Lust

by Robin Wasserman

He was so totally screwed.

  “So which one do you like better?”

  Silence.

  “Beth? Beth? You still with me?”

  Beth stared at the newspaper layout sheets with the same blank gaze she’d been aiming at the world for days. Ever since she’d caught Adam with Kaia outside the locker room, ever since she’d blown up at him and run away, she’d been a little bit lost. The first couple of days hadn’t been so bad, as she’d been riding a wave of anger that swept away any lingering doubts or concerns. She’d avoided him in the hallways, she’d ditched out on their date—and, while working behind the counter at the diner, she’d pretended the tomatoes and onions were his head, and spent a pleasant hour chopping him to pieces, over and over again.

  But after that—well, she was still mad, but she was a little mad at herself, too. She was ready to kiss and make up—but Adam, it seemed, was too busy to take her calls. She’d spent all weekend trying to track him down, stealing a few minutes from her shift to sneak off with a cell phone; bribing her little brothers into shutting up long enough to make a phone call; taking breaks every ten minutes from her stacks of homework to check her phone, see if he’d called. No.

  Maybe this was it, she’d decided after a fitful night of sleep. She’d screwed up the best thing she had in her life—though, if he was willing to let go that easily, maybe it wasn’t something worth fighting for after all.

  “What?” Beth suddenly realized that Jack Powell, sitting across from her in the newspaper office, was holding up two layout sheets in front of her and waiting for some kind of response. Too bad she had no idea what he had asked. “Oh, sorry—uh, yeah, that looks fine.”

  Jack Powell laid the sheets down on the desk and turned in his chair to look at Beth head-on.

  “Beth, is everything okay?” he asked with concern. “You’ve been a little out of it all afternoon—if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be … ?”

  “No!” she cried in alarm. Sitting here with Mr. Powell, she felt almost secure again, almost calm, for the first time in days. Yes, she was still thinking about Adam constantly, working through their fight again and again, trying to see where everything had gone so wrong—but somehow, having Jack there, droning on in his delicious voice about column space or layouts or whatever, made everything seem a little more manageable. Today he was wearing a stylish button-down shirt, with colorful vertical stripes running down its length—it made him look years younger. Good thing he’s not, Beth pointed out to herself, or sitting in this small, dark room with him, facing him across the table, our heads leaning in together, our hands brushing past each other to dig through the piles of papers—it would be a whole different story. One her boyfriend wouldn’t like very much.

  Then she remembered she might not have a boyfriend anymore, and the thought hit her with a stinging pain that brought tears to her eyes. She took a few deep breaths and looked away from Mr. Powell for a moment, calming herself down.

  “No,” she finally repeated in a steadier voice. ‘There’s really nowhere I’d rather be. I just—I’m just having a little trouble concentrating today. That’s all.”

  “Well, that’s obvious,” he said sympathetically. “Here’s a radical idea—want to talk about it?”

  Beth cringed. Talk about her love life with a teacher? A teacher she just happened to have an absurdly large crush on? Didn’t seem like the best idea.

  “I know it’s weird, since I’m your teacher,” he said, reading her mind. He placed a tentative hand on hers. “But Beth, I’d really like to be your friend, too.”

  Maybe it was the warmth in his voice, or the soft pressure of his hand, but something inside of Beth just broke.

  “It’s my boyfriend,” she said, choking back the tears. Powell nodded encouragingly. “Things have been weird lately, and we’re fighting all the time, and now he’s not speaking to me and I just—”

  She broke off and buried her face in her arms, hiding the humiliating tears.

  She felt a gentle hand on her back and, instinctively, tensed up.

  “Beth,” he said firmly. “Beth, sit up, look at me—you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

  She reluctantly straightened and faced him. He pulled a light blue handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her—even in her dismay, she could appreciate the chivalry. She blew into it noisily, wiped the tears away from her eyes, then sat still, taking some deep breaths and twisting the soft cloth nervously in her hands.

  “I think I may have ruined everything,” she murmured, knowing from the look in his eyes that he understood.

  Jack Powell shook his head.

  “Beth, Beth, Beth, it’s not you, it’s him. I promise you that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Difficult as it may be to imagine, I was a teenage boy once. Trust me, we’re all idiots.”

  Distraught as she was, Beth managed a small smile.

  “No, I’m sure whoever this boy is,” he continued, “whatever the problem is, he’s being an idiot. He’s just a boy. But you, Beth,” he paused, looking her up and down appraisingly. “You’re a woman. A beautiful, intelligent, kindhearted woman.”

  Beth flushed furiously, and her eyes darted around the room; she was unsure where to look, what to do, faced with words like that from a man like him.

  “He can’t give you what you need, Beth,” he told her, slowly running a hand through her long blond hair. She wanted to pull away but didn’t. “You need maturity, understanding, passion,” he continued. “This guy doesn’t deserve you.”

  She looked down at the table, but then he said her name again and when she looked up, his handsome face was right there, inches from hers and moving closer, and his hands were on her, drawing her in, and then their lips met and he held her to him.

