Wrath - 4 (23 page)

Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to cal Harper. In her dream scenarios, the romantic night always ended with a triumphant cal to Harper, who would shriek and then listen in disbelief as Miranda described every moment.

Even as they’d kissed, Miranda had at times found herself silently narrating, as if preparing herself to tel the story.

I couldn’t believe he was touching me,
she had thought, as Kane’s tongue explored her mouth and her hands brushed his silky hair away from his face.
And I couldn’t believe
how natural it felt. Isn’t that weird?

She hadn’t admitted it to herself, but she’d been talking to Harper that whole time. She had spent so many hours listening to Harper bleed details of her own innumerable conquests—and always, Miranda had listened, waiting for the day when she would have her own story to tel .

Miranda considered it. She even lifted the phone, touched each of the familiar numbers in turn, lightly, as if rehearsing. She needed to tel
someone
what had happened.

Somehow saying it out loud would make it real and save her from the fear that when she woke up in the morning, al this would prove to have been a dream.

But too much had gone wrong between them.

So Miranda put the phone back down and rol ed over on her side, throwing her arm around a pil ow and pretending it was Kane. Like a warm blanket, she tucked the memory of him around her—the laughing look in his eyes, the current between them when he first put his hands on her chin, when she knew for certain that everything was about to change.

Then kiss me already,
she whispered to herself. She didn’t need a witness. She remembered. Her body remembered.
It really did happen
.

It was their space.

It was sacred.

So what was he doing out there without Harper?

What was he doing out there with not just another girl—but
two?

Harper pressed herself against the window of her dark bedroom, hating to watch yet unable to turn away, as Adam guided the girls to the large, flat rock—their rock—and lay down between them.

These weren’t just any girls.

They were the sad, worshipful sophomores who wanted to have everything that Harper had—and now they were one big step closer to accomplishing their goal.

Harper could barely breathe as Adam took one of their hands. Her own hand made a fist, as if trying to clutch something that was no longer there.

The figures lay flat on their backs, side by side, and Harper wondered what they could be talking about, and whether Adam could be thinking about anyone but her. It seemed impossible; and yet, if he thought about her at al anymore, how could he bear to involve himself in something so sordid, in
their
place? How could he ruin the final thing they had between them and expect her to bear it?

Adam turned over to face Mini—Me, propping himself up on his elbow, and their heads moved toward each other. Mini-She rubbed his back, one of her legs crossing over and entwining itself with his. Harper thought she might throw up or pass out. But, instead, she just kept watching.

The scene unfolded in slow motion. Adam’s face drew closer and closer to Mini-Me. And then, just before their lips touched, Adam froze and turned his head away, up, toward Harper’s window.

He knows I’m watching,
she realized.
He wants me to see
.

It was too dark to make out his face, but Harper imagined him to be sneering. He couldn’t possibly see her, a dark figure in a dark window, but even so, it felt like their eyes were locked, and Harper wil ed him to see the person he needed her to be.

But he saw nothing but the darkened window, and after a moment, he looked away, back down to Mini-Me, and then he kissed her.

It was the perfect plan. But Beth didn’t know if she had the nerve. It would humiliate Harper, dealing a crushing blow to that reputation she was oh so fond of. It would be the picture-perfect revenge for the way she had gone after Beth, systematical y destroying everything that was important to her.

Beth held the smal box in her hand and wondered: Did she have it in her? And could she do it right?

The old Beth had no experience with this kind of thing. She lacked the strategic-planning skil s, the devious imagination. But the last few weeks had taught her a few things.

She’d done a lot wrong, but this time, perhaps she’d final y get it right.

No one would be hurt. No property would be destroyed. And certainly no one would ever think to trace it back to kind, appeasing Beth, pure as the driven snow.

She hated the person she had been—the weak, meek girl who’d let anyone hurt her. But she missed her old self, as wel , particularly her assumption that life was, despite what they say, fair. She had always believed that if she worked hard enough and long enough, she’d get what she wanted.

She’d been weaned on platitudes:

Early to bed, early to rise
…

A bird in the hand
…

Revenge is a gift best served cold.

That one was just as wrong as the rest of them—she didn’t have the patience to wait for the perfect moment to arrive. She’d have to create it. It would, of course, have been preferable not to adopt the tactics of her enemies. It would be nice if turning the other cheek would get you anywhere in life. But it wouldn’t. Harper had proven that.

Beth put the box in the outer pocket of her backpack. She wished that something would happen the next day that would al ow her to forget it was there, and that the need for revenge would magical y disappear.

She’d learned the platitudes from her father, who was ful of them. His favorite:
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride
. And now Beth final y got it: Wishes weren’t worth much. You couldn’t just close your eyes and hope things would turn out right. You had to make things happen. Harper had taught her that, too.

Harper had been a good teacher this year—and, of course, Beth had always been an eager student.

Tomorrow would be the final exam.

She was ready.

“I didn’t know who else to cal ,” Kaia said apologetical y, when Harper met her in the parking lot and handed her the shirt she’d requested. Kaia slipped it on. “Thank you.”

