Lust

by Robin Wasserman

  “What?”

  “You’ll laugh.”

  Of course she would laugh. Harper went out with a different guy every week, and Beth was sure she wasn’t pushing any of them away with some half-articulated excuse that she only half believed herself. Not that she wanted to be like Harper. Of course not. She didn’t even like Harper. But all the more reason not to want the other girl to laugh at her, hold it over her for the rest of the year, spread it around the school that Beth was … well, Beth was sure Harper would find an appropriately cutting description.

  Maybe this had all been a big mistake.

  “I swear, I won’t laugh,” Harper promised.

  “You will,” Beth countered.

  “Beth, I promise you,” Harper said seriously, “you can tell me anything. If you have a problem, I really want to help.”

  On the other hand, she sounded so sincere—and Beth was so desperate.

  “It’s sex,” Beth said finally. “I’ve never—well, it would be my first time, and I’m not sure I—”

  “You haven’t slept together yet?” Harper asked incredulously.

  “You probably think that’s pathetic, don’t you?” Beth held her breath and waited for the inevitable.

  “No, no, of course not,” Harper said hastily. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all. I always assumed … but there’s nothing wrong with it.”

  Beth sighed in relief. Maybe she could confide in Harper after all. This thing had been eating away at her for too long, and it would be so good to actually talk to someone about it. Even Harper …

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Beth explained. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. Or at least, I think I do. But every time we get close, I just freeze up. And he thinks it’s because I don’t trust him, but it’s not that—it’s just that …”

  “You’re not ready,” Harper prompted.

  Beth sighed again.

  “I guess so. I mean, I guess I’m not.” Why was it so easy for Harper to grasp, but still so hard to make Adam understand? It’s not like she’d made some hard-and-fast rule for herself, no sex until college or something. And it’s not like she thought there was something wrong with the girls in her class who were doing it—even the ones who were doing it a lot. She had just always thought of herself as someone who would wait. Until she was really in love, until she was old enough—it had all seemed pretty simple and straightforward in the abstract. But now? With Adam? Now she wasn’t so sure—what did it mean to be “really” in love? When would she be “old enough?” What did it mean to be “ready”—and would she even know when she was? Would it be when she wasn’t scared anymore? When sex didn’t seem like such a big deal that might change everything, ruin everything? What if that time never came, and this was what it felt like to be ready? After all, when she was with him, part of her always felt ready, more than ready—eager. Hungry for more. It was just that the other part of her, the part that said no, wait, not now, not yet—that part was stronger. And that was the part that stayed with her when she got out of bed. That was the part she had to trust—right?

  “So, have you two talked about this?” Harper asked.

  “It seems like it’s all we ever talk about anymore,” Beth admitted. “And he says he understands, but it’s like there’s always all this tension between us. We’re always fighting about something—but it seems like, somehow, it’s always about this. I’m just afraid …”

  “What?”

  Beth had never put the fear into words before, although it was always with her, simmering just beneath the surface. Somehow saying it out loud made it just a bit more real, a bit more dangerous. But it had to be said.

  “Sometimes I’m afraid that he’s going to break up with me,” she said quietly. “Find someone else who’s not so—someone who is ready.”

  “Beth,” Harper said in a grave voice. “Like you said, I know Adam. He would never do that. He loves you.”

  “You don’t understand, Harper,” Beth said plaintively, and suddenly all of the concerns she’d bottled up over the last few weeks came spilling out. “There’s something off, and lately it’s like, everywhere I turn, he’s with Kaia. What if she—and he—I don’t know. Maybe I should just—do it, you know? What am I waiting for?”

  “You’re waiting until you’re ready,” Harper reminded her.

  “But how will I even know when I am?”

  “Trust me, when it’s time, you’ll know,” Harper promised.

  “And in the meantime?” Beth asked, already knowing the answer.

  “In the meantime, you wait,” Harper explained. “And if he loves you, he’ll wait too. I promise.”

  “Thanks, Harper.” Beth was grateful, but unconvinced. “Listen, don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Especially Adam. I’d be so embarrassed and—”

  “You don’t even have to say it,” Harper assured her. “My lips are sealed.”

  “Miranda, you’ll never believe what I just found out!” Harper squealed into the phone.

  Talk about the light at the end of the tunnel. So the perfect little relationship was missing one thing? Meaning—unless something had happened last year that she didn’t know about (unlikely)—Adam, too, was still a virgin. Unbelievable.

  She laughed and laughed.

  If he loves you, he’ll wait, she mused. Yeah, right.

  Miranda hung up the phone feeling strangely optimistic. Harper seemed convinced that Beth’s impenetrable virginity was a sign that the relationship could never last. Miranda wasn’t so sure—and as Harper was tossing out the insults, Miranda silently wished that she wouldn’t be so quick to forget Miranda’s own virginity. But Harpers buoyant tone had swept her beyond all doubt or annoyance. And the feeling of hope was contagious. So contagious, in fact, that when Harper suggested that Miranda call Kane and ask him to the upcoming formal, it actually hadn’t sounded like an insane idea.

  That was then, this was now. And now her phone was staring her down like a cellular firing squad.

