Wrath

by Robin Wasserman

  The girls exchanged a glance, then shrugged.

  “We’re happy if you’re happy,” the brunette concluded, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

  Kane forced a grin. He certainly looked happy—and isn’t that what counts?

  Harper didn’t have the nerve to face Adam. But she couldn’t stay away. She was too used to seeing him every day, telling him everything, depending on him. Now that he wasn’t speaking to her, the days were incomplete. Harper felt as if she’d lost a piece of herself that only came alive in his presence.

  And she had no one to blame but herself.

  She’d positioned herself in a small alcove across from his locker, knowing he’d stop by on his way to basketball practice. She just wanted to see him. And if she watched from afar, she wouldn’t have to face that accusing look in his eyes.

  She just hadn’t counted on him spotting her.

  “So what, you’re following me now?” he growled, turning his back on her and throwing his stuff into the locker.

  And there it was, that look in his eyes, as if she were stranger, someone he wished he’d never met. Harper had tried to bluff her way through her encounter with Miranda, pretend that she didn’t care about what happened between them—but when it came to Adam, she didn’t have the strength for that kind of lie.

  “Ad, I know you don’t want to talk to me—”

  “So why the hell are you here?” He slammed the locker shut, but kept his back to her. She took a small step in his direction, then another.

  Because I can’t stay away.

  Because I need you.

  Because you need me.

  “Because I have to tell you I’m sorry.”

  “Trust me,” Adam said gruffly. “You’ve said enough.”

  No. She’d begged him to stay. She’d left him unanswered voice mails, written letter after letter, but she’d never stood across from him and apologized for what she’d done. She’d never had the nerve. Harper Grace, who could say anything to anyone, had been too afraid to speak.

  Was she sorry for what she’d done?

  The elaborate plan had given her Adam, opening his eyes to the possibility of the two of them being more than friends. It had pried him away from his bland, blond girlfriend and made him realize that puppy love was no substitute for the real thing.

  And when it all came crashing down, it had guaranteed that he would never trust her again.

  “I am sorry,” she said, hoping to convince herself as much as him.

  He kept his back to her, placing both hands flat against the wall of lockers. His shoulders rose and fell as he took several deep, slow breaths. Harper couldn’t tear her eyes from the fuzzy blond hair at the nape of his neck—she used to love to run her finger across it, making him shiver.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. She came closer, but even as she stood just behind him, close enough to touch, he didn’t turn. He must have known she was there, but he didn’t move away. “Adam.” She put her hand on his back, ran it lightly up toward his bare neck. It felt so good to touch him again. “Please …”

  “Harper, don’t,” he said, a low current of anger running through his voice. His fingertips turned white as he pressed them against the wall. “Just walk away.” He slammed his right palm flat against the locker, and a sharp crack echoed through the empty hall. “Go. Please.”

  Adam would never hurt her—but, suddenly, Harper was afraid. She put her hand down and watched his frozen form for a moment.

  Then she walked away.

  Harper didn’t lose. She got what she wanted, without exception. She didn’t give up, ever.

  But maybe this time, she had no choice.

  “And what are you wearing?” Kaia asked, trying to keep the phone from slipping through her wet fingers as she sank lower into the hot tub. “Oooh, sexy.”

  She’d cancelled yet another rendezvous with Powell, but the man was insatiable—and so she’d given in to a little foreplay by phone. Thirty seconds in and she was already bored out of her mind; even that sexy British accent, describing where he would touch her and how, had lost its ability to thrill.

  Kaia stretched a long, bare leg up into the air, enjoying the bite of the cool wind against her skin. She closed her eyes, straining to pay attention, wishing she could just tune out Powell’s prattling and enjoy the silence of twilight.

  Though she would never admit it to her father—and he would never bother to ask—there was one thing she appreciated about this desert hellhole: sunsets. Spectacular splashes of pink and orange, a blazing ball of reddish yellow sinking beneath the haze, lighting up the open sky. Best of all were the moments just after the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and the sky gradually darkened, pinks fading to purples and blues until the first stars broke through the dark fabric of the sky.

  “What? Oh yes, it feels good. Great,” she said quickly, trying to sound enthused (though not trying too hard). “And if you just moved your hands down, and then I—” She sighed. “You know what? I’m just not feeling it.”

  Powell grumbled, but Kaia was done with him for the night. And finally, after she’d agreed to model her new Malizia bikini for him in person sometime soon, he let her go.

  She hung up the phone, but before laying it down on the deck, had a better idea. She dialed Reed’s number and held her breath, surprised by how much she suddenly wanted him to answer.

  But the phone rang and rang, and eventually Kaia gave up. She slid down farther and farther into the water, until only the tip of her nose and her dark eyes hovered above it. Kaia never let herself depend on anyone, and so she wouldn’t let it bother her that Reed was unavailable. Still she couldn’t help wondering where he was …and whether he was thinking of her.

  Adam blew off practice.

  He had to.

  Once, basketball had been an escape, a way to get out of his own head and relax into the rhythm of running, leaping, throwing, pushing himself to the limit. It had been a refuge.

  And then Kane joined the team.

