. She had him directly in her sights, not ten feet away.
Now go!
    She pounced. In a single graceful move she captured both of his arms and wrenched them behind his back. She dragged him several yards off the busy avenue to the relative backwater of Minetta Lane. CJ growled and twisted his body to free his arms. He succeeded, or at least he thought so. The truth was, she was happy to let him come at her as long as the gun stayed out of his hands.
    "Bitch," he hissed at her with a snarl. He took a step back to get some leverage, drew back his right arm, and launched his fist at her face. She dodged it easily. She felt relaxed, even -- shamefully -- a little excited. For Gaia a fistfight against one other person hardly drew a sweat. And CJ was just the kind of asshole she most enjoyed putting in his place.
    He hauled off again, this time aiming the punch at her stomach. She caught it long before it landed. His exertion threw him so far off balance, she used the offending arm to lay him out on the pavement with the smallest