  Miranda took a deep breath, gulped down an Altoid (though the minty fresh breath did little for her confidence level), and brought up his number on the phone. She couldn’t overthink this, Harper had pointed out. She just needed to suck it up and do it. Whatever happened, at least she would know she tried. Right? At least she’d know she had some balls.

  Miranda hit talk and waited, with mounting panic, as the phone rang and rang.

  “Hey, Kane, it’s Miranda,” she said when he finally picked up. She tried to make her voice slightly low and husky, aiming for perky but not too perky, casual but intense, sexy but not sex starved—but most likely, it just came across as lame.

  “Oh, hey, what’s up?” He sounded vaguely surprised to hear from her—small wonder, since in all their years of semifriendship she’d never called him (the number was in the phone only as a concrete manifestation of her pathetic wishful thinking).

  “So how’s your weekend going?” she asked, trying her best to sound nonchalant even as her stomach clenched and her heart thudded rapidly in her ears. She’d always prided herself on her clever banter, but all remnants of wit flew out of her mind now that his voice was on the other end of the line, and the moment of truth—or, potentially, of abject humiliation—crept inescapably closer with every passing second of small talk.

  “Better now.” She could almost hear the smirk in his voice, and she knew that his deep brown eyes were twinkling beneath an ironically raised eyebrow. She’d memorized his face, and the minute movements it made, well enough that she could close her eyes and see him peering back at her. Which, on a ten-point scale, upped her nervousness level to about a thousand.

  Is he flirting with me? she wondered as always—or was this just the only way Kane knew how to talk to people? After all, he also “flirted” with the old woman who ran the cash register in the cafeteria, and occasionally the bald guy with the unnecessary hairnet who ladled out the food from behind the counter. Maybe he just couldn’t help himse
lf.

  “I’m glad I could bring a little ray of light into your dark and lonely life,” she told him, an electric thrill running through her when she scored a laugh.

  “So what’s up?” he asked, chuckling. “Or did you just miss the sound of my voice?”

  “You wish. No, I’m calling because—” Miranda stopped, the words choking in her throat.

  Because I want to ask you to the dance.

  Because I want to know whether you had a date yet for the dance.

  Because I want to come over there and rip off all of your clothes.

  “Because, uh, I was wondering if, I mean, do you have—”

  “Spit it out, I’ve got a hot date coming over,” he joked. Probably it was a joke.

  “Do you have—do you know which chapter we were supposed to read for Setlow’s class?” God, she hated herself sometimes. It was an asinine excuse for calling him, which, she supposed, was appropriate, since it had been asinine to call in the first place. She looked down at herself in disgust, at the oversized T-shirt and boxers she’d thrown on after dinner, her lying-around-and-watching-TV outfit. Or, the way things were going, more like her boring, frumpy, destined-to-grow-up-into-an-old-maid-and-die-fat-and-alone outfit. A fate Miranda supposed she deserved, since she apparently didn’t have the nerve to do anything about it.

  “You called me to check up on the homework?” Kane asked incredulously. “Stevens, are you feeling okay? Taken any recreational drugs lately?”

  She laughed shakily. At least he’d bought it. She didn’t know whether to be angry at herself for chickening out, or grateful that whatever insanity had convinced her he might be interested had subsided before she could make a complete fool of herself.

  “Miranda, you still with me?” he asked, when she didn’t respond.

  “No, yeah, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid. I’d better go,” she babbled, all in one ragged breath, and snapped the phone shut before he could say anything else.

  Stupid was right.

  Adam sat in his empty living room, staring at the darkened screen of the TV. The phone rested on his lap, as it had for the last half hour, ever since he’d flipped off the TV in disgust, midway through some crappy sitcom. He’d picked up the phone, determined to make things right. And then he’d put it down. He’d gone through the pointless routine again and again, even dialed part of the number a few times, but couldn’t bring himself to finish.

  He wanted to apologize to Beth, of course he did. But he didn’t know what to say. He still wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for, to be honest, or even whether he was the one who should be apologizing in the first place. His mother often claimed that the man was always the one who should be apologizing—and that was certainly his father’s way. Adam Morgan Sr. had apologized and apologized, but it was, Adam supposed, never enough. At least it hadn’t been enough to stop his mother from throwing plates at his father’s head, or sneaking a gulp from an ever-present bottle of scotch when she thought her young son wasn’t looking. Adam resolved—not for the first time—that there was no way he would ever model his relationship after his parents’ short-lived marriage. Better to die alone than go down that path.

  Still, Adam reasoned, he’d obviously done something wrong. Hurt Beth in some way. And hurting someone he loved was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do.

  He picked up the phone. Dialed the familiar number. Listened to it ring.

  “Hello?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it again.

  Hung up.

  chapter

  9

  Harper had gym first period the next morning. Though this was normally, and with little competition, the bane of her week, she was actually looking forward to it this time—it would give her just the opportunity she needed. Kane was stuck in gym too—killing time on the basketball courts while the girls paraded lazily around the tiny track. The geniuses behind Haven High’s physical education program had a somewhat lackadaisical attitude when it came to female participation. The guys had a rigidly determined schedule: football one week, soccer the next, running sprints the week after that. If the girls, on the other hand, chose to opt out of the period—or because of their periods—and do some “power walking” around the track instead, that was fine.

