Envy Page 5

  Harper flicked her hair away from her face and giggled. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Can I get that soda now?” Adam cut in.

  Chip studiously ignored him. “So, when you gonna let me take you out again, gorgeous?”

  “Sooner than you think,” Harper said playfully, noting the horrified look Adam shot her. “When Prada goes on sale at Wal-Mart” would have been a more accurate response—Harper shuddered, remembering the hot blast of Chip’s garlicky breath on her neck—but that was no reason to spoil all the fun.

  “Seriously, my soda?” Adam growled.

  “Dude, tell your friend here to chill out,” Chip complained. “What are you doing with him, anyway? Sweet piece of ass like you shouldn’t be wasting your time with Joe Quarterback.”

  Adam jumped off his stool and took a menacing step toward the bar, where he loomed over the twerpy Chip, who, even in his pseudo-hip platform sneakers still looked about as tall as his name implied. “What did you call her?” Adam asked dangerously.

  Chip seemed too stoned—or too stupid—to notice the tone. Harper smiled and sat back, ready to watch the show.

  “What, you telling me you don’t want to hit that?” Chip asked, gesturing toward Harper. “I know I did—and let me tell you, once isn’t enough.”

  Adam opened his mouth and shut it again, whirling on Harper.

  “Are you telling me that you and, and this—” He turned back to Chip, groping for the right words. Harper could have supplied a few choice ones, all accurate—pipsqueak, mouthbreather, pencil dick—but this was Adam’s show.

  “Look, asshole, say something like that about her again, and I’ll—”

  “Like what?” Chip sneered up at him. “Like what a luscious body she has? How good she looks in those jeans? Or how good she looks out of them?”

  “That’s it. We’re getting out of here.” Adam pulled Harper off the stool with one hand and grabbed his wallet with the other. He tore out a five-dollar bill and threw it down on the bar.

  Chip slid it back toward him roughly.

  “Oh no, my treat.”

  “Take it,” Adam growled, pushing it back toward him.

  “I said, it’s on me.”

  “You know what? Have it your way.” Adam grabbed the bill back and lifted Harper’s half-full glass of beer in a mock toast. “It’s on you.” And he dumped the beer on Chip’s head, grabbing Harper and pulling her out of the bar before the dim-witted loser’s reflexes had time to kick him into motion.

  “What the hell did you just do in there, Ad?” Harper asked, gasping with laughter, once they were safely out in the parking lot. “I can never show my face in there again!”

  “He was asking for it,” Adam said, stone-faced. “And you!” He shook his head. “I know you’ve dated some losers in your time, but this guy?”

  “Well, Chip’s an idiot,” Harper admitted, “but he’s got a few other things going for him.”

  “Stop.” Adam lightly covered her mouth with his hand. “Please, I don’t want to hear it.”

  She batted her eyelashes up at him. “What? Jealous?”

  “Oh, please,” he scoffed. “Just get in the car.”

  She laughed, and did as he said. She didn’t have to press the point—because she knew she was right.

  He’d fought for her honor.

  He’d been jealous, jealous of the idea of her with another guy.

  Which meant that somewhere in that thick and oblivious head of his was buried the knowledge that she really belonged to him. That somewhere beneath all those layers of puppy dog love for Beth and all that “just friends” bullshit he reserved for Harper, he wanted something more.

  He wanted her.

  She knew it.

  He just needed a little push in the right direction. And he was about to get it.

  chapter

  4

  Kaia skipped lunch on Monday. It was no big loss. After a month in this hick-filled hellhole, she’d learned that the less Grace-produced food ingested, the better. Besides, Kaia had other things on her mind. One in particular.

  He wasn’t in his classroom, but she found him a few minutes later in the so-called “faculty lounge,” really a dark, oversize closet with a few threadbare couches and a malfunctioning coffee machine.

  Students weren’t allowed in the room—it was to be a sanctuary for the underpaid burnouts whose snoozing students failed to see the applicability of algebra to a future career in tractor-pulling, or the ability of Shakespeare to improve their application to the beauty academy. Two years ago the teachers had gone on strike, demanding shorter hours, fewer students per class, more pay; they’d received a faculty lounge.

