Wrath - 4 (2 page)

“Thanks for the pick-me-up, guys,” Harper said, “but I’m not interested.You’re dismissed.”

“Are you just going to wal ow here forever?” Kane asked in disgust. “Doesn’t sound like the Grace I know and love.”

“As if,” she snorted. “I
meant,
I’ve got better things to do than play guest of honor at your little pity party.”

“Like what?” Kaia asked skeptical y.

“Like getting ready for my date,” Harper lied. She rol ed her eyes. “Did you real y think I was going to spend Saturday night in bed? Or at least, in
my
bed? Please.” She shook her head as if pitying their poor reasoning skil s. “I’m just resting up for the main event.”

“Now that’s more like it,” Kane said, his smirk widening into a grin. Kaia just narrowed her eyes, unconvinced.

“So I mean it. Get out,” Harper told them. “Or I’l be late.”

“Whatever you say, Grace,” Kane agreed, grabbing Kaia and backing out of the room. “Who am I to stand in the path of true lust?” Harper sighed, and waited for the door to close so she could crawl back into bed, blissful y undisturbed. On second thought—

“Kane?” she cal ed, just as he was about to disappear down the hal . He popped his head back in, and Harper forced herself to smile. “Leave the vodka.”

“I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she reads this,” Miranda Stevens crowed, putting the finishing touches on their masterpiece. “She’l be out for blood.”

“Too bad she already sucked us dry,” Beth Manning pointed out. She laughed bitterly.

The flyer had been Miranda’s idea. She’d been thirsty for revenge against Harper. Beth stil had no idea why Miranda was so eager to take down her former best friend, and she didn’t real y care—Beth had more than enough reasons of her own to go after Haven High’s reigning bitch.

And Harper was only the first name on a long list of enemies.

There was Adam Morgan, who was supposed to be the love of her life. Too bad he’d turned out to be a lying hypocrite, accusing her of cheating when he was the one who’d slept with another girl.

Then there was Kaia Sel ers … the other girl.

Last—and least—there was Kane Geary, whose lies she’d been dumb enough to believe and whose kisses she’d been weak enough to accept.

Sweet, innocent Beth, who rescued spiders and cried at the sappy reunions in long-distance commercials, now hated them al , and none more than Harper Grace, the one pul ing the strings.

“Al they care about is what people think of them,” Miranda had pointed out, “so we flush their reputations and that’s it—they’re finished.”

“Any chance you want to tel me why you’re doing this?” Beth asked now.

“Now why would I do that,” Miranda replied, pul ing her chair up to the computer, “when I could tel you about the time in eighth grade when Harper laughed so hard at the movies, she wet her pants?” Miranda shook her head, almost fondly, and began to type. “I had to cal her mother on a pay phone to tel her to bring a new pair of underwear when she picked us up. And meanwhile …” Miranda’s voice trailed off as she concentrated on typing up the story.

“Meanwhile what?” Beth urged her, choking back laughter.

“Meanwhile, Harper was inside the theater, crawling around on the floor so that the usher wouldn’t spot her and throw her out. Eventual y I had to fake an asthma attack—you know, create a diversion so she could get out without anyone spotting her.”

“Lucky for her you were there,” Beth marveled.

“Yeah?” The fond smile faded from Miranda s face. She turned away from Beth and stared at the screen, her fingers clattering loudly against the keyboard. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

Cool.

Reed Sawyer hung up the phone and kicked his feet up on the rickety coffee table—real y a row of old milk crates held together with superglue and chewing gum. He brought the joint to his lips and drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes as the searing sensation fil ed his lungs.

She couldn’t stay away from him, that was clear.

Very cool.

“Dude, who was it?” his drummer asked, leaning his head back against the threadbare couch. “You look weird.”

“Blissed out,” the bass player agreed, taking the joint from Reed’s outstretched fingertips. “Who’s the chick?”

“No one,” Reed mumbled.

“It was
her,
’ the drummer guessed, eyes gaping, and now he leaned forward on the couch. “Wasn’t it? The rich bitch?”

“Don’t cal her that,” Reed snapped, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Damn.

Now they would al know.

“What are you doing with her, dude?” the bass player asked, shaking his head. “Girl like that? She’s out of your league.” Let’s see: silky jet-black hair, long lashes, designer clothes perfectly tailored to her wil owy physique, the smoothest skin he’d ever touched … yeah, as if he needed a reminder that she was out of his league.

“What the hel do you know?” Reed asked, his voice lazy and resigned. It wasn’t just the foggy halo clouding his mind or the buzz stil tingling in his fingers that kept his anger at bay It was the fact that the guys were right. As if it wasn’t obvious that a grungy high school dropout-to-be and the pretty East Coast princess didn’t belong together. Not to mention the fact that she
was
a bitch. She treated him like he was scum and obviously thought his friends were a waste of oxygen. But stil —

They fit.

“Whatever,” he said, standing up. Slowly. “I’m out of here.”

“We’ve got rehearsal,” the bass player reminded him.

“Do it without me,” Reed said shortly, knowing it didn’t matter. Every week, they got together to “rehearse.” And every week, their instruments remained piled in the corner, untouched.

Reed had resolved that tonight, they would actual y play a set. But that was hours ago, before things got fuzzy—and before she had cal ed. He threaded his way through the ramshackle living room the guys had set up, fil ed with furniture snagged from the town dump and empty pizza boxes no one could be bothered to throw out.

“Just forget her, dude!” one of the guys cal ed after him. “She’l mess you up!”

Reed just shrugged. Everything in his life was a mess; this thing with Kaia, whatever it was, would fit right in.

