Pride

by Robin Wasserman

  “Maybe if you’re nice to him, he’ll let you try on his costume,” Harper suggested, choking back laughter.

  Miranda groaned, but had to laugh along. It was funny, when you thought about it, that the only guy who’d been interested in her all year had turned out to be the school mascot, a bumbling loser who hadn’t minded dressing up like a big green cactus as the whole school jeered at him.

  Although … it had been kind of nice, having someone like Greg dote on her for a week or two. And he hadn’t been that big a loser. At least, not until she’d blown him off and he’d turned into the king of the assholes. Miranda shook her head, trying to knock all thoughts of Greg out of her brain. This was exactly why she couldn’t go to the game.

  Besides, she thought, opening up her e-mail, she had other things on her mind. Better things—better guys.

  “Kane will be there,” Harper wheedled. “He’s on the team now.”

  Kane Geary, running up and down the court in those tight gym shorts …

  “I don’t care,” Miranda lied. “Besides, what happened to your whole ‘forget about Kane’ mantra?”

  The computer dinged.

  You have new mail.

  It was him.

  “I know what I said, Rand, but you never know, and—”

  “I know you’re desperate, Harper, but this is just pathetic,” Miranda told her, distractedly scanning the email. ReadltAndWeep was online—and wanted her IM name so they could chat. The e-mail had been sent only a few minutes earlier—would he still be there? Could she risk a live chat? Could she risk missing it? “Look, I’ve got to go, I have stuff to do.”

  “What stuff? It’s winter break! Come on, for me?”

  “Bye, Harper. Have fun at the game!”

  “But—”

  Miranda hung up on her. It was rude, she knew—but she also knew Harper, and this was the only way to get her to shut up. Besides, she was in a hurry.

  Spitfire: Hey, U still there?

  ReadItAndWeep: Thought you’d never ask. How goes it?

  Spitfire: You live here—how do you think?

  ReadItAndWeep: B-O-R-I-N-G

  Spitfire: Bingo.

  But she was lying—she was far from bored. “Talking” to ReadItAndWeep was, in fact, the highlight of her day. His e-mails had been so witty and articulate—and as they frantically typed back and forth to each other, she was pleased to discover that his real-time persona was even better.

  ReadltAndWeep: NEVER seen Annie Hall? Unbelievable!

  Spitfire: YOU’ve never seen Bring It On.

  ReadltAndWeep: Not the same thing.

  Spitfire: Right—your movie sucks. Mine = a modern classic.

  ReadItAndWeep: You dare to insult the master? Blasphemy! You ready to dodge the lightning bolts?

  Miranda laughed out loud. She felt like she could “talk” to him for hours—even if he did worship at the altar of Woody Allen.

  Spitfire: I think I’ll risk it.

  ReadItAndWeep: A risk-taker. I’m impressed. You up for another one?

  Spitfire: ???

  ReadItAndWeep: I think we should meet. Face-to-face. What do you think?

  ReadItAndWeep: Spitfire?

  ReadltAndWeep: Hello?

  ReadltAndWeep: Anyone out there?

  Miranda stared at the keyboard, frozen with fear. She couldn’t bring herself to answer.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to log off.

  Kaia winced at the booming, off-key “music” emerging from the marching band, which had just wound its way around the court and was now dispersing its members through the bleachers. The better to deafen the audience, apparently.

  It was her first public school sporting event—and it was just as loud, tedious, and tacky as it always looked in the movies. Cheerleaders stumbling all over themselves, crazed fans with their faces painted in the school colors—rust and mud—and down on the court, a bunch of beautiful boys running aimlessly up and down the hardwood floor, getting all hot and bothered about a stupid ball going through a stupid hoop. Pretty to watch—but such a waste of all that sweaty exertion.

  So what was she doing there?

  It had seemed unlikely enough for Harper to invite her along—even Harper seemed surprised when Kaia actually agreed to go.