  Kaia didn’t know any of that, of course, but if she had, she wouldn’t have cared.

  She did know she wasn’t supposed to go inside. The boldfaced NO STUDENTS sign on the door was a good tip-off. The sharp glare Mrs. Martin shot her as she scuttled out of the lounge was a better one. Teachers-only territory. No trespassing.

  Kaia didn’t care about that, either. She pushed through the door into the dark space, and there he was, Jack Powell—adorable, and alone.

  At first he didn’t see her. He was sprawled on one of the couches, reading by the dim light of a halogen lamp—the overhead lighting was about as much use as a half-dead flashlight when it came to lighting up the room, much less the page. He’d kicked his legs up on the makeshift coffee table and was poring over a thick hardcover, his face scrunched up in thought. He was completely absorbed, and failed to notice when the door swung open. It was left to Kaia to break his concentration.

  “Greetings and salutations, Mr. Powell,” she said in a low voice.

  He looked up with an expression of absentminded bemusement; it disappeared as soon as he paired the voice with her face. He snapped the book shut in anger and quickly stood, backing away from her.

  “Did I not make myself clear the last time we spoke, Ms. Sellers? Get out of here.”

  “Don’t trust yourself alone with me?” she taunted him. “Worried about what you might do?”

  “I’m not the one who’s worried—thanks to you, I’ve got half the school thinking I want to play Humbert Humbert to your Lolita. But I’m sure you know that already, since it’s exactly what you wanted.”

  “All I ever wanted was you, Mr. Powell,” she said sweetly. “Didn’t I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal. Now, did anyone see you come in here?”

  “Only Mrs. Martin,” she admitted.

  “Well, that’s just great.” He shook his head and raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “She’ll have half the town ready to lynch me if she figures out we were in here together. You have to get out of here. Now.”

  “You’re sounding a little desperate there, Mr. Powell—it’s not very becoming.” That was a lie, actually. The sharp edge of desperation in his voice made the whole hard-to-get act even sexier.

  He paused and gave her a piercing look. It was the same intent gaze he’d given her in their very first encounter, just before explaining that even if she hadn’t been “trouble dressed up in a miniskirt,” he made it a policy not to get involved with students. That had been before she caught him trying to get “involved” with Beth, of course—it turned out the only students he stayed away from were the ones he saw as potential threats. She was too hot to handle, apparently—which was infuriating. And flattering.

  “Kaia, you seem like a bright girl,” he finally said. “Bright enough to know that you can make life here rather uncomfortable for me.”

  “I’m glad you noticed.”

  “So I’ll assume you’re bright enough to understand that I can make life rather uncomfortable for you,” he pointed out. “I could, for one, fail you.”

  “I could say it was sexual harassment,” she countered. “Retribution.”

  “I could say it was your word against mine.”

  “I could say that’s attacking the victim.”

&nbs
p; “And I could say the same—so it would seem we’re at an impasse.”

  “Why, Mr. Powell,” she asked flirtatiously, “are you suggesting a truce?”

  He slumped back down on the couch and began massaging his temples. “Kaia, I’m not the one who declared a war,” he reminded her. “I’m suggesting you drop this whole thing, drop my class if you can, do whatever it takes for you to walk out this door and out of my life forever.”

  “You’d miss me,” she chirped.

  “I doubt it.”

  “What would you do for fun without me?”

  “I suspect I’d find something else,” he said wearily. “Something that didn’t cause blinding headaches and nausea.”

  Any more of this sweet talk and she was going to get a cavity.

  “Okay, I’ll go,” she allowed. “For now. But I should point out that when you say we’re at an impasse, you’re forgetting two things.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “One.” She ticked it off on one of her fingers. “You’re right that it would be your word against mine, and maybe my word’s not worth too much around here. But Beth’s is. And something tells me she might have some interesting things to say on the subject.”

