Read Online Kiss by Francine Pascal - Free Book Online Page B

“So, what are you doing for Thanksgiving dinner?”
    Gaia hesitated. She couldn’t say she was doing nothing. It was too pathetic. It was begging for sympathy and an invitation. But she couldn’t lie, either. She had a feeling Mary wouldn’t buy a lie very easily. “Oh. Well. I was thinking I might —”
    â€œWait a minute,” Mary broke in. “Why am I asking? I know what you’re doing.”
    Gaia furrowed her brow. “You do?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œOkay. So?”
    â€œYou’re eating with my family.”
    â€œI am?”
    â€œYou are. You definitely are.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œCompletely, one hundred percent sure.”
    Gaia couldn’t help but let a smile out. “Great. I’ll let myself know.”

A Crowded Thursday
    THE DOCTOR TIED THE BELT OF his nondescript and greatly despised tan trench coat. In recent years he’d become attached to very fine clothes. But this coat continued to be useful to him when he was conducting his “side business.” It was not only too boring to warrant notice, but of such an inferior material that it was machine washable. That part was important.
    Pausing briefly at the corner of Fifty-fifth Street and Fifth Avenue, he studied the information stored in the tracking device. Now, this was a very busy girl. First the West Village, then Astor Place. Then the remote East Village, then West Seventy-seventh Street, Central Park, and what appeared to be a high floor of an apartment building on Central Park West and Sixty-fifth Street. Did teenagers no longer find sleep necessary at all?
    He would need to follow her carefully. He wanted this job done by midnight, and her current location — no doubt in a private home — was far less than ideal. That whorish woman — what was her less than amusing alias? Travesura? — had assured him this girl spent a lot of time on the streets and in public places. It had better be so.
    He touched his trusted knives, tied up in felt casing in his roomy pocket. This girl was reported to be quite beautiful and exceptionally strong. That was enticing to him. That’s why he’d taken on the job.
    â€œExcuse me!” he snapped, nearly colliding with a shabby-looking woman pushing a stroller containing a shabby-looking infant.
    He tried to remember why there were so many people — so many children — milling around the streets of New York City on a Thursday morning at nine o’clock.

E D
    For me, Thanksgiving is a mixed bag. On the one hand, there’s turkey with stuffing and my grandfather s apple pie. I love that. On the other hand, there are turnips and pumpkin pie. I’d like to know: Who really likes pumpkin pie? Let’s all be honest.
    On the one hand, there are people like me, hanging out with my grandparents. I love them. On the other hand, there are people like Gaia, who have nobody. That’s heartbreaking.
    If you think about it, even the first Thanksgiving was in no way a cause for bilateral cheer. I mean, sure, the Native Americans had shown the Pilgrims how to farm the land, and they were psyched about their first harvest. But what did the Native Americans have to celebrate? Alcoholism, VD, and blankets infected with smallpox.

too nice
    One arm. Two arms. The fabric settled with unexpected ease over her stomach and butt, the skirt grazing a few inches above her knees.

The Red Dress
    â€œTHIS IS TOO NICE.” GAIA SAID it out loud to the Victorian-colored glass chandelier that hung over the vast, pillow-laden guest bed in Mary’s family’s apartment.
    Being friends with Mary was too nice. Mary’s unbelievably huge and fantastic apartment on Central Park West was way too nice. The smell of roasting turkey and buttery stuffing was too nice. The thought of spending Thanksgiving with a real family for the first time in five years . . . too nice to think about.
    Gaia tried to remind herself to