Killer by Francine Pascal Page B

doughnuts?
    If not, they should. Gaia bit into the first doughnut slowly, savoring its sweet perfection. She didn’t have a father, a home, or even Sam, but she always had Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Doughnuts were a lot more reliable than people. As far as she could tell, in fact, people were shit. Well, except for the ones she invented in her head. Like the fake Sam Moon.
    Yup. The Sam Moon she had fabricated in her mind was perfect. He was smart and rational. He lived by his own code. He wasn’t impressed by flash or money. (Well, barring the regrettable exception of Heather Gannis, of course. But the fake Sam never even really
liked
Heather, right?) He had a brain for chess. He was loyal. Trustworthy. Nice to everybody, even to Gaia, when everyone else wrote her off . . .
    Most of all, the Sam that Gaia had dreamed up was honest.
    Too bad he didn’t exist.
    The Sam Moon that existed in reality had the same complicated hazel eyes and face—and the same head for chess—but that was where the similarities ended. The real Sam wascalculating and manipulative. Weak. Spineless. Ruledby hisgroin. He was self-serving and callous. In short, he was a big, fat card-carrying member of Liars Anonymous.
    So if the real Sam was such an asshole, then why did the thought of him still hurt so damn much?
    You haven’t had enough doughnuts yet—that’s why,
Gaia reasoned as she stuffed a second doughnut down into the empty void where her heart once was. Getting Sam out of her mind was going to be brutal. But Gaia was prepared. She’d clean out the entire Krispy Kreme inventory if she had to.
    As she nibbled the icing off her third doughnut, a burst of iridescent red hair caught the corner of her eye. The shade was very particular, an amalgam of bad dye jobs ranging from fuchsia to candy apple . . . blended into a color so hideous, it was nearly radioactive.
    Gaia would know that red anywhere. It belonged to Ella.
    Could it be that the psychobitch was laying another trap for Gaia? Probably. Gaia licked her sugared fingers absently as Ella passed the window—not more than four feet away. She didn’t look up, though. She didn’t notice Gaia. But Gaia noticed
her
—specifically, that Ella looked like
crap
. The requisite Barney’s shopping bag was there, but everything else was completely skewed. The eyesthat were normally made up were now puffed with dark circles. Hair that was normally coiffed looked like it hadn’t been combed in at least thirty minutes.
    Maybe Ella was having a nervous breakdown.
    No. She was setting a trap for Gaia. There was no other logical explanation. It was simply too coincidental that she would walk
right
past the window where Gaia was eating. But that didn’t matter. If Ella was laying a trap, Gaia figured she better find out what it was.
    At least it would take her mind off Sam.
    Â 
    SAM WANDERED AIMLESSLY PAST Astor Place, choosing to avoid the crush of lower Broadway by sticking to the wide, desolate sidewalks of Lafayette. Even at rush hour this was one of the few avenues in Manhattan that wasn’t jammed with a steady stream of cabs, buses, and pedestrians. And every few minutes, in between lights, the air was actually quiet enough to allow a person to think.
    One Last Thing to Say
    Not that Sam was
capable
of thinking. Even if he were in a library—no, better yet, even if he were in one of those isolation tanks where people succumbed to hallucinations because it was so freaking quiet—even
then
he wouldn’t be able to think. The only thing he could do right was walk. One foot in front of the other. Over and over again. Just like a fish that had to keep moving to breathe. If he stopped for even a second, Sam felt he might die.
    Strange: He used to walk all the time. Back when he was happy. Relatively happy, anyway. How long ago had
that
been? Four months? Six? Life had once been pretty good. Or at least halfway decent. He had an NYU