Wrath (Seven Deadly Sins (Simon Pulse))

by Robin Wasserman

  But Kaia had watched too much TV to be fooled into thinking she was in the clear. No, either Powell had woken up and elected not to tell anyone his twisted version of what had happened, or … he hadn’t woken up at all. And maybe wouldn’t.

  Kaia couldn’t decide which option she preferred. She wouldn’t even allow herself to consider the question, since every time her mind strayed to the image of Powell lying there, his blood on her hands, she froze. And she couldn’t afford to do that anymore, not while time was running out.

  She could turn herself in, tell the truth, engage in the inevitable he said—she said, and hope things swung her way. She wasn’t stupid—she knew that was the responsible thing to do, probably the smart thing to do. But she didn’t feel very smart right now, and she’d never been a big fan of responsible.

  She could waltz into school as if nothing had happened. Maybe Powell wouldn’t remember, or wouldn’t want to implicate himself, or wouldn’t …

  There were any number of ways this could come out okay and she could slip away from the whole thing unseen and unsuspected, if only she could get it together and put on the right show.

  Or she could get back in her car, drive away, and make a new life for herself somewhere. It was the dream option—the impossible one.

  The alternatives were all shitty, and so instead of choosing one, Kaia leaned against her car and pulled out her cell phone. There was one thing she was sure she needed to do, even if it was too late.

  The voice mail picked up on the fifth ring, which gave Kaia enough time to collect herself and plan her words.

  “Reed, I don’t know if you want to hear this, but I need to tell you that I’m sorry. I was wrong, about everything. I’m sure you don’t want to talk to me, but I need to talk to you, to explain and … just call me back. Please. Because I—” She paused, wishing she could bring herself to say more. “I’m sorry.”

  Showtime. The art room was serving as a greenroom for the presenters as they waited for the governor’s entourage to settle themselves on stage and the student body to filter in.

  Everyone was buzzing about Powell’s “accident” the night before—thanks to a cryptic announcement, they all knew the dreamy French teacher was in the hospital, but for what, and from what, no one had any clear idea. Fragments had spread, phrases like “stable condition,” “unforced entry,” “open investigation,” and “mitigating circumstances” floating through the grapevine courtesy of the sons and daughters of doctors, cops, nosy receptionists, and taciturn administrators. But no one had been able to piece together the full story, and no one could let it go, wondering: Was his pretty face still intact? Was it a bitter student? A jilted lover? Would French be cancelled? Would the perpetrator strike again?

  Beth didn’t care about any of it. She sat off to the side, alone at one of the large drafting tables, watching Harper across the room. Even from a distance, Beth could see her fingers tapping compulsively against the side, her knees jiggling, and, like Beth, she was steering clear of the huddling gossipers, locked in her own thoughts.

  She looked nervous—but not as nervous as I am, Beth thought, clutching one of Kane’s little yellow pills in the palm of her hand. She’d done some research the night before and decided one should be enough. And, according to her calculations, it was time. You had to give it some time to kick in, after all.

  Beth felt like the room was watching her, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and make her move. Two cups of coffee—the lukewarm instant crap courtesy of the faculty lounge. One for her—and one for Harper, with a little something extra mixed in for flavor.

  Harmless fun, Beth told herself. That’s all it was. No one would get hurt. Beth would get even.

  “What are you staring at?” Harper asked sullenly, when she realized Beth was hovering over her desk. “Just thought you looked a little nervous,” Beth said. “Thought this would help.” She offered Harper a cup, making sure to give her the right one. Harper took a sip and put it down on her desk. Then she lifted it again and took a long gulp.

  There’s still time, Beth told herself. I could knock over the cup before she drinks any more. I could forget the whole thing.

  “Thanks, I guess.” Harper frowned. “As long as you’re here, there’s something I need to say.”

  Here it came. Beth steeled herself. “Yeah?”

  “I … I wanted to tell you … well, about … I’m really …” Harper closed her eyes, and a series of expressions flickered across her face as if she was having an indepth conversation inside her head. Then, all at once, she shook her head and her features relaxed into a familiar sneer. “Just don’t screw up, okay?”

  Forget turning back.

  Beth smiled sweetly.

  “Uh, thanks. Good luck to you, too.” Beth backed away, retreated to the other side of the room—but she snuck enough glances to spot Harper downing the cup.

  Beth checked her watch. It should take no more than twenty minutes. She couldn’t believe she’d actually done it. She didn’t know how she was going to wait.

  At least this time she wouldn’t have any trouble choking out her introduction. The more lovely things she had to say, the higher the audience’s expectations rose, the harder Harper would fall.

  Beth checked her watch again. Only a minute had passed. This was maddening. But there was nothing left for her to do now, nothing left to worry about.

  All she had to do was wait it out—and then sit back and watch the show.

  Play it cool, she’d told herself all night.

  Play it cool, she’d insisted this morning as she wolfed down a bowl of cereal, eager to get to school to see him.

  It was time to face facts: Miranda wasn’t cool.

