Pride

by Robin Wasserman

  “Me?” Mr. White expelled another hearty chuckle. “I don’t supervise people at your level. No, I’ve got someone perfect for the job. In fact, you probably know her.” He stuck his bulbous head out of the kitchen door, bellowing, “Manning! Get back here for a minute.”

  Harper’s knees almost gave out, and she was forced to lean against the grimy wall for support. Of course, she thought. She should have known.

  “Yes, Mr. White?” Beth bounded into the kitchen and stopped short when she saw Harper, looking horrified. Harper couldn’t even take her usual pleasure at the sight of Beth in her tacky uniform, knowing full well that soon, she’d be sharing the same fate.

  “Good news, I’m giving you a little helper,” the manager said shortly. “Harper Grace, meet Beth Manning, your new boss.”

  “Oh, we’ve met,” Beth said coolly.

  “Yep, I figured.” He thrust the mop handle into Harper’s hands and kicked a rolling bucket of soapy water toward her. She squealed and squirmed away as some of it sloshed over the top and splattered onto her faux Manolos.

  “I want Harper here to start with the basics: floors, toilets, spills—you know the drill. And don’t be giving her any special treatment just because you two are friends—got that?”

  “Oh yes, Mr. White,” Beth assured him, a broad smile crossing her face. “I know exactly what to do with her.”

  Harper leaned back against the wall again and clenched the mop tightly.

  You can handle this, she told herself sternly.

  She just hoped it was true.

  Adam usually counted the days until the start of basketball season. Though too modest to admit it aloud, he knew exactly how good he was at nearly every sport Haven High had to offer. Last year he’d led the league in lacrosse assists, and as captain of the swim team he’d just set a new school record in the butterfly relay—but there was nothing like basketball. It wasn’t just the adulation of the town during basketball season: the cheers of the crowd, the triumphant headlines, the adoring cheerleaders—though all of that helped. It was the game itself, the rough, heavy feel of the ball cradled in his hands, the flicker of weightlessness in those moments his feet left the ground, the cool certainty of a perfect shot, when the ball flew from your fingers, sailing through the air in a perfect arc. You could close your eyes, turn away—and just wait for the soft, satisfying swish.

  He’d woken at dawn that morning and spent the day bouncing around the house, filled with nervous energy, just waiting for nightfall, for the first practice of the season. Now that he was finally stepping into the locker room, he suddenly realized he hadn’t felt so happy, so relaxed in weeks. And then, in an instant, it all went to shit.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked sourly.

  “I—”

  “Never mind, I don’t want to hear it.” Adam turned away and flung open his locker, throwing his gym bag to the floor and pulling off his T-shirt in one fast, fluid motion. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. He hadn’t spoken to Kane since the night it had all gone down. And to run into him now—here, of all places, the site of his betrayal—

  “I’m on the team,” Kane said calmly. “Where else would I be?”

  “You’re not on the team,” Adam growled. Kane had played ball for Haven High back in tenth grade. He’d lasted a month. Kane had been the best player they had, by far—but after he’d missed two practices in a row, Coach Hanford had thrown him off the squad. Now Adam was the best player they had. But only by default. “Coach Hanford would never let you back on the team.”

  “Hanford’s out,” Kane retorted. “Or didn’t you get the memo? Retired to Arizona. And, lucky for me, Coach Wilson isn’t such a hard ass—he seemed quite persuaded by what I had to say.”

  Adam pulled on his team shorts and slammed the locker shut.

  “How did you—” he stopped himself. He couldn’t speak to Kane, couldn’t look at him, without the bile rising in his throat. Without remembering the pictures he’d seen, of Beth and Kane, in the locker room, after hours, in each other’s arms.

  “Could be fun, bro,” Kane suggested. “Like old times, you and me—”

  “I’m not your bro,” Adam spit out, finally facing him. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, and I don’t care. Just stay the hell away from me.”

  He brushed past Kane and headed for the door—he suddenly needed to be out on the court, to slam a basketball into the backboard. Hard.

  “Now, is that any way to talk to a friend?” Kane called out after him.

