Robin Wasserman: Wrath

Sweet, innocent Beth, who rescued spiders and cried at the sappy reunions in long-distance commercials, now hated them all, and none more than Harper Grace, the one pulling the strings.

“All they care about is what people think of them,” Miranda had pointed out, “so we flush their reputations and that’s it-they’re finished.”

“Any chance you want to tell me why you’re doing this?” Beth asked now.

“Now why would I do that,” Miranda replied, pulling her chair up to the computer, “when I could tell you about the time in eighth grade when Harper laughed so hard at the movies, she wet her pants?” Miranda shook her head, almost fondly, and began to type. “I had to call her mother on a pay phone to tell her to bring a new pair of underwear when she picked us up. And meanwhile…” Miranda’s voice trailed off as she concentrated on typing up the story.

“Meanwhile what?” Beth urged her, choking back laughter.

“Meanwhile, Harper was inside the theater, crawling around on the floor so that the usher wouldn’t spot her and throw her out. Eventually I had to fake an asthma attack-you know, create a diversion so she could get out without anyone spotting her.”

“Lucky for her you were there,” Beth marveled.

“Yeah?” The fond smile faded from Miranda s face. She turned away from Beth and stared at the screen, her fingers clattering loudly against the keyboard. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

Cool.

Reed Sawyer hung up the phone and kicked his feet up on the rickety coffee table-really a row of old milk crates held together with superglue and chewing gum. He brought the joint to his lips and drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes as the searing sensation filled his lungs.

She couldn’t stay away from him, that was clear.

Very cool.

“Dude, who was it?” his drummer asked, leaning his head back against the threadbare couch. “You look weird.”

“Blissed out,” the bass player agreed, taking the joint from Reed’s outstretched fingertips. “Who’s the chick?”

“No one,” Reed mumbled.

“It was her, ’ the drummer guessed, eyes gaping, and now he leaned forward on the couch. “Wasn’t it? The rich bitch?”

“Don’t call her that,” Reed snapped, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Damn.

Now they would all know.

“What are you doing with her, dude?” the bass player asked, shaking his head. “Girl like that? She’s out of your league.”

Let’s see: silky jet-black hair, long lashes, designer clothes perfectly tailored to her willowy physique, the smoothest skin he’d ever touched… yeah, as if he needed a reminder that she was out of his league.

“What the hell do you know?” Reed asked, his voice lazy and resigned. It wasn’t just the foggy halo clouding his mind or the buzz still tingling in his fingers that kept his anger at bay It was the fact that the guys were right. As if it wasn’t obvious that a grungy high school dropout-to-be and the pretty East Coast princess didn’t belong together. Not to mention the fact that she was a bitch. She treated him like he was scum and obviously thought his friends were a waste of oxygen. But still-

They fit.

“Whatever,” he said, standing up. Slowly. “I’m out of here.”

“We’ve got rehearsal,” the bass player reminded him.

“Do it without me,” Reed said shortly, knowing it didn’t matter. Every week, they got together to “rehearse.” And every week, their instruments remained piled in the corner, untouched.

Reed had resolved that tonight, they would actually play a set. But that was hours ago, before things got fuzzy-and before she had called. He threaded his way through the ramshackle living room the guys had set up, filled with furniture snagged from the town dump and empty pizza boxes no one could be bothered to throw out.

“Just forget her, dude!” one of the guys called after him. “She’ll mess you up!”

Reed just shrugged. Everything in his life was a mess; this thing with Kaia, whatever it was, would fit right in.

“I never…” Kaia paused, trying to come up with something suitably exotic. That was the problem with this game. Once you’d done everything, there was nothing left to say. “I never got arrested.”

She wasn’t surprised when Reed took a drink. That was the rule: If you’d done it, drink up. And of course he’d been arrested. He was that kind of guy.

“For what?” she asked, leaning toward him.

They were perched on the back of his father’s tow truck, at the fringe of a deserted mining complex. It was the place they’d come on their first date… if you could call it that.

Reed just pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

He shook his head again. Big surprise. He didn’t talk much. In fact, he didn’t seem to do much of anything besides smoke up, hang out with his grease monkey friends, and stare at Kaia with an intense gaze that stole her breath.

He was beneath her-just like the rest of this town, this hellhole she’d been exiled to for the year. He was nothing. Dull. Deadbeat. Disposable. Or at least he should have been.

They rarely talked. Sometimes they kissed. Often, they just sat together in the dark, breathing each other in.

It was crazy.

And it was fast becoming her only compelling reason to make it through the day.

“I never,” he began, putting down his shot glass. “I never kissed you here.”

“Liar.” Kaia caught her breath as he put his arms around her waist and kissed the long curve of her neck.

“How about here?” he murmured, lightly grazing his tongue along her skin and nibbling her earlobe.

She closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

As if from a great distance, she could hear her cell phone ringing and knew who it would be. Was it only a few weeks ago that Jack Powell had seemed the consummate prize? The handsome, mysterious French teacher who was totally off limits and totally unable to resist her-he had it all, just as Reed had nothing. So why let the phone ring and ring? Why let Powell sit in his squalid bachelor pad, wondering and waiting, while she hooked up on the back of a pickup truck?

Kaia didn’t know.

But with Reed s arms wrapped tightly around her, his curly black hair brushing her cheek, she also didn’t care.

Dear Adam, I know you said you never wanted to hear from me again.

Adam Morgan held the match over the letter and paused for a moment, mesmerized by the dancing orange flame. It burned so brightly in the desert night. He dropped the flame into the darkness-and watched it spread.

I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it before, and you won’t listen-but Fm not going to stop. I can’t, not until …

The envelope had arrived on his doorstep after dinner. She hadn’t even had the courage to stick around. Probably too afraid of what he’d say. But Adam had promised himself that he wouldn’t say anything at all. Not ever.

I know you think I betrayed you-betrayed what we had. But you have to understand, it’s only because I love you. And you love me, I know you do.

He hadn’t bothered to read it. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, he’d climbed into his car and driven out of town, down a long stretch of deserted highway. He’d pulled over to the side of the road and climbed out. Scrambled over pebbles and spiny cactus brush, with nothing to light his way but the crescent moon. Fifty yards into the wilderness, he’d stopped. Crushed the letter and flung it to the ground.

Lit the match.

If you would just let me explain, Adam. I had to get you away from her. She wasn’t right for you. She couldn’t give you what I could. She couldn’t love you like I did. Like I do. We’ve been friends forever-more than friends.You can’t give up on us. I can’t, I won’t.