Wrath - 4 (12 page)

“I learned from the best,” she said teasingly.

“Then you didn’t learn enough.
I
know better than to get caught,” he boasted.

She ducked her head and giggled. It wasn’t a sound that suited her. She wasn’t a giggler.

“How
did
you know they caught me, by the way?”

“A master never reveals his secrets,” Kane swore. His network of informants depended on his discretion—and his power depended on his access to their information. “Let’s just say I have my ways.”

“Someday, Kane, you’re going to find out you don’t know everything,” Miranda cautioned him.

“And someday, Stevens, you’re going to find out I know even more than you think.”

Do the right thing, or do the smart thing?

She couldn’t flip a coin this time, not with Miranda facing her, waiting for some kind of answer. Miranda was flushed, and kept smiling and staring off into space, as if her brush with the vice principal had completely unhinged her.

“I’d never ask you to turn yourself in,” Miranda said again. “I just thought you should know what was going on.”

“And they didn’t mention me at
all
?” Beth asked. She felt guilty for even considering weaseling out of responsibility, but she’d never been in trouble before, and the prospect of getting caught terrified her. They were huddled over a smal table in the library, just across from the shelf of col ege guides—a vivid reminder of how much Beth stood to lose.

Maybe you should have thought of that before you broke the rules,
a voice in her head suggested.

“No,” Miranda confirmed. “They know there’s someone else, but they have no idea who it is.”

“A month of detentions …” Beth couldn’t imagine it. She’d never even had one.

And it wasn’t just the fear of spoiling her record—her
permanent
record—that stopped her. She worked at the diner after school. On off days she babysat for her little brothers and bounced between countless applicationpadding extracurriculars. She
couldn’t
spend a month in detention; it would ruin everything.

“Do you
want
me to turn myself in?” Beth asked, knowing already that the ironclad rules of the teen honor code would force Miranda to say no, regardless of the truth.

“No, of course not. I mean, unless you …”

“I could,” Beth offered. “I mean, I would, if you wanted me to. Of course.”

“Oh, I know you would, of course.”

“But, you know, if you don’t real y think it would change anything …,” Beth hedged.

“No, I guess … no reason for us both to go down, right?” Miranda said weakly“! mean, it seems sort of sil y, for you to just—out of solidarity, or something.”

“But if you wanted me to—”

“No, only if
you
wanted to—”

She deserved that month of detentions, every bit as much as Miranda. But then—what was the difference?

Did she
deserve
for her boyfriend to cheat on her? Did she deserve to bomb the SATs after al her studying? To cry herself to sleep every night? To be screwed over by Adam, by Harper, by Kane, to be left alone? What had she ever done to deserve any of that?

But what had Miranda done, either, other than come along for the ride?

She opened her mouth, intending to say one thing—and then said another thing entirely.

“Okay, I guess I’l keep quiet,” she told Miranda, who gave her a thin smile. “Thank you.”

Beth had always thought of herself as someone who did the right thing, but now she knew the truth. She only did the right thing when it didn’t cost her anything. She opened her mouth to take it back, but Miranda was already standing up and walking away. Not that it mattered: Beth didn’t have the nerve, even if the alternative meant hating herself.

I’ll make it up to you,
she promised Miranda silently.
Somehow
.

Kaia didn’t know he was there until he’d crept up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She almost knocked over her coffee when she whirled around and realized he had approached her in a public place, in a coffee shop, where anyone could see. Powel was on permanent orange alert at the possibility of anyone seeing them together, and if he’d elected to throw his obsessive caution to the wind, it could mean only one thing: He was losing it.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, wondering if he’d been fol owing her.

“I needed to see you,” Powel said, ignoring the question. He wrapped his fingers tightly around her forearm and pul ed her toward a secluded corner of the deserted coffee shop. She settled into an overstaffed armchair, but he stayed standing, hovering nervously behind her.