  “Oh, Beth,” he murmured, and his lips were on her again, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth before she knew what was happening, exploring the moist, dark spaces inside of her, his hands running up and down her back—

  She pushed him away, hard, jumped out of her seat and began backing toward the door.

  “What are you—? Mr. Powell, what … ?”

  But she knew what. And she wanted to throw up, wanted to scrub the taste of him out of her mouth, wanted to fly at him, pound his chest with her fists, tear at his face with her nails, knock that bemused look off his poisonously handsome face. But instead she just stood in the doorway, unable to take a step forward—or back.

  He started toward her. “Beth, I’m sorry, calm down, just sit down for a moment,” he pleaded.

  He held his arms out from his sides, a conciliatory gesture, and gave her a weak half smile—it grew wider as she remained unmoving, then took a hesitant step toward him. He looked so stricken and apologetic, and after all, hadn’t he just done exactly what she’d been dreaming of him doing all these weeks? Maybe, Beth realized, horrified, she’d sent out some kind of signal, had drawn him in, overwhelmed his common sense—maybe she was the one who’d ruined everything.

  “Come back in,” he repeated, “and we’ll talk about it. Everything will be fine.”

  More talk. But that’s how it had all started—and after what had just happened, what was she supposed to say?

  Beth shook her head, tears streaming freely down her face. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

  And ran out of the room.

  Kaia pressed herself into the shadows, shaking with anger.

  Beth, blinded by tears, ran by without seeing her. Kaia would deal with her later.

  For now: Jack Powell. The asshole, the liar.

  After blowing off Adam, she’d come to take another after-hours crack at the French teacher, hoping to convince him that rules were made to be broken.

  But apparently, he already knew that.

  She stood outside his doorway and watched as he took a few halfhearted steps after Beth, then sighed and slumped back down into his chair. He tapped an index finger rhythmically against his
lips, looked up at the empty doorway, and then checked his watch—as if wondering whether she would come back, and how long he should choose to wait.

  Don’t hold your breath, Kaia thought, shivering in disgust as the image of him lunging at Beth flashed through her mind. The girl (who’d obviously been mooning over Powell for weeks) was clearly either too wimpy or too stupid to take him up on the offer.

  Kaia could see what he’d been thinking, of course. A girl like Beth would be easy to push around—she wasn’t “trouble in a miniskirt.” He’d probably guessed that she would jump at the chance to play his dutiful concubine for the year, rescuing him from boredom and then sweetly and quietly disappearing when the time came.

  Kaia almost laughed—apparently, he’d guessed wrong. She was about to enter the room and blast Powell for spurning her, taunt him with what she knew. Then she stopped, considering his stooped figure—chin resting on his fists, staring into the distance, maybe wondering how to clean up the mess he’d made for himself if it ever came to light. If.

  Kaia guessed that he was probably congratulating himself for picking a girl like Beth, who would likely lack the backbone needed to get him into any trouble. He probably figured that by steering clear of Kaia, by refusing to indulge in any “inappropriate fraternization” with the troublemaker, he would at least be safe on that front. At least he’d dodged that bullet.

  Kaia shook her head in pity, and this time, she did laugh.

  Sorry, Mr. Powell. Wrong again.

  They ran into each other at their lockers—they were next to each other, of course. Midway through last year, Adam had bribed some sophomore to switch with him, so that he and Beth could be side by side. Sometimes Beth slipped little love notes in through the ventilation cracks at the top, and once in a while, Adam had even thought to make a romantic gesture of his own. On Valentine’s Day he had papered the inside of her locker with cut-out construction paper hearts and left a bouquet of roses waiting for her. It had always been a good thing, having the same home base to come back to, an easy meeting point, a safe refuge in the busy chaos of the day. But having neighboring lockers also meant there was no escape, and so here they were, side by side, at the worst possible time.

  Still wet from swim practice and still steaming from his run-in with Kaia, Adam slammed his locker open and grabbed his bag, accidentally knocking down the photo of Beth he’d taped to the inside of the door on the first day of school. A spasm of guilt shot through him, and he snatched the picture off the ground, trying to stick it back up, but it was no use. The tape was too dried out, and he was forced to lay the picture atop a pile of junk; he swore to himself that he’d bring in more tape the next day and make things right. He’d make everything right.

  He slammed the door shut, giving it a kick for good measure, and cursed Kaia under his breath, not for the first time.

  The soulless, manipulative bitch.

  And he’d let her ruin his life.

  Enter Beth.

  Tearful, replaying the moment in her mind again and again, and yet still unable to believe it had actually happened.

  And had she wanted it to happen?

  Asked for it to happen?

  He saw her first—and had almost enough time to shrink away. But not quite.

  “Beth!” he said forcefully. “I’ve been looking for you all day.”

  “Adam?” Beth, who had walked right past him without noticing and began slowly spinning the combination lock on her locker, looked up hesitantly. It was as if she didn’t recognize him, didn’t quite believe he was real. Maybe because she’d already been imagining him standing there, because right now there was no one in the world she wanted to see more—or less.

  She closed her eyes and took a moment of silence to shut out the world and regroup—but when she opened them, he was still there, waiting.

