Lust - 1 (10 page)

Harper rol ed her eyes in exasperation. “Rand, I’m your best friend,” she pointed out. “Plus, and more importantly, I’m not blind. Of course I knew. I’ve just been waiting for you to break the news.” She laughed. “Big secret. Right.”

Miranda had to remind herself to breathe. If Harper had figured it out—if it was so obvious …

“Uh … do you think that—does everyone know?” she asked in a smal voice.

Meaning, of course, does
he
know?

“No, no, I’m sure they don’t,” Harper instantly assured her, realizing she’d sent her friend into total crisis mode. “But what’s the big deal, anyway? He’s got to know eventual y. I mean, are you picturing ramming your tongue down his throat and then taking a time-out to say, ‘But don’t get me wrong, Kane, I just like you as a friend’?”

“Harper!” A bright red blush spread across Miranda’s face—and, judging from the warm tingling she felt from the top of her head to her fingertips and toes—it didn’t stop there.

“What?” Harper grinned and stuck her tongue out at Miranda. “You know you want to.”

Miranda said nothing, just closed her eyes and began massaging her temples as Harper dissolved into laughter. This could go on al afternoon.

“Okay, okay,” Harper choked out through her giggles. “I’l stop, I promise. But seriously, maybe you should just go for it. Tel him.”

“Like you’ve told Adam?” That was sure to shut her up in a hurry.

“Point taken.” But Harper was stymied only for a moment. “Okay, Plan B. We—by which I mean I, in my capacity as best friend and master planner—figure out a way to get the two of you together.”

“You real y think he’d go for me?” Miranda asked dubiously.

“He’d be crazy not to.”

“Um, great, but you’re my best friend—you have to say that,” Miranda pointed out. “Now let’s talk real-world possibilities.”

“Real world, serious answer, I think it could happen,” Harper assured her, without a hint of humor. “And I’m going to make it happen.
Someone’s
love life should work out this year, and since mine may be screwed beyond repair, looks like it’s your lucky day.”

“Can you imagine? Me and Kane.” Miranda sighed. She could—and often did—imagine it pretty wel .

“Personal y, it’s not clear to me what you see in the guy,” Harper replied. “I mean, I love him and al , but he’s kind of an asshole.”

“But—”

Harper held up a hand to stop her. “Hey, if it’s what you want, it’s what I want. I swear to do whatever I can to make him
your
asshole.”

“You swear?”

Harper gazed at her solemnly for a moment, then placed her right hand over her heart and held her left hand up in midair, as if swearing in as a courtroom witness.

“Cross my heart and hope to die, may al my hair fal out if I lie,” she said in a loud and deep voice, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing.

Miranda giggled at the sound of the oath they’d repeated to each other so frequently as kids, when a bad hair day had seemed like the worst punishment the world could dish out.

“Hair swear?” she asked Harper with mock solemnity, extending her right pinkie finger. “Are you sure?”

“Hair swear,” Harper repeated, linking her pinkie with Miranda. “You and Kane—it’s a done deal.”

And they shook on it.

It had become a routine. Every Wednesday, Adam would meet Beth after her English class and they would sneak off to have lunch together, a private picnic in a secluded dusty knol just off the main quad. They’d discovered it the year before—ful of overgrown weeds and bordered by a rusted wire fence on one side and a concrete slab on the other, it wasn’t the most romantic spot in the world. But what it lacked in ambience, it more than made up for in convenience and privacy. Some weeks, their Wednesday picnic was real y the only time Adam got to see Beth, got her ful attention. Other days she might have lunch in the yearbook office, or he would have lunch with the guys on the swim, basketbal , or lacrosse team (depending on the season). Then she would have to babysit after school, he would have practice, she had dinner with the folks, he had pizza on the leather recliner while watching
Elimidate
—sometimes it seemed their busy schedules were conspiring to break them up, but Wednesdays? Those were sacred. Untouchable.

