Robin Wasserman: Wrath

The flame was slow, almost deliberate. It ate into the letter, blackening the edges. The pages curled in the heat. The letters swam in front of his eyes, nothing more than meaningless black crawls. None of her words meant anything now; everything she’d told him over all these years had added up to nothing but lies.

For a moment, Adam was tempted to stick his hand in the flame. Maybe a physical pain, torn and blistering flesh, would steal his attention from the other, deeper pain that refused to go away. But he kept his hand still. And the letter burned.

I’ll keep apologizing until you hear me. Until I can make you understand. I can be a better person. I can be anyone you need me to be. But I can’t do it without you.

The letter was almost fully consumed. Adam was getting cold, and knew he could stop now, stomp out the fire, and leave the remaining fragments for the animals and the elements.

But he waited, and the fire burned on.

I miss you-don’t you miss me?

And on.

I need you. We need each other.

And on.

Please.

And then there was just one smoldering fragment left, curling into the flame.

Love forever,

Harper

Adam stamped out the glowing pile of ashes and walked away.

Beth held herself perfectly still, hoping he would change his mind and disappear. She didn’t want to have to speak, but doubted she’d be able to force herself to stay silent. She didn’t want to cry, or give him any indication whatsoever that she still cared, because, of course, she did. And more than anything, she wanted to stop.

“Hi,” Adam said softly, sliding into the empty seat to her left.

If only the assembly would begin. Then there would be no chance for conversation, and Beth could pretend he wasn’t there.

She hadn’t looked in his direction yet, but she’d felt him hovering, wondering whether or not to sit down. Despite everything he’d done, it was as if a part of them was still connected. And maybe that was why she couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, longing to smooth down the windblown tufts of blond hair.

With a few words, she could have him back. “I forgive you.” That s all it would take, and she could curl up against him again, his arms warm and strong around her. She could be a “we” again.

But she’d promised herself she would never forgive him-and unlike Adam, she kept her promises.

“You’re not going to talk to me?” he asked.

Let him figure that one out for himself.

“At least look at me!”

Her lip trembled. I will not cry, she told herself.

“Fine,” he spit out. She could tell he was struggling against his temper. “Then just listen.” It’s not like she had much of a choice-but it was a long time before he spoke again.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” he whispered as he reached for her hand. She whipped it away, afraid that if she let him touch her, or if she looked into his clear blue eyes, her anger might drain away.

She willed the principal to take the stage and begin the assembly; it was her only escape.

“What do you want from me?” Adam pleaded. “I said I’m sorry. I told you it wasn’t my fault-”

“And whose fault was it?” she snapped. This was good. The more he denied, the more he evaded his responsibility, avoided how much he’d hurt her, the angrier she got. And that made things so much easier.

“Kanes,” he pleaded. “Kaia’s… Harper’s”

Beth flinched at the name. It was true, Harper had manipulated him-Adam had just been stupid enough to let her. It was Harper who’d convinced Adam that Beth was cheating on him. Harper who’d enlisted Kane to prey on Beth’s weakness and dupe her into a relationship based on lies. And, of course, it was Harper who’d swooped in to collect her prize-Adam-after he’d dumped Beth.

But even Harper couldn’t be blamed for the most painful betrayal of all. No one had forced Adam to sleep with Kaia. He had no excuse-he and Beth had been together, they’d been happy, and he’d knowingly destroyed it in one stupid night.

“Is that supposed to fix everything?” she finally asked. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“I don’t know. I just… I wanted you to know that I’m… I mean, if we could just-” He suddenly stopped, and then she did turn to face him. He was doubled over in his seat, his head plunged into his hands.

“Just stop,” she begged, forcing herself not to lay her hand against his broad back.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I still love you.”

He said it in a pained, strangled voice, without lifting his head. Beth didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Once, those words had been able to fix anything. Now they just left her feeling emptier than before.

“I love you,” he said again.

And now Beth did something she’d once vowed never to do, not to Adam.

“I don’t care.”

She lied.

In the old days, Miranda and Harper would have skipped the assembly, taking it as a good excuse to sneak off to the parking lot for a smoke-and-bitch session about their least favorite people (Meaning: 90 percent of the student body).

But these weren’t the old days. Too bad Harper didn’t seem to notice.

“Rand, let’s get out of here, what do you say?”

Harper had popped up from behind her seat, and Miranda stifled the impulse to swat her away like a mosquito she’d just caught draining her blood.

“I’d say forget it,” she replied wearily, wishing she had the discipline to keep her mouth shut. The silent treatment had never been her thing. It was hard enough to just stand her ground with Harper-she’d been forgiving her for years, like a bad habit. But this time…

All she had to do was picture Kane-his tall, lean body, his knowing grin, his silky voice-and after all those years of fantasizing, his image sprang easily to mind. As did the echo of Harper’s promise: “You and Kane-it’s a done deal. I swear.”

And what had she done instead? Pushed him on Beth, all to serve her own agenda. It was all about Harper, and always had been.

Harper couldn’t even be bothered to deliver a real apology. Sure, she’d groveled for a couple days, but when Miranda stood firm, she’d resorted to a bravado that was as insulting as it was ineffective. Miranda could barely stand to watch her, putting on this gruesome show as if nothing had ever happened.

“Go find someone else to screw over,” Miranda snapped. “I’m done.”

“That’s great,” Harper said. “Very nice way to treat your best friend. What ever happened to ‘forgive and forget’?”

“Not my style,” Miranda muttered.

“Right-as if you have any style.”

Inside, Miranda cringed, and glanced down at her outfit, a plain white T-shirt and cheap Wal-Mart jeans. Same as yesterday, same as the day before. Five years as sidekick to Haven s alpha girl and Miranda had somehow remained, to the end, cool by association, and association only. But Harper had never before flung the bitter truth in her face.

“I’d rather have no style than no class,” Miranda replied pointedly. Harper wanted to jab at a soft spot? Two could play that game. And Harper, who still longed for the days when her family had ruled the town, and still chafed at the humiliating turn the Graces had taken, from princely robber barons to penny-pinching dry cleaners-Harper was nothing if not class conscious.

“I have more class-”

“All you’ve got,” Miranda interrupted, “is a reputation. For now.”

“Is that a threat?” Harper sneered, and for the first time, Miranda knew how it felt to be on the other end of Harper’s poisonous gaze. But it only strengthened her resolve. She’d been wondering whether the little revenge plot hatched with Beth was too much, had gone too far-what a waste of worry. Obviously, Harper had put their friendship behind her. Miranda could-and would-do the same.