  He stood up again—but suddenly seemed slightly unsteady on his feet. “Is this your ham-handed way of threatening to blackmail me, Kaia?” It sounded tough, but she knew she’d shaken him. Good. Now they both understood that she had the upper hand.

  “No—lets call it a demonstration of goodwill,” she offered. “Because for the moment, I’m planning to keep my mouth shut. You’re the only person who knows what I saw. And for the moment, I’m willing to keep it that way.”

  “And why, pray tell, is that?”

  For one thing, she’d decided that this was the kind of information that could keep. Why use it now when she could get what she needed out of him first? She’d save this for when it counted. But an honest answer wouldn’t do much to help her cause.

  “Well, that would be point number two,” she told him, ticking off a second finger. “I like you, Jack Powell. I think you’ve got a lot of … possibilities. So I’m going to keep quiet about Beth. I’m going to walk out of here and show you that I can be as discreet as any of the adoring goody-goody students I’m sure you’ve wooed into bed in the past—but I’m not giving up. I have a lot of patience when it comes to getting what I want.”

  “And what about what I want?” he asked drily.

  “You don’t need patience,” she pointed out. “I’m right here. You just need to come and get me.”

  They’d needed somewhere out of the way, somewhere no one they knew would ever be or would ever think to look for them. The school library was an obvious choice. Huddled over a small table in the back (sandwiched in the stacks between self-help and pet grooming), Harper and Kane quickly got down to business.

  “It’s a good start, Grace, but we need to kick it into higher gear. Slow and steady’s not going to win us the race on this one,” Kane whispered.

  Harper craned her neck around, once again making sure that no one she knew could overhear them. Her crowd wasn’t much for the musty book zone, it was true—but a certain brainy Barbie clone had been known to stop by.

  “I don’t know, Kane—that relationship has a definite expiration date. And with Beth fawning all over you for the next two weeks, maybe …”

  “Adam will have enough space to discover you’re the best thing ever to happen to him?” Kane finished for her.

  Harper blushed. That was, in fact, exactly what she’d been thinking. “Well, if you want to put it that way.”

  “Wake up, Harper,” Kane said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “These two could go on like this indefinitely. They’re both too noble to cut their losses. I know Adam, and he’s going to stay in this to the bitter end, and Beth—”

  “Couldn’t stand on her own two feet if you nailed them to the floor and shoved a pole up her—”

  “Hey, watch how you talk about my woman.”

  “Your woman?” She arched an impeccably plucked eyebrow. “Someone’s getting a little ahead of himself.”

  “Exactly my point—I don’t like waiting, and I didn’t think you did either. Isn’t that why we’re in this thing?”

  “Okay,” she conceded. “So we’ve got the setup, Adam’s already jealous—”

  “And soon it will start to fester—,” Kane added.

  “Especially if we help it along a bit,” Harper concluded. So not a problem. If there was one thing she could handle, it was feeding the flames of jealousy—hadn’t she proved that well enough over the weekend? “But we need something else, something more dramatic, with a little flair.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. But what?” Kane asked. They were right back to where they’d started. “That’s the million-dollar question. And it has to be done right, with finesse—we don’t want this to backfire.”

  “Are you thinking of something specific?”

  “I’m just trying to ensure that we both get what we want,” Kane explained, winking, “since, never let it be said I think only of myself…”

  Harper raised both eyebrows this time.

  “Okay, usually I do,” he admitted. “But in this case, we’re in it together—one for all, all for one, et cetera.”

  “Whatever, I’ll believe it when I see it. I’ve known you for too long.”

  “Oh, you wound me!” he exclaimed. Mrs. Martin, the ancient and evil-eyed librarian, walked by and gave them a nasty look. The shut-up-or-get-out kind of look. Harper lowered her eyes and tried to muster a chaste and innocent smile. But Mrs. Martin, immune to the act, just scuttled on by.

  “I’m supposed to trust you?” Harper asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. “When you’re trying to steal your best friend’s girlfriend?”

  All traces of a smirk vanished from Kane’s face, and he glared at her with hooded eyes.

