Liar (14 page)

“Oh, jeez,” Heather mumbled apologetically. She stopped short. Bad idea. Ed grabbed at the armrests
to keep from tumbling onto the floor. “Whoops!” She blushed. “God, I'm sorry …”

“Don't sweat it,” Ed said with a weary grin. He grabbed the wheels and spun himself around so that he was facing her. “I just prefer to be in control of my own wheels. It's a guy thing, you know.”

Heather stared at him. Much to her surprise, she found herself bursting into laughter. It wasn't even that funny. It was more that she could finally
relax.
Ed was incredible that way. He always managed to shrug off any tension with a wisecrack. Then again, maybe she was just laughing because he looked so cute. His hair was all rumpled, and his tie was crooked. His face was flushed and sweaty.

Ed glanced around the hallway, frowning. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Good question,” Heather muttered. She really didn't care, though. Wherever it was, it was secluded. Maybe it was a service route or something. The wallpaper seemed faded, and there were no mirrors or boutiques. There was a pair of thick double doors at the end of the hallway. Guests probably weren't supposed to be in here. Which was fine with her. It meant that they were safe from Victoria.

“So,” Ed said, sighing. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

Heather raised her eyebrows. “I was getting us both out of there.”

Ed looked up at her. A smile spread across his face. Before she knew it, they were both cracking up. It was that or get pissed off.

Finally she took a deep breath. She shook her head. “You know what's really pathetic?” she asked.

“That we have to hide?” Ed suggested.

“Well, yes—but that's not it. It's just … Victoria and her pals are supposed to represent, like, the crème de la crème, you know? And it just seems—well, it seems like they're all a bunch of morons. They're not classy or anything. They're just these spoiled … brats.”

Ed furrowed his brow in mock surprise. “Wait a minute. Am I hearing what I think I'm hearing? Is Heather Gannis dissing the wealthy, empty-headed, and fashionable? Is she dissing everything she once aspired to be?”

“Ha ha ha,” she said dryly. “I'll have you know—”

“Shhh!” Ed suddenly interrupted. He put a finger over his mouth and sat up straight, peering behind her.

The sound of a few drunken giggles drifted around the corner from the direction of the lobby.

“… what do you think's down here?” somebody was asking.

Uh-oh.
Heather exchanged a petrified glance with Ed.

“We gotta hide!” he hissed.

Heather's eyes flashed to the set of double doors. “Maybe those are open,” she said. She ran past him, nearly tripping on her dress. The latch jiggled when she grabbed it. Good sign. With a violent yank she pulled open the door. Hallelujah! She glanced back at Ed. He was already close on her heels. The giggles grew louder. Heather couldn't help but laugh, too. It was like some absurd horror movie:
Attack of the Trustafarian Losers.
She held open the door for Ed as he rolled through—then dashed in behind him.

The door swung shut.
Bam!

“Uh … Heather?” Ed asked.

She didn't answer him. Because she knew what he was going to say.

It was pitch black in here.

“OOH,” ED WHISPERED, GRINNING. “Spooky.”

“Shut up, Ed.” Heather groaned.

He laughed. Now
this
was comedy. They'd probably be trapped in this room forever (if it even
was
a room; it could be a garage, for all he knew). He blinked and squinted in an effort to see something—
anything—
but it was no use. He might as well have been blindfolded.

“I don't hear anything anymore,” Heather whispered. Her voice sounded strangely echoey. Maybe they
were
in a garage. Or an auditorium. Or maybe they'd entered some sort of other dimension—which would be great because then he'd never have to see Victoria or Blane again. “Do you think they turned back?”

“Probably,” Ed said dryly. “They probably get nervous if they get too far from the champagne and caviar.”

Heather didn't say anything for a moment. He could hear her shuffling around blindly—first farther away, then closer. Suddenly she bumped right into his wheelchair.

