Robin Wasserman - Envy

“That’s perfect.”

“Somehow, I think the vending machine cookies will be slightly less satisfying than Auntie Bourquin’s fresh-baked best, but I figured-”

“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.

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?”