Twisted Read Free Page B

distance.
    â€œPerfect,” Ed whispered to her retreating back.
    A perfect pair. She was brave to the point of almost being dangerous, and he was gutless to the point of almost being depressing.

GAIA
    Sometimes I wonder what I would say if I were ever asked out on a date.
    You’d think that since it’s never happened to me, I might have had some time in the past seventeen years to formulate the perfect response. You’d think that with all the movies I’ve seen, I would have at least picked up some cheesy line. Some doe-eyed, swooning acceptance.
    But I pretty much stay away from romantic comedies. There’s no relationship advice to be had from a Neil LaBute film.
    Besides, you can’t formulate the perfect response for a situation you can’t remotely imagine.
    I figure that if it ever does happen (not probable), I’ll end up saying something along the lines of “uh” or slight variations thereof.
    â€œUh . . . uh,” if the guy’s a freak.
    â€œUh . . . huh,” if the guy’s a nonfreak.
    I wonder what Heather said to Sam when he first asked her out. Probably something disgustingly perfect. Something right out of a movie. Something like, “I was wondering when you’d ask.” Or maybe Heather asked Sam out. And he said something like, “It would be my honor.”
    Okay. Stomach now reacting badly. Must think about something else.
    What did Heather say when
Ed
asked her out?
    Okay. Stomach now severely cramping.
    So what happens after the “Uh . . . huh”?
    Awkward pauses, I assume. Idiot small talk, sweaty palms (his), dry mouth (also his), bad food. (I imagine dates don’t happen at places where they have good food-like Gray’s Papaya or Dojo’s.)
    And I won’t even get into what happens after the most likely difficult digestion. What does the nonfreak expect at that point? Hand holding? Kissing? Groping? Heavy groping? Sex?
    Stomach no longer wishes to be a component of body.
    Must stop here.
    Luckily I won’t ever have to deal with any of this. Because no nonfreak will ever ask me out. And no freak will ever get more than the initial grunt.

painfully beautiful
    And with those words, Gaia’s seventeen-year streak officially came to an end.
The Offer
    THE SCHEDULE WAS A XEROX. Maybe a Xerox of a Xerox. Whatever it was, the print was so faint and muddy that David Twain had to squint hard and hold the sheet of paper up to the light just to make out a few words.
    He lowered the folded page and looked around him. People were streaming past on all sides. The students at this school were visibly different . They moved faster. Talked faster. Dressed like they expected a society photographer to show up at any minute. They were, David thought, probably all brain-dead.
    Still, nobody else seemed to be having a hard time finding the right room. Of course, the rest of them had spent more than eight minutes in the building.
    A bell rang right over his head. The sound of it was so loud that it seemed to jar the fillings in his teeth. David winced and looked up at the clanging bell. That was when he noticed that the number above the door and the room number on the schedule were the same.
    A half-dozen students slipped past David as he stood in the doorway. He turned to follow, caught a bare glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, and the next thing he knew, he was flying through the air .
    He landed hard on his butt. All at once he bit his tongue, dropped his brand-new books, and let out a sound that reminded him of a small dog that had been kicked. The books skidded twenty feet, letting out a spray of loose papers as they went.
    The bell stopped ringing. In the space of seconds the remaining students in the hallway dived into classrooms. David found himself alone.
    Almost .
    â€œSorry.”
    It was a mumbled apology. Not much conviction there.
    David looked up to see a tall girl with loose, tangled blond hair standing