“No, Kane, it’s perfect, really. It’s incredibly sweet of you to remember.”
She breathed in sharply and shook herself, trying to shrug off the dark fog that had come over her. She gave him her best attempt at a smile, and pulled out a notebook, opening it up to a blank page.
“The bribe worked—let’s get to it. How about we start with geometry?”
Another tear spattered onto the page, and Kane put a tentative hand on her shoulder, dropping it quickly as she instinctively jerked away.
“Beth, stop for a second.”
Reluctantly, she looked up from the page, where she’d already started drawing a series of triangles.
“Are you really okay?” he asked gently. “We don’t need to do this now, if you re not up for it. I can go, if you want. Or I can stay, and we can just talk.”
She didn’t say anything, just looked at him, wondering how she’d missed it all these years, the sweet, sensitive look in his eyes, the soft, unquestioning openness. She’d always thought Kane was just—well, to be honest, a heartless bastard who cared only about himself. But this wasn’t the face of someone who didn’t care.
“Or we could just sit here and stare at each other in silence,” Kane finally added. “I’m okay with that, too.” He grinned. “Girls are often struck dumb by my wit and impeccable physique. It’s okay, no need to be embarrassed.”
She burst into laughter, and this time, she was the one to put a hand on his arm.
“It’s okay,” she told him. “We can do some work. I want to.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, covering her hand with his. “Whatever it is, I just want to help.”
Beth sighed, remembering the relief that had swept through her when she’d looked up to see him in the doorway, rescuing her.
“Trust me,” she assured him. “You already have.”
Adam froze in the doorway and just watched. Their heads bent together, his hand on hers, the grateful smile on her face.
He watched—and then he crept out as quietly as he had crept in.
Practice had let out early, and he’d thought Beth could use a pick-me-up. She’d been working so hard lately, and he knew she’d been planning to barricade herself in the newspaper office until nightfall. Poor Beth, he’d thought. My poor, overworked, overstressed girlfriend. Wouldn’t it be nice to surprise her with an unexpected treat. So stupid.
He’d bought some cookies and chocolate milk from the vending machine by the gym—her favorite.
He’d rushed down the hall toward the office, already imagining the smile on her face when she saw him walk through the door, the squeal of delight at the guaranteed sugar rush. He loved to see her happy.
He’d tiptoed to the door of the office, oh-so-gently and oh-so-quietly turned the handle, eased the door open—and there they were. Kane and Beth, bent over their work together—though they obviously weren’t working.
Kane was munching on a cookie, Beth was giggling—they looked comfortable together, like friends. Like more than friends.
Like they didn’t want to be interrupted.
Adam hated himself for the tendrils of jealousy creeping through him and for the fact that he couldn’t drive Kaia’s mocking warnings out of his mind. He had nothing to worry about. He knew that. Knew that he could just say her name, or clear his throat, and they would look up and welcome him to the table, and together, they would eat cookies and slurp chocolate milk and complain about the SATs or their asshole swim coach or whatever. He could and he should, he knew that. And yet—
He didn’t. He stepped backward, silently, away from them, and eased the door shut behind him. He walked a few paces down the hall, then slammed a fist into a locker in frustration. It didn’t help. So he kept going, down the hall, out of the building, back home. Alone.
And inside the newspaper office, Beth looked at Kane, Kane looked at Beth, and, engrossed in the conversation, engrossed in each other, they never noticed a thing.
chapter
6
It had taken Harper about twenty-four hours to notice that Miranda wasn’t speaking to her—unanswered calls, unreturned messages, a cold shoulder in the hallway and an empty seat in the cafeteria. By Tuesday night it had become pretty clear to Harper that she’d somehow screwed up. She knew it would take less than ten minutes to get Miranda—the ultimate pushover, at least when it came to Harper—to forgive her for it. Too bad she didn’t have the slightest clue what “it” was.
But maybe she could bluff it out.