  But Harper had said those magic words: “Everyone will be there.” And, when pushed to clarify, had explained that “everyone” included all the Haven High students—all and all the teachers. Which meant everyone’s favorite British bachelor would be in attendance—thus so would Kaia.

  Unfortunately, they were ten minutes into the game, Powell was nowhere in sight, and Kaia could already tell this night was going to drag on forever. To her credit, Harper seemed none too riveted to her boyfriend’s pyrotechnic display of athletic prowess. She could barely keep her eyes on the court.

  Then both girls yawned at the same instant and, catching sight of each other, burst into grateful laughter. Boredom loves company.

  “Want to take a little break?” Harper suggested. “I could really use a cigarette.”

  At this point, Kaia could really use a lobotomy. But a cigarette would do.

  “I’m already out the door,” she said, climbing down off her bleacher seat and leading the way through the crowd. Harper had been right: It seemed everyone in town was there. And there, in the front row, looking bored out of his mind, was Powell. Briefly, she considered crossing the room and spicing things up for him—certainly an embarrassing scene in front of this crowd would go a small way toward paying him back for Skiette. But it would also spell the end of them—and Kaia wasn’t ready to say good-bye just yet. Even from a distance, he stood out, a splash of wild color against the dullness of the crowd, sex appeal radiating off him in visible waves. Harper caught her staring and sighed appreciatively.

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” she said.

  If only she did. Snagging a guy as fine as Powell should at the very least have secured Kaia some bragging rights.

  “Let’s go,” Kaia urged her, forcing her gaze away from Powell’s sculpted face and broad chest. She’d deal with him later.

  They ducked out a side door and found a dark, empty spot against the side of the gym, lounging in the shadows between two flickering streetlamps.

  “Your boyfriend won’t miss you in there?” Kaia asked, lighting up and offering Harper a cigarette.

  “God, no. This game’s been all he could talk about for days. I’m the last thing on his mind.”

  “You don’t look too happy about it,” Kaia observed. “That newlywed glow wearing off so soon?”

  “Adam and I are fine. Perfect, in fact.”

  Yeah, right. But no way was Kaia letting Harper walk off to pout, leaving her alone without a companion—or a car. What would she do then? Watch the game?

  “Whatever,” she said agreeably, backing off. “Glad I could help you get what you wanted.” It couldn’t hurt to remind Harper just whose idea the whole thing had been—without Kaia, Harper and Kane would still be standing with their noses pressed up against the window, watching Adam and Beth’s nauseating displays of affection. “And, you know, that it all worked out. Happily ever after and all that. Personally, I’d be a little bored.”

  “Well, maybe that’s because you—” Harper began hotly, then, looking thoughtful, stopped and leaned back against the wall. “Maybe it’s this town,” she admitted, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “It’s enough to drain the life out of anything.”

  She could say it was the town, but Kaia suspected that the real problem lay a little closer to home, even if Harper didn’t realize it. Adam, after all, was the town—Grace’s good ol’ boy one of those guys whose life would peak in high school. He’d spend the rest of his life reminiscing about the good old days, not noticing that his beer belly was growing at exactly the same rate that his hair was falling out. Harper didn’t look the type to be satisfied with being the good little wifey to a has-been local hero, serving chips ‘n
’ dip to his poker buddies. Why else was she out in the parking lot smoking when she should have been inside, cheering on her man?

  But now wasn’t the time to bring all that up. Harper wanted to blame her existential angst on the town, and Kaia was only too happy to play along.

  “Tell me about it,” she complained. “You would think having time off from school would be a good thing, but it just makes it all the more obvious that there’s nothing to do. I thought I’d be getting out of here for New Year’s, but no such luck. Looks like I’ll be ringing in the New Year with some hillbillies and flat beer.”

  Harper laughed. “I’m officially offended by that—but God, what I wouldn’t give for a real New Year’s, for once. The best we usually get is some illegal firecrackers down at the town dump.”

  “Pathetic,” they said together, rolling their eyes in unison.

  “You know what?” Harper asked, spinning to face Kaia, her eyes wide with excitement. “You have a fabulous house. You should have a party.”

