Envy - 2 (12 page)

Beth tore her gaze away with difficulty.

“Let’s go,” she urged Adam again. “Now.”

Once they were a safe distance away, Adam began to shake with laughter.

“He’s a real piece of work,” he said, shaking his head.

“Him? What about
her
?” Beth asked as they wandered toward the Ferris wheel.

“Ah, she’s no different from any of the other girls he picks up. Smarter, maybe.”

“Smarter? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Beth rol ed her eyes and climbed into a Ferris wheel cart after Adam. They began to swing upward toward the stars.

“No, it’s true—think about it, any girl with half a brain at our school is too smart to go near him.”

“That’s a nice way to talk about your best friend,” she scolded him.

“What? He’d admit it himself—the guy’s a player. Besides, you’re the one always cal ing him a sleaze.”

“That was before I got to know him.”

“Trust me, Beth, if you knew him the way I do, you’d believe me. I love the guy and al , but I gotta cal it like I see it.” He put an arm around her shoulders and pul ed her close to him, running a warm hand up and down her bare shoulders. Beth shivered, suddenly noticing the cool night air blowing past.

“How about we stop talking about Kane and his latest bimbo and just enjoy the view,” Adam suggested.

“It is beautiful,” Beth agreed, looking out over the glittering sprawl beneath them. A range of low-slung mountains loomed in the distance, silhouetted by the ful moon.

They sat quietly for a moment until Beth couldn’t take it anymore—the words boiled up inside of her and final y leaked out.

“I just don’t see why he does it!” she exclaimed, flinging her arms up for emphasis.

“Who?”

“Kane—he’s so much better than these girls.”

“Why are you getting so angry?” Adam asked in frustrated confusion. “What do you care?”

“I just—I just want him to be happy. Don’t you? He’s
your
friend.”

“That’s right, he’s
my
friend,” he repeated. “And I can tel you that he
is
happy. I’m the one sitting up here while my girlfriend goes crazy over another guy. Too jealous of Kane to care whether I’m happy?”

“I am
not
jealous,” Beth protested indignantly.

“Whatever.”

“I just think he’s a great guy,” she insisted. “He deserves better.”

“Like who? You?”

“Stop it, Adam,” she said irritably. “If you don’t want to talk about him anymore, we won’t talk about him anymore. You don’t have to make such a big deal about it.” He crossed his arms and peered out over the side, away from her. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

And so they didn’t talk at al .

Kaia knew things. It was second nature now, after her long years of training—part skil , part talent, whatever. Everyone needs a hobby. In New York, after al those years with the same people, the same streets, the same hangouts, it had been easy. You just had to listen, ask the right questions, be in the right place at the right time, learn how to be invisible. This last, for Kaia, had been the hardest lesson to learn, as she’d made a life out of being seen, being
noticed
—but it turned out that didn’t always serve her purposes. Knowledge was power, and when you were a teenager, held hostage by the arbitrary whims of adults who mistakenly thought they knew best, you needed al the power you could get.

After sifting through the skeletons in the closets of half of the Upper West Side, the denizens of Grace, California, didn’t real y pose much trouble for Kaia’s investigative skil s, especial y since, at the moment, she had very little else to do. So even though she’d been in town for only a month, she knew things, big and smal .

She knew that the servants played poker together in the room above the garage every Sunday night—and that their drink supplies always came courtesy of the Sel ers family liquor cabinet. She knew that Alicia, the married maid, was screwing Howard, Kaia’s father’s driver. She knew that the Haven High principal was having an affair with her English teacher, that Adam’s mother was wel deserving of her reputation as the town slut, that her gym teacher was an alcoholic kleptomaniac, that her middle-aged mailman was stil emotional y debilitated by the tragic loss of his mother in 1987, and that the woman who ran the local post office was a thirty-seven-year-old virgin. Of course she knew about Harper’s and Kane’s little crushes—that was child’s play.

And she knew that every Friday night from eight p.m. to closing, the bar stool on the far left in the Prairie Dog Bar and Gril was occupied by one Mr. Jack Powel .

Yes, knowing things could come in handy.

It was a hole in the wal , with room for no more than ten customers at once (though crowding was never a problem). The gril , if it had ever truly existed, must have broken long ago, for the only food available was the stale peanut and pretzel mix fil ing the spotted beer mugs spread across the bar, and the moldy cheese left as bait in the mousetraps in the corners. Other than the bartender, a smiling old man with no hair and plenty of rounded edges, Jack Powel was the only one there.

She sidled up to the bar and hopped onto the stool next to him. He was hunched over a mug of beer, reading a book.
No Exit
, by Sartre. How appropriate.

“Kind of a bleak choice for Friday night,” she observed, peering over his shoulder at the tiny print.

He looked up in horror and practical y fel off his stool at the sight of her.

“Are you stalking me now?” he asked drily, regaining his composure as she laughed in his face.

“Please—you should be so lucky. I’m here for a drink and some peace and quiet, just like you.”

“And until a moment ago I thought I’d found it,” he grumbled.

“Can I get a Corona?” she cal ed to the bartender, ignoring Powel .

“Don’t serve her,” Powel instructed him. “She’s under age.”

The bartender winked. “Hey, buddy, I won’t tel if you won’t.” He slid a bottle down the bar toward Kaia. “On the house, beautiful.”

“You must be pretty used to getting exactly what you want,” Powel said in disgust.

