Lust

by Robin Wasserman

  “Go for it, Jack,” urged Mr. Holcomb, from the English department.

  “Yes,’cut a rug,’” the librarian added.

  The group began to laugh as Kaia led a reluctant Mr. Powell onto the floor. She knew what they were thinking: How adorable, a little crush. Well, let them think what they wanted—she knew what she was doing.

  Kaia looped her arms around his neck and his hands found a spot on her waist—he held her rigidly, carefully keeping a half foot of space between them.

  “Did I not make myself clear before, Ms. Sellers?” The amiable facade was gone. Good. “You and me? It’s never going to happen. And certainly not in the middle of a crowded dance floor with the whole school looking on.”

  “Oh, I know, Mr. Powell,” she said, lowering her eyes and giving him an exaggeratedly chastened look. “After all, it’s your policy not to mix business with pleasure, right?”

  “I don’t consort with students, yes, if that’s what you mean,” he said stiffly.

  “And I don’t consort with liars,” Kaia hissed.

  He stopped dancing and pushed her away.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” But some of the steely certainty had faded from his voice.

  She put her arms around him again.

  “Better keep dancing, and keep smiling, Mr. Powell—you don’t want your friends over there thinking we’re having a lovers’ spat.” She gave a friendly wave to the group of teachers smiling and cheering them on from the sidelines.

  “I’ll ask you again, what are you talking about?” he repeated, smiling through gritted teeth.

  “I’m talking about your nonexistent policy, Mr. Powell. I’m talking about your loose relationship with the truth and your looser one with the rules.” She moved in closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m talking about you and Beth—I saw you.”

  “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” Powell protested. His face had gone white. “There was nothing to see.”

  “Right,” Kaia said sarcastically. “I hope that’s not the poker face you’re planning to use when you talk to the principal, or the school board, or hey, the police—”

  His fingers tightened on her waist.

  “That’s right, the police,” Kaia said. “Small town like this, full of all those family values, I imagine they don’t look too kindly on this sort of thing. Teacher preying on innocent students. We’re just children, really….”

  “You don’t want to screw with me, Kaia,” he warned her in a low, ominous voice.

  “Not anymore,” she said lightly, shaking her head. “No, you chose someone else for that—and I can live with it. I just hope that you can.”

  And, waving again in the direction of Powell’s fellow teachers, she squeezed in close to Jack Powell and slammed her lips to his, jamming her tongue into his mouth before he knew what was happening, and then, with a less than gentle nibble on his lip, she pushed him away.

  “See you around, Mr. Powell—you can count on it.”

  Beth, Adam, Miranda, and Harper witnessed the scene from the sidelines with a mixture of shock, awe, and horror (in different proportions, depending on the witness).

  “That girl is unbelievable,” Harper gasped. “What the hell is she thinking?”

  “Unbelievable is right,” Adam repeated, sounding almost impressed. Beth looked at him sharply, and his eyes shot down to the ground, avoiding her gaze. In his pocket, his hand tightened around the now empty flask.

  “Bet you wish you had the nerve to do that, Beth,” Miranda laughed. “I know I do.”

  Beth stammered and blushed and mumbled something about nothing, and finally Harper cut in.

  “Oh, please, Beth’s not that pathetic, and neither are you, Miranda. She practically jumped down his throat—it was embarrassing to watch! What was that you were saying about her being so sad and misunderstood, Adam?”

  Now it was Adam’s turn to stammer nonsensically.

  “It’s really, uh, none of our business,” he finally said, turning away from the dance floor, where Mr. Powell was still standing alone and motionless, only barely visible through the swirling wall of dancers.

  “You’re totally right,” Beth added with relief. “Let’s just dance.”

  “Definitely.” He clasped her by the hand and led her quickly onto the dance floor, leaving Harper and Miranda behind in disbelief.

  “None of our business?” Miranda asked. “Since when does that stop us? Is this a new policy I wasn’t told about?”