  We’re not friends. And I guess we never were.

  But out loud, Adam said nothing. Kane had thrown away any right he’d had to call himself a friend. He’d trashed their friendship; he’d trashed Adam’s life. And now Kane had the nerve to speak to him? Here? Had the nerve to rejoin his team? Was he trying to destroy yet another part of Adam s life? Adam’s love for basketball was pure, and it was clean, and he wasn’t going to let Kane infect it, or steal it away.

  Not this time.

  Not again.

  Beth had always been a “nice girl.” She thought of the phrase just like that, in quotes, because she was so used to hearing the words in someone else's voice. “Be a nice girl,” insisted her mother. “Such a nice girl!” her teachers all glowed. Other people’s voices, telling her who she was, what she should be. But all she ever heard in her own, silent voice these days was a warning.

  Nice girls finish last.

  And here was Harper, the perfect object lesson—the antithesis of nice, and she always walked away with everything. She was beautiful, she was popular, she was mean—and yet still, she’d taken home the prize. Beth's boyfriend. (Ex-boyfriend, she reminded herself.) And now here she was, at Beth’s mercy.

  Beth could do the right thing, the nice thing—show her all the shortcuts, the places White would never check her work, ways to take an extra-long break; Beth could get her bumped up to the waitstaff in a few days.

  Or … she could take a cue from Harper and throw nice out the window. She could be strict. Cruel. Mean.

  And as it turned out, she was a natural.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Beth asked caustically, as Harper stood frozen with the mop. “A written invitation? The bathroom's that way—get to work.”

  Harper trudged off down the corridor. Realizing that she’d neglected to change into her uniform, Beth was about to call out after her—then decided against it. Let Harper figure out on her own why she might not want to scrub a toilet in her street clothes. Instead, she followed Harper silently down the hall. After all, she was a supervisor now. It was time to get to work.

  “Are you just going to stand there all day and watch me?” Harper asked, after she’d been sweeping the mop back and forth for fifteen minutes.

  “If that’s what it takes,” Beth answered snidely. “You’re doing it all wrong—might as well just start over again.”

  “What?” Harper cried. “No way.”

  “Well, if you want me to call Mr. White and see what he thinks …”

  Harper sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Fine—you’re the boss.”

  Beth was amused by how much the words thrilled her. Everywhere else in this town, Harper was in charge. Suddenly, Beth was the one with all the power. And she loved it already.

  “I don’t know how Adam put up with you for all that time,” Harper mumbled under her breath.

  “What was that?” Beth asked sharply.

  “Oh, nothing,” Harper replied in a poisonously sweet voice. “Just wondering to myself what I should wear on my date tonight. My boyfriend is taking me somewhere special. It’s our two-month anniversary, you know.”

  Beth knew. And she knew what had happened two months ago. In one day, Adam had both hooked up with Harper and decided Beth was cheating on him. Beth had long wondered which had come first. But she wasn’t about to ask.

  She walked out of the bathroom without a word and back down to the kitchen, wh
ere she grabbed a fresh packet of sponges. Then she rejoined Harper and tossed her one.

  “You’ll want to get down on your knees and really scrub those hard-to-clean stains,” she explained, pointing to a random spot at her feet. “There’s one now.”

  Harper looked at the sponge with disdain. “My hands and knees? On this floor? You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Hey, if you can’t cut it, you’re welcome to quit,” Beth suggested, impressed by her own icy tone. Where was all this coming from? Was this who, deep down, she really was? Whatever the answer, if felt too good to stop. “Until then,” she continued, smiling as Harper slowly got down on all fours, “like you said—I’m the boss.”

  Kane didn’t like surprises—or mysteries. So it was bad enough when Adam, totally unexpectedly, had refused to forgive him for the Beth thing even after all this time. Worse was the fact that Kane couldn’t figure out why.

  Yes, he’d stolen Adam’s girlfriend. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting a thank-you. But this? The silent treatment for two months, as if they were both ten years old again and Kane had smashed up Adam’s brand-new bike? (And even back then, it had only taken Adam a week to forgive and forget.)

