Lust

she wanted a rancid plate of underdone potatoes and gravy-swaddled mystery meat sitting in front of her for the rest of the flight. She didn’t need airplane food to make her nauseous-these days, life was doing a good enough job of that on its own.

She squirmed in her seat, trying her best not to touch the greasy arm of the woman next to her, who’d only barely managed to squeeze her rolls of fat into the narrow seat. Talk about airplane cliches-now all she needed was the screaming baby.

THUD .

Oh, that’s right-the universe’s central casting office had instead saddled her with a bratty five-year-old who had a bad case of ADD and, apparently, a spastic kicking problem.

“Now, now, Taylor,” a weary voice behind her said. “We don’t kick the seat in front of us-it’s not nice.”

Kaia wanted to turn around and explain to little Taylor and his wimpy mother exactly what would happen to “us” if the kicking continued throughout the rest of this interminable flight-but she thought better of it.

Simple math: The in-flight movie (some tedious Adam Sandler bomb) would only last two hours, the flight would last at least six-she needed to save some entertainment options for later.

THUD .

Kaia sighed, pulled out her iPod, and tried to relax. As the Shins warbled in her ear, she practiced the breathing exercises that Rashi-her mother’s yoga instructor, life coach, and all-around personal guru-had taught her last year. Breathe in, breathe out. Clear your mind. Go to your safe place.

Of course it was all bullshit-ancient wisdom dished out at $300 an hour, maybe-but bullshit nonetheless.

She just needed to stop dwelling. Stress causes wrinkles, Kaia reminded herself, and just because her mother was the reigning Botox queen of Manhattan didn’t mean that she was eager to claim the throne anytime soon. She needed to calm down… but exactly how was she supposed to do that with her hideous new life rushing toward her at six hundred miles an hour?

It was bad enough that she was being shipped across the country like a piece of furniture. (Last summer, for example, her mother had decided that her grandmother’s mahogany armoire clashed with the new Danish modern decor and shipped it out to her father. This summer’s “out of sight, out of mind” shipment was Kaia.) Bad enough that she was going to miss this year’s Central Park fall gala, the winter benefit season, all the La Perla sample sales-basically, every social event of the year. And she was sure that her so-called friends would waste no time in making her so-called boyfriend (okay, all her boyfriends) feel a little less lonely.

It was certainly bad enough that she was going to be stuck in the middle of nowhere-literally exiled to the desert, and for a lot longer than forty days and forty nights. That tomorrow she’d be facing her first day at some hick school sure to be filled with a bunch of losers destined for community college or ranching school, and who probably thought that Gucci was a neato name for a pet cow.

THUD .

She winced. (One more time and that kid was going to learn about the emergency exits the hard way.)

It was bad enough, to sum up, that the plane was hurtling toward a father she barely knew, a town whose name she couldn’t remember, a year in hicksville hell-

THUD .

All that was bad enough-but honestly, did they really have to make her fly coach?

Kane Geary released the ball from his fingertips and then turned away, as if to demonstrate his lack of interest in following its perfect arc across the court. But he grinned as, a moment later, he heard the swish.

“Check it out,” he bragged. “Nothing but net.”

Adam grabbed the ball and tossed it back to his friend in disgust. He should have known his early lead was just a false hope. He’d known Kane for almost ten years-and the last time Kane lost a game of pickup ball, they’d both been about three feet tall. Kane may have been too lazy to show up for practices (so lazy, in fact, that he’d been thrown off the Haven High team in ninth grade, never to return), but when it came to actual games, he hated to lose. And thus, never did.

In other words, trailing by seven points and about five minutes away from utter exhaustion, Adam had no chance whatsoever.

“Okay, Shaq, how about we wrap it up for today?” he suggested. The tiny basketball court behind the high school offered no opportunities for shade (much Hke the rest of town), their bottles of water were long since empty, and after an hour of running back and forth in the searing desert heat, Adam’s shorts looked like he’d just worn them in the shower. His shirt, now balled up at the foot of the basket, had long since become a lost cause, and his sweaty chest glistened in the sun.

Kane, on the other hand, looked as if he’d just stepped out of his air-conditioned Camaro; only a small trickle of sweat tracing a path down his cheekbone betrayed the afternoon’s exertion in 103-degree heat.

Kane tossed up a casual layup, which rolled once around the rim and then tipped away, on the wrong side of the net. At least the guy misses sometimes, Adam told himself. Small comfort.

“In awe of my superior skills?” Kane smirked, jogging down the court to grab the rebound. “Terrified of going head-to-head against the reigning champ? Worried that by the time the winter season starts, you’ll be so demoralized that you’ll have to drop off your little team?”

Adam laughed, imagining the look on his coach’s face after hearing that his star forward was too sad to play that season. Yeah, coach would just love that.

Adam darted across the court and snatched the ball away from Kane, shooting a jump shot from mid-court and watching with satisfaction as the ball soared toward the net.

Three points. Sweet.

“More like I need to get home and make myself pretty for my girlfriend,” he corrected Kane. “I hope all those dreams of basketball glory keep you warm tonight while you’re sitting home alone eating leftovers and watching The Simpsons. Beth and I will be thinking of you-oh, wait, no we won’t.”

“Very funny. You should take that act on the road.” Kane shook his head in disbelief. “I still don’t understand what the hottest girl in school sees in a loser like you-you’re just lucky I’m too busy to give you much competition.” Kane palmed the ball and tossed Adam his shirt, and they took off for the parking lot. In the waning hours of summer vacation it was still empty, Kane’s lovingly restored Camaro and Adam’s rusted Chevy the only evidence of human life in the concrete wasteland. As they walked, both guys tried their best to avoid looking directly at the low-slung red building that would soon imprison them for the next nine months. Ignoring the inevitable may have been a feeble defense, but it was all they had.

“And by ‘busy,’ I assume you mean hopping in and out of bed with half the cheerleading squad and three fifths of the girl’s field hockey team?” Adam retorted. With his close-cropped black hair, piercing brown eyes, and impeccable physique, Kane could have any girl he wanted. And Adam knew that by now, he’d pretty much had them all.

“Dude, you know what they say-idle hands are the devil’s plaything.” Kane gave Adam his best Sunday school smile. “You gotta keep them busy doing something.”

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” Adam slapped his friend good-naturedly on the back. “You give us all a bad name.”

Kane shoved him in return, then began idly dribbling the ball as they walked.

“Seriously, Adam, I know she’s hot, but you’ve been with her awhile-aren’t you bored yet? There’s bound to be some freshman cuties this year…”