“Sit down,” she hissed, disgusted. Where was the cool British charmer she’d pursued, the one with the icy glare and the cocky certainty that nothing mattered but what he wanted? “It’l be bad enough if anyone sees us together, but if they see you fluttering around me like a nervous boyfriend—just
sit down
.” She pointed to a chair across from her close enough that they could talk without being overheard, and far enough that he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her, even if he’d truly become unhinged.

“So? What is it?” she asked, when he’d final y sat down and a minute had passed in silence. “What do you want?”

“What are you doing?” he asked, almost sorrowful y.

“What am
I
doing?” She arched an eyebrow. “Look where we are. What are
you
doing?”

“You won’t return my cal s. I needed to see you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

He let loose a harsh chuckle. “Busy? In this town? No such thing. No, I can guess what you’ve been doing.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been with
him,
haven’t you?”

“You’ve been watching me?” she said, pretending the realization came as a surprise.

“Of course not.” He laughed, a few bitter barks of noise that contained no humor. “I’ve got better things to do with my time.” He seemed so honestly disdainful of the idea that she almost believed him; but then, if he hadn’t been watching her, why the righteous anger? How could he be so sure?

“It’s al over town, dearest.You may have some discretion, but your gutter-rat, I’m afraid …”

Reed wouldn’t have spread anything around, he wasn’t the type. But how could she be so certain, she asked herself, about a guy she’d just met? What made her so wil ing to trust the pizza delivery boy who drove around in a pickup truck, smoked mountains of pot, and never answered any of her questions?

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you’re right. Let’s say I was …”

“Cheating on me,” Powel supplied helpful y. It was an odd choice of words, since cheating implied a relationship. And whatever they had—an agreement, an unwritten contract, a mutual disregard—it wasn’t a relationship.

It was sex, nothing else.

“Whatever,” she said, throwing up her hands in supplication. “Let’s say you’re right. What now?”

He looked surprised—maybe by her unruffled expression, which, she hoped, made it painful y clear that she didn’t care what happened next.

“Now? Now you stop seeing him,” he ordered. “We agreed—you want this, you want me, you can’t have anyone else.”

“Fine.” Kaia shrugged.

“Fine?” He raised his eyebrows. Maybe he’d been expecting more of a fight. “You’l stop seeing him, then?”

“No.” Did she have to spel it out? “I’l stop seeing
you
.” She finished her iced coffee in a single gulp and stood up. “It’s been fun, Jack. See you around.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, grabbing her arm roughly to pul her back down. She shrugged him off. “You think you can just walk away?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s not how it works, Kaia. You want to be very careful about what you choose to do right now.”

It didn’t sound like a desperate plea to win her back.

It sounded like a threat.

As if she’d be scared of some washed-up British bachelor who’d fal en so far, he was hiding out in the middle of nowhere teaching French to future farmers of America. Even if he was the one playing with spray paint in the middle of the night, or jerking off courtesy of his digital camera, it was a coward’s revenge, and cowards didn’t scare her.

“Bye, bye, Jack,” she chirped, and headed for the door.

“This is a mistake, Kaia.” His low, angry voice fol owed her out. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.” Doubtful.

Harper had been looking forward to a nice, quiet evening at home in front of the TV, hoping to lose herself in some cheesy MTV reality show—other people’s misery was so much more fun than her own. But it wasn’t to be. …

“Mind if I join you, hon?” Her mother didn’t wait for an answer before squeezing next to Harper on the threadbare couch. Parents could be so inconvenient sometimes.

Harper nodded and tried to hold back a sigh. “Whatever.” She upped the volume on the TV in anticipation of her mother’s inevitable commentary.

“Is that the girl from that show on HBO?” her mother asked, peering at the screen. “Oh, wait, no, she has blond hair. But is she—”

“Mom! She’s a real person, okay?” Harper explained, more harshly than she’d intended. “It’s a
reality
show. They’re al real. No actors. Get it?”