  She was, after all, just a girl. And Kane had seen her first.

  The Beth Manning they’d grown up with had been nothing; a plain, faded face in the crowd, about as exciting as an old T-shirt at the bottom of your drawer. Familiar, reliable, and not so ugly that you’d never wear it—but best saved until you were desperate.

  Kane had known who she was, of course—he knew all the girls. But knowing and caring are two different things—and in this case, they’d been a universe apart.

  Then came sophomore year. The first day of school. And into their bio lab had walked a goddess: slim, tall, with perfect skin, a willowy figure, and glossy golden hair. It was Beth 2.0, new and improved, and from the moment she’d flowed through the door, Kane had vowed to have her.

  He’d just never expected it would take so much effort.

  A girl like that, a wallflower, a nobody, should have been falling all over herself in gratitude for attention from someone like him. Guys like Kane didn’t speak to girls like Beth Manning—or at least, they hadn’t before the Change. But there was no gratitude, and she seemed immune to his considerable charm.

  So he’d enlisted Adam’s help—his best friend, he’d thought, remembering with derision. Adam was her lab partner, and his job was simple: Pave the way, reel her in, let her see that the A-list crowd wasn’t so bad, that she could trust guys like Adam. And, by extension, Adam’s good buddy Kane—that she could let her guard down. It was a gambit they’d used a lot in those days, letting Adam’s basic decency lure the girls in, under the assumption that Kane, too, must be a “nice guy.” Even if it wasn’t readily apparent. It took them a bit longer to figure out the truth—and by then, Kane had generally gotten what he needed out of them. It worked both ways: Sometimes Kane played the wingman, dazzling the ladies with his charm and then passing them along to Adam. Good old solid, reliable, dull Adam. It was a good game, and they’d worked well together, partners in crime, wading through the shallow waters of Haven hotties.

  And together, they’d worked out rule #1: Any girl was fair game—as long as you saw her first.

  So perhaps Kane could be forgiven for trusting his partner, for assuming that the rules of the game still applied and that Adam would work his magic and send Beth flying into his arms. Imagine his surprise, then, to find that Adam had decided to keep this one for himself.

  It was a betrayal, and it had led to a loss—a public one. And that, Kane could not forget. He’d kept quiet, played along—it wouldn’t do to make a fuss, to be driven to unseemly emotion, not over a girl—but he’d also known that it wasn’t over. No girl could be allowed to choose someone over him. Not even Adam.

  It had taken more than a year, but he’d gotten his way.

  Beth, who had only grown more beautiful since that first sighting, had seen the light. She’d rectified her mistake, and this time, she’d made the right choice. And if ever Kane got a little bored with the whole relationship thing, he just reminded himself of his struggle. This was his rightful reward, and he was going to enjoy it. If Adam was man enough to have a relationship, to make this girl fall in love with him, then so was Kane.

  And he certainly didn’t need Adam’s approval. Or his forgiveness. Kane didn’t need anyone. But if their friendship was going to end, Kane would be the one to make the decision—and Kane wasn’t ready for that yet. Without Adam, Grace was almost too boring to bear. So he’d talked his way back onto the team, bearing the humiliation of having to beg the new coach for a shot. If he stayed in Adam’s face, reminded him of how well they’d worked together, as a team, eventually Adam would have to give up the childish grudge. In the meantime, Kane would do the diligent teammate thing: go to the practices, run the wind-sprints, pretend he cared. Kane would do whatever he needed to do, he resolved, except one thing: apologize.

  Eventually, Beth got bored and left Harper alone with the mop and bucket.

  It’s like they always say, thought Harper, ignore a bully and she’ll go away. She’d just never been on the wrong side of that equation before.

  This job was, if possible, even worse than Harper had imagined. But if she kept her eye on the prize, on Adam, then maybe the time would just slip by—she’d be in his arms again soon enough.

