Robin Wasserman - Lust

“Better now.” She could almost hear the smirk in his voice, and she knew that his deep brown eyes were twinkling beneath an ironically raised eyebrow. She’d memorized his face, and the minute movements it made, well enough that she could close her eyes and see him peering back at her. Which, on a ten-point scale, upped her nervousness level to about a thousand.

Is he flirting with me? she wondered as always-or was this just the only way Kane knew how to talk to people? After all, he also “flirted” with the old woman who ran the cash register in the cafeteria, and occasionally the bald guy with the unnecessary hairnet who ladled out the food from behind the counter. Maybe he just couldn’t help himself.

“I’m glad I could bring a little ray of light into your dark and lonely life,” she told him, an electric thrill running through her when she scored a laugh.

“So what’s up?” he asked, chuckling. “Or did you just miss the sound of my voice?”

“You wish. No, I’m calling because-” Miranda stopped, the words choking in her throat.

Because I want to ask you to the dance .

Because I want to know whether you had a date yet for the dance .

Because I want to come over there and rip off all of your clothes .

“Because, uh, I was wondering if, I mean, do you have-”

“Spit it out, I’ve got a hot date coming over,” he joked. Probably it was a joke.

“Do you have-do you know which chapter we were supposed to read for Setlow’s class?” God, she hated herself sometimes. It was an asinine excuse for calling him, which, she supposed, was appropriate, since it had been asinine to call in the first place. She looked down at herself in disgust, at the oversized T-shirt and boxers she’d thrown on after dinner, her lying-around-and-watching-TV outfit. Or, the way things were going, more like her boring, frumpy, destined-to-grow-up-into-an-old-maid-and-die-fat-and-alone outfit. A fate Miranda supposed she deserved, since she apparently didn’t have the nerve to do anything about it.

“You called me to check up on the homework?” Kane asked incredulously. “Stevens, are you feeling okay? Taken any recreational drugs lately?”

She laughed shakily. At least he’d bought it. She didn’t know whether to be angry at herself for chickening out, or grateful that whatever insanity had convinced her he might be interested had subsided before she could make a complete fool of herself.

“Miranda, you still with me?” he asked, when she didn’t respond.

“No, yeah, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid. I’d better go,” she babbled, all in one ragged breath, and snapped the phone shut before he could say anything else.

Stupid was right.

Adam sat in his empty living room, staring at the darkened screen of the TV. The phone rested on his lap, as it had for the last half hour, ever since he’d flipped off the TV in disgust, midway through some crappy sitcom. He’d picked up the phone, determined to make things right. And then he’d put it down. He’d gone through the pointless routine again and again, even dialed part of the number a few times, but couldn’t bring himself to finish.

He wanted to apologize to Beth, of course he did. But he didn’t know what to say. He still wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for, to be honest, or even whether he was the one who should be apologizing in the first place. His mother often claimed that the man was always the one who should be apologizing-and that was certainly his father’s way. Adam Morgan Sr. had apologized and apologized, but it was, Adam supposed, never enough. At least it hadn’t been enough to stop his mother from throwing plates at his father’s head, or sneaking a gulp from an ever-present bottle of scotch when she thought her young son wasn’t looking. Adam resolved-not for the first time-that there was no way he would ever model his relationship after his parents’ short-lived marriage. Better to die alone than go down that path.

Still, Adam reasoned, he’d obviously done something wrong. Hurt Beth in some way. And hurting someone he loved was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do.

He picked up the phone. Dialed the familiar number. Listened to it ring.

“Hello?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again.

Hung up.

Harper had gym first period the next morning. Though this was normally, and with little competition, the bane of her week, she was actually looking forward to it this time-it would give her just the opportunity she needed. Kane was stuck in gym too-killing time on the basketball courts while the girls paraded lazily around the tiny track. The geniuses behind Haven High’s physical education program had a somewhat lackadaisical attitude when it came to female participation. The guys had a rigidly determined schedule: football one week, soccer the next, running sprints the week after that. If the girls, on the other hand, chose to opt out of the period-or because of their periods-and do some “power walking” around the track instead, that was fine.

Harper knew it was sexist and offensive and she should probably lead a schoolwide campaign to remedy the problem… but since she hated gym even more than she loved muckraking, she had little incentive to do so. Besides, sexism sometimes came in handy-this morning, for instance. As she stood in the middle of the ragged field with the rest of the girls, waiting for the teacher to explain the morning’s paltry athletic task, she figured she’d soon have no problem sneaking off, grabbing Kane, and doing Miranda’s dirty work for her.

It was no surprise that Miranda had chickened out the night before. The only surprise was that Miranda had even entertained the idea of asking Kane out in the first place. Harper had only suggested it as a joke, an empty dare. She’d never expected Miranda to actually buy into the idea.

Small wonder that she hadn’t followed through.

“Kane,” Harper called to him, once she’d made it safely over to the courts. She poked her face through the chainlink fence and waggled her fingers at him. “Over here! I need you for a minute.”

Kane tossed in an effortless layup that swished through the net and jogged over to join her.

“What’s up, lover?” he asked, his familiar smirk already painted across his face. (Kane’s motto: Never leave home without it.) Only Kane could still look debonair in a Haven High gym uniform-bright orange T-shirt and ungainly brown shorts. Harper wasn’t too thrilled to be seen out in public in the female version, especially by the entire guys’ gym class, but sometimes you had to make sacrifices for your best friend. Plus, the T-shirt was a couple of sizes too small and she knew that despite the hideous color, it showed off more than a few of her best attributes. Kane, for one, blatantly sizing her up, didn’t seem to mind.

“Who are you taking to the stupid dance next week?” she asked, skipping the small talk.

“Ah, I don’t know if I’m even going,” he told her, shrugging. “I’m sick of the girls here-great asses but no spines.” He paused for a moment, then widened his eyes in a purposely exaggerated look of surprise. “Why, Grace, was that just your clumsy way of asking me out? I’m flattered, I’m flabbergasted, I’m-”

“An idiot, I know,” she cut in. “Now shut up.” She took a quick look around, making sure no one could overhear them. While a few of Kane’s cronies had stopped shooting hoops and were clustered together on the court looking over at the two of them, they were safely out of earshot. “Look, I think you should ask Miranda.”

Kane burst into laughter.

“And why the hell would I do that?”