  “I guess we both missed the memo,” Harper said in disgust. “Look at them.” She gestured weakly toward Beth and Adam, who were slowly swaying in each other’s arms, despite the fast-paced rock song blaring through the speakers. “He can’t keep his hands off her for a minute.”

  “This dance sucks,” Miranda said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  They stood together at the edge of the action, watching dozens of couples swirling around the floor. That was the problem with scoping for hot guys at school formals. The inspirational girl-power-themed episodes of bad TV shows notwithstanding, the fact was that all the normal guys showed up to these things with dates. So unless you were ready to break up a matched pair and leave some unfortunate girl drying the tearstains on her dress under the bathroom hand blower (not that Harper hadn’t left her share of those in her wake), you were shit out of luck. No, instead you were stuck with prizes like Lester Lawrence, decked out in a sky blue tux and ruffled Hawaiian shirt, and his gang of losers. Miranda was sure any one of them would be happy to dance with her. Great.

  And then, like Prince Charming, appearing as if by magic out of the mist: Kane.

  He strode purposefully toward them, with Kaia nowhere in sight.

  “You ladies look bored,” he said. “How about a dance?”

  For a moment Miranda, who figured any drugs harder than pot weren’t worth the dead brain cells, finally understood what people were always talking about, that rush of ecstasy, a shot of pure joy exploding out of you, so powerful that it shut out the world for a moment, threatened to sweep you away.

  But it was just for a moment.

  Because when she came down to earth, Kane’s words still ringing in her ears (familiar words, as he’d uttered them so often in the G-rated portion of her fantasies), she realized that his arm was outstretched to Harper. Of course.

  Harper took his hand and headed toward the dance floor, shooting Miranda an apologetic look over her shoulder. There was nothing to apologize for, of course. This was just the way it worked.

  Couples danced, the band played, Lester Lawrence talked to the pet grasshopper in his pocket, and Miranda stood on the fringes of it all.

  Alone.

  That’s life, right? C’est la vie.

  Kane swung her around the dance floor, moving effortlessly in time with the music, now a slow R&B groove. He danced with ease, skill, and grace—the same way he did everything else. (If Kane couldn’t do it well, he didn’t do it at all.)

  “Having a good time, Grace?” he asked.

  “Not particularly.” There was no point in putting on a brave face, since she was sure he couldn’t care less. “How about you? Enjoying your date with our very own Lolita?” She spotted Kaia on the sidelines, fending off a crowd of curiosity seekers—Mini-Me, she was pleased to see, among them. Harper supposed she should be a bit dismayed that her own personal fan club seemed to be redevoting itself to Kaiaworship, as it was just another sign of the rich bitch encroaching on her territory. But somehow, she just couldn’t work up the energy—besides, having the sophomore squad chase after her was, in the end, far more punishment than reward.

  “I’m enjoying myself very much, thanks,” Kane replied. “Of course, not as much as him.’ He swung her around, bringing her face-to-face with Adam and Beth, arms draped loosely around each other, swaying in the middle of the dance floor, clearly in a world of their own. Their eyes were closed, and Beth’s head rested on Adam’s broad shoulder. He ran his
hands slowly up and down her back.

  Harper felt sick. She looked away—right into Kane’s disgustingly knowing grin.

  “Jealous?”

  Harper said nothing.

  “Just letting you know, my offer still stands. You and me, the anti-Cupids. Just say the word.”

  Harper stole another glance at the happy couple. Adam was now running his fingers through her long, blond hair.

  God, it was tempting.

  “Mind if I cut in?”

  Harper breathed a sigh of relief—Kaia’s icy voice had never been more welcome. “He is my date, after all,” Kaia pointed out snottily.

  Harper let her hands drop and stepped away.

  “My pleasure—he’s all yours.” She walked away—but not quickly enough that she didn’t overhear Kaia’s parting shot.

  “It’s so sweet of you to keep Harper company, Kane,” she oozed. “You know, since she couldn’t find a date of her own.”

