Pride Read online

  “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.”

  chapter

  11

  In 500 words or less, describe something about yourself that makes you proud.

  I never knew I was afraid of heights until I was standing at the top of the mountain, looking down. The hill looked like a ninety-degree angle—and it looked bottomless. I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but I was scared. I was terrified. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I just knew I had to do it. No matter what, I had to try. So I pushed myself to the very edge, I counted to three, and then I tipped my skis forward—and I was flying!

  I’m proud of myself for making it down the hill in one piece, but that’s not what this essay’s about. I’m proud of myself for going back up to the top and trying all over again, even though I was just as terrified the second time around, and the third.

  But that’s not what this essay is about either.

  Because what I’m most proud of is the fact that I went down at all, that first time. I looked over the edge, and I was scared out of my mind. But I did it, anyway.

  I’m a quiet girl, and I live a quiet life. Not boring, not dull—just quiet. “She’s a nice girl”—people say that a lot. Also: “She always does the right thing.” “Always does what she’s supposed to do.” And I’m proud of that, too.

  But that’s not me, or at least, not all of me. Because somewhere in me, there’s someone else, someone loud and exciting. Someone looking for mountains to ski down, for all kinds of new experiences, no matter how scary they may seem at first. Every once in a while, something inside of me wants to take a chance, and do something that no one would ever expect. Trying new things, facing your fears, taking a risk—it’s not always easy. I’m still finding my way. But I know that college will be the perfect place to learn. The way I see it, going to college is like the ultimate ski slope. It’s terrifying, the great unknown—but you know that if you can just make that first jump off the edge, you’ll have an amazing ride.

  I’m ready to jump.

  Kane looked up from the page, and Beth watched him expectantly, her heart in her throat.

  “So? What do you think?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. After days of being totally blocked, she’d been suddenly inspired and had stayed up all night writing. Kane was the first person to read it. And if he thought it was stupid—and, reading it over for the hundredth time, it sounded stupider and stupider to her—she didn’t know what she would do.

  “You’re a genius!” he exclaimed, taking her in his arms. “It’s brilliant.”

  “Really? You’re not just saying that? If it’s terrible, I’d rather know now and—”

  “It’s amazing,” he insisted, cutting her off with a kiss. “You’re amazing. This is exactly the kind of corny bullshit colleges love to hear. You’re going to have them eating out of your hand.”

  “It’s not—” Beth stopped, unsure how to explain that she’d meant every word, cheesy as it may seem. But she didn’t want Kane to think less of her, and wipe that admiring look off his face. And it didn’t really matter if he’d totally misunderstood her intentions, if he believed the essay or not. He liked it—that was the important thing.

  Right?

  Kaia read over the invitation a few times and then clicked send, fully satisfied. Harper had supplied her with a list of e-mail addresses and assured her she’d put the word out that all the right people should show up—and all the wrong ones should stay home.

  It had been easier than she’d expected to snag her father’s permission for the party (sneaking out of the house was one thing—sneaking one hundred people in might have proven somewhat more difficult, so she’d
gone the more official route). Of course, she’d billed it as an elegant cocktail hour, something to keep her and her “friends” out of trouble on the big night. But after threatening him with her other suggestion—spending some quality time together, just the two of them—she suspected he would have agreed to anything. Keith Sellers cancel his annual New Year’s trip to Cabo to spend the night doing the “Father Knows Best” thing with his delinquent daughter? It was about as likely as her mother popping in for a surprise visit.

  No, Kaia was on her own—as usual—and, courtesy of Daddy, had a nice chunk of change with which to make this party worthy of Harper’s hype. The servants were holding on to the cash, of course. Kaia’s father had figured that with his credit card in hand, she’d be on the next plane back to New York. (And he was right.) Besides, better that the help hold on to the purchasing power, since they’d be the ones doing all the purchasing.