  “First of all, Grace, I don’t believe in trust—which is why I don’t believe in best friends. It’s easier that way. And second of all, as for stealing his girlfriend …”

  Harper leaned forward eagerly. She’d been wondering how Kane could justify his scheming, especially when he seemed to have no particular motivation for choosing Beth, of all the girls he could have pursued.

  “… lets just say—karma’s a bitch.”

  “Care to elaborate?” Harper asked.

  “No.”

  They stared at each other in silence for a moment, each daring the other to speak. Harper broke first.

  “Fine—just get back to what you were saying,” Harper urged him. “What kind of backfiring are you afraid of?”

  “Well, we could pin something on Adam, like, say, he slept with someone else—believable enough, I guess,” Kane said, his smirk returning. “Deep down, all guys are pigs.”

  Harper opened her mouth—then closed it again. She couldn’t betray Adam’s confidence. At least not until she heard all of what Kane had to say.

  “That could work,” she mused.

  He shook his head slowly but surely. “Not so much—think about it. Beth breaks up with Adam in a fit of anger, and Adam spends the rest of his life trying to win her back. And I don’t think either of us wants to deal with that.”

  “Agreed,” Harper said, her heart sinking. He was right—and she had nothing. Nothing that wouldn’t turn Harper and Adam’s potential relationship into collateral damage. “In fact, I think Adam needs to be the one to break it off,” she concluded in spite of herself. “He feels betrayed, she feels unjustly wronged, they both want nothing to do with each other and go running into our arms.”

  “Sounds like the perfect plan. Except …” Kane sighed in exasperation. “We still need to figure out how to get from point A to point B.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” she comforted him. “In the meantime we continue to drive Adam out of his mind with jealousy?”

  “You got it. And, hey, never underestimate the power of t
he Kane Geary charisma. For all I know, a couple more of these study ‘dates’ and she’ll be begging me to hit the bedroom.”

  Harper balled up a piece of paper and tossed it at his big, fat head. “Leaving Adam ready and waiting for some sympathetic TLC from his beautiful next door neighbor?” she suggested sarcastically. “Unlikely.”

  “Hey, you never know—it could happen.”

  It’s not like Miranda had no one to eat lunch with. No, she reassured herself, she had plenty of friends. Just because Harper had randomly decided to skip out on lunch didn’t mean Miranda was adrift on some sea of loserdom. There were plenty of people she could sit with, plenty who would covet her presence at their table if only because the reflected beams of Harper’s glory made Miranda glow with the light of borrowed popularity. But the prospect of pushing “food” around on her tray while listening to the stupid simpering of these so-called friends—without Harper across the table to exchange timely eye rolls with—was just too much for her to handle this afternoon. So instead, Miranda opted for a snack machine lunch (granola bar and mini canister of Pringles) at the newspaper office, which had a door that locked and a couch that creaked noisily but had yet to collapse.

  But first, a pit stop at the girls’ bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, touching up her makeup—and making a mental note that a makeup makeover would definitely have to be the next stop on her road to self-improvement. The peach frosted lip gloss and smoky gray eye shadow she’d picked out in tenth grade just wouldn’t do. Her mother, though usually having more than enough to say on the subject of Miranda’s appearance—and how to improve it—knew nothing about makeup herself. She’d been able to contribute very little to Miranda’s education on the subject beyond such helpful pointers as “That blush makes you look like a whore.”

  The bathroom was surprisingly uncrowded for this time of day. A couple stoners lurked in the back corner, from the sound of it competing over who had more Phish bootlegs. A cluster of super-skinny bottle blondes—Miranda didn’t recognize them, so figured they must be freshmen—hogged most of the mirror area, reapplying their hairspray and shimmery lipstick. From the short skirts to the perfect manicures to the cocky tilt of their heads Miranda could tell they were jockeying for a place in the line of succession, ready to fill the power vacuum once Harper had graduated. Cosmo clones, Miranda thought disdainfully. They could look the part all they wanted, but they’d never have that spark, that something special Harper had that made people want to follow her to the ends of the earth (or at least to the end of good judgment). Harper was a leader. These girls—it was obvious—were sheep.