Robin Wasserman - Lust

Harper smacked him on the shoulder.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked irritably. “Why wouldn’t you do that?”

“Harper, it’s Miranda ,” he protested.

She stared blankly at him.

“I mean, she’s great and all-smart, fun-”

“Beautiful, witty, a great dancer,” Harper continued.

“Yeah, whatever-but it’s still Miranda.” He rolled his eyes, but Harper just looked at him, her face betraying no expression. “As in ‘Miranda, can I copy your math homework?’” he continued. “Or ‘Miranda, what’s a seven-letter word for sarcastic?’, not ‘Miranda, how I love to lick whipped cream off your breasts. ’”

Harper took a quick step back.

“Please, please tell me you’ve never actually said those words to a girl,” she begged him.

“ Woman , actually,” he bragged.

“God, you’re pathetic. And now that image is burned into my brain. Thanks.”

He just smiled at her, the picture of innocence.

“So you can see why I’m not going to ask her, right, Grace?” He paused, and then a glimmer of understanding dawned on his face. “Why’d you ask, anyway-does she have a little crush on me or something?”

He started to laugh again, but she cut him off quickly.

“As if she’d go for an idiot like you-no, I was trying to do you a favor,” Harper said, thinking fast. “I figured you’ve probably had your fill of bimbos by now. Obviously, I was wrong.” And she began to walk away. Even pretending to jog around a track would be better than this.

“Harper, wait!” he called after her. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you on exactly that topic,” he said conspiratorially once she’d turned back around.

“Bimbos?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Being fed up with them. I’ve got my eye on someone new, and I think you’re just the girl to help me get her.”

“The great Kane Geary-actually admitting he needs someone’s help?” Harper was still disgusted-but also intrigued. “And who is this unapproachable goddess?”

“Beth.” Kane had the grace to look at least slightly abashed.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Harper swore. What was it about the Bland One that made her so irresistible? “Why would I want to help you with that?” she asked in a more measured voice. “Adam’s one of my best friends-and, incidentally, I thought he was one of yours, too. I’m supposed to help you steal his girlfriend?”

Now it was Kane’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Come on, Harper, I think we both know why you’d have an interest in breaking up Ken and Barbie-do you really need me to say it out loud?”

Harper feigned ignorance, said nothing.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, Grace. I know you want this as much as I do-and there’s no one else I’d rather have on my side. Who’s more devious than you?”

“Flattering as that is…” Harper murmured, her mind spinning through options at a furious speed. Kane and Beth… It was true that there was only one person at Haven High more devious than Harper: Kane himself. If he’d targeted Beth as his next conquest-and if the two of them worked together…

And then she remembered Miranda. And the promise she’d made.

“Sorry, Kane.” And she was-more than she could allow herself to let on. “Much as I’d like to take part in your sordid little plot, I think I’ll sit this one out. I do have a few principles, you know.”

Kane looked skeptical. Even more so than usual.

“Doesn’t sound like the Harper I know.” He shrugged. “Well, I’ll still be here when you change your mind. And trust me, Grace: You will.”

“He said he doesn’t really see you that way.”

The words were still echoing through Miranda’s mind. She pressed herself against the locked door of the bathroom stall, trying to slow her panicky breathing.

Harper seemed to think there was still hope, that Kane just needed to see the light-that he thought Miranda was smart, beautiful, funny, etc.

Whatever.

Miranda knew the truth and-she should just admit it to herself-she’d known it all along. Kane could never be interested in someone like her. She was too pale, too bland, too ugly-too everything. And, on the other hand, just not enough.

Harper Grace’s loyal sidekick. Everyone’s best pal. Good for a joke-and not much else.

Miranda had nodded calmly when Harper sat her down at lunch and gave her the bad news, then said, with a wry smile, “Well, his loss, right?”

That was her thing, after all. Living on the surface, never taking things too hard, never letting bad news knock her off stride, the voice of reason and moderation to Harper’s nonstop drama. Always neurotic, but always staying just a few feet back from the edge. Harper was the one who lived life on the brink. Miranda just watched.

She’d lasted ten minutes. One minute of deliberate deep breathing as Harper told her the bad news, and one minute of concerted effort to keep her face perfectly still and the tears from falling as Harper tried to console her. Two minutes of laughing it off, to convince Harper that consolation was uncalled for. Five minutes of forced gaiety when a group of girls sat down with them and began gossiping about homework and music videos and what they were planning to wear to the dance next week. And one minute of torture, as she pushed the food back and forth on her tray, blood thumping in her ears loudly enough to drown out the chatter swirling around her, the claustrophobic panic boiling within her threatening to burst out. Almost one minute too many, and that’s when she’d left-just in time.

She’d pushed herself back from the table, walked slowly out of the cafeteria, and raced down the hallway to the nearest girls’ bathroom. It was only after she’d brushed past the two skater punks smoking by the sinks and slammed herself inside one of the stalls that she’d allowed herself to burst into silent tears.

Chest heaving, she berated herself for getting her hopes up, for thinking she had a chance. Not with a guy like that.

Lester Lawrence, captain of the chess team, who’d sent her one love letter, written in iambic pentameter, every week for a year? Vince Weiss, who’d taken her to the Starview Theater’s annual showing of It’s a Wonderful Life , spent the first hour trying to devour her with his large, saliva-covered lips and the second hour trying, unsuccessfully, to pick his gum out of her hair?

That was her league. That was her life.

Miranda felt her stomach churning and regretted the two brownies she’d scarfed down in the cafeteria, a chocolate chaser for the fries and meat loaf. Harper always lost her appetite when she was nervous or upset, but Miranda had no such luck. No crisis was too small, no emotional tailspin too shallow that Miranda’s appetite didn’t decide her woes deserved a piece of cake.

Because when you’re truly upset, she thought bitterly, turning yourself into a fat, ugly blob is just what you need to make yourself feel better .

She sagged against the cool wall of the stall and noticed, among the graffiti advising “Lacey” to “suck this” and suggesting that all guys were either “dicks,” “pigs,” or, in a nice display of creativity, “bottom-dwelling, scumsucking creatures of darkness,” a new warning etched into the plastic:“Remember, girls:This is a no purging zone!:)”

Skinny, sanctimonious bitch, Miranda thought.

It was the smiley face that really got her-she could imagine the girl’s perky voice warning of the evils of eating disorders and the benefits of a healthy diet. As if she, whoever she was, knew anything about-well, anything.

With a grim smile, Miranda pulled out her thickest black pen and scribbled over the “no” in “no purging zone.”