“Great!” Harper tore a piece of paper from her notebook and scrawled something on it before handing it to Beth. “Here’s his number. I’ll tell him you’re going to call ASAP.”
And she skipped away before Beth had a chance to change her mind.
Mission accomplished—and so easily that it was difficult to feel too proud of herself.
But Harper managed.
“You are going to love me,” she crowed into her cell once Kane answered the phone.
“Not unless you’re waiting for me in the parking lot with some black coffee and a Playboy bunny,” Kane retorted. “Otherwise, I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Harper, about a hundred yards away, sneered at the sight of his adoring harem. Had these girls no respect for themselves?
Stupid question.
“What do you mean, you can see?” Kane looked up from the nearest buxom brunette and began scanning the parking lot.
“On your left, loser boy.” Harper waved lazily until he spotted her. “And you’re not too busy for this. Trust me.”
She snapped the phone shut and watched as Kane grudgingly kissed the girls good-bye and jogged over.
“This better be good,” he grumbled once he’d reached her. “I’ve been bored long enough for one day. I need to go out and wash off the stench of all this educational earnestness with some good, old-fashioned debauchery.”
“What you need is to go home and study for the SATs,” Harper countered.
“The SATs?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded.
“The SATs that are three weeks away?”
She nodded again.
“The SATs that I couldn’t give a shit about?”
“You got it.”
“Harper, you know that practice test in there? I scored above a seven hundred on every section. You know what that means?” He spoke slowly and patiently, as if she would soon be taking her own test—English as a second language. “It means I’m not studying today, tomorrow—hell, I may never study again.”
Harper gave him a gentle pat on the back and shook her head sadly. “No, you’re going home and cracking the books. Right now, and tomorrow, and the next day. You’re going to make the library your new best friend.”
“And why would I want to do that?” he sneered.
Harper grinned, and jerked a thumb across the parking lot toward Beth, who was climbing into Adam’s rusty maroon Chevrolet.
“Meet your new tutor.”
Kane’s eyes widened. “You didn’t!”
“Oh, I did.”
Harper laid out her vision for him—long, late nights huddled together over the books; frequent breaks for coffee, pizza, and intimate getting-to-know-you sessions; close quarters; moonlit strolls; high stress, low inhibitions—when Harper Grace made a deal, she delivered. And even Kane had to admit that she had just delivered Beth to his doorstep, complete with gift wrap and ruffled bow.
“And while I’m sweeping Beth off her feet with my charm and feigned stupidity, I assume you’ll be … taking care of Adam?”
Harper allowed herself a moment to enjoy a second vision: Adam, sitting at home, bored, lonely, angry, jealous, and primed for … well, anything.
“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” she said sweetly.
Kane laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders.
“And I have no doubt, Grace,” he assured her, “that you’re just the girl to do it.”
Having finished eavesdropping on the pathetic scheming out in the parking lot, Kaia headed back inside the school to take care of some unfinished business. Watching Harper and Kane haplessly put together their juvenile little plot had inspired her—why should they be the only ones having any fun?
She tugged down her silk tank top and hitched up her blue miniskirt so that her perfect (and worth every cent) cleavage and Pilates-sculpted thighs had maximum visibility. Then she stepped inside the classroom. Jack Powell may have thought he could avoid her forever, but his time had just run out.
“Hey, Mr. Powell,” she whispered, leaning against the door frame and aiming an unmistakable look in his direction familiar to any adult-movie fan as a silent “Hey, big guy, throw me down and do me right here on the floor” invitation. It was intended to be ironic. Partly. “Long time, no see.”
“I see you every day in class, Ms. Sellers,” he said. She shivered at the sound of his voice. “And trust me, that’s quite enough.”
He turned his back on her. Big mistake.
Kaia closed the door and crossed the empty classroom, shedding the cheesy sex-me-up grin as she went. It seemed Mr. Powell was still playing hard to get—and she was beginning to enjoy his game. She laid a light hand on the small of his back, saying, “I see you every day in French—but I’m not sure you’re really seeing me.”
He whirled around to face her and backed away.
“What kind of game are you playing?” he hissed. “Isn’t it enough for you that I’m on probation after your little stunt at the dance? It was all I could do to talk them out of firing me.”
“Hey, don’t look at me, I’m the victim here,” Kaia countered. “According to Mr. Hemp, at least.” Kaia had been reprimanded for her “flagrant disregard of Mr. Powell’s personal space” and had been sentenced to six weeks’ worth of meetings with the school psychologist, who, she suspected, had received his pseudo degree off the Internet, if not purchased it at Shrinks “R” Us. She would have preferred a prison term.
“Victim?” He snorted. “I’m warning you, Kaia, if you’re trying to spread some kind of—if you think you can set me up—”
“Chill out, Jack.” She flashed an insouciant grin. “I think you got my message. This time I come in peace. I want to call a truce.”
“A truce?” he repeated dubiously. “So this means you’re going to stop throwing yourself at me and end this apparent quest to get me fired?”
