Wrath

by Robin Wasserman

  She’d already wasted an hour meditating on “Why Education Is Important,” finding it to easy to get distracted by topics such as “Why the Principal Thinks This Is a Good Topic,” “What the Odds Are This Speech Will Put the Governor to Sleep,” and “How I Can Keep Harper from Ruining My Life—Again.”

  Beth still couldn’t quite believe that Harper was going to enter, despite her threats. She could barely be bothered to do her homework most days, so how likely was it that she’d put in a nonrequired show of academic effort and produce a whole speech? But Beth had to assume that she’d go through with it, if only because Harper’s desire to destroy her had so far proved unbounded. It didn’t seem fair; without Harper in the race, Beth’s win would have been a sure thing.

  I deserve this, she told herself. She worked harder than anyone at Haven High. The rest of them were complacent, contented with their narrow, small-town lives-it was only Beth who wanted more.

  She opened her Web browser and clicked back to the Web site she’d come across of award-winning essays on every topic. According to the description at the top of the page, it was supposed to serve as an inspiration for students in her position, but Beth knew what it was really for. She’d always known sites like this one were out there, she just never thought she’d be visiting one herself.

  But her mind was so clogged with bitterness that she couldn’t string two sentences together, much less compose a speech. And here they were, dozens of them—all better than anything she could have come up with, even on her best day. She could just highlight the text, cut and paste, change a few words here and there …

  It would be wrong, not to mention risky and totally beneath her—she was supposed to be someone who, unlike Harper, actually had principles.

  It would be wrong, she repeated to herself.

  But it would also work.

  “What do you want?”

  At the sound of Mirandas voice, Harper was momentarily stunned into silence. “I … uh … didn’t expect you to actually pick up.” Waiting for Miranda to screen her call, then leaving a plaintive voice mail that would inevitably go unreturned had become a nightly routine for Harper. This was an unexpected break in the pattern, and now that she had an opening, she had no idea what she actually wanted to say.

  “I guess it’s a night of surprises,” Miranda replied, almost dreamily.

  “What?”

  “I’m just … tonight was … let’s just say you caught me in a good mood. Your lucky day. So what do you want?”

  Harper wasn’t sure whether she wanted to apologize yet again, or to accuse Miranda of having spread the gossip flyer and force an admission that now the two of them were even. So instead, she stalled for time. “Just to talk,” she said slowly. “Just to see what’s up with you.”

  “Same old, same old.” Miranda’s voice wasn’t overly friendly, but it lacked that icy sheen she usually adopted when forced to talk to Harper. Maybe there was hope after all.

  Carpe diem, right?

  “Look, Miranda, I’m sorry,” Harper said quickly, trying to spit out as many words as she could before Miranda cut her off. “I’m so sorry, you have to understand that I would never want to hurt you, or our friendship, and you know how important Adam is—was—but he wasn’t more important than you—”

  “Whatever,” Miranda muttered.

  Harper’s fingers tightened around the phone. “No, really—I know you think I screwed you, but I didn’t. I swear, if I had thought there was a chance in hell that something would happen between you and Kane—”

  “Stop.”

  “But you need to know that—”

  “Just stop.” And it was back, that flat, affectless tone that belied the years of friendship between them. Whatever opening had briefly existed, it had just slammed shut. “I don’t need to hear any more about how I’m not good enough for him. I already know what you think.”

  “Of course it’s not what I think,” Harper protested. “It’s Kane, it’s—”

  “No, it’s you. Maybe if you’d actually, oh, I don’t know, helped me, rather than stabbed me in the back …”

  Her voice trailed off, and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of loud breathing on both ends of the line. “Is that why you did it?” Harper asked softly. “It’s really all about Kane?”

  “Did what?”

  “I know it was you,” Harper said, trying to keep a lid on her emotions. If Miranda wanted to handle this like they were strangers, Harper would find the strength to do so.

  “Is this some kind of riddle?”

  “Beth couldn’t have done it on her own,” Harper continued. “There were things on there that no one else knew.”

  “So?”

  “So it was you. God, Rand, teaming up with her? Do you really hate me that much?”

  There was a long pause. “Maybe.”

  “Just because I didn’t help you get Kane?” Harper asked incredulously.

  Miranda sighed. “It’s not Kane … not just Kane.” She no longer sounded angry, or bitter, just tired. “It’s you. I kept making excuses for you. Whenever anyone called you a heartless bitch, or a slut—”

  As always, Harper jerked at the sound of the word. She hated the way it sounded—especially on Miranda’s lips.

  “I’d always say, ‘Oh no, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know her like I know her.’ So congratulations,” she said sarcastically, “you fooled me. But now I’m done. I’m out.”

  “Just like that?” Harper asked, the taste of bile rising in the back of her throat. “I’m a bitch, you’re a saint, and now Saint Miranda’s ‘Out’?”

  “That’s not—well, yes.”

  “That’s bullshit, Rand, and you know it.” Harper collapsed onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her voice was cold enough that Miranda would never suspect there were tears streaming down her face, or that she’d tugged a blanket over her head as if to shut out the world. “You can act like you’re better than me, but we both know the truth: You’re jealous.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes. “Of you? Right.”