  She’d hit only one snag so far in the planning process: the list of invitees. True, Harper had supplied most of the names, but there was a wild card: Reed Sawyer. Kaia had toyed with the idea of inviting him—after all, it would be nice to have someone to kiss at midnight. Someone dark, mysterious, and handsome, whose lips lit her on fire….

  And that’s where she’d cut herself off. Reed was a toy, a plaything, something to use and discard once she’d gotten what she needed out of him. Seeing him again, thinking about him any longer, would just tempt her to forget all that—and if she wanted to keep Powell around, she couldn’t afford to forget.

  Reed didn’t know it yet, but his new year was going to be Kaia-free.

  Lucky thing, Kane supposed, that Adam’s mother had answered the phone. Adam probably would have hung up before Kane could get a word out. Mrs. Morgan—like most women—was far more accommodating.

  Maybe he’d been inspired by Beth’s corny essay. Or maybe, much as he hated to admit it, by Beth herself, those clear, shining eyes, trusting, open, always ready for a challenge. If she was willing to try something new, to take a chance—and Kane was hoping that he’d correctly interpreted her words to mean she was finally willing to take a real chance on him—so could he.

  So after leaving her house, he’d called Adam—and since Adam’s mother had pulled a Benedict Arnold, Kane now knew exactly where to find him.

  It was the first place he would have looked.

  It was a cool day, but Adam was playing shirtless, sweaty enough that Kane knew he’d been on the court all day.

  “Practice makes perfect, eh?” he called out as he approached, wincing at the sarcastic note in his voice. He could never stop himself from goading Adam on—it was so easy and, it was, after all, the only way he knew how to speak. But even he could tell it wasn’t helping. He’d joined the basketball team in hopes of reminding Adam of the good times they’d had together, thinking that the easy jock banter would help them gloss over the past. But Adam seemed to get angrier with every passing day—and, much as Kane hated to admit it to himself, the whole situation made him uncomfortable. He still didn’t think he had any reason to feel guilty, but he’d feel much better if he could persuade Adam to feel the same way.

  “What are you doing here?” Adam asked gruffly, breaking into a run, dribbling the ball downcourt, away from Kane.

  “Thought I might give you some help with your little problem,” Kane called, running after him.

  “What problem?” Adam bristled, shoving Kane away.

  “Whatever you want to call it—‘performance anxiety’?”

  Adam suddenly tripped over the ball and fell flat on his ass. Kane tried hard—if not hard enough—not to laugh. Performance anxiety indeed.

  “Who told you about that?” Adam asked hotly, standing up, grabbing the ball, and walking it back up court.

  Kane slipped it out of his hands and began dribbling away.

  “Everyone knows,” he pointed out. “Or have you already forgotten that the whole town saw you choke the other night?”

  “You’re talking about basketball?” Adam asked, visibly relieved.

  Kane launched the ball up for a perfect three-pointer and glanced over at Adam. “What did you think I was talking about?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered, chasing the ball out of bounds. “It doesn’t matter. What do you want?”

  “Like I said, I want to help.” Kane had no trouble with fake sincerity—but the real kind always came out sounding forced. Mocking.

  “I don’t need your help. And you don’t believe in it. So really, what do you want?”

  Kane steeled himself. What he was about to do, he’d never done before—but how hard could it be, right? Other guys—lesser guys—did it all the time, and Kane knew he was as tough as any of them. “I just wanted to say—” He stopped, struggling to choke out the words. It was like Beth said: You had to close your eyes. And jump. “I’m sorry.”

  Adam whipped his head around. “You’re sorry?” he said incredulously.

  “Yeah.” Kane grinned, proud of himself for making the effort—and Adam, of all people, should know exactly how much of an effort it had been. But he’d done it—and, you know? It hadn’t been all that bad. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, just because he could.

  “Gosh, Kane, I’ve never heard you apologize before,” Adam marveled. “That must have been really difficult for you.”