  “Me? I don’t know anyone around here.”

  “But I know everyone—I could help.”

  “You don’t even like me,” Kaia pointed out. “And the feeling is mutual.”

  “True. But you have to admit,” Harper said, giving Kaia a sly grin, “we’ve made a damn good team.”

  “I’ll think about it.” The idea of a horde of drunken high schoolers invading Daddy dearest’s pristine mansion did have a certain appeal. Architectural Digest would likely be somewhat less interested in a feature profile once Kaia had turned the Sellers house into Animal House.

  “I’m starving,” Harper complained suddenly, breaking into Kaia’s reverie of filial delinquency. “How much longer do you think this is going to take?”

  “You’re the one dating the quarterback.”

  “Center. I think.”

  “Whatever—go in there and get him to speed it up a little.”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works … but I wonder if anyone would notice if we left for a while and found something to eat….”

  “Hold that thought,” Kaia said, getting the glimmerings of a brilliant idea. “I think I can do you one better.”

  She whipped out her cell and, taking a few steps away, dialed the number she already knew by heart. “Hello, Guido’s? I need to place an order for delivery.”

  Done. In twenty minutes, their steaming hot pizza would arrive—along with one steaming hot delivery boy.

  Now for step two. She dialed again.

  “What?” That British accent was so sexy, even when he was sounding annoyed. Especially then.

  “I’m outside the gym,” Kaia said tersely, knowing he’d be fuming. And knowing he wouldn’t hang up. “We need to talk.”

  Adam cursed under his breath as the ball failed to so much as graze the basket. Airball. He was playing like shit tonight. And he knew exactly why.

  “Yo, Kane, good one!” the power forward yelled as Kane stole the ball and landed an easy layup. Another one. There was only one star on the court tonight—and Adam wanted more than anything to bash his cocky, preening face in. It was, to say the least, hurting his concentration.

  “Morgan, take a break for a while!” the new coach shouted, sending Lubowski, a lumbering second stringer out in his place. Adam slouched down on the bench with a sigh. If even Lubowski was playing better than him, things were worse than he’d thought.

  “Dude, looks like you’ve got some competition this year,” the guy next to him on the bench observed. He gestured to the cheerleaders, who were obviously slobbering all over Kane’s every move. “Usually they’re all about you, man.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” Adam snapped.

  “Hey, take it easy,” the guy—Bill, or maybe Will—said cheerfully. “It’s not so bad on the bench. I should know, I’ve been here for years.”

  So Kane was out there winning the game and Adam was stuck on the bench with some guy who’d never actually touched the ball. He knew it shouldn’t matter—he’d always claimed that it didn’t matter, the trophies, the news clippings, the girls—but who was he kidding?

  He ignored Bill/Will and turned around to scan the crowd, searching for Harper, hoping that the sight of her would remind him of something real, something important, remind him that the game was just that, and nothing more.

  But Harper was lost in the crowd somewhere, and the only familiar face he saw was Beth’s. He watched her until her wandering eyes met his, then quickly looked away. Back to the court. Back to Kane, who was passing by the bench in a slow jog up the court.

  “Nice try tonight,” he called in a low voice. “Maybe this weekend I can give you some pointers.”

  Adam knew he should fight it, should make the coach put him back in the game, show Kane he was unfazed. Show Kane that he couldn’t have everything, that he didn’t always win.

  But, instead, he stayed quiet, stayed seated.

  The thing was, Kane did always win—and Adam was so tired of losing. Maybe it was just better not to fight.

  Harper didn’t know how they’d had such good fortune, but she was only too happy to enjoy it. When Jack Powell had come storming out of the gym, his face clouded with irritation and a barely contained rage, Harper had been grateful for the quick peek, but assumed he would just walk on by. Instead, inexplicably, he’d stopped to chat with Harper and Kaia—and, just like that, their long and boring night began looking up.