  “Yes. Right.” Harper hated herself for saying it, but Miranda wasn’t the only one who could be cruel. “You hate that I get all the attention and you just have to tag along after me. You’re just using this as an excuse to get away because you think that without me around, you might actually be someone.”

  “So what?”

  “So think again.” Harper knew she should stop—even if apologies wouldn’t work, time might, if she just shut up. But it didn’t matter what she wanted; her hand was glued to the phone. “At least with me, people knew who you were. You had friends. You had a life. Without me? You’ve got nothing.” It’s almost too late, she warned herself, but she couldn’t stop. “You are nothing.”

  Harper’s voice broke on the last word, but when Miranda finally spoke, she sounded perfectly composed.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said slowly, just before hanging up. “But I’d rather be nothing than be your friend.”

  Kaia almost ignored the doorbell—but that would mean she had let him win, right? Whoever he was out there who wanted to terrify her would have accomplished his goal. And Kaia refused to play that game.

  “I hoped you’d be here,” Reed said when she opened the door.

  Hoped, or knew?

  “What are you doing here?” Reed almost never showed up at her house. It wasn’t his style. Instead, she would call him and they’d meet on some neutral territory. Was it possible he’d come tonight to check up on his handiwork, and see whether she’d fallen apart?

  It couldn’t be him, she told herself. Not Reed, the one person out here she’d grown to trust. Except—

  How much do you really know about him?

  Nothing.

  Enough.

  “Got tired of admiring you from afar,” Reed said, smiling. “Figured it was time you met your secret admirer.”

  Alarmed, Kaia took a step back.

 
; “Hey, it was just a joke,” he said softly, taking her hands in his. “I just wanted to see you, that’s all. Missed you. What’s going on?”

  Kaia was glad she’d turned the floodlights off before going inside, so there was no way he could have seen her vandalized car in the darkness. For a second, she considered flicking them back on and telling him everything, but she didn’t want him to look at her as a victim. Or maybe she was afraid he wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Nothing,” she said, insisting to herself that it was true. “I’m glad you came.”

  She forced herself to forget her ridiculous suspicions and forget the fact that the maids were out for the night and her father wasn’t due back until tomorrow. And after they shared a long, deep kiss, she was almost able to do it.

  Kaia led him out back to the hot tub, tossing him a pair of her father’s trunks. Then she ducked into the changing room and slipped into her new bikini, determined not to let some perverted loser ruin her night.

  As they let themselves sink into the churning water, Kaia knew she’d made the right decision. This was just what she needed to relax, and remind herself that Reed wasn’t a threat.

  “Glad I came over?”

  Kaia launched herself across the hot tub and floated into Reed’s arms. The nearly unbearable heat was even worse with his wet, sticky body pressed up against hers, but Kaia didn’t mind. The heat was refreshing—cleansing. “Definitely.”

  He wrapped himself around her and then sank down farther into the seat, so they were both nearly submerged in the roiling water, with only their faces peeking out into the sharp winter breeze. He tipped his head back. “Look at that,” he said reverently.

  Kaia followed his gaze. The stars seemed unnaturally bright. One of them, twinkling by the horizon, had a dark, reddish glow. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now,” she marveled. Contentment was a new thing for her.

  “Good, because you’re staying right where you are,” he said, turning her around to face him. Her hair floated in a halo around her, and she remembered that when she was a little girl, she had pretended to be a mermaid. She’d always thought she looked most beautiful in the water.

  She inhaled deeply, burrowing her face into his neck. The water had washed away the ever-present stench of pot, the lingering grease from his tow truck and his shift at Guido’s—he was fresh and clean. Just like new. “I like the way you smell.”

  “I like you.” He kissed her, roughly at first, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, tangling itself with hers, their breath loud and hurried in her ear. Then as she nibbled on his lower lip and opened her eyes, he opened his, and their movement slowed, until they were almost frozen, their lips connected, their eyes locked.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  Reed flinched and thrust himself away from her, but Kaia didn’t refuse to let go. She’d recognize the harsh, patrician voice anywhere—Daddy Dearest was hard to forget. She wasn’t about to let him ruin her fun, not tonight. She needed Reed by her side, as a flesh-and-blood reminder that she wasn—t alone.

  “I should think that’s pretty obvious,” she quipped, finally looking up. He loomed over them, far enough back to ensure no water would touch his custom-tailored Ermenegildo Zegna suit and Bruno Magli loafers. “What are you doing home?”

  “I live here,” he reminded her.

  It was only technically true. Two or three nights a month he lived there. The rest of the time it was difficult to remember his existence. The maid could have warned her he was due home tonight, Kaia thought in irritation. No matter—she could be dealt with later. For now, the damage was done.

  “What’s the problem, Father?” she asked innocently. “I’m just making new friends. Isn’t that what you wanted? I thought the whole point of sending me out here was so I could meet some new people. You know, good influences.”

  She tried to stroke Reed’s hair, but he jerked away and pulled out of her grasp.

  Her father ignored her, as usual.