They would sprawl atop an old picnic blanket and lay out a spread blessedly devoid of cafeteria food: bread, cheese, fresh fruit. Beth was too nervous to bring any wine or beer onto school grounds, despite the fact that as far as they knew, their private hideaway had never been discovered—but to keep him from whining about the lack of il icit substances, she usual y showed up with a Tupperware container fil ed with homemade brownies or freshly baked banana bread. It was a fine compromise. They would eat, they would talk, they would kiss—and then the bel would ring and they would go back to their crowded and busy lives.

As soon as he arrived outside the classroom, Adam caught sight of Beth amidst the wave of students pouring out. He raised his hand to wave hel o, then quickly lowered it again, taking a moment just to watch from a distance as she chatted with her friends, tossing her head back and laughing, her blond hair swinging, her arms whirling through the air as she made some passionate point. Sometimes he stil couldn’t believe she was al his.

Soon her friends had taken off down the hal way, and Beth stood alone in front of the door, digging through her bag for something and waiting for her boyfriend to show up. As quietly as he could, Adam crept up behind her and gently laid his hands on her waist, whirling her around and into his arms before she’d even realized he was there.

“Hi,” she whispered, giving him a soft kiss. “I’ve been waiting to do that al day.”

“I know what you mean,” he agreed, and kissed her again, then pul ed her into a warm embrace. He breathed in deeply, burying his face in her hair.

It always smel ed so good—like lilacs, she’d told him once, but that didn’t mean much to him. Al he knew was that it smel ed sweet and pure—and that it brushed against his face like a fresh summer breeze.

Not that you’d ever catch him saying any of that corny shit out loud, of course.

“You look great today, you know that?” he said instead, stepping back a foot so he could take a good, long look.

Adam had long ago learned that greeting a girl with a kiss and a compliment was a sure ticket for success (you didn’t get to be homecoming king by being oblivious). But Beth made it easy. She was a beautiful girl, and today— unusual for her—she was wearing a light coating of makeup that made her lashes look luxurious and her lips shimmery and moist.

And the light blue miniskirt—the incredibly
short
light blue miniskirt—perfectly matched her sparkling eyes. It showed off a few other high-quality attributes, as wel .

“
Really
good,” Adam repeated, kissing her again.

“Thanks,” she said, pleased. She twirled around, modeling the look.

“What’s the special occasion?” he asked. “Did your meeting get cancel ed? Is our date back on?”

Beth quickly looked away.

“No—no, I stil have to go. I just felt like getting a little dressed up today, that’s al .”

“Good choice,” he told her, then was quick to add, “Not that you don’t always look beautiful, of course.”

“Nice save,” she said, laughing. “Flattery wil get you everywhere.”

She leaned in to give him another kiss, a soft, deep kiss, then nibbled on his lip for a moment and pul ed back, giving him a long, appraising look.

“In fact,” she continued, her hand tracing its way down the curve of his back and pausing just below the waistband of his jeans, “I wish we could just skip lunch, cut out of here, and I could take you home right now.”

It sounded like a good idea to Adam, but he knew better than to suggest it—Beth had never cut a day of school in her life. Even if her hand was continuing its investigations and her other hand had begun twirling its way through his unruly hair, lightly tickling the nape of his neck. It was maddening. Maybe this
was
the right moment to suggest …

“Speaking of—you know,” he waggled his eyebrows and gave her an exaggeratedly lascivious leer, “turns out my mothers going out of town next week. So I’l have the place al to myself, and I figured …”

His arms stil around her, he could feel Beth tense up.

“You figured what?” she asked cool y.

“Wel , I know you’ve got issues with, you know, you’re always afraid that we’re going to get, you know, interrupted—and I thought maybe if we had some alone time, that we could—that you would—”

“That I would what?” she hissed, glancing around at the crowd of students stil mil ing around them. “That I would forget al about my stupid ‘issues’ and just give you what you want?” She pushed him away.

“Hey, I just thought—”

“I’m sure you did. I’m sure it’s al you ever think about—but why don’t you think about what
I
want, for once?”