“Ouch!” she whispered.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

They both laughed. Ed felt his wheelchair shift as she grabbed onto the back of it. She stood there, running her fingers over the seat, probably trying to orient herself. She shifted to the left.

“You know, I kind of like it in here,” she said. He heard her dress swishing as she slowly sank on the floor beside him. “It's a part of the Plaza you never see,” she added with a chuckle. “Get it?”

Ed rolled his eyes. “That sounds like the kind of joke my dad would make.”

“Yeah, well, I guess wearing an evening gown makes me act like an adult,” she remarked. “Lame humor and all.”

“Too bad dressing up doesn't have the same effect on Victoria,” Ed muttered.

Heather didn't reply. He could hear her breathing softly. The seconds ticked by, drawing out longer and longer. Ed shifted in his seat. The combination of utter darkness and near silence
was
a little creepy, actually. Maybe they should try to feel their way to the door.

“Ed, I'm sorry,” Heather suddenly blurted out.

He grinned. “Hey, it wasn't your fault. We both wanted to get away—”

“No, no,” she interrupted gently. “Not about coming in here. About … everything.”

Ed tensed.
Everything?
He didn't like the sound of that. He felt a prickling on the back of his neck, a dip in his stomach. There was a sadness in her tone—something he'd never heard before … at least not until this weekend. He couldn't help but feel anxious. Part of him just wanted to bolt. Was she still talking about Victoria? Or was she talking about herself? About the past? About
their
past? He didn't know if he could deal with an apology for the past right now. It was too heavy, especially under these ridiculous circumstances. Besides, he didn't know if he
was ready to
accept
an apology. There was too much to forgive.

But he heard himself asking the question, anyway.

“What's everything?”

SOMEHOW IT WAS EASIER TALKING TO him when she couldn't see his face. Easier to apologize. Easier to confess.

Heather drew in a breath and bit her lip. If she didn't say this stuff right now, she knew she never would. Yes. This was the time—not only because of the way he'd been there for Phoebe, but because of the way Heather
hadn't
been there for him. For two whole years she'd wanted to ask for his absolution. To beg for it. And there was something about the darkness that encouraged risk … and intimacy. She felt like she could tell her secrets in the darkness. Back out in the light, her rational mind would take over and she would censor herself. She'd never get this chance again.

“I just wanted to say that I know I was a bitch to you,” she whispered. Her voice was so strained that she
felt like she was listening to somebody else speak. “I know it, and I
knew
it then, too—but I couldn't help it. It was easier to be a bitch.”

Ed laughed grimly, but he didn't say anything.

“And I know you don't have to forgive me—”

“Good,” he cut in, but his tone was soft. “Because I don't. Not for that.”

Heather's throat tightened. She'd thought she'd been prepared for that, but she wasn't. Not at all. His rebuke stung like a slap. “It's just …”

“It's just that this chair has that effect on people,” he finished for her. He sighed. “I know. You don't have to look any farther than my sister to figure that out.”

“But it
shouldn't
have that effect on me,” Heather insisted angrily. “I mean, I don't feel sorry for you. I don't feel pity for you. And you want to know why? Because
you
won't let me.” Her voice grew hoarse. “I mean, I think that the very fact that you are considered disabled is actually
ironic.”

“Uh … you want to explain that one to me, Heather?”

“Because that label is
bullshit,”
she spat. “It's bullshit if you or anyone else thinks that chair makes you less of a person. Because you're so much
more
of a person than anyone else I know. More than anyone else I've ever met. More open-minded, more thoughtful, more down-to-earth, more caring, more …” She shook her head, unable to finish—or even to
organize her thoughts coherently. She didn't even know what she was
saying.
She was supposed to be delivering some kind of momentous apology, and here she was ranting in the blackness like a madwoman.

For a long time the two of them were silent.

Heather's lungs heaved. Her stomach was twisted into a dozen knots. But she was resolved not to regret what she'd said. No. She was
tired
of regret. She'd carried a sack of regret around with her for two goddamn years. The weight was unbearable. She had to let it go.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Heather Gannis?” Ed asked quietly.