  Harper knew it was sexist and offensive and she should probably lead a schoolwide campaign to remedy the problem … but since she hated gym even more than she loved muckraking, she had little incentive to do so. Besides, sexism sometimes came in handy—this morning, for instance. As she stood in the middle of the ragged field with the rest of the girls, waiting for the teacher to explain the morning’s paltry athletic task, she figured she’d soon have no problem sneaking off, grabbing Kane, and doing Miranda’s dirty work for her.

  It was no surprise that Miranda had chickened out the night before. The only surprise was that Miranda had even entertained the idea of asking Kane out in the first place. Harper had only suggested it as a joke, an empty dare. She’d never expected Miranda to actually buy into the idea.

  Small wonder that she hadn’t followed through.

  “Kane,” Harper called to him, once she’d made it safely over to the courts. She poked her face through the chainlink fence and waggled her fingers at him. “Over here! I need you for a minute.”

  Kane tossed in an effortless layup that swished through the net and jogged over to join her.

  “What’s up, lover?” he asked, his familiar smirk already painted across his face. (Kane’s motto: Never leave home without it.) Only Kane could still look debonair in a Haven High gym uniform—bright orange T-shirt and ungainly brown shorts. Harper wasn’t too thrilled to be seen out in public in the female version, especially by the entire guys’ gym class, but sometimes you had to make sacrifices for your best friend. Plus, the T-shirt was a couple of sizes too small and she knew that despite the hideous color, it showed off more than a few of her best attributes. Kane, for one, blatantly sizing her up, didn’t seem to mind.

  “Who are you taking to the stupid dance next week?” she asked, skipping the small talk.

  “Ah, I don’t know if I’m even going,” he told her, shrugging. “I’m sick of the girls here—great asses but no spines.” He paused for a moment, then widened his eyes in a purposely exaggerated look of surprise. “Why, Grace, was that just your clumsy way of asking me out? I’m flattered, I’m flabbergasted, I’m—”

  “An idiot, I know,” she cut in. “Now shut up.” She took a quick look around, making sure no one could overhear them. While a few of Kane’s cronies had stopped shooting hoops and were clustered together on the court looking over at the two of them, they were safely out of earshot. “Look, I think you should ask Miranda.”

  Kane burst into laughter.

  “And why the hell would I do that?”

  Harper smacked him on the shoulder.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked irritably. “Why wouldn’t you do that?”

  “Harper, it’s Miranda,” he protested.

  She stared blankly at him.

  “I mean, she’s great and all—smart, fun—”

  “Beautiful, witty, a great dancer,” Harper continued.

  “Yeah, whatever—but it’s still Miranda.” He rolled his eyes, but Harper just looked at him, her face betraying no expression. “As in ‘Miranda, can I copy your math homework?’” he continued. “Or ‘Miranda, what’s a seven-letter word for sarcastic?’, not ‘Miranda, how I love to lick whipped cream off your breasts. ’”

  Harper took a quick step back.

  “Please, please tell me you’ve never actually said those words to a girl,” she begged him.

  “Woman, actually,” he bragged.

  “God, you’re pathetic. And now that image is burned into my brain. Thanks.”

  He just smiled at her, the picture of innocence.

  “So you can see why I’m not going to ask her, right, Grace?” He paused, and then a glimmer of understa
nding dawned on his face. “Why’d you ask, anyway—does she have a little crush on me or something?”

  He started to laugh again, but she cut him off quickly.

  “As if she’d go for an idiot like you—no, I was trying to do you a favor,” Harper said, thinking fast. “I figured you’ve probably had your fill of bimbos by now. Obviously, I was wrong.” And she began to walk away. Even pretending to jog around a track would be better than this.

  “Harper, wait!” he called after her. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you on exactly that topic,” he said conspiratorially once she’d turned back around.

  “Bimbos?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Being fed up with them. I’ve got my eye on someone new, and I think you’re just the girl to help me get her.”

  “The great Kane Geary—actually admitting he needs someone’s help?” Harper was still disgusted—but also intrigued. “And who is this unapproachable goddess?”

  “Beth.” Kane had the grace to look at least slightly abashed.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” Harper swore. What was it about the Bland One that made her so irresistible? “Why would I want to help you with that?” she asked in a more measured voice. “Adam’s one of my best friends—and, incidentally, I thought he was one of yours, too. I’m supposed to help you steal his girlfriend?”

  Now it was Kane’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

  “Come on, Harper, I think we both know why you’d have an interest in breaking up Ken and Barbie—do you really need me to say it out loud?”

  Harper feigned ignorance, said nothing.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at him, Grace. I know you want this as much as I do—and there’s no one else I’d rather have on my side. Who’s more devious than you?”

  “Flattering as that is …” Harper murmured, her mind spinning through options at a furious speed. Kane and Beth … It was true that there was only one person at Haven High more devious than Harper: Kane himself. If he’d targeted Beth as his next conquest—and if the two of them worked together …