  These days, Adam didn’t have the energy to sink many shots or work on his passing. Every ounce of strength was devoted to resisting the temptation to bash in Kane’s smug face, and pay him back for ruining Adam’s life.

  Only, after the encounter with Harper, Adam didn’t have much strength left.

  So he ditched practice, seeking a new refuge from the ijiess he’d made of his life. He needed to turn off his brain, and the 8 Ball, a dank pool hall at the edge of town, was fhe perfect place to do it.

  It was dark, even during the day—black boards over the windows ensured that no afternoon light would slip in and disturb the handful of surly regulars. It was a place to hide. And, with five-dollar pitchers, a place to forget.

  He’d come here with Harper once, and she’d put on a disgusting show, throwing herself at the sleazy goth bartender. Maybe it should have been a sign. But Adam had ignored the warning, and instead dumped a pitcher of beer on the bartender’s head in a jealous rage.The bartender had vowed to make him sorry if he ever returned—and so, since then, Adam had known to stay away.

  But Adam was tired of doing what was good for him—things managed to blow up in his face, anyway. So why bother?

  “Can I get a Sam Adams?” he asked the bartender. It was the same guy. Good.

  “Don’t I know you?” the loser asked, pushing his greasy hair out of his eyes to get a better look.

  “Is that supposed to be a pickup line?” Adam asked sarcastically. “Because trust me, I’m not interested.”

  “You’re the asshole,” the bartender exclaimed. As if, in a place like this, that was a distinguishing characteristic.

  “Who are you calling an asshole?” Adam stood up and gripped the edge of the bar. All the emotion that had been simmering within him finally rose to the surface—and in a moment, he knew, he could give it permission to explode.

  “I thought I told you never to come back here,” the scrawny weasel complained. He turned away. �
��I’m not serving you. Get out.”

  “Or what?” Adam growled.

  “Or I’ll call the cops on your underage ass. In fact, maybe I’ll do it, anyway, just for fun.”

  Adam flexed his muscles.

  Made a fist.

  Pulled back, and—

  Stopped.

  If he let himself lose control, he might never get it back again.

  So instead of smashing in the bartender’s face, he grabbed a glass from the bar and threw it, hard as he could, to the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the bartender cried, as glass sprayed across the floor.

  “I have no fucking idea,” Adam said honestly, and walked out. There were plenty of other bars in town, plenty of cheap drinks. Plenty of ways to forget.

  And that was exactly what he needed.

  If it was too dangerous to let himself react, then—at least for one night—he could let himself drown.

  She was like a statue in the moonlight, pale, graceful, glowing in the night. He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing his body to stay calm. He couldn’t afford to give himself away.

  She was so close—and it was so hard not to reveal himself, and take possession of her. As was his right.

  He’d been with her before; he would be again. But nothing was more delicious than watching from a distance, knowing that she belonged to him.

  She climbed out of the hot tub, and he held his breath. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. Her perfect, glistening body, slicing through the air, every step precise, premeditated. As she toweled herself off, shivering, she suddenly froze, staring out into the darkness.

  He froze, too, and it felt as if their eyes had locked. Had she sensed his invisible presence? His heart slammed in his chest, and his fingers tightened against the fence post he’d crouched behind. Moments like this—the threat of being caught, the chill of a near miss—made the game worth playing.

  But he’d learned well how to minimize the risks, and knew she would never catch on. Nothing was sweeter than facing her day in and day out, knowing that she could never imagine what lay behind his mask.

  She liked to think she didn’t trust anyone, but she trusted him. She underestimated him, and he allowed it.

  For now.

  chapter

  3

  They’d decided to go old school.

  E-mail would have been more efficient, and a Web site might have been snazzier, but after serious consideration, Beth and Miranda had decided that neither had the technical prowess to put something like that together undetected. And plausible deniability was key.

  E-mails could be traced. Circuits always led back to their source. But paper was untraceable—and as editor in chief of the school paper, Beth had access to all the printing equipment she needed.

  She pulled the stack of flyers out of the printer as Miranda ejected their disk and wiped their work from the computer’s memory.

  “Behold,” said Beth, holding up the crimson sheet crammed with dirty little secrets. “Our masterpiece.”

  Miranda grabbed a copy and quickly scanned the elegantly designed layout.

  “Unbelievable, isn’t it, that they were able to accomplish so much in their short, sordid lives?”

  “I’m not sure ‘accomplish’ is the right word,” Beth said, reading out a few of her favorites. “‘HG used to steal money from the collection plate. AM is impotent. KG is afraid of the dark.’ I’m not sure what it is they’ve accomplished.”

  “Other than making asses of themselves,” Miranda said, and laughed. “Well, thanks to us.”

  They’d included some gossip about a bunch of randoms, too, just for cover. But that was a diversion. Soon everyone would know that KG was so desperate, he had to trick girls into sleeping with him; that sometimes HG still stuffed her bra. Neither Miranda nor Beth knew much about the mysterious new girl from the East Coast, but before everything came down, Harper had passed along a bit of juicy info about Kaia and Haven High’s resident pothead that was too weird not to be true.