After countless unreturned messages (“Rand, come on, call me back—I’m sorry, I totally screwed up. Call me!”), the phone finally rang.
“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” Miranda asked as soon as Harper picked up the phone.
Harper squirmed. Sometimes she was sorry Miranda knew her so well.
“Of course I do,” she said indignantly. “And I’m sorry—I swear, I’ll never do it again.”
“What?”
“I said, I’ll never do it again, I promise.”
Miranda sucked in a sharp, exasperated breath. “No, I heard you. I mean, what will you never do again?”
Harper paused. “Well, I’ll never do anything like this again, I’ll tell you that much.”
Miranda snorted. “You’re unbelievable—you really have no idea, do you?”
Harper crumbled under the pressure. “Okay, you got me. No, I don’t. But I’m sorry, I swear—-just tell me what I’m supposed to be sorry about.”
“Well, if you only had a brain, maybe you could figure it out,” Miranda said cryptically.
“If I only had a—oh God, The Wizard of Oz. Shit, Miranda, I totally forgot!”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I really am sorry.” And she was. Harper wasn’t a slave to tradition the way Miranda was, but she looked forward to their Wizard of Oz trip each year. It was a chance to blow off steam, to pretend they were kids again, to gorge themselves on candy. Plus, she had to admit … she really liked the movie. “I totally suck,” she admitted. “Let’s go tomorrow, okay?”
“Harper, it closed,” Miranda said harshly. “That’s kind of the point, remember? We always go on the last day. We’ve only been doing it for like, five years?”
“Okay, I suck. I completely and totally suck. Is this it? Are you done with me? You are, aren’t you?” Harper affected a voice of exaggerated desperation. When in doubt, make ’em laugh. “You’re getting rid of me and finding a new best friend. Who is it, Katie? Eloise? You know she’s a shrew, so I’d advise against her. Tara? You always liked her better anyway, didn’t you? And why not? I’m a horrible, terrible person….”
“Quit the melodrama, Harper. You’re not funny.”
“Not even a little?”
She was rewarded by a muffled laugh on the other end of the phone—and Harper knew she’d got her.
“Not even a little,” Miranda confirmed, unconvincingly. “In fact, you’re right. You do totally suck. I should just find a new best friend.” But Miranda’s familiar playful sarcasm had replaced her tone of bitter anger.
“Yeah, it would probably be good for you—but when is something good for you ever any fun?” Harper asked.
“Point taken.”
“So we’re okay?” Harper abandoned the comedy for a second. Miranda had to know she was sincere. “I really am sorry.”
“You should be—but yes, we’re okay.”
“I knew it. You can’t live without me!”
“Don’t press your luck,” Miranda cautioned her. “So where were you, anyway?”
There was a pause—since she hadn’t realized that she’d ditched Miranda, Harper hadn’t bothered to come up with a good excuse. But what was she supposed to say, “I was out with our worst enemy, plotting a way to set up the guy you’re crushing on with another girl”? In this case, it didn’t seem likely that honesty would be the best policy.
“I was … at the dentist. It was an emergency.”
“A tooth emer
gency?” Miranda asked dubiously.
“Yeah, I chipped a molar, and I managed to get the guy to see me right away. Thank God.”
“It hurt a lot, huh?”
“It still does.” Why had she said that? Now she was going to have to fake a toothache for the rest of the week. First rule of successful lying: Keep it simple, and never offer more information than necessary. She’d had a lot of practice.
“Must have been horrible,” Miranda said sympathetically. “We’re talking acute, throbbing, knives-digging-into-you pain?”
“Uh-huh.” It was sort of true, if you counted the pain of having to lie to Miranda 24/7—and having to rely on Kaia, of all people.
“Brutal, agonizing pain?”
“Yeah.”
Miranda laughed. “Good.”
Payback came on Friday night. As the wounded party, Miranda got to pick the activity, and after a few days of careful thought, she’d settled on the perfect punishment. Karaoke. Both girls were equally averse to the torture and public humiliation that Karaoke Night at the Lasso Lounge represented, but Miranda figured it was worth sitting through an hour of off-key crooning to see Harper make a fool of herself in public. She’d been right.
