Robin Wasserman - Pride

“I’d have to pay for it myself,” Harper finished with him. Old news. Unless-what if they had somehow found out that she’d quit her job?

“We’ve been watching you very carefully these last few weeks, and we want to tell you-”

Here it came.

“We’re so very proud of you, Harper.”

“What?”

“We know how much you hated the idea of having a job, honey,” her mother explained. “And to see you going off to work every day-”

“On your winter vacation, no less!” her father chimed in.

“We just want you to know, sweetie, that we really respect what you’ve shown you can do.”

“Your mother and I have talked it over and we’ve decided that, as a reward, if you make enough to pay us back for half the ski trip, we’ll cover the other half.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” Harper stuttered, feeling her lies bubbling up inside of her, along with her lunch. “Thank you?”

“You don’t have to thank us, honey.” Her mother came over to offer her a warm hug. “We’re just so happy to have a daughter who’s not afraid of a little hard work. I always knew that if you really put your mind to something, you’d be able to accomplish anything.”

Harper felt like shit. Lower than shit. Her parents were treating her like a superhero-some hero. What were her special powers: the ability to destroy relationships in a single bound? The power to make her real, lying, cheating self disappear?

Her parents had certainly bought in to her secret identity-and, for the moment, so had Adam. But it was a small town, and she wasn’t invincible. How long would it be, Harper wondered, before the truth came out?

“I can’t wait to see who you really are.”

Miranda couldn’t forget his words, couldn’t stop repeating them to herself. They were so exciting-and terrifying. What if he took one look and ran away in the other direction? What if he was expecting someone totally different: someone tall, skinny, confident? And instead he ended up with Miranda. Who wouldn’t be disappointed? Who wouldn’t feel cheated?

Beneath all the self-deprecation, Miranda still found time to wonder-what was he really like? What kind of guy needed to pick up girls on the Internet? Was there such a thing as a cool, artsy, intelligent, single guy? Or was ReadItAndWeep just a troll-a pale, gawky, weirdo just looking to get laid?

What were the odds that he would be good enough for her-and if he was, that she would be good enough for him?

A million to one seemed a cautious guess.

And yet-sometimes, Miranda reminded herself, you’ve got to take a chance. So she’d made the date. She’d gotten dressed in her best casual-but hopefully hot-outfit: slimming dark jeans, with a lacy, see-through black top; brushed her long, lank hair into something approximating silky sheen; dug out her tallest pair of high heels; and taken one last look in the mirror. Two days on the slopes had failed to tan her pale skin, but in certain lights, she had an arguably healthy glow. Good enough.

She took a deep breath and set off for Bourquin’s Coffee Shop to meet the man of her dreams. Or, at least, of her e-mails.

She’d just left her house when the phone rang. Miranda almost didn’t answer. If it was him, backing out at the last minute, did she really want to know? And then she remembered: They hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. She was safe. Or so she thought.

“Hello?”

“Rand… Rand, I need you.”

“Harper? Are you-what’s going on?”

Harper’s voice sounded strange, muffled, her words broken by hiccuping pauses.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Rand, I just-I’m a terrible person, my life is shit, I’m-”

“Slow down, Harper, please, just-calm down.” Was she crying? Impossible. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you… It doesn’t matter. I just-I can’t be alone right now. Rand-can I come over?”

“Uh… I’m kind of… out, right now, Harper.”

“Oh.” She said it in such a small, pitiful voice, Miranda cringed. “Okay, I guess I’ll just talk to you”-she sniffed and, Miranda thought, might even have whimpered-“later. Bye.”

“Harper, wait!” Miranda sighed, weighing her options. She could hang up. This was probably just another Harper Grace melodrama-it would blow over in a few hours. And, given the number of times Harper had ditched her in her time of need, there would be a certain poetic justice in leaving her hanging. Maybe it was time to put her own life first, for once.

On the other hand… this was Harper, her best friend. And that had to mean something, right? She’d never heard Harper like this before, vulnerable, needy. And, Miranda had to admit, it felt pretty good. Like Harper had finally figured out how desperately she needed the kind of friendship that only Miranda could provide.

“I’m about five minutes from home, Harper,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret this. “You can come over whenever you need to.”

“Thanks, Rand, you’re the best. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

It felt so good to hear those words-almost good enough to make Miranda forget about the mystery man who was sitting in the back of the coffee shop waiting for the girl with red hair and a spunky sense of humor. The girl who would never show up, who didn’t have a number to call. She’d e-mail him to explain, she promised herself. And he’d understand. He would have to.

Four hours later, holding Harper’s hair as she leaned over the toilet, puking up a night’s worth of Screwdrivers, Miranda was no longer so sure she wanted this best friend gig after all.

Harper had shown up half drunk and, after an hour or so at Miranda’s, had gone the rest of the way. Her parents were, thankfully, out for the night and her sister was sleeping over a friend’s house-so there was no one but Miranda to witness Harper’s meltdown, and no one but Miranda to clean up the mess.

The most frustrating thing was that Harper wouldn’t tell her anything about what was wrong. Their conversations wandered around in lazy circles, as unable to walk a straight line as Harper was.

“He doesn’t love me,” Harper would sob.

“Who?”

“Adam. He thinks I’m a slut. I am a slut. He hates me.”

“What are you talking about? Of course he doesn’t-”

“Everyone hates me. I’m going to be all alone. When they find out what I did.”

“Who?”

“My parents. Adam. Beth. You. Everyone. You’ll all hate me. You should hate me. I’m horrible.”

“But what did you do?” Miranda asked, again and again, mystified.

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know-it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, because he doesn’t want me. He doesn’t love me.”

And then the whole thing started all over again.

Until the puking began. All that vodka on an empty stomach-Harper should have known better. Or Miranda should have known better for her.

Finally, Harper stood up. Slow, unsteady on her feet, and stumbling back to Miranda’s room, flopping down, facefirst, on the bed. Miranda forced her to turn over on her side, forced her to drink a little water.

“What will I do without you, Rand?” Harper asked, moaning with the effort of having to move.

“You’ll never have to find out,” Miranda said soothingly, taking off Harper’s shoes and covering her with a light blanket. She settled into a chair by the bed, planning to stay up and watch Harper breathe. Just to make sure everything was all right.

“No, you’ll leave me, when you find out,” Harper whimpered. “You all will.”

“Never,” Miranda swore.

“No.” Harper sighed, and closed her eyes. “Soon.”