  Harper resisted the temptation to turn back and slap her—and the marginally more powerful temptation to take another look (or extended, longing stare) at Adam. Instead she kept her eyes focused on Miranda, lingering next to a large bowl of pretzels and looking forlorn; she focused on Miranda and, about ten feet behind her, the exit.

  It was time to get the hell out.

  When the going gets tough, the tough get stoned. Which is exactly what Harper and Miranda proceeded to do.

  They stopped off at the after party (Harper: “After all, we planned the damn thing”) but after ascertaining that all the details were in place—beer, music, lanterns, illicit acts featuring Haven High’s elite—they ditched out. (Harper: “Just a bunch of losers getting laid”) Kane had roped scuzzy Reed Sawyer into supervising things so that the rest of them could focus on their night of debauchery—all it took was a dime bag of weed and a six-pack; apparently Reed didn’t have anything better to do anyway. A burnout like him certainly wouldn’t be caught dead at a school dance—and there was no way he would have made it onto the invite list under any other circumstances, but Harper supposed that climbing his way up the Haven High social ladder wasn’t too high on his list of priorities. Getting high? Yes. Scoring some kind of record deal for his posse of talentless losers? Probably. But that was about it. Trust Kane to find a guy like that.

  He lay sprawled on one of the motel’s musty sofas and lazily watched the chaos swirl around him. Harper wasn’t sure exactly what “supervising” was supposed to entail—yes, he’d turned on the music and made sure that the kegs were tapped and flowing, but if someone tried to make off with the stereo or burn the place down, would this guy be willing or able to do anything about it? Harper highly doubted it—but at the moment, she didn’t really care.

  Besides, back at Miranda’s place, the parents were out, the pot was ample, the beer didn’t come from a keg, and there were no unidentifiable fluids or condom packages littering the floor. Nor was there anyone they didn’t want to talk to—which, at the moment, included pretty much everyone except for each other.

  It took an hour for the one taxi company in town to dispatch a driver—but it was well worth the wait. (It was also worth it not to have to ride away from the party in the hot pink monstrosity that had carried them to the dance.)

  “Did you see Lauren’s dress?” Miranda asked once they were safely ensconced in her bedroom. She exhaled a puff of smoke and flopped back onto her bed.

  “How could I miss it? It was practically fluorescent!” Harper cackled, taking the joint from Miranda and inhaling deeply. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed and rubbing her bare feet against the soft plush of Miranda’s rug. The best part of going to a formal was always the hour before getting ready and the hour afterward rehashing the night—so who cared if they’d pretty much skipped the middle? “And how about the way Peter King kept drooling every time I walked by?”

  “Peter the Perv? Didn’t he get thrown out of school last year for trying to install that camera in the girls’ locker room?” Miranda asked with a laugh, almost choking on a kernel of popcorn.

  “He’s b-a-a-a-a-ack,” Harper sang out.

  “Hey, at least you didn’t have Lawrence Lester and the bug thugs chasing after you all night,” Miranda complained.

  “Lester Lawrence,” Harper corrected her sternly. “Lester and Miranda Lawrence—has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “Shut up!” Miranda slammed a pillow into Harper’s face and they both dissolved into giggles. There were a lot of kids in their high school, and most of them sucked—if they tried hard enough, this could keep them going all night long.

  chapter

  17

  “Dude, great party!” Adam said, stumbling through the doorway of the motel. Beth caught him just before he fell.

  “Yeah, great,” she echoed weakly, taking in the cloud of smoke, stench of beer, pumping music, and scattered couples making out in the darkened corners.

  Adam high-fived Kane. “Your brother manage to score us the kegs?”

  “You know it,” Kane assured him.

  “Awesome—point me to it, liquor-man.”

  “Adam,” Beth began tentatively, “don’t you think maybe you’ve had enough?”

  He brushed her off and charged ahead. “No such thing!” he called back, before disappearing into the darkness.