“Dare I ask what …”

Kaia shook her head. “Better not to. Sorry I had to drag you out here. It’s late, and—”

“Trust me, I could use the diversion,” Harper admitted. She looked more closely at Kaia, who seemed normal on the surface—but that surface was somehow thinner, more fragile than Harper had ever seen it. She gestured toward the coffee shop they were parked in front of. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

“No.” Kaia ran a trembling hand through her hair. “I have to”—she looked at her watch, looked at the road, the car, anywhere but at Harper—“I just have to go.”

“Not like this,” Harper said firmly. “One drink. Just some coffee. We’l talk.”

“I don’t need—”

“Not for you,” Harper said, only half lying. “For me. It’s been a crap night. I could use some company”

As if too tired to fight, Kaia nodded. As they walked toward the door, Harper cautiously attempted to put a hand on Kaia’s shoulder—in comfort, she thought. Kaia flinched away.

Inside Bourquin’s, they nestled in two comfy, overstuffed armchairs in front of a roaring fire. Each sipped a steaming cup of coffee, black.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

Kaia shook her head again. “There’s nothing to—”

“Come on.”

“Okay, there’s plenty to tel . But it’s not like I’m going to—” Kaia stopped herself, and Harper recognized the look on her face. She’d worn it enough times herself, when she was about to say something catty and caught herself just in time.

“You talk,” Kaia said instead.

“About what?”

“About anything, I don’t care. I just want to … sample someone else’s problems for a change. So just talk. What’s going on with you?” Harper couldn’t stop herself from laughing.

“What?” Kaia asked, annoyed.

“It’s just …” How to say it without sounding rude? Then again, who cared how she sounded? “My life is total y fucked up, everyone’s gone, and—let’s just say I never thought I’d be pouring out my problems to
you
.”

Kaia lifted her mug in a mock toast. “Right back at you,” she said, forcing a grin.

Harper sighed and slumped against her chair. She’d hated Kaia, once, and then they’d been cautious al ies, brought together by circumstance. And now? Harper stil didn’t trust her. But she somehow felt that she knew her—or maybe that Kaia knew Harper. It was the one person she’d thought she’d never let see her vulnerable; but these days, Kaia seemed like the only one with whom she could drop the act.

“Where should I start?” she asked, rol ing her eyes. “Adam’s probably screwing some other girl in our backyard, as we speak. Or two of them.”

“Two girls?
Adam?
”

“Don’t ask. Meanwhile, Miranda hates me. I’ve got to give this shit speech tomorrow and”—this time, her laughter took on a twinge of hysteria—“turns out I’ve got stage fright.”

“Wel , at least that one I can help you with.” Kaia dug through her purse and pul ed out a tiny pink case, then opened it up and slipped two pil s into Harper’s hand.

“And this would be …?”

“Xanax,” Kaia explained. “Mother’s new little helper. I snagged her stash before they shipped me out here. Take a couple before you go on. You’l be fine.” She let forth an almost manic giggle. “I might have a few myself tonight.”

Harper slipped the pil s into her pocket and sank back into her seat. “One problem down. Too many to go.”

“Feels like everything’s closing in on you?” Kaia asked—and was that sympathy in her voice?

Harper nodded.

“Like you don’t belong anywhere and you don’t deserve to?”

She nodded again.

“Like everyone thinks they know you, but no one real y does?” Kaia took a deep breath and surreptitiously wiped the corner of her right eye. “Feels like maybe you’d be better off if you just took off one night and never came back?”

“Run away and leave it al behind?” Harper asked, surprised—because she’d just been staring out the window imagining how good it would feel. “If only.”

“Yeah. If only.”

It wasn’t their kind of thing. But it was a nice fantasy.

There was silence between them for a moment, comfortable enough that Harper found the courage to speak. “Have you ever … done something that you wished you could take back? You know, just go back in time, do it al over again, the
right
way?”

Kaia dipped her pinkie into the coffee mug and stirred it around the dark liquid. “Maybe.”

“It just seems like it should be possible to fix things,” Harper said, thinking of the look on Adam’s face when he’d thought Beth was cheating on him. He’d crumbled, total y destroyed. Al because he trusted Harper and she’d used that trust to ruin him. “One bad decision, one screw-up, that shouldn’t be it. You shouldn’t have to feel guilty forever, right? There should be
something
you can do.”

“What, like atone for al your sins?” Kaia asked. She shook her head. “No. Sometimes, maybe. But sometimes …” She shrugged and closed her eyes for a long moment.

“Sometimes you make the wrong decision and that’s just … it. Everything changes. You can’t go back.”

“You real y believe that?”

“I don’t know if I real y believe anything.”

Harper nibbled on her lower lip. “I don’t buy it,” she said final y. “No second chances, no hope. That would be hel .”

“Look around you,” Kaia drawled, gesturing to the tacky, faded, over-stuffed and over-ruffled coffee-shop decor, the darkness that lay beyond them. “We’re
in
hel .”

“You real y hate it here, don’t you?”

Kaia shivered, though the coffee shop was almost overly warm. “More than anything,” she said, almost too softly to hear. “More than you know.” Harper almost envied her. For Kaia, this was al temporary—she had somewhere to go back to, a happy memory and hope for the future to keep her warm. For Harper, this was it. Life in Grace was al there was. And she’d destroyed everything that made it bearable.

Kaia could dream about waking from the nightmare, going back to New York, moving on with her life.

But for Harper, this was permanent reality. There was no escape.