“Provisional yes to the latter, definite no to the former.” She leaned forward to give him a quick peck on the lips, but he twisted his face away, and instead her lips brushed his coarse stubble. Good enough. “You want me, Mr. Powell. You just don’t know it yet. But you will.”
“I want you to get out of here,” he said coldly, “and make sure that no one sees you go. And then I want you to drop French and do me the favor of pretending I don’t exist. Or at least letting me pretend that about you. Let’s start now.”
He sat down at the desk and began shuffling through a stack of papers, pointedly refusing to look at her.
Kaia stood before him, hands on her hips, shaking her head and clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, like a mother reprimanding her young.
“Mr. Powell, I thought we’d already established that if I want to, I can make life here very unpleasant for you. You said it yourself—I can be trouble. You’re right. I don’t think you want to be rude to me.”
Silence. And more paper shuffling.
“Okay,” Kaia agreed, heading for the door. “You’re lucky I’m in a ‘make love, not war’ mood … for now.”
After escaping the SAT session, Beth and Adam treated themselves to an impromptu picnic in Dwyer Park (complete with brownish tufts of grass, brownish decaying picket fence, and brownish pond—as desert oases went, it ranked somewhere between Palm Springs and a garbage dump). Once they’d gotten everything set up, Adam ran off to grab them some soda from the nearby drugstore. Beth’s phone rang as soon as he was gone.
It was Kane. She’d left a message for him just after leaving the school, so she wasn’t surprised to see his name pop up on her caller ID. Still, it was strange—he’d never called her before. And if he had, she probably wouldn’t have picked up the phone.
They only spoke for a few minutes, just enough time to agree on the tutoring and pick a time for their first meeting. But the conversation wasn’t nearly as awkward as she’d feared—and weirdly, Beth found herself almost looking forward to their first encounter.
>
She put the phone away with a quizzical frown. Kane had seemed so genuine, so earnest, so pleasant, so … totally un-Kane-like. He’d limited himself to only two sarcastic comments and one sexual innuendo. For a five-minute conversation, it had to be a personal best. And even stranger—he actually seemed to want her help. He seemed to want to do well, whatever it would take.
Kane? Working? Had she walked out of the school this morning and into some alternate universe?
The Kane she knew—though, granted, she didn’t know him very well and had never wanted to change that—thought hard work meant applying a little extra torque when opening a stuck bottle lid. And even that was only worth it if the bottle contained some kind of alcoholic beverage or was handed to him by a weak and soon to be very grateful cheerleader. Back before she and Adam had gotten together, Kane had chased after her, as he did every girl—for about a day. She’d blown him off, and he’d disappeared. Kane didn’t believe in making an effort.
She shook her head. This time he really must be desperate.
“Who was on the phone?” Adam asked, sitting down on the worn quilt that served as their picnic blanket and passing her a deliciously cool bottle of Coke.
“Your best friend, actually.” Searching for a relief from the searing, dry heat of the afternoon, she pressed the bottle against her forehead, enjoying the icy chill that ran down her spine.
“Harper?” he asked, confused.
Beth flinched. She respected Adam’s friendship with the beautiful girl next door, but she didn’t have to like it.
“No, your other best friend—you remember Kane, don’t you?”
Adam shook his head in disgust. “What, is he trying to track me down? Dude, I never should have told him I was going out with you today.”
“Actually, he was looking for me,” Beth said, smacking him lightly with an annoyance that was only half for show.
“You? Why would he be calling you?”
“People have been known to want to talk to me,” she informed him, irritation mounting.
“I know, I know,” Adam murmured, kissing her on the forehead. “You’re in high demand. In fact,” he added, kissing his way down her nose and landing on her lips, “I want you right now.”
“He wants my help,” Beth explained, somewhat mollified. “With studying for the SATs.”
“Kane? Studying?” Adam burst into laughter. “I don’t think so. Seriously, what did he want?”
“I know, I thought it was weird too,” Beth admitted. “But he seems to really want a tutor.”
“And he asked you?”
“Why wouldn’t he ask me?”
“I just meant—whatever,” Adam stopped himself. “So he’s had a personality overhaul and wants a tutor for the SATs. You’re not going to do it, are you?”
“Of course I am—he’s my friend,” she reminded him. “Well … he’s your friend. And he needs my help. Why wouldn’t I do it?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because these days you’re too busy to eat or sleep, not to mention see your boyfriend?” He kept his voice level and light, but Beth could feel the dangerous tension bubbling beneath the surface. There just didn’t seem to be much she could do about it—and she couldn’t stop herself from egging him on.
“Not all of us want to spend our lives lying around watching TV and drinking beer,” she snapped, hating herself for it the moment she heard the words slip out of her mouth. “At least Kane cares about something and is willing to work hard to get it. How could I say no to that?”
“Fine,” he grunted.
“Fine.” And, after a moment, “we’re starting tomorrow.”
“What?” he yelped. “We’ve got plans for tomorrow!”
“I know,” she said in a gentler voice. “I’m sorry—it’s just, he wanted to get started right away, and he seemed so desperate …”
“You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about! How hard was it to find some time together this weekend, and now you’re just …?” He threw up his arms in disgust.