“Pretty much,” she agreed.

“You’re fighting a losing battle this time.”

“You think this is me fighting?” She shook her head. He could be so cute when he was being clueless. “Please—this is me on low gear, getting a drink. It’s just good luck we two lonely hearts happened to run into each other.”

“And you just happened to be wearing … practical y nothing?” he asked sardonical y, gesturing toward her barely-there silk top.

“So you noticed,” she said with pleasure, running her fingers lightly along her bare breastbone. “And here I thought it was just my imagination, your staring at my chest al the time.”

“It’s a bit difficult not to, with your shoving it in my face like that.”

“Jack, Jack, Jack.” She shook her head rueful y. “You can insult me al you want. I’m not leaving.”

“No, but I am.” He closed his book and stood up, slapping a ten-dol ar bil down on the bar. “Thanks, Joey,” he cal ed to the bartender.

“And where wil you go?” Kaia asked. “Home? To sit alone in your pathetic little bachelor pad until you can force yourself to go to sleep? Or maybe to the library—would that be more your speed?”

“I’l be quite happy to go anywhere you’re not,” he informed her. “Thanks for ruining my night.”

“I’m the best part of your night, and you know it. Or were you having more fun a few minutes ago, sitting here alone in this cel ar, mooning over your beer like a drunken poet?”

“Fun doesn’t seem to be in my vocabulary these days,” he admitted with a dispirited sigh. “This isn’t the town for it.”

“You’re just not looking hard enough, Mr. Powel .” She put her finger softly to his lips and raised her other hand to his temple—and for once, she noticed, he didn’t twist away.

“Stop talking, for once, and open your eyes.”

He raised his hands and gently removed hers from his face. But he let them linger in his grasp for a moment too long, and it was she who broke contact first—but not before raising one of his hands to her lips and grazing his knuckles with a gentle kiss.

He pul ed away quickly.

“I’m seeing things pretty clearly right now,” he said sharply. “And I can see that it’s time for me to go.” He slipped out of the bar and Kaia sat down again, sipping her Corona thoughtful y.

He could run—but he couldn’t hide.

Kaia would always know where to find him.

It seemed the farther they got from the festival—and from Kane—the better things were. By the time they got back to Adam’s house, Beth was smiling, a look of glazed contentedness on her face. Maybe it was just the slow descent from a cotton candy sugar high—but whatever the reason, Adam thought as she snuggled close to him, he’d take it.

“It’s such a nice night,” she said, taking his hand as she climbed out of the car. “I almost hate to go inside.” He checked his watch. There was only an hour left before her curfew, not enough time to go anywhere, but …

“How about we go around back,” he suggested. He led her into the backyard and over to the large, flat rock that lay on the dividing line between his house and Harper’s. He and Harper had played there when they were little and always—even these days—considered it “their” place. He snuck a guilty glance up at Harper’s bedroom window, which overlooked the yard. She wouldn’t mind—she would, in fact, never know.

Beth clambered up atop the rock and lay back on it, spreading her arms and looking up at the clear, starry sky.

“You could lose yourself in the stars,” she sighed. “Out here, in the dark, you could forget the whole world, and just—be.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Adam said, lying down next to her. “I could lose myself in you.” He took her face in his hands and turned it toward him gently, kissing her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her soft, smooth lips. She brushed her blond hair away from her face and pul ed him closer to her, tangling her legs in his. The smooth rock surface was cool beneath his skin, but she was so warm, throbbing with heat as she grazed the lines of his body and began to rub the bare skin beneath his shirt.

“I’m sorry I was so … I’m sorry about tonight,” she murmured.

“It was nothing. Forget it,” he assured her, cradling her in his arms.

“I’m just stressed—there’s so much to do, and no time, and—”

“Shh.” She was trembling in his arms, and he put his hand to her cheek, then ran his fingers across her lips. “It’s okay. I know. It’l be okay.”

“I miss you,” she whispered.

“We just need to make it through the SATs,” he suggested. “And then maybe you can take a break for a while. We can take a break, focus on us. No stress, no SATs, no homework. Just us.”

“It sounds perfect,” Beth sighed. “I can’t wait.” She lay her head on his chest. “I could just lie here forever, listening to you breathe.” He ran his fingers through her hair and began softly massaging her back, rubbing and kneading her taut muscles, her tender skin.

“I wish you could,” he whispered. “Next week. Just keep tel ing yourself that. You’l make it until then.
We’ll
make it until then.”

“I hope so,” she whispered.

So did he.

“No way in hel am I going out in public looking like this,” Miranda wailed.

As Harper had expected, Miranda had awoken with a raging hangover and a far stormier outlook on being a green-headed monster.

“Wel , on the bright side …,” Harper began.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Miranda interrupted her. “It’s too early in the morning for bright sides.”

“It’s twelve thirty,” Harper pointed out. They’d rol ed out of bed a few minutes ago and were now slouched in front of the kitchen table, trying to cure their hangover with juice and a handful of aspirin.

“Am I in my pajamas? Am I eating Rice Krispies? Am I stil waiting for my first cup of coffee? Then it’s morning.” Harper, whose own head was throbbing with the pain of one margarita too many, was in no position to argue.

“Look, we’l fix this,” she promised.

“You’d better,” Miranda growled. “It’s your fault I look like the Jol y Green Midget to begin with.”