Tears by Francine Pascal Read Free Book Online Page A

another word, then looked up at Gaia reluctantly. She could see sheepishness in his face and something else, too. Guilt. Well, good. He deserved to feel guilty. She swallowed, not quite sure how
she
was feeling. The excitement and urgency had faded, leaving only. . . emptiness. And a little anger as well.
    â€œWho was it?” Gaia asked as nonchalantly as possible.She sat up straight and smoothed down the bird’s nest of hair.
    He lowered his eyes. “Um, Keon,” he said. “I have to go to the library. I... forgot we had a study date. God, I’m really sorry.” His voice was low, and his expression had changed; it was still partly guilty, but there was now another emotion that Gaia couldn’t place. For want of a better word, he just looked. . . strange.
Strained and spaced out at the same time.
    Gaia opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. A chill spread across her back as she fumbled for her sweatshirt on the floor. She felt suddenly like an idiot, like some soap opera cliché, panting at her man to ignore the phone when clearly he had other plans. Some dumb blonde. She would gladly bet Sam a hundred bucks that it wasn’t Keon who had called. Sam was a lousy liar. But for whatever reason, he’d needed an excuse not to go through with the ultimate act at this moment.
    Maybe you were just saved,
an inner voice said as Gaia pushed herself out of the bed in silent anger.
Saved from wasting your virginity.
And Gaia had to concede that her inner voice had a point. Maybe Sam was right about wanting to wait. Maybe she should wait, too.
    Maybe sex, that ultimate act of trust and knowing, wasn’t such a good idea if your boyfriend was hiding things from you.
    â€œGET READY TO SING WITH ME, Eddie.
Get ready!
”
    A Signature Event
    Brian was growling in Ed’s face as per usual, the veins bulging out of his tree-trunk neck, his face turning all shades of red. Ed still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask Brian if he’d ever been a professional wrestler. It didn’t seem much of a stretch—given his massive frame, his long black hair, and his apparent need to growl every single word at top volume. Yes. Ed’s physical therapist might very well be insane, but he was also an ingenious motivator. Ed felt totally pumped at the end of every session.
    Ed grasped the parallel bars that took up most of the available floor space in his room. His wheelchair stayed outside the door in the hall. It was fitting somehow. The chair had no place in here. Not anymore. This was where Ed walked.
And where Shred rocked.
Brian threw a CD into the stereo and flipped the volume knob. The deafening crunch of some vaguely familiar rap-metal band burst from the speakers.
    â€œLet’s make some
noise,
Eddie!” Brian shouted.
    For a second Ed almost felt like laughing—at least until the sweat broke on his forehead. As the music blared, Ed took one painstakingly slow, agonizing“step” at a time. They weren’t really steps; he supported all his weight with his arms. The hope was that by standing upright, his newly improved legs would get used to the position. The pain was awful, shooting through his arms. But he welcomed it. Because the moment he felt that same pain in his legs, he knew he would be halfway recovered.
    Brian spotted him but never supported him. Ed’s red face began to drip as he moved farther and farther toward the end of the bars. Just a few more feet...
    â€œCome on, Eddie!” Brian hollered. “One more step! Do it for Wes Borland, baby. That guy
rocks
.”
    Ed pushed himself to take another step.
Wes Borland?
He had no idea what Brian was talking about, of course—but then, he rarely did.
    â€œYou’re doing it, you stud,” Brian encouraged him, literally spitting in Ed’s ear. “Now bring it on back. You’re rock-and-roll
lightning,
baby!”
    Ed’s heart pounded in time with the