“I never …” Kaia paused, trying to come up with something suitably exotic. That was the problem with this game. Once you’d done everything, there was nothing left to say. “I never got arrested.”

She wasn’t surprised when Reed took a drink. That was the rule: If you’d done it, drink up. And of course he’d been arrested. He was that kind of guy.

“For what?” she asked, leaning toward him.

They were perched on the back of his father’s tow truck, at the fringe of a deserted mining complex. It was the place they’d come on their first date … if you could cal it that.

Reed just pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“You’re not going to tel me?”

He shook his head again. Big surprise. He didn’t talk much. In fact, he didn’t seem to do much of anything besides smoke up, hang out with his grease monkey friends, and stare at Kaia with an intense gaze that stole her breath.

He was beneath her—-just like the rest of this town, this hel hole she’d been exiled to for the year. He was nothing. Dul . Deadbeat. Disposable. Or at least he should have been.

They rarely talked. Sometimes they kissed. Often, they just sat together in the dark, breathing each other in.

It was crazy.

And it was fast becoming her only compel ing reason to make it through the day.

“I never,” he began, putting down his shot glass. “I never kissed you here.”

“Liar.” Kaia caught her breath as he put his arms around her waist and kissed the long curve of her neck.

“How about here?” he murmured, lightly grazing his tongue along her skin and nibbling her earlobe.

She closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

As if from a great distance, she could hear her cel phone ringing and knew who it would be. Was it only a few weeks ago that Jack Powel had seemed the consummate prize?

The handsome, mysterious French teacher who was total y off limits and total y unable to resist her—he had it al , just as Reed had nothing. So why let the phone ring and ring? Why let Powel sit in his squalid bachelor pad, wondering and waiting, while she hooked up on the back of a pickup truck?

Kaia didn’t know.

But with Reed s arms wrapped tightly around her, his curly black hair brushing her cheek, she also didn’t care.

Dear Adam, I know you said you never wanted to hear from me again.

Adam Morgan held the match over the letter and paused for a moment, mesmerized by the dancing orange flame. It burned so brightly in the desert night. He dropped the flame into the darkness—and watched it spread.

I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it before, and you won’t listen—but Fm not going to stop. I can’t, not until
…

The envelope had arrived on his doorstep after dinner. She hadn’t even had the courage to stick around. Probably too afraid of what he’d say. But Adam had promised himself that he wouldn’t say anything at al . Not ever.

I know you think I betrayed you—betrayed what we had. But you have to understand, it’s only because I love you. And you love me, I know you do.

He hadn’t bothered to read it. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, he’d climbed into his car and driven out of town, down a long stretch of deserted highway. He’d pul ed over to the side of the road and climbed out. Scrambled over pebbles and spiny cactus brush, with nothing to light his way but the crescent moon. Fifty yards into the wilderness, he’d stopped. Crushed the letter and flung it to the ground.

Lit the match.

If you would just let me explain, Adam. I
had
to get you away from her. She wasn’t right for you. She couldn’t give you what I could. She couldn’t love you like I did. Like I do.

We’ve been friends forever—more than friends.You can’t give up on us. I can’t, I
won’t.

The flame was slow, almost deliberate. It ate into the letter, blackening the edges. The pages curled in the heat. The letters swam in front of his eyes, nothing more than meaningless black crawls. None of her words meant anything now; everything she’d told him over al these years had added up to nothing but lies.

For a moment, Adam was tempted to stick his hand in the flame. Maybe a physical pain, torn and blistering flesh, would steal his attention from the other, deeper pain that refused to go away. But he kept his hand stil . And the letter burned.

I’ll keep apologizing until you hear me. Until I can make you understand. I can be a better person. I can be anyone you need me to be. But I can’t do it without you.

The letter was almost ful y consumed. Adam was getting cold, and knew he could stop now, stomp out the fire, and leave the remaining fragments for the animals and the elements.

But he waited, and the fire burned on.

I miss you—don’t you miss me?

And on.

I need you. We need each other.

And on.

Please.

And then there was just one smoldering fragment left, curling into the flame.

Love forever,

Harper

Adam stamped out the glowing pile of ashes and walked away.

Beth held herself perfectly stil , hoping he would change his mind and disappear. She didn’t want to have to speak, but doubted she’d be able to force herself to stay silent. She didn’t want to cry, or give him any indication whatsoever that she stil cared, because, of course, she did. And more than anything, she wanted to stop.

“Hi,” Adam said softly, sliding into the empty seat to her left.

If only the assembly would begin. Then there would be no chance for conversation, and Beth could pretend he wasn’t there.

She hadn’t looked in his direction yet, but she’d felt him hovering, wondering whether or not to sit down. Despite everything he’d done, it was as if a part of them was stil connected. And maybe that was why she couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, longing to smooth down the windblown tufts of blond hair.

With a few words, she could have him back. “I forgive you.” That s al it would take, and she could curl up against him again, his arms warm and strong around her. She could be a “we” again.

But she’d promised herself she would never forgive him—and unlike Adam, she kept her promises.

“You’re not going to talk to me?” he asked.

Let him figure that one out for himself.

“At least
look
at me!”

Her lip trembled.
I will
not
cry,
she told herself.

“Fine,” he spit out. She could tel he was struggling against his temper. “Then just listen.” It’s not like she had much of a choice—but it was a long time before he spoke again.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” he whispered as he reached for her hand. She whipped it away, afraid that if she let him touch her, or if she looked into his clear blue eyes, her anger might drain away.

She wil ed the principal to take the stage and begin the assembly; it was her only escape.