  For years now, she’d borrowed cool from Harper, but that was over now. There was no one to tell her to keep her mouth shut and go with the flow. And there was no one to calm her down when Kane gave her a casual smile and quick wave as they passed in the hall—then kept going.

  Was that it?

  Was the whole casino trip a one—time deal? Or was he just keeping it casual, waiting to see what she wanted? Or—

  Miranda couldn’t sift through the possibilities like a rational human being. They buzzed around her, worst-case scenario piling on top of dreamscape, misery and ecstasy mixing together, and all the while, she was only half present to begin with, thanks to the chunk of her mind still dedicated to preserving the memory of his touch.

  She hovered in the entryway of the auditorium, watching the students file in. No Kane.

  No surprise—this wasn’t his thing. When Miranda was certain he wasn’t there, she waited until the faculty had turned away to view the main event, then slipped out herself. She knew she’d find him in the parking lot, half hidden behind a utility wall, enjoying a cigarette.

  She wasn’t usually the kind of girl who could confront a boy—not someone like Kane, at least, who’d cowed her into silence for years. But the not knowing was even more overwhelming than her fear. So she spurred herself into action, and found him just where she’d expected.

  One problem: She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t planned that out, and could only hope that once she started, he would finish.

  This is a bad idea, she warned herself, knowing that Kane wasn’t the type to react well to being pressured; he was the type to do things without thinking and then hope never to speak of them again. A very bad idea. Still, she couldn’t help but be a little impressed with herself. Who knew Miranda Stevens could ever be this brave?

  “Hey.”

  He looked up and smiled as if he’d been expecting her. “Want a smoke?”

  She waved away the pack. The way she was feeling now, the nicotine buzz would put her over the edge.

  “So … get any flak when you got home last night? You know, for disappearing and—” She broke off at his laughter. Stupid, she berated herself. Of course Kane wouldn’t get in trouble. He probably did this kind of thing all the time. Nice job letting him know
you’re a loser with overprotective parents. Still, she’d raised the subject. It was a start.

  “So,” she continued, in a small voice—her stomach was clenched, and it felt like there was no air left in her lungs. “About last night …”

  “Yeah, it was great, wasn’t it?”

  Miranda beamed, and some of the tension leached out of her.

  “You know, if you were any other girl, I’d be so screwed right now,” he continued.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, you know how it is—have a little fun and the girl gets all lame and clingy. Wants to know what it all means, where it’s all going, crap like that.” He took a long drag on the cigarette. “You know, girl stuff.”

  “Yeah,” Miranda echoed weakly. “Girl stuff.”

  “But not you.”

  No, not good ol’ reliable Miranda. No girl stuff here.

  “You know me, and you’re cool with it. And just because we had a great time yesterday, you’re not, you know, freaking out and wondering where we’ll go on our honeymoon.”

  The Italian Riviera. Or maybe Tuscany.

  “It’s what I’ve always liked about you, Stevens.” He punched her lightly on the arm. Like she was one of his teammates. “You’re not like other girls.”

  Uh, thanks?

  Miranda clamped her teeth together, afraid otherwise they would clatter, and her lip would start to wobble uncontrollably as always happened when she was about to cry. She had to get away before it happened.

  “Whatever, Kane.” She forced herself to laugh. “As if I’d go all gooey eyed over you. Please. Could your ego get any bigger?”

  “Well, I am working out.” He offered her the pack of cigarettes again. “Come on,join me. Its rude to let someone smoke alone.”

  “Much as I’d like to join you on the road to lung cancer, I think I’ll pass,” Miranda said, trying not to meet his eyes. “I just came out here for a little fresh air. So that would kind of defeat the point.” She checked her watch. “Anyway, I should probably get back inside. If someone notices I’m gone …”

  “Who’s going to—”

  “Later, Kane.” She had to leave now, fast, before he talked her into staying—and she so wanted to stay. Every moment she was around him was a moment of possibility. That something would happen. But it would kill her if something didn’t.

  And it wasn’t going to.

  “Suit yourself, Stevens.” Kane tilted his hand back and puffed out a perfect smoke ring. “I’ll miss you.”

  It’s just a line, Miranda told herself as she slammed back into school and trudged down the empty hallway. He doesn’t want you.

  And all her fantasies, all the lies she’d told herself, came crashing down, because that was the truth.

  Play it cool.

  Play it cool.

  But the halls were empty. There was no one left to appreciate the act. So Miranda dropped it. And, letting out a ragged breath, she finally allowed herself to burst into tears.

  He doesn’t want me, she moaned to herself, chest heaving. She ducked into an empty classroom and closed the door, slumping down to the floor behind it and curling up into a tight ball, rocking back and forth.

  She’d always thought that if she could just get him to notice her, just for once get him to see her as an object of desire, that he wouldn’t be able to resist.

  Well, he’d seen her. He’d gotten the best of her, in every way. He’d hung out with her, he’d flirted with her, he’d kissed her, and after all that?

  He’d passed.

  It’s not that she was invisible.

  It’s that she was unworthy. Unappealing.

  And now she couldn’t even retreat into her fantasies, because everything had happened exactly as she’d hoped and it still hadn’t been enough.