  Not that Harper cared about the next lesson in French class or the long-delayed plans to renovate the cafeteria, or whatever it was Kaia was so cheerfully babbling about. Harper was just content to enjoy the scenery. Then again, maybe that was Mr. Powell’s motive as well, since he seemed even more disenchanted with the topics of conversation than she was. And he kept sneaking sidelong glances at Harper as if waiting for her to say something. Do something.

  Mr. Powell was the first new teacher Haven High had seen in years—and, thanks to his age and obvious sex appeal, rumors had been flying for months. Could they be true? Could the dashing young teacher have his eye on one of his students? Could it be that he was waiting, plotting, hoping to get Harper alone, for a very special student-teacher conference?

  Not that she’d ever do anything about it, of course. There was Adam, for one thing—and, for another, hooking up with a teacher was definitely on the wrong side of the sexy/sleazy divide. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t preen a little under his surreptitious attention, right? Flirt a little, give him the full Harper Grace treatment? You certainly couldn’t fault his taste.

  “I should be getting back,” he finally said, aiming his piercing stare at Kaia. (Probably wishing she’d go away and leave us alone, Harper thought smugly.) “Unless there’s anything else you ladies need.”

  “Oh, Mr. Powell, please stay,” Kaia simpered, “I really need to talk to you about these new textbook standards you were telling us about. It’s so fascinating.”

  Pathetic, Harper thought. Could she be any more obvious, throwing herself at him like that?

  “Well, maybe I didn’t mention it before,” Mr. Powell began after a pause, “but it’s very important that these textbooks follow the rules. Otherwise, the school board will just toss them out. After all, one textbook’s just as good as another. Don’t you think, Harper?”

  “What?” Like she was listening. Who could pay attention when he had such adorable dimples? “Uh, sure.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Kaia countered. “I would think that if a textbook were something really new and different, it might be able to make its own rules. And you know, if one school district didn’t want it, another one would be sure to snatch it up.”

  “And I suppose that in this charming little scenario, the first school board would be sorry?” Mr. Powell asked drily.

  “It would feel like quite the fool,” Kaia said, imitating his British accent. “It would probably want the textbook back, but, sadly, it would be too late.”

  Suddenly, Kaia peer
ed into the darkness and waved at an approaching figure who’d just gotten out of his car. “There’s our pizza!” she chirped.

  “You ordered a pizza?” Harper and Mr. Powell asked together, equally incredulous.

  “You said you were hungry,” Kaia reminded her. “I’ll go reel him in,” she added, skipping off toward the pizza guy, who was wandering aimlessly in the darkness.

  As Kaia’s silhouette faded briefly out of sight, Harper turned toward Mr. Powell and realized he was looking intently at her, as if trying to figure something out.

  “Well, well, well,” she said, her heart pounding in her chest, but her voice steady and light. “Alone at last.”

  Kaia approached Reed and greeted him with a silent wave. She took the pizza in one hand and, ignoring his confused look, slipped a possessive arm around his waist and led him back toward Harper and Powell.

  The pizza had been late, but no matter—she’d been amusing herself by torturing Powell with meaningless small talk, knowing how it made his skin crawl to be seen with her.

  “Hi, guys!” she said perkily as she and Reed approached. “Look who brought us the pizza.”

  Reed—who, despite his greasy GUlDO’S T-shirt and baggy jeans, was looking incredibly tasty—extended a hand toward Harper. Kaia forced herself not to notice the way his unruly long hair brushed the lids of his dark, bottomless eyes. After all, this was business.

  “I’m Reed,” he said slowly, as if every word had to battle its way through the haze of pot lying between his brain and his mouth. “I think we—”

  “They don’t care who you are,” Kaia interrupted him. She handed the pizza off to Harper, then put her arms around Reed’s waist. He was so trim—but so firm. “But I’m glad you came,” she said, gazing up at Reed—every inch of her attuned to Powell, a few steps away.

  “I, uh, didn’t know you two knew each other,” Harper stuttered.

  Kaia touched her hand to Reed’s stubbly cheek and glanced over her shoulder.