“You aren’t really going to make me do this,” Harper complained, as a hefty man crooned Clay Aiken’s latest “hit” up on the makeshift stage.
“Oh, I so am,” Miranda replied with an evil laugh.
“This is cruel and unusual punishment, you know,” Harper pointed out.
Miranda smiled sweetly. “What are friends for?” She pointed to the short line of would-be American Idols who had assembled by the stage. “Now get over there and show ’em what you’re made of.”
Harper glared at her, gulped down the last of her drink, and stalked off toward the line. “I hate you,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Miranda just raised her drink in a one-sided toast. “Don’t forget to smile!”
Then she leaned back in her chair and waited for the fun to start. This was going to be good.
Too many hours and too many drinks later, Harper and Miranda stumbled out of the bar on a karaoke high. Midway through her Cyndi Lauper spectacular, Harper had abandoned her embarrassment and belted out “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” at the top of her lungs. She’d scored a round of thunderous applause and returned to the table flushed and ready for more. And after another margarita, Miranda had conceded to go with her, kicking off a marathon sing-along that took them back to the endless afternoons they’d spent as kids, choreographing dance moves to the latest on MTV. The humiliation factor was through the roof—but there was no one there to see them, and by that point in the night, they didn’t even care. After a rousing, girl-power version of “I Will Survive,” the karaoke machine had finally shut down, the lights went out, and Harper and Miranda were forced to seek a new adventure.
So phase two of the night was planned during the tail end of phase one, which meant that clear, sober thinking had been left far behind by the time Harper suggested they stop off for supplies.
The result of their giggly stumble through the twenty-four-hour convenience store?
A two-pound bag of Mike and Ikes (on sale for Halloween), a two-gallon bottle of Diet Coke and another of Hawaiian Punch (mixers), a six-pack of Jell-O pudding (because, well, just because—thanks to the two pitchers of margaritas back at the Lasso Lounge, they no longer needed a reason). And the pièce de résistance: a box of hair dye that promised to “change your color—and your life—in three easy steps.” It was time for Miranda to become a bottle blonde.
“You said you wanted a change, right?” Harper asked, tossing the box into their shopping basket, despite Miranda’s halfhearted protests.
They stumbled back to Harper’s house with the goods—her parents were off in Ludlow for the weekend, visiting her great-uncle in his nursing home, a trip that Harper had easily resisted being guilted into. Great Uncle Horace had no idea who she was and last time had insisted on referring to her as Fanny, apparently the name of a British nurse who’d been “kind” to him during the war.
Harper’s parents didn’t mind her staying home alone, as long as she had “that responsible Miranda” around to keep an eye on things. If they only knew.
One very messy and wet shampoo later, Miranda’s hair was thoroughly coated with dye, and the two of them had nothing left to do but wait for it to dry. They fidgeted impatiently, leafing through magazines and flipping through the TV channels—Friday night was pretty much a home entertainment dead zone.
Miranda refused to look in a mirror until it was perfectly dry—she said she wanted to wait to get the full effect. And, as Harper watched with horror as Miranda’s hair dried and the final color emerged, she concluded that postponing the inevitable could only be a good thing. But finally they could wait no longer.
“Okay, I can’t stand it anymore,” Miranda said. “How does it look?”
“Uh … it’s different,” Harper hedged. “It’s definitely different.”
“Well I know that—but how does it look? Oh, forget it. I need to see for myself”
She bounded up, but Harper leaped ahead of her and jumped in front of the mirror.
“Before you look, I just want to remind you of what you said before, how I’m such a good friend to you.”
“Of course you are, Harper—this was your idea, wasn’t it? I’m not going to forget that.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Harper murmured. But she stepped aside.
Miranda’s scream would have woken up Harper’s parents, had they been home—as it was, Harper suspected it might still have woken them up a hundred miles away in Ludlow. It might even have woken up Great-uncle Horace—and he was deaf.