“No need to yel , dear, I’m sitting right here,” Amanda Grace said dryly, raising her eyebrows. For a few minutes they watched together in blessed silence, then, “Wait, I thought she was dating that other boy? The one with the Mohawk?”

“She
was,
Mother.”

“But then what’s she doing with this one? And are they real y going to—oh! Can they show that on TV? What are you watching?”

“It’s just a show, Mom.” Harper slouched down on the couch, wishing she’d chosen a different channel. Was there anything more embarrassing than watching on-screen sex with your
mother
?

“Harper, I hope that if you … wel , if there’s anything you want to talk about, you know, in that department—” Correction: Talking about your own sex life—or, at the moment, lack thereof—with your mother was definitely more embarrassing.

“Mom, there’s nothing to discuss. Trust me.”

“I do, honey, it’s just—” Fortunately, the scene shifted, and her mother gasped. “Is that vodka? And those two girls, what are they—? Is this real y what you teenagers are doing with yourselves these days?”

“It’s TV, Mom,” Harper pointed out, feeling simultaneous twinges of pride and guilt that she’d been able to keep her mother so successful y in the dark.

“
Reality
TV.”

Harper shook her head. “There’s nothing real about any of this crap,” she argued. “It’s al edited to make it more exciting, and you know they’re just acting up for the camera. No one’s like that in real life.”

Harper flipped the channel over to one of those ‘Al Women, Al the Time’ stations, hoping her mother would get absorbed by some soapy sob story and forget al about her. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I haven’t seen Adam around here lately,” her mother suddenly said, stil staring at the TV. “Or Miranda.” Maybe she wasn’t so oblivious after al .

“They’re around,” Harper said softly. She wasn’t about to unload on her mother—last time she’d actual y confided in one of her parents, she’d been barely out of diapers—but the temptation was there. There was something to be said for unconditional parental adoration, especial y when everyone else you care about has decided you’re worthless and unlovable.

“What’s going on with you these days?” her mother asked, final y turning to her and smoothing down Harper’s unruly hair, just like she used to do when Harper was younger.

“You seem … sad.”

Harper shrugged. “You know teenagers, Mom. We’re a moody bunch.”

“I know
you,
” her mother countered. “I know when something’s wrong. It might help to talk about it.”

“No it won’t.” She knew she sounded sul en and sulky, like a little kid, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Honey, I know high school can be tough—I wasn’t born middle-aged, you know. But you’ve got to remember, it’s not everything. The things that seem so horrible now, they’l pass.You’l get through it. Everyone does.”

“Can we just not talk about this? Please?”
This
was why Harper never told her parents anything. They didn’t get it. Harper knew her mother would probably think she just had some kind of teenybopper crush on Adam, that she and Miranda were just having a little spat that could be solved with ice cream and a smile. Having been a teenager once, a mil ion years ago, didn’t qualify her mother to understand what she was going through—and it obviously didn’t give her any idea what Harper’s life was like, how hard it could be.

“Of course,” her mother said, lifting the remote and flipping through the channels until she stumbled upon a showing of
The Princess Bride
. “How about we just watch the movie?”

Loving this movie was one of the few things they stil had in common. They’d watched it together about twenty times, and had memorized almost every line. Harpers mother switched off the light and draped a heavy blanket over both of them. Harper smiled, letting herself get carried away by the familiar jokes and the sappy but irresistible love story. If only life were as clear-cut as it was in the movies—if only you could slay a few Rodents of Unusual Size, battle your way across the Fire Swamp, slay an evil count, and get what you most desired. It would be an improvement over the real world, where danger snuck up on you and courage was so much more difficult to find.

“Harper?”

“Mmm?”

“You know your father and I love you, right?”

Of course she knew it. But it never hurt to hear it again. She focused intently on the screen and blinked back tears as Princess Buttercup threw herself into the arms of her one true love.

“Yeah,” she murmured softly, leaning her head against her mother’s shoulder. “You too.”