A round of applause snapped Beth back to the present, and she realized it was time to step up to the mic and wrap things up. “Welcome to senior spring,” she announced, her voice nearly lost amid the cheers. “Let s get ready for the best time of our lives!”
“Is everything okay?” Miranda asked again.
Harper nodded, shifting her position on the narrow metal bench. The bleachers couldn’t be very comfortable for her, Miranda suddenly realized, feeling like an idiot. Her leg was still healing, and with a sore neck and back…
“Do you want to take off?” Miranda asked. “We don’t have to stay if you don’t-”
“I’m fine,” Harper said quietly. She stared straight ahead, as if mesmerized by Beth’s ridiculous speech. A few months ago, the two of them would have been soaking up every absurd word, adding ammunition to their anti-Beth arsenal. Later Miranda would have them both cracking up over her Beth impersonation, complete with bright smile and frequent hair toss.
Or more likely, they would have skipped the rally altogether, snuck off campus to gossip and complain, then drunk a toast to their high school days drawing to a party-filled close.
Instead, Harper had insisted on attending. It was her first day back, and maybe she’d been looking forward to the crowds and excitement, or maybe she’d just wanted to get it over with; Miranda didn’t know. She hadn’t asked.
“Do you need anything?” she asked instead. “I could get us something to drink, or-”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Miranda, I’m
“I’m sorry, I-”
“No, I’m sorry.” Harper shifted in her seat again, rubbing her lower back. Miranda successfully resisted the urge to comment. “Really.” Harper smiled-and maybe someone who hadn’t been her best friend for almost a decade would have bought it. “I’m just… can we talk about something else? Please.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
No problem; Miranda was used to talking about something else. It’s all they’d been doing since that first day, when Harper had finally agreed to visitors. Miranda had been on her best behavior; and she’d stayed that way.
Among the questions she knew better than to ask:
How do you feel?
What’s it like?
Do you miss her?
What were you on, and why, when you humiliated yourself in front of the whole school?
Why did you get into the car? Where were you going? What really happened?
It had been a long month of unspoken rules, and Miranda was almost grateful for them, as if they were bright flags dotting a minefield, warning her where not to step.
They never spoke Kaia’s name.
They never talked about the fight, the betrayal that Miranda had forgiven the moment her phone rang with the news.
It made things easier. Like now-Miranda knew better than to mention the last time she’d been in this auditorium, shivering in an upper row of the bleachers while student after student somberly spoke of Kaia’s grace and fortitude. Her beauty, her wit, her style-they never mentioned her cruelty or her penchant for causing misery, the way she thrived on other people’s pain. They never mentioned the rumors swirling around her relationship with a certain former French teacher, lying in a hospital bed of his own, Kaia’s fingerprints found at the scene of the apparent crime.
A wreath of flowers had lain at the center of the court, right where the Haven High mascot was currently doing cartwheels to rally the crowd. An enormous photograph of Kaia, bundled up in cashmere with windblown hair and rosy cheeks, had stood behind the podium, where Beth now raised her hands and clasped them in triumph. Kaia’s father had already left town, maybe for good; Harper was still in the hospital. Miranda had sat alone, trying to force her mind to appreciate the tragedy of wasted youth, to force herself to weep or shake like all those girls who’d never even spoken to Kaia, who knew her only as the newish girl with the Marc Jacobs bag-unlike Miranda, who’d shared drinks with Kaia, shared a limo with Kaia, shared a best friend with Kaia.
Kaia, who was now dead.
That should mean something. It should be a turning point, one of those moments that make you see the world in a new way.
But everything had seemed pretty much the same to Miranda, except that now the second-tier girls had a new strategy for sneaking onto the A-list; they’d been unable to befriend Kaia in life, but now there was nothing to stop them. It was still the same game, and it didn’t interest her.
She’d thought instead about Harper, who, she’d been told, was in stable condition and recovering well. No visitors allowed, patient’s orders.
She’d thought about how strange it was to see her math teacher cry.
She’d thought about whether her chem test that day would be cancelled.
And that was about it.
“So I’ve decided I hate all my clothes,” Miranda said now, plucking at her pale blue T-shirt that had been washed so many times, she could no longer tell when it was inside out. “We’re talking serious fashion emergency- and you know what that means…”
Harper didn’t say anything.
“Shopping spree,” Miranda chirped. “You, me, Grace’s finest clothing stores, and, of course”-she patted her purse-”mom’s gold card.”
A faint smile crept across Harpers face. “I could use some new…”
“Everything?” Miranda prompted.
“You know it.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that anything in this town would be worth buying-you know Grace.”
“It s a total fashion-” Miranda cut herself off just in time.
Harper laughed, and it actually sounded real. “I’ll pass, thanks. Hopefully Classic Rags will have some good stuff, and we can check out-oh.”
“What?”
“It’s nothing.” Harper glanced off to the side. “It s just, I’m supposed to go to physical therapy this afternoon… but it’s totally stupid. I can just blow it off.”
“No!”
Harper’s eyes widened, and Miranda softened her tone. “I just mean, no, you should go. We can shop anytime. You have to take care of yourself.”
“It’s really no big deal,” Harper argued. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the bleacher seat.
“But you really should-”
“I guess, maybe…”
“Unless there’s some reason you actually want to-”