  Beth froze in the lobby, not sure what to do. A few tinted paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting an eerie, shadowy pall over everything. There was no electricity, and they’d decided against candles (nice ambience but overwhelming likelihood of disaster), so they were stuck with the dim reddish lighting of the battery-powered lanterns and the few shafts of moonlight filtering in through the lobby windows.

  She and Adam had been one of the last couples to leave the dance, so all the seniors on the secret invite list had already showed up—the place was packed, but in the darkness, Beth couldn’t pick out any familiar faces. There were only strangers, blank bodies bouncing in time with the music or squeezed in together on one of the couches, ignoring the crowd. She was so tired, and so alone.

  And she’d been feeling that way for hours—despite glimpses of sobriety and sweet moments of romance, Adam had spent the end of the night in a vodka haze, laughing it up with his friends while Beth stood awkwardly on the fringes, with only Kaia to talk to. And so, with no one to talk to at all.

  Now she was on the fringes again, with Adam nowhere to be seen. She felt invisible, and yet totally exposed. As if everyone in the room was watching her, knowing with certainty that she didn’t belong. And indeed, if it weren’t for the Adam connection, she never would have been there—all of her old friends were probably home in bed, or sitting up in Lara Tanner’s basement eating ice cream and watching old black-and-white movies. Much as she wished she was with them, she just didn’t belong there anymore—too bad she didn’t seem to belong here, either.

  She looked around in vain for someone she knew, someone she could talk to—even Kaia, at this point, would have been a relief. But it was as if the moment they’d stepped through the door together, everyone else had been pulled off into some kind of vortex. Vanished. And here she was, alone.

  She supposed this wasn’t the kind of party where you made small talk, anyway. It was the kind where you passed out on one of the dusty couches, or threw yourself into a sweaty mass of dancers—or you did what she’d come here to do.

  She could always go home, she guessed. Call a taxi, get out of here, escape. Forget this night had ever happened, forget about the supposed fresh start, about what she’d been planning to do. Save it for some other time.

  The place was a skanky mess.

  Adam had morphed into a drunken idiot.

  But Beth had waited long enough to know that perfection wasn’t coming—tonight was just going to have to do.

  And maybe finding the keg first wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “Think we can go somewhere a bit more … private?” Kaia whispered to Kane, running a hand d
own the small of his back.

  “Say no more.”

  They threaded their way through the crowd in the lobby, away from the flickering light and the echoing music. Up the stairs, down a long, dark, narrow hallway, ignoring the shadowy shapes pressed against the walls, the bodies writhing together. Into a small, dark room at the end of the hall, the faded drapes drawn, allowing a slash of moonlight to cut through the room. It lit Kaia’s hands as she slowly unbuttoned Kane’s shirt. Their bodies remained in shadow, figures silhouetted against the night.

  “Not quite the penthouse suite,” Kane admitted ruefully, his fingers expertly unhooking her bra as they stumbled together toward the bed.

  “Not quite.” Kaia lay back and pulled him down on top of her, pressing herself against his tight body, relishing the heavy weight bearing down on her. “But it’ll do.” And so would Kane. He wasn’t the catch he imagined himself to be—but he was hot, he was cocky, and, most importantly, he was there. Sometimes Kaia needed a challenge—but sometimes she just needed a break.

  She pulled him toward her, closed her eyes, and let herself go.

  Along with copious amounts of alcohol, Kane had also supplied the party with two wooden barrels filled with condoms, positioned considerately just inside the door.

  As Adam blundered off in search of more to drink, Beth had surreptitiously grabbed one and slipped it into her purse—and then, on second thought, she’d grabbed a handful more.

  Now, an hour further into the night, her bold act was beginning to seem like a total waste. They were still down in the lobby amidst a group of Adam’s drunken teammates; Beth’s head was throbbing, and as Adam regaled a cluster of admirers with a story of last year’s basketball triumph, he leaned against her heavily, as if without her support he would drop to the ground.

  “Adam, let’s take off,” she whispered urgently, when he finally stopped talking.

  “You wanna go home?” he slurred. “Party’s just starting. Right, guys?”