  “Are we really doing this?” Beth asked, as she split the pile in half and handed one stack to Miranda. It was almost 6 A.M., which meant there’d be plenty of time to spread them all over school before even the most diligent early bird appeared for his worm.

  “Definitely.” Miranda swung her long, reddish hair over her shoulder and looked defiantly up at Beth. “It’s exactly what they deserve.”

  “I guess …”

  “No second thoughts,” Miranda ordered. “They screwed us. Both of us. Because they thought we’d put up with it.”

  And Beth remembered the surprise in Kane’s eyes when she’d pushed him away for the last time. The mocking look in Harper’s every time Beth dared confront her, as if knowing that sweet, quiet Beth would always be the one to back down first. And she remembered the way Adam had treated her when he’d thought she was the cheater, his cold, unrelenting cruelty, the unwillingness to bend, to trust, to forgive.

  Now she was supposed to just get over it? Because betraying Beth, well, that didn’t really count? “You take the science wing, I’ll hit the lockers by the cafeteria,” Beth said determinedly. Forget moving on. Forget backing down.

  “That’s better,” Miranda cheered, locking up behind them. “Let’s get this done.”

  Did you hear?

  Is it true?

  I heard he was a virgin when he slept with Kaia.

  And when she blew him off, he cried.

  Well, I heard Kane wanted Beth so much he posed naked with Harper and they doctored the photos.

  They didn’t just pose—he and Harper totally did it on the locker room floor.

  No, I heard it was on the soccer field, and Kaia was in it too. Threesome, baby.

  So who was taking the pictures?

  Could Kaia really be hooking up with that skeezy stoner?

  Didn’t you hear? She’s a total nympho.

  Why do you think they threw her out of her last school?

  Did he really—?

  And then she—?

  How could they—?

  I don’t believe it, but …

  You won’t believe it, but …

  It doesn’t make any sense, but …

  Trust me.

  It’s true.

  “Oooh, Harper, you must be soooo humiliated!”

  Harper rolled her eyes. She’d been (barely) tolerating her lame sophomore wannabe-clone for months now, but the Mini-Me act was getting old. Especially now that the girl had dug up the nerve to speak to her in public. As if Harper was going to dent her own reputation by acknowledging Mini-Me’s existence—or, worse, giving people the impression that they were actually friends.

  “We just want you to know we’re there for you,” Mini-Me’s best friend gushed. Harper couldn’t be bothered to remember her name, either, and since the girl was decked out in the same faux BCBG skirt and sweater set that Harper had ditched last season, MiniShe would suffice.

  “What are you talking about?” she hissed, through gritted teeth. Under normal circumstances she would have just closed her locker and walked away. But something strange was going on today. She’d been getting weird looks all morning, and once, difficult as it was to believe, it had almost seemed like someone was laughing—at her.

  “Oh, Harper, we don’t believe any of it,” Mini-Me assured her.

  “Of course not,” Mini-She simpered, her head bouncing up and down like a bobblehead doll. “Well, except that thing about—”

  “None of it,” Mini-Me said firmly, giving Mini-She an obvious shut your mouth glare.

  “None of what?” Harper was getting increasingly irritated by the twin twits—and by the sensation that something very bad was about to happen. Or had already happened, without her knowing it, which was worse. Harper owned this school, and nothing happened without her say-so.

  “You mean you haven’t …” Mini-Me’s eyes lit up. She tried to force a concerned look, but her eagerness was painfully clear. “Oh
, I hate to be the one to show you this, but …” She pulled a folded red flyer out of her back pocket. Harper had seen them floating around that morning, but assumed it was just another lame announcement about the next chess club tournament or some charity drive for the community service club. “Maybe I shouldn’t show it to you,” Mini-Me said, waving the folded flyer out of Harper’s reach.

  “But at least we can be there for her, when she sees it.” Mini-She patted Harper’s shoulder, and Harper squirmed away with a grimace. “We’ll always be there for you, Harper, no matter what anyone else says.”

  “You’ve always got us,” Mini-Me agreed. “I mean, we don’t care if you wet your pants or slept with a million guys or—”

  “Give me that,” Harper snarled, snatching the flyer out of Mini-Me’s hand. She unfolded it slowly, forcing her hands not to shake.

  The words leaped off the page.

  All her darkest secrets, all her most embarrassing moments, her deepest fears, all laid out in black print, stretching across the page for anyone to see. It had been published anonymously—the cowards way—but Harper didn’t need a byline to know whom to blame. There was only one person who knew all her secrets—the one person she had trusted never to betray her.

  Harper smiled, though it felt more like a grimace of horror. Hopefully the Minis would be too dim to tell the difference. Then she shrugged. “Is this all?”

  “All?” Mini-Me squealed. “Don’t you get it? ‘HG’—Harper Grace. That’s you.”

  Harper rolled her eyes, almost thankful for the Minis’ presence; the familiar sense of disgust was helping her suppress all those less desirable emotions. Helplessness. Humiliation. Despair.

  Focus on something more constructive, she warned herself. People can only hurt you if you let them. Don’t be a victim.

  “See?” Mini-She chirped. “Like it says right here, ‘HG was so desperate for AM that she …’”