Robin Wasserman - Envy

“Agreed,” Harper said, her heart sinking. He was right-and she had nothing. Nothing that wouldn’t turn Harper and Adam’s potential relationship into collateral damage. “In fact, I think Adam needs to be the one to break it off,” she concluded in spite of herself. “He feels betrayed, she feels unjustly wronged, they both want nothing to do with each other and go running into our arms.”

“Sounds like the perfect plan. Except…” Kane sighed in exasperation. “We still need to figure out how to get from point A to point B.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she comforted him. “In the meantime we continue to drive Adam out of his mind with jealousy?”

“You got it. And, hey, never underestimate the power of the Kane Geary charisma. For all I know, a couple more of these study ‘dates’ and she’ll be begging me to hit the bedroom.”

Harper balled up a piece of paper and tossed it at his big, fat head. “Leaving Adam ready and waiting for some sympathetic TLC from his beautiful next door neighbor?” she suggested sarcastically. “Unlikely.”

“Hey, you never know-it could happen.”

It’s not like Miranda had no one to eat lunch with. No, she reassured herself, she had plenty of friends. Just because Harper had randomly decided to skip out on lunch didn’t mean Miranda was adrift on some sea of loserdom. There were plenty of people she could sit with, plenty who would covet her presence at their table if only because the reflected beams of Harper’s glory made Miranda glow with the light of borrowed popularity. But the prospect of pushing “food” around on her tray while listening to the stupid simpering of these so-called friends-without Harper across the table to exchange timely eye rolls with-was just too much for her to handle this afternoon. So instead, Miranda opted for a snack machine lunch (granola bar and mini canister of Pringles) at the newspaper office, which had a door that locked and a couch that creaked noisily but had yet to collapse.

But first, a pit stop at the girls’ bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, touching up her makeup-and making a mental note that a makeup makeover would definitely have to be the next stop on her road to self-improvement. The peach frosted lip gloss and smoky gray eye shadow she’d picked out in tenth grade just wouldn’t do. Her mother, though usually having more than enough to say on the subject of Miranda’s appearance-and how to improve it-knew nothing about makeup herself. She’d been able to contribute very little to Miranda’s education on the subject beyond such helpful pointers as “That blush makes you look like a whore.”

The bathroom was surprisingly uncrowded for this time of day. A couple stoners lurked in the back corner, from the sound of it competing over who had more Phish bootlegs. A cluster of super-skinny bottle blondes-Miranda didn’t recognize them, so figured they must be freshmen-hogged most of the mirror area, reapplying their hairspray and shimmery lipstick. From the short skirts to the perfect manicures to the cocky tilt of their heads Miranda could tell they were jockeying for a place in the line of succession, ready to fill the power vacuum once Harper had graduated. Cosmo clones, Miranda thought disdainfully. They could look the part all they wanted, but they’d never have that spark, that something special Harper had that made people want to follow her to the ends of the earth (or at least to the end of good judgment). Harper was a leader. These girls-it was obvious-were sheep.

And yet…

And yet, she thought, looking from one perfectly sculpted and outfitted body to the next, wasn’t this exactly the look she was craving?

Long, silky smooth hair that could bounce and blow in the wind-Miranda’s hair was brittle, thin, and impossibly flat. Flawless complexions-Miranda had zits and freckles. Long, slim, tanned legs-Miranda’s thunder thighs were albino pale.

The girls bustled out of the bathroom, chattering about who had hooked up that weekend and who was feeling fat. Big surprise-unanimous responses to both.

Miranda sighed and considered trying to score some pot off the stoners in the corner, anything to calm the rising tide of anxiety she suddenly felt at the daunting prospect of finding a way to turn herself into that . Not that she wanted to be vapid, of course. But beautiful? Stylish? Skinny? The kind of girl who screams “high maintenance” but which, it seemed, was all any worthwhile guy wanted?

Yes, please.

Haven High was a small school. Claustrophobically small, it sometimes seemed to Adam. But he’d done a decent job so far of avoiding Kaia. He hadn’t spoken to her, in fact, since their last encounter. He still shuddered at the thought of it-the intense, mind-blowing sex in an abandoned motel, followed almost immediately by an utterly humiliating blow-off. What a loser he’d been. He saw that now. It was too late, of course-he’d done it, this huge, horrible thing that weighed on him, crushed him, and yet still flickered through his fantasies, taunting him with what he couldn’t have yet still, in some deep part of him, wanted.

Beth had wondered why he suddenly stopped following Kaia around and inviting her out with the group, but she had no fond feelings for Kaia herself, so hadn’t wondered very long or very loudly. And maybe she didn’t want to know.

Still, it was a small school, and he’d been bound to bump into Kaia eventually. He just hadn’t counted on a literal collision.

“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed, after spinning away from his locker and slamming into someone rushing past him down the hall. Then-“Oh, it’s you.” Suddenly, the split-second collision became, in his mind, an embrace, as if he could still feel the ghostly touch of his body pressing against hers, their hands and chests and hips awkwardly rubbing against each other, her silky hair whipping across his face.

“And it’s you, too,” she pointed out. “Where’ve you been, stranger?”

“Far away from you, which I thought was how you wanted it.” Her words to him at their last meeting echoed through his head. And the mocking laughter.

“Oh, Adam, I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.” She placed a soft hand on his chest-he pushed it away. “I don’t know what I’d do if I thought you hated me!”

“Give it up, Kaia,” he said harshly. “I’m not falling for your crap again. Find someone new to screw over.”

Kaia rolled her eyes. “Oh, right,” she scoffed. “You’re such the wounded victim, used and abused, right? You didn’t seem to mind the screwing part so much.”

“Shut up,” he hissed, suddenly aware of the students swarming around them. Watching. Listening? “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to tell anyone about that.”

“Oh, calm down. My lips are sealed. Why would I do anything to get between you and your precious Beth?”

“I appreciate that, Kaia.” He tried to ignore the disdainful edge to her voice. Kaia, he’d decided, was like a venomous snake-you just had to be very careful, stay very still, and wait her out until she got bored and went away.

“Of course,” she added, smirking, “maybe I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, against his better judgment.

“I saw your blushing rose getting cozy in the coffee shop with your supposed best friend the other day. Just thought you’d want to know.”

“Old news,” he said, affecting nonchalance. Ignoring the taste of bile. “She’s tutoring him for the SATs. I know all about it. And it’s completely innocent.” And this he believed wholeheartedly, he told himself. He had to, right?

“So I heard. Such a sweet girl, to commit her time to helping him, when she’s oh so busy. But totally innocent, of course,” she assured him, voice dripping with false sincerity. “I’m sure you’re right. Just another platonic extracurricular, like any other: yearbook, newspaper, party planning…”