  His arms—that was good. She pictured them wrapped around her, warm and strong. In her mind’s eye, they curled up together on a soft couch, next to a giant picture window. A beautiful mountain range loomed in the distance, and snow pelted the windows, but Harper was so warm, so cozy in Adam’s arms. She could, if she closed her eyes, almost feel his presence …

  “Harper, is that you?”

  Harper’s eyes flew open to see those joined-at-the-hip dolts Marcy and Darcy, staring at her in horror.

  “Harper, what are you doing … here?”

  She dropped the mop in alarm and backed away, struggling to recover the blasé veneer she would need to make it through this. “I’m just, I—”

  “Harper works here now,” Beth said cheerfully, suddenly appearing behind the wonder twins. “I’m sorry, I must have forgotten to put up the sign saying the restroom was closed for cleaning. Oops!”

  She smiled at Harper, who knew it had been no accident. Just as Beth’s sudden arrival had been no coincidence. She’d come to witness Harper’s humiliation; she’d come to gloat.

  “Is something wrong, Harper?” she asked sweetly. “Because otherwise, you really should get back to work.”

  Harper drew in a sharp breath and held it for several moments.

  “I’m all done in here,” she finally said. “Later, ladies.” She gave them a jaunty grin and walked away, towing the bucket behind her.

  It had been a humiliating encounter, but there would be no long-term fallout, she assured herself. Nobody who counted listened to anything those airheads had to say. Still, when she tried to send herself back to that comforting vision of her and Adam cuddling in the ski lodge, she was just too angry—Beth’s smug face kept breaking into her reverie, hovering over her like the Cheshire Cat.

  So Harper did what any good, disgruntled employee would do: She went with it. She imagined Beth coming in to check on her, ordering her around—and then she imagined herself picking up the giant bucket of hot, scummy water and dumping it over Beth’s smug little head.

  She kept that image fixed in her mind, varying it for fun: Beth covered in ketchup and mustard, Beth smothered in relish, Beth drowning in a vat of cole slaw and pickle juice.

  The possibilities were nearly endless, and Harper mentally ran through them all. The rest of her shift raced by in a flash. Time flies when you’re having fun.

  Kaia’s father’s brand-new, mint-condition BMW had a 5-liter capacity, 10 cylinders, a 500 horsepower output, a V-10 engine, and 383 pounds per foot maximum torque.

  It also, she discovered
once she got out on the empty highway, had a dead battery. Or an overheated exhaust system. Or maybe it was a torn carburetor belt.

  Who knew? And, really, who cared? All that mattered was that the car wouldn’t go anywhere, and she was stranded. In the middle of nowhere.

  Typical, she thought, slumping down against the smooth black leather of the front seat and waiting for the tow truck she’d called. There was nothing to do now but stare out the window at the barren scenery and hope that eventually someone would show up to get her back to civilization. What a beautifully appropriate metaphor for my life, she thought bitterly. Trapped in desolation, forced to wait for a rescue that might never come.

  She was on her way home from Jack Powell’s apartment, and she was already in a foul mood. Without apology, Powell had informed her that the little love nest they’d planned for their vacation would have to be put on hold for a few days, as he went off into the mountains, chaperoning the school ski trip. He’d forbidden her to come along—not that she’d wanted to. He was afraid of what she might do if they were in public together. As if she had no self-control.

  Kaia had plenty of control—enough, at least, not to show him how disappointed she was. How repulsed she was by the thought of spending her winter break in Grace, sitting in her big, empty house, staring at the tasteful taupe walls. If Powell wanted to pretend he didn’t need her around, she could do the same.

  The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and the pink desert sunset was swiftly fading to a deep and dark night sky. Kaia shivered with a sudden chill and wondered what might be out there, in that empty stretch of land that lay beyond the road. Seventeen years in New York City had taught her an important safety lesson: Dark and isolated equals danger. Her flight instinct was difficult to suppress.

  Not that she expected some drug-crazed mugger to pop out from behind the scrub brush—but still, it was dark and quiet, and she was miles away from civilization. If you could call it that. Her father had once told her there were jackals and coyotes roaming the land—and she’d seen enough cheesy horror movies to at least wonder what else might be out there, lying in wait.