“That’s not fair, Beth,” Adam protested. How had the conversation gotten away from him so quickly? “I’m
always
thinking about what you want. Why are you getting so uptight about this?” He lowered his voice. “If
that’s
al I wanted, it’s not like I couldn’t find it somewhere else.” Oops.

He knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that it had been the wrong thing to say. The absolute worst possible choice. But if he hadn’t, the blood rising to Beth’s face, the thin, angry line her lips made pressed together, and the haste with which she was backing away from him would al have been a pretty decent tip-off.

“If that’s how you feel—”

“I’m sorry!” he pleaded hastily. “Come on, please, can we talk about this? Can we just have lunch and talk about this?”

“I’m not hungry anymore. But don’t worry, I’m sure you can find
someone else
. Someone less
uptight
.” She spit out the words and stalked away.

“I don’t want someone else—I want you,” Adam said plaintively.

But there was no one left to hear him.

By the end of the day Beth had pretty much calmed down—though every time she thought of Adam, her muscles tensed and her breath quickened, the anger surging through her once again. She couldn’t decide—was she angrier at him or at herself? Either way, she was doing her best to keep her mind on something else.

Like, say, Mr. Powel .

Jack.

Okay, so it wasn’t a total coincidence that she’d labored for an hour over her hair (silky, straight, and hanging free, with two thin braids pul ed around from the front and tied together with a light blue ribbon), experimented with some new makeup, and donned her cutest miniskirt on the day of her one-on-one meeting with the newspaper adviser.

“Deep in thought already?” Mr. Powel asked, stepping into the tiny newspaper office. “Hope I haven’t missed any strokes of genius.” Beth laughed and blushed.

“No, Mr. Powel .” He gave her a stern look. “I mean,
Jack
, don’t worry, the genius is waiting for you.”

“Wel , then, wait no longer. Your inspiration has arrived! Let’s get to work.” He sat down next to her and began talking animatedly about his—no,
their
—plans.

They were supposed to be putting together a new layout for the paper, figuring out which fonts and photo borders they wanted to use, where to stick the comic strips and the lunch menus. They were supposed to be debating how large the headlines should be and whether the column “A Day in the Life of a Cheerleader” real y belonged in the sports section.

Supposed
to be, but Beth wasn’t having too much luck with the whole concentration thing. She sat in front of the computer, an old Mac from the nineties that she had persuaded the school to donate to the floundering newspaper, even though it could barely run the design program they used for the layout. Mr. Powel stood behind her, close enough that she could smel his cologne—something mysterious and European—close enough that she could feel his presence without having to turn around. And then there were the moments when she needed him to look closely at something on the screen, and he would lean down, sometimes placing his hands on her shoulders for balance, and peer over her shoulder, his stubbly cheek only inches from hers. He would stare at the screen, and she, out of the corner of her eye, would stare at his angular profile, wishing the moment would never end.

Beth knew she was being sil y, that despite al the joking around, despite the whole first-name-basis thing, despite the fact that last time they had ended up talking together for hours, not just about the newspaper or French class, but about politics, movies,
life
—despite al that, he was a teacher and she was a student. He was an adult—worldly, cosmopolitan, bril iant, handsome—and she was just a kid. Nothing would ever actual y
happen
. Of course not. So there was no reason whatsoever to feel guilty about having a little crush—or occasional y wishing that her boyfriend would be a little more like Mr. Powel and a little less like, wel , Adam.

Besides, it’s not like she was some pathetic twelve-year-old drawing hearts around his name in her notebook or dreaming about how good their names sounded together (although “Beth Powel ” did have a nice ring to it …).

Okay, so she was being ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. She should forget about the whole stupid thing, focus on her work, on the newspaper, on her
real
relationship. She should stop wasting so much mental real estate on juvenile fantasies.

But stil , she thought, crossing one leg over the other in what she admittedly hoped was a seductive shift in position, she was glad she’d worn the miniskirt today.

After al , it never hurt to look your best ….