  “It wasn’t all that bad, really. But, you know, our friendship’s worth more than my stupid pride.”

  “Yeah, coming here, humbling yourself—that’s real love,” Adam said, and Kane suddenly gave him a closer look. Sarcasm was rare for Adam—and it showed. “I mean, you betray me, steal my girlfriend, humiliate me in front of the whole school, destroy me—but hey, you’re sorry. Do you know how much that means to me?”

  Kane said nothing.

  “It means shit!” Adam yelled, hurling the ball toward Kane’s head—who ducked just in time. “You think you can come here, say, ‘I’m sorry, bro,’ and I’m supposed to laugh it off? Now what—you, me, and Beth all go out and get drunk together? Like it’s no big deal?”

  “It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Kane pointed out. “You’re just making it into one. She’s just a girl—”

  “You would say that.” Adam shook his head and jogged over to the side of the court to grab his T-shirt and his car keys, and began stalking toward the parking lot. “I’m sorry too,” he called over his shoulder. “Sorry I was ever stupid enough to think we were friends. Sorry I ever let you into my life just so you could piss all over it. Guess what, Kane? Some mistakes you don’t make twice.”

  Kane picked up the ball that Adam had left behind and slammed it angrily into the ground. Adam wanted to sulk, Adam wanted to hate him forever? Let him. Kane had violated his own policy, had opened himself up, put himself out there for someone else—and look how he’d been rewarded. He’d tried, he’d failed—and that was it.

  Adam had at least been right about one thing, Kane thought: Some mistakes, you don’t make twice.

  “Can you believe it?” Adam asked, still fuming, hours after he’d left Kane on the basketball court.

  Harper sat in the corner of his bedroom, knees hugged to her chest. She shook her head. “No, Ad, I can’t believe it, any more than I could believe it the last ten times you told me the story.”

  Adam ignored the undercurrent of irritation in her voice—he was still too upset to give Harper’s mood much thought. He’d called her as soon as he got home, needing some solace, a sympathetic ear—and whatever had, or hadn’t, happened between them, she was always the person he turned to when he needed a friend. But here they were, sitting across the room from each other, this huge distance between them. And it was only making him feel worse.

  “Like he could just say ‘sorry’ and I’d forgive him,” Adam raged. “Like I could ever forgive him for what he did.”

  “I know. It was horrible,” Harper said mechanically.

  “Though at least he did apologize. You know what I can’t get over? Beth has never apo
logized! Never even admitted what she did. I mean, if she could just accept some responsibility—”

  “Adam!” Harper shouted suddenly. “Stop!”

  “What?” He looked over at her, suddenly noticing her red-rimmed eyes, the lines of tension around her mouth. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong is, I’m tired, and hung over, and sick of hearing this.”

  “Excuse me if I’m boring you,” he said hotly. “I just thought—”

  “Ad, I’m your best friend,” Harper said, standing up. “And as your best friend, I’m happy to listen to anything you need to say…. But as your girlfriend, I can’t listen to another word about how Kane and Beth broke your heart. If you want her back so bad, why don’t you just go and get her? What the hell are you doing here with me?”

  Adam hopped up and strode over to her, but she pushed him away.

  “I know you’re just with me as … a fallback,” Harper said, her voice breaking. “Could you make it any more obvious? I can’t be Beth for you, Adam,” she cried, hitting at his chest as he tried to pull her into an embrace. “I tried … but I just can’t.”

  “Who said I wanted you to be?” Adam asked quietly.

  “You didn’t have to say it. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Could have fooled me.” He led her over to the edge of his bed. “Harper, sit down. Please. There’s something I want to show you.”

  She sat down grudgingly, a scowl masking the tears straining at the corners of her eyes. Adam opened the closet door and began digging through a pile of junk in the back—it had to be here somewhere. He would never have thrown it away. Finally, he found it—at the bottom of an old shoe box, tucked beneath a fraying stack of baseball cards and an old Lakers cap.