  There was nothing left to hope for.

  It was over—and she was done.

  chapter

  14

  Harper stepped up to the podium, and it was so warm and light under the spotlight, all the people beaming up at her with love in their eyes. It was such an amazing view with all the lights and colors and sounds so strange as if she could see them shimmering through the air, glittering filaments streaming toward her ears.

  My turn, she thought and she took out her speech, but then it seemed so dull and colorless. She was so tired of keeping everything inside tight bottled up pressing against her insides. There was so much pain and now here today she could let it out.

  Harper crumpled up her speech and tossed it away. Thank god for Xanax, she thought, thinking fondly of the two pills she’d popped before stepping onstage. If she’d been nervous before she now knew that was silly, ridiculous, there was no reason to worry, she was warm, she was loved, this was her moment, and she began to speak.

  “I don’t know you,” she said, sweeping her arms out at the sea of people. “I know you, and I know you”—she pointed—“but not all of you, and you don’t know me. You think you know me, but not the me inside, you know? Not Harper Grace. Who am I? It’s like …” Train of thought vanished, because there was his face, glowing golden in the middle of the room. “He knows me. He loves me, but he won’t admit it. He thinks he hates me. But you can’t hate me, Adam, because you need me, we’re like one person, you and me, together. Remember when we were together for the first time?” She sighed and ran her hands up and down her body and moaned because for a second it was like his hands were her hands, no, like her hands were his hands—whatever it was, it was better than being alone, which is all she ever was anymore, and someone was trying to make her shut up to go away but she pushed him away and kept talking because she’d been silent for so long. “You couldn’t and then you could, and we screwed and—and then you left me all alone. Why would you do that, Adam? Why would you leave me when you said you’d never leave me? I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for everything and everyone and I was just so scared to say it, but I’m weak, I’m weak and bad terrible evil I know, but you said forever, Adam. Why would you do that to me? Why would you lie?”

  And the principal was pulling at her dragging her away and she gripped the podium because it was too important, she needed an answer, but she’d lost sight of his golden face and now there were only strangers, and their laughter looked black and felt like knives, and then Harper, who had been feeling no pain suddenly felt it all and she broke from the principal’s arms.

  Get away, that was all she could think, all she could do. Must get away.

  Adam slumped down in his seat, jaw wide open, eyes squeezed shut. Whatever she was on—and it must have been something—she’d humiliated herself. Not to mention him. He couldn’t stand to watch. And it just kept going, forever. When will they drag her away? he kept thinking as the horror stretched on, and on. When will they make her stop?

  Now she was gone, and they were all staring at him instead. He was a part of this freak show, like it or not, and he hated her for dragging him down with her.

  And yet—inside, his stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot at the thought of her up there, broken, for all to see.

  Did I do that to her? he wondered.

  And he couldn’t help but care.

  Maybe she really did love him, in her twisted, fucked-up way. They had dragged her off the podium as she flailed about like an animal—and wouldn’t stop screaming his name.

  He should go to her. But then everyone would see him get up, walk out, and everyone would know he was a part of this. After all she’d done to him, he was supposed to forgive and forget, just because she had a public meltdown?

  For all he knew, this was just another strategy to win him over, and playing into it would just make him look like an idiot, again.

  Yes. No. Stay. Go. He froze up.

  And by the time he finally made his choice, it was too late. She was gone.

  If only life were TiVo’d, and she could rewatch the moment again and again.

  I did that, she thought, watching Harper flee the stage, not sure whether she felt
triumph or nausea. I won.

  Of course, Harper could never know what Beth had slipped into her drink, or that she’d finally been bested by the one on whom she’d looked down the most. But it hardly mattered—after that performance, Beth suspected it would be a long time before Harper was able to look down at anyone.

  Beth had expected it to feel better, sweeter. But all she felt was a sense of finality, as if this had ended things, with a fittingly sordid coup de grâce.

  As she’d watched Harper self-destruct, her anger toward Kane and Adam had fallen away. As Harper ranted, and the laughter of the crowd grew louder and crueler, Beth decided that this was it.

  She’d taken her revenge—and it had been necessarily brutal, but now it was over.

  This is what they called “closure,” she supposed. It was a good word, because the past few months now felt like a tedious story she’d plowed through, pitting herself against the pages that mounted up with no end in sight. She’d made it through, and now she would shut the book forever. She would throw it away.

  Beth was different now—thanks, she supposed, to Harper, to all of them. She was stronger. Harder.

  There were four months to graduation, and she would spend them alone and miserable. But she would deal. She had let Harper turn her into the kind of person she’d always despised, and maybe there was no going back from that. But she could go forward.

  Kaia made her decision. She would call the police, tell her story, take responsibility. She was in the right, after all. She was no criminal, and no victim, either. She had just done what had to be done, and that’s just what she would do now. Not because it was what her parents would have wanted, or what a million Lifetime movies would have advised, but because she just knew it was the right thing. She’d let Powell make her feel weak—but now that was over, and this was the way to be strong.