Heather rolled her eyes. “Ed …”

“I'm serious,” he stated. “I mean, there must be some kind of body snatcher in this place. Because the Heather Gannis I've observed for the last two years would never say something so sweet. Something so cool.” His voice caught. “Something that actually makes me feel lucky. Which I thought was impossible.”

Heather found herself reaching out for him even before she was fully aware of what she was doing. Tears filled her eyes for what must have been the hundredth time in forty-eight hours, but she didn't care anymore. She groped in the dark, motivated only by the desire to be as close to Ed as
possible. Her fingers found his and intertwined with them. Those familiar fingers. So strong and tender. Her face swam blindly over the wheelchair. She was no longer in control. Forces beyond her understanding had taken over. Their bodies were two asteroids, adrift in space, caught in each other's gravitational pull….

Her lips pressed against his, and the universe melted away.

I'm
still not really sure what happened. All I know is, Victoria and Blane's engagement party did
not
turn out the way I expected.

I guess I should be thrilled. I mean, obviously I
am
thrilled. But the shock of it still hasn't worn off. The memory has this strange, dreamy feel—like it didn't really happen to me. It
couldn't
have happened to me.

I made out with Heather in a storage room in the Plaza Hotel.

It's almost funny. I mean, that's the kind of thing that happens in those lame teen movies that seem to come out every single week. “Boy in wheelchair gets hot chick! Now,
that's
Hollywood!” Even in my wildest fantasies, even when I used to daydream about getting back together with Heather
every single day,
I never thought I'd hook up with her like this. Every time I think of it, I want to throw up my arms and shout. Or break into a wild jig. (If I could.) I can't sleep. I can't eat. I'm completely wound up.

Is that how love works, though? I mean, do I just fall head over heels for the last girl I've kissed? Am I that pathetic? Am I just your average, desperate, hard-up teenage guy with haywire hormones? I guess so. After all, those teen movies don't lie. Besides, I fell head over heels in love with Gaia after we kissed during truth or dare. Then again, I'd been head over heels in love with her for a while before that.

This was totally out of the blue, though. Unexpected. Magical.

I guess I shouldn't overthink it. It just comes down to this: Kissing Heather is the best feeling I've had in a long, long time. And in a way, that's all that matters.

But I can't help but feel scared, either. It's not like Heather hasn't let me down before. I meant what I said: I'll never forgive her for what happened after the accident. In some ways, that hurt even more than the accident itself.

On the other hand, she isn't the same person she was then. Incredibly, my sister was absolutely right: Heather
was
a little girl back then. (Insert champagne breath and obnoxious laughter here.)

We've
both
changed, actually. Which makes me excited. Maybe we
can
make this work. Maybe I'll actually have a girlfriend again. A real girlfriend. Something I'd counted out. Something I'd resigned myself not to think about because I'd just assumed it was impossible.

And Heather wouldn't be just any girlfriend, either. No, she's an amazingly smart, amazingly sexy girl who knows me better than anyone. It's like I typed a program into a computer: “create ideal woman”—and out spat Heather.

Only … that's not the whole truth.

No. Because until this weekend, I didn't think my ideal woman was Heather at all. I thought it was Gaia. Then there's the unsavory matter of their hating each other. I know Gaia's pissed at me already for some reason—but what is she going to say when she finds out that I played tongue twister with her mortal enemy?

She'll probably shut me out again. And that's what really worries me. Because then who will she have left? No one. She'll be alone. And I can't let that happen. Not to Gaia. I've seen where that leads.

Ella might have deliberately dragged him up here—leading him on the proverbial wild-goose chase.

“GAIA!” ELLA'S SHRILL VOICE RANG up the stairs. It seemed she was trying to pack as much disdain as possible into saying Gaia's name. As if the mere act of forming that word was making her physically ill. “There's somebody here to see you.”