  “Adam, I, uh …” her voice trailed off. What was she supposed to do, forget about their fight, tell him the truth about what had just happened, send him off to beat up Jack Powell and then get thrown out of school? And, of course, he’d never look at her the same way again. The Beth he knew didn’t go around seducing teachers—no, if she was going to make this work, she had to remain the girl he’d fallen in love with, and that girl was innocent, trustworthy, and above all, loyal. She didn’t need anyone other than her boyfriend, even in her fantasies.

  And that’s who I am, she reminded herself, I am that girl.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

  “I want to apologize,” she sputtered at the same time.

  And that was all it took.

  They spoke at once, the words spilling out hesitantly, their words overlapping, their voices growing in speed and strength as they decided where they were going, drowning each other out in their eagerness to get there.

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “I’ve been horrible.”

  “I should have called—”

  “I just wanted to say—”

  “I missed you—”

  “I love you—”

  They stammered, and babbled, and then, finally, they embraced.

  Adam held her tight, breathing in the fresh, clean scent of her hair. Thinking, She can never find out.

  Beth dug her fingers into his flesh, wishing she would never have to let go. Deciding, He can never know.

  They stayed like that, frozen in the empty hallway, for several long minutes, leaning on each other. Two minds with a single, desperate thought: This time, I’ll make it work. This time, I have to.

  She was lying in bed, stumbling haplessly through her math homework, when she heard it. His car, pulling into the driveway, a loud rumbling and clinking that could belong to no one but Bertha the beat-up Chevy. She would know it anywhere.

  Harper flipped the book shut and leaped to her feet, creeping over to the window—there was nothing wrong with taking a quick look at him, she told herself. Just because she wasn’t speaking to him (not that he’d seemed to notice—it probably didn’t even count as the silent treatment if she hadn’t actually seen him face-to-face yet and had the chance to snub him) didn’t mean she couldn’t watch from afar, just to see what he was doing.Who he was with.

  The car pulled to a stop and Adam jumped out, walked slowly around to the passenger’s side, and held the door open. A blond head appeared, and he put his arm around her waist.

  Harper couldn’t actually make out the girl’s face from her perch, but who needed to? She should have guessed this would happen. Adam and Beth walked together up the pathway toward the front door, his hand still resting on her back, her head against his shoulder. Harper couldn’t bring herself to look away. He unlocked his front door, but they paused before stepping inside—Adam cradled Beth’s face in his hands and turned it up toward him. And they kissed.

  That was more than enough.

  Harper shut her blinds in disgust and flung herself back down on the bed.This was getting ridiculous. First she had to watch Adam getting it on with Kaia in public, right in front of her—on her date, no less. Then, just when she’d finally decided to embrace the silver lining (i.e., the imminent demise of Beth and Adam’s lovers’ paradise), he pulls into his driveway and heads inside with Little Miss Perfect herself in tow.

  Was Adam hooking up with everyone in town but Harper?

  It was beginning to feel that way.

  chapter

  14

  “Remember when we used to play GI Joes out here?” Adam asked lazily, lying back on the large, flat rock and staring up at the stars.

  So he hadn’t apologized. So what? After a few days Harper’s anger had burned down to a low simmer, and with Beth back in the picture and Kaia up to God knows what, Harper didn’t have time to waste sulking in a corner. If she was going to win Adam, she was going to have to get in the game. Besides, she thought, looking fondly over at her oldest friend, lying next to her on the cool granite, it was Adam. Too dense to realize he’d done s
omething wrong, so what was even the point in making him feel guilty? Especially when he called out of the blue with a mysterious request to meet him outside, at their place, to talk about some “stuff.” When he needed her, she was there—that’s just how it worked.

  “I remember when I used to play GI Joes while you spent most of your time with my Barbie collection,” Harper teased him.

  “Hey, Barbie was hot!” Adam protested.

  Harper rolled her eyes. “Right, and that’s why you used to beg me to let you dress her up and drive her around in the Barbie Corvette.” She propped herself up slightly to give him a close look at her skeptical expression. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

  “I slept with her, Harper.”

  She froze, still facing him, and it took every ounce of strength she had to keep her face still. No eyes widening in shock or horror, no mouth turning down in disappointment, no tears or telltale blushing—she just looked at him steadily and concentrated on remembering to breathe.

  “Who, Barbie?” she asked, narrowly managing to keep her voice light. She let some of the tension leach out of her muscles and sank back onto the smooth surface of the rock.

  “Kaia. I’m serious, Harper. I slept with her.” He made a strange keening noise, half between a groan and a yelp. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  Get yourself checked out for STDs?

  But Harper bit back the comment and was glad for the darkness—it gave her a place to hide.

  So he’d slept with her. At least now she knew.

  Though she wished she didn’t.

  “So that’s why we’re out here?” Harper asked. Though she’d suspected as much. The rock bridged the boundary line between their two small backyards and had been a favorite spot for years—it was here that he’d told her, just after moving to town, that his parents were divorced, here that she’d confessed her seventh-grade terror of having no friends, here that, at twelve, they’d shared their first kiss. It was where they ran to when they needed to run away, where their most terrible secrets lived. It was their place, the only thing in the world they truly owned—and they owned it together.