  “Who are you?” he asked, glaring at Reed. “Get off my daughter and out of my Jacuzzi.” Reed stumbled to his feet, stepped up onto the wooden deck and, dripping, extended a hand to Keith Sellers.

  Mistake.

  Kaia’s father looked at him as he might a wet, stinky dog who’d tried to rub up against the leg of his $1,200 pants.

  “Reed Sawyer, sir,” Reed said, dropping his hand when it became obvious no one was going to shake it.

  “I know you, don’t I?”

  “He works at the garage down on Main Street,” Kaia said brightly. “You probably saw him there when you took the Jag in for service.”

  Now Keith Sellers looked as if the wet dog had peed on his $1,200 pants.

  “Or maybe he delivered your pizza,” Kaia added helpfully, just to dig the knife in a little deeper. She knew very well that Keith Sellers never ordered pizza, even when he wasn’t on his no-carb diet.

  Her father heaved a weary sigh.

  “What are you doing, Kaia?” he asked, shaking his head. “This is a lot of effort to go to, just to spite me.”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Kaia snapped. She climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself, handing one to Reed as well. He took it without looking at her.

  “Why else would you be associating with this kind of trash?” Keith Sellers shrugged his shoulders and then strode back toward the house. On his way, he hit the lights, dropping them into darkness. Kaia could no longer see Reed’s face—or guess what he might be thinking. “Get him out of here, Kaia,” he called back to her, in a voice she knew better than to disobey. “I know you’ll do whatever you want—but you’re not doing it in my house.”

  It was so pathetic when he actually tried to act parental. He was just too out of practice for it to stick.

  “Come on,” she said, taking Reed’s hand and pulling him toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m going,” Reed agreed, pulling his hand away. He rested it firmly on her shoulder. “You stay.”

  “What? Why?” Listen to me, she thought in disgust, needy and pathetic. “Who cares what he thinks?” she asked. “I don’t.”

  “I think you do,” he said slowly, avoiding her gaze. “And that’s the problem.”

  He walked away, and because she didn’t want to seem weak, she didn’t follow. She let the towel drop to the floor of the deck and in the darkness groped her way back to the forgiving waters of the hot tub.

  Damn him, she thought, sinking in. Damn him for his pride, or stubbornness, or whatever had made him leave.

  And damn her father. He’d been absent most of her life—was still absent—and despite the fact that she never asked anything of him, he kept taking everything that mattered to her. He’d taken her home, her credit cards, her freedom—and now Reed.

  He wouldn’t be happy until she was left alone, with nothing.

  Oh wait—

  Mission accomplished.

  He didn’t go straight to his pickup truck, but instead wandered off into the darkness, telling himself he was exploring the grounds—but the truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He stopped after a few minutes, realizing that he had a perfect view of the back deck hot tub, Kaia’s figure illuminated in the darkness. She was so beautiful, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away. Especially since it was becoming clear that the two of them didn’t belong together, not in the real world. Out here, watching, he could forget all that and just appreciate her. He could remember the way she’d felt in his arms, and forget that she was likely just playing him, stringing him along for her own purposes.

  Reed sighed, resisting the urge to light up. He needed something to take the edge off. Kaia was like a drug that made everything seem too real. It was as if he lived the rest of his life in black and white. With Kaia, the world wasn’t just brighter—it was blinding Technicolor.

  And it was exhausting.

  Reed spent most of his life hanging on the sidelines. It was his natu
ral place, just as waiting and watching was his natural state. But with Kaia he found himself acting, rather than reacting, his normally placid mind consumed with questions: Why did she want him? Why did he want her? How would things end, and when?

  Maybe it had been a mistake to get involved at all.

  Reed decided to light up after all, and inhaled deeply, relishing the heat that spread through his lungs. Being with Kaia meant being in the center, under the spotlight. And he just wasn’t made for that kind of hassle. He lived on the fringes. He didn’t do. He watched.

  chapter

  6

  “This is a very quite serious charge, Ms. Grace.” Jack Powell frowned sternly at her, and ran a hand through his floppy brown hair. “Do you have any evidence to back up these claims?”

  Other than absolute certainty in the pit of her stomach? Other than nearly explicit—but undocumented—admissions from both suspects? Uh …

  “No,” she admitted. “I was hoping you could handle that. Now that you know what you’re looking for.”

  “And why come to me with this information? Why not the vice principal, or someone else in the administration?”

  “Well, I figure they must have used the newspaper equipment to print the flyer, and you are the sponsor. It seemed like your department.” Harper hoped it sounded convincing. She wasn’t about to admit that when you’re turning in your former best friend for stabbing you in the back, it’s more palatable to do so with the hottest teacher in the history of Haven High. Besides, Vice Principal Sorrento had a creepy birthmark on his forehead that had already eaten most of his hair and would surely soon get started on his face. Mr. Powell, on the other hand, could have been Hugh Grant’s stunt double—and pretending she was starring in one of those movies where the sassy American falls into bed with the dapper Englishman was almost enough to distract her from the task at hand.

  She’d woken up that morning determined to act. Striking back was the best way to keep from obsessing over Miranda’s words and what it meant that the one person who knew her best had decided she wasn’t worth knowing.