Gluttony

turned onto the Strip. “Civilization. Thank God.”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“Okay, how much longer are you going to give me the silent treatment?” Harper asked, exasperated. “I already told you I was sorry. How was I supposed to know that you’d find-”

“Don’t say it!” Miranda shrieked. “I’m trying to block it out of my mind forever.”

“Okay, okay. How was I supposed to know you’d find that thing in the sink. I only volunteered to take the toilet because I thought it would be the grosser job, and it is your birthday weekend, after all.”

“Celebrate good times,” Miranda deadpanned, and suddenly, in sync, they both burst into laughter. “Did all that really happen?” Miranda sputtered through her giggles. “Or was it just some joint hallucination?”

“I’m not hallucinating the smell,” Harper gasped, waving her hands under Miranda’s nose. “I washed them ten times back there, and they still stink.”

Miranda wiggled away, trying to focus on the road. “Don’t talk to me about smells,” she groaned. “It’ll just remind me of-”

“Don’t even go there,” Harper cautioned her. “You’re going to make us both sick.”

“Again.”

It had turned out that paying for the gas “in trade” had meant helping Larry and his half-toothless wife clean up the “cafe.” It had sustained a fair amount of damage during some kind of brawl earlier that evening: truckers versus motorcyclers, with a few local ranchers thrown in for fun. Harper and Miranda had been charged with cleaning the bathroom: It wasn’t pretty.

Now safely back in civilization, with its lights, non-toxic air, and toilets complete with modern, functional plumbing, they shook with hysterical laughter, and Harper closed her eyes, soaking in the moment. It may have been the most disgusting night of her life, but things between the two of them were actually starting to feel back to normal. There was a time when Harper had feared they would never be close again, mostly because of the things she’d done and said-and all the things she couldn’t bring herself to say. I’m sorry. I need you. For years, Harper and Miranda had told each other everything. But now Harper was harboring a secret, and Miranda couldn’t ever find out the truth. Harper had to stay silent and guarded, always wondering how it was possible that life could go on, day after day, totally normal, that the people around her could smile and laugh like they didn’t know the whole thing could come crashing down at any moment, crushing them all.

Harper had to act like nothing was wrong, like she had forgotten what she had done. She had to pretend that she was as confident and carefree as ever, and hide her terror-and her guilt-from everyone. Even Miranda. Especially Miranda, who knew her the best.

How were they supposed to rebuild a friendship with such a massive lie lodged between them? Harper had almost given up hope. But somehow, they’d found their way back to their bickering, bantering norm, and that meant that the long ride, the many detours, and the adventures in raw sewage had all been worth it.

Well, almost.

When they finally found the hotel, they pulled into the lot without registering much of the medieval tackiness of the garish white tower. It was nearly two in the morning, and they could focus on only two things: a hot shower and a soft bed. Both were now, finally, in reach.

They checked in, ignoring all the other Haven High seniors who littered the hallway-it seemed half the school had hit Vegas for the long weekend, and they were all staying at the Camelot, less for its bargain basement prices than for its widely renowned attitude toward its underage denizens: Don’t ask, don’t tell.

Usually Harper would have lingered amongst the admiring crowd; she never let a moment in the public spotlight go by without putting on a suitable show. But the fewer people who saw-and smelled-her in this state, the better. The girls trekked down a dingy hallway and arrived in front of room 57. Harper swung the door open to discover a small, squalid room with two full-size beds and little else. Miranda immediately dropped down on the one closest to the door, stretching her arms with a satisfied purr. “I could fall asleep right here, right now.”

“Perfect, because I call the first shower,” Harper said. She dumped her bag and rushed to the bathroom before Miranda could object. She could feel the stink and filth crawling over her skin and needed to scrub it away before she could enjoy the fact that she was finally, after a lifetime of waiting, spending the weekend in Las Vegas.

And after nearly drowning in misery for three months, she planned to enjoy the moment as much as humanly possible.

She opened the door of the bathroom, stepped inside-and screamed.

Chapter 2

Adam grabbed a towel and tried to cover himself, but it was too late. Harper had seen everything. Every tan, muscled, gleaming inch of him. She felt faint, and it was all she could do not to lunge across the bathroom and sweep him into her arms, perfect body and all. But she forced herself to stop, and remember: She and Adam were no longer best friends, as they’d been for half their lives. They were no longer in love-lovers, she told herself, her mind lingering on the word-as they’d been for too short a time. They were… nothing. And she intended to treat him as such.

“What the hell are you doing in our room?” she snapped, trying to regain her equilibrium. Don’t look at his chest, she told herself. Don’t look at his shoulders. Don’t look at his arms. Don’t look… This was maybe not the most effective strategy.

“Your room?” Adam tugged the towel tighter around himself and took a step forward, as if to escape the bathroom-which would mean his half-naked body brushing right past Harper’s, a fact he seemed to realize just in time. He stopped. “This is our room. We checked in hours ago!”

“And ’we’ would be…?”

“Me. Kane. We. Our room.”

And then it all made sense. “Very funny, Geary,” she muttered to herself. “Very cute.” When Kane had offered to pay for her and Miranda’s room for the weekend, Harper had figured it was just an uncharacteristically gallant gesture, an extravagant birthday present for Miranda. (And not that extravagant: According to the website, rooms at the Camelot went for sixty bucks a night.) She should have known better.

“Harper, look,” Adam began, “since you’re here, maybe we can-”

“I’m out of here,” Harper snapped. Why couldn’t Adam just give it up? He couldn’t get that if he didn’t want a relationship with her, she wasn’t about to accept his friendship as a consolation prize. Not when she knew what he really thought of her. But he just wouldn’t take no for an answer, and kept forcing her into these painful state of the union talks. As if she didn’t want him in her life, desperately. As if it didn’t kill her to remember all the things he’d said when he’d broken her heart, how he hated her, how he could never trust her again, all because she’d made a few not-so-tiny mistakes. And then his belated and halfhearted offer of forgiveness, just because of the accident, just because she’d gotten hurt and Kaia had-

No. She’d resolved not to think about any of that this weekend. She was taking a vacation from her pain and her guilt and everything else that had been weighing her down. Kane knew that, and was still pulling this crap? Unacceptable.

But she should have known better than to expect even a brief escape from Adam. Only one thing would make him give up the fight. If he ever found out what she had done to Kaia, Harper knew that