“Adam, stop.” Beth took his hands in hers and clasped them to his chest. “I’m here, with you, now. Can’t we just enjoy this?”
He didn’t respond, but he left his hands in hers, and she felt a gentle pressure squeezing back. Beth looked around—the park was mostly empty, and they were partially hidden from view by a cluster of decrepit trees.
She brought his hands to her lips and kissed them softly, then released them. He grazed his fingers across her cheekbones and cradled her face.
“How about if we stop talking about Kane for a while?” she suggested, lying back on the quilt and pulling him down beside her. He stroked her hair, and she breathed in the nearness of him, the familiar scent that somehow evoked both a cozy kitchen of fresh baked bread and the wide expanse of a bright summer morning. “Why don’t we just—”
“Stop talking at all for a while?” he finished for her, his hands slipping under her pale pink shirt and massaging her bare skin.
Beth sighed, feeling her tension slip away. It sounded like a plan.
chapter
3
“How about this?” Miranda crept out of the dressing room and timidly spun around to display the newest ensemble—bright red capri pants that looked like they’d been painted on, paired with a black lace corset whose tackiness quotient would have made Christina Aguilera cringe.
Uh, no.
Harper sighed. Three hours into the total transformation shopping trip (step one on the road to a new and improved Miranda, whatever that was supposed to mean) and she was bored out of her mind. Shopping in Grace was never the most thrilling of experiences since the options consisted of three or four sorry stores in a local excuse for a strip mall, a large thrift shop (useless, since the middle-aged Grace matrons who made up its pool of suppliers couldn’t really be counted on to supply the type of “vintage” threads recommended in last month’s Vogue), and, of course, the Wal-Mart out on Route 53 (the less said about that, the better).
No, Harper preferred to buy most of her clothes online—and Harper’s parents preferred her not to buy clothes at all, as the meager profits from the family dry cleaning business rarely seemed to justify that kind of supposedly wasteful expenditure. Harper failed to see how a fur-lined J Crew raincoat or tan suede boots could be deemed wasteful—so what if the temperature never dipped below sixty degrees and it rained only eight inches a year? Sometimes fashion was its own excuse. Regardless, Harper had managed—just barely—to put together a wardrobe befitting her position in Haven High’s social strata. It didn’t mean that she wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon watching Miranda fork over daddy’s credit card in return for an armful of clothes she didn’t need and would never wear—especially when phase one of Operation Anti-Cupid was in full effect and Adam was, even now, sitting home alone, ripe for the picking.
But Harper was still feeling nagging guilt about helping the love of Miranda’s life pursue someone else. So here she was, figuring the least she could do was save her ever faithful sidekick from making a serious fashion faux pas.
After all, what are friends for?
“Well … I suppose Halloween is coming up,” Harper finally said, and gave her a thumbs down.
Miranda studied herself in the mirror from a number of angles before wrinkling her nose and sighing. “You’re right, as usual.” She disappeared back inside the dressing room. “Just a couple more things,” she called out.
Harper checked her watch and then leaned back against the wall, pressing her weight against it as she slumped to the floor. Was this going to drag on forever?
“What about this?” Miranda asked, popping out of the dressing room, a hesitant smile creeping across her face. She had slipped into a snugly fitting suede skirt, paired with a gauzy green shirt that laced up the front, offering a glimpse of cleavage and leaving just enough to the imagination.
It was stylish, edgy, slightly daring—it was, in other words, totally Harper.
It loo
ked okay on Miranda, Harper judged, but she could almost feel that suede wrapping around her legs and knew that shade of green would light her auburn hair on fire.
Miranda had seen it first, true. And, more importantly, Miranda was the one with the credit card. She was also the one with the identity crisis, Harper reminded herself. Harper was just along for the ride—she was supposed to sit by and watch, do the loyal and supportive friend thing. But Harper wasn’t very good at being the sidekick—it was one of the reasons she and Miranda worked so well together. Their friendship only had room for one star, and usually Miranda was more than willing to let Harper bask in the spotlight while she waited in the wings.
“It’s … it’s not really you, Rand,” Harper pointed out. And that much was true, at least. Miranda’s fashion choices usually ran to white V-necked T-shirts and jeans, with the occasional brightly colored tank thrown in on days she was feeling a little wild.
“That’s the idea,” Miranda pointed out, her smile widening. She turned slowly in front of the mirror, craning her neck to try to get a glimpse of what she looked like from behind.
It was a contortion that Harper knew well, and she knew exactly what Miranda was looking for—or, rather, looking at.
“Is that the right size?” Harper asked innocently. “It looks a little tight across your … hips.”
“You think?” Miranda asked, twisting herself around even farther. “It feels okay, but—oh God, it’s my ass, isn’t it? You can say it. All this brown just makes it look huge.”
Harper bit her lip. “It’s not huge, exactly.”
That was also strictly the truth, Harper told herself. Though it’s possible the message could have been delivered in a more confident tone. Miranda was only a few pounds beyond stick thin, but for some reason, when she looked in the mirror, all she saw was flab and cellulite. Harper hated to encourage her, but how could she just sit there and watch an outfit like that walk out of the store in someone else’s bag?