“Harper—what have you done to me?” Miranda cried, lunging toward her. Harper jumped away, searching for some large piece of furniture she could put between herself and the newly psychotic Miranda.
“Don’t blame me,” she protested. “I followed the directions. I think.” She ducked unsuccessfully as Miranda threw a pillow at her head.
“Look what you’ve done to me!” Miranda yelled. She slumped down on the bed and burst into—well, Harper couldn’t tell whether it was sobs or hysterical laughter.
“Are you … okay?” Harper asked tentatively, sitting down beside her.
“Okay?” Miranda asked, tears of laughter streaming down her face. “How could I be okay? I look like Kermit the Frog!”
Sad, but true.
Miranda’s rust-colored hair had been changed in three easy steps, all right—her head was now topped with a frizzy mass of bright green tendrils, the color of celery. Or of everyone’s favorite Muppet.
It was horrifying. Humiliating. And hilarious.
Unable to control herself any longer, Harper burst into giggles.
Miranda fell backward onto the bed, gasping for breath. “It’s not funny,” she complained.
“I know,” Harper said, trying to force a solemn and sober look.
“Except that it is,” Miranda admitted, breaking into laughter once more.
“I know,” Harper agreed, laughing again herself. She felt a rush of relief that Miranda didn’t want to kill her—but she worried about what would happen in the morning, when the alcoholic glee had washed out of her system and, sober and hungover, she still looked like a Muppet. Things might not seem so jolly in the light of day.
After all, it’s not easy being green.
(Just ask Kermit.)
It was Friday night, date night, and things were going to be different. Beth was determined. Adam had been acting weird all week—though she wasn’t even sure what would classify as “weird” these days. Stand-offish? Short-tempered? Irritable? How was that any different, really, from the way things were the rest of the time? When was the last time they’d been together—and talked—without it turning into a fight? It used to be so easy to talk to Adam, and now it was just easier not to.
But tonight really would be different. Toni
ght would be an actual date. Not a half-rushed hookup in her bedroom before her parents got home, not a stolen few minutes between classes or a stale slice of pizza after work. Tonight it was just the two of them, all night long. And it would be fun, and easy, no matter how hard she had to work at it.
She’d suckered Adam into taking her to the Frontier Festival, an annual carnival that passed through town every October, ostensibly to celebrate the harvest (though Beth was unsure what kind of harvest a mining town, much less a defunct mining town, had to offer). Really it was just an excuse for cotton candy, funnel cake, 4-H livestock contests, and a rickety Ferris wheel. Beth had loved it as a child, and had always dreamed of walking through the booths and crowds of squealing children on the arm of a handsome boy. Now she finally had one.
It started out just as she’d hoped. Hand in hand, they traipsed through the colorful booths, mocking the lame Wild West theme, squealing in fear and delight as the carnival rides swung them through the air, gorging themselves on cotton candy and corn dogs. Adam even spent ten dollars trying to win her a prize—but the water gun target shoot, the whack-a-mole, even the basketball free throw game failed to cough up any booty. Finally Beth tried her hand at Skee-Ball, and in about five minutes had succeeded in winning Adam a stuffed pink elephant, which he accepted with a rueful but gracious grin. It was relaxing, carefree, fun, sweet—and it couldn’t last.
Adam spotted him first, but Beth was the one to call him over. That was before she noticed the buxom brunette on his arm. Kane waved eagerly and hurried over to say hello, his Kewpie doll following close on his heels. In a moment everyone was introduced.
Beth, meet Hilary, a brainless idiot with a twenty-three-inch waist and a six-inch hollow space in her head.
You can’t judge her before she even opens her mouth, Beth chided herself, appalled by her nasty knee-jerk reaction. She smiled at Hilary and, as sweetly as she could to make up for the evil thoughts swarming around her head, asked, “So, Hilary, do you go to Haven High too? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around.”