Wrath

noises that could be footsteps, or a hand brushing up against the window.

Forget it, she told herself, peering out the window into the night. You’re being paranoid.

But it wasn’t paranoia if someone was really out to get you, right? And someone must be. Why else would he have scarred the car with his angry red scrawl, branding her with the word that kept pounding in her ears no matter how much she raised the TV volume.

WHORE .

Before Harper had trashed their friendship, Miranda had had plenty of opportunities to see Kane. Now, most of the time, her only hope was a glimpse of him in the halls or across the cafeteria. Basketball games, however, provided a two-hour stretch of uninterrupted Kane-gazing, which almost made the endless boredom and inevitable postgame headache worth it.

Tonight she was wishing for boredom. Most of the crowd seemed invigorated by the brawl, but Miranda still felt sick at the thought of Kane lying on the court, bloodied and pale. He’d pulled himself up, limped over to the bench, and sat down next to the other players penalized for the fight-he was obviously intact, she reassured herself. But still she worried, mostly about whether she-d be able to push through the crowd of bimbos at the end of the game and see for herself that he was safe and whole.

Maybe Kane dreaded the bimbos as much as she did, because ten minutes before the end of the final quarter, he quietly slipped off toward the locker room. He would probably change quickly and head for the parking lot, Miranda realized, in hopes of avoiding the crowd. She didn’t let herself wonder whether he might want to avoid her, too-at this point, hesitation would just make her chicken out.

She caught up with him in the parking lot, limping toward his car.

“Kane!” she called, not quite loudly enough for him to hear. There was still time to walk away, before she risked humiliation.

But not enough time, because he’d heard her, after all.

“Stevens!” He waved and, even from a distance, she could see him wince. He brought his arm down and cradled it against his side. She trotted over, and he gave her a weak smile. Without thinking, she touched his face gently, where a large, purplish bruise had bloomed just under his eye.

“You should see the other guy,” he said ruefully.

Miranda usually agonized over every word she said to Kane, striving for the perfect combination of confidence, solicitation, and flirtatious banter. But now she didn’t stop to think, or disguise her concern behind her wit. “Look what they did to you,” she murmured.

“It’s not so bad.”

“You obviously haven’t looked in a mirror yet,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist. He leaned against her, and she forced herself to keep breathing. “Come on, I’m helping you to your car.”

“I’m fine, I swear.”

“Humor me.” They made it to the Camaro, and Kane climbed into the front seat, then looked up at her expectantly. “Well?”

“What?”

“Aren’t you coming? Or is your nursing shift over for the night?”

Her heart fluttering, Miranda went around to the passenger seat and closed the door behind her. By the light of the dashboard, she could see that his face wasn’t cut up as badly as she’d thought, but it still looked plenty painful. She pulled a water bottle out of her bag and dug around for a tissue. Wetting it, she began dabbing away some of the dried blood dotting his face. He squirmed away as she held the damp tissue against a cut at the edge of his lip.

“Don’t be a baby,” she chided him. “This’ll help.”

“You’re good at this,” he said softly.

“What? Washing faces?”

“Making people feel better.”

Miranda blushed, and all her self-consciousness flooded back. “Just call me Florence Nightingale,” she said wryly.

Her hand still pressed lightly against his lips. Suddenly, Kane mirrored the gesture, bringing his hand to her face and tipping her chin so they were staring into each other’s eyes. “Don’t joke,” he insisted. The infamous Kane Geary smirk was nowhere to be seen. “I mean it. Thank you.”

She couldn’t allow herself to be honest, and she didn’t want to spoil the moment by saying something funny. So she said nothing, and neither did he. They faced each other in silence, their faces illuminated by only the glowing dashboard and the flashing lights of passing cars pulling out of the lot.

Does he know what I’m thinking? she asked herself as she stared at his bruised face and his swollen lips, wishing that this was about more than his gratitude. The soft, almost glazed look in his eyes made it seem almost possible. And he still hadn’t taken his hand away from her face. Does he finally see me? she wondered. Does he finally get it?

And then, as if there’d been a signal that only he could hear, Kane moved away and turned the key in the ignition. “I’m headed home,” he said brusquely. “Where can I drop you?”

She could go along with him, staring out the window and praying that when he stopped the car they would regain that moment of honest intimacy. Maybe things would even go further, and she’d have more than just a long gaze and a lingering touch to dream about tonight. But the moment of decision had obviously passed-and he’d decided no. Why torture herself with something that wasn’t going to happen?

“Actually, I drove tonight,” Miranda said, opening the car door. “So I guess you’re on your own. If you think you can make it.”

Kane grinned. “I’m fine, Doctor. Stop worrying.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips in a mock- gallant gesture. Miranda hoped he wouldn’t notice her trembling. “Many thanks for your services tonight.”

“It was nothing,” Miranda said, and she jumped out of the car before he could read the lie on her face.

Beth stared hatefully at the blinking cursor on her computer screen, the only thing marring the white wasteland of her empty document. Maybe if she stared long enough, she thought, the words would write themselves, and she could just give up and go to bed.

She’d already wasted an hour meditating on “Why Education Is Important,” finding it to easy to get distracted by topics such as “Why the Principal Thinks This Is a Good Topic,” “What the Odds Are This Speech Will Put the Governor to Sleep,” and “How I Can Keep Harper from Ruining My Life-Again.”

Beth still couldn’t quite believe that Harper was going to enter, despite her threats. She could barely be bothered to do her homework most days, so how likely was it that she’d put in a nonrequired show of academic effort and produce a whole speech? But Beth had to assume that she’d go through with it, if only because Harper’s desire to destroy her had so far proved unbounded. It didn’t seem fair; without Harper in the race, Beth’s win would have been a sure thing.

I deserve this, she told herself. She worked harder than anyone at Haven High. The rest of them were complacent, contented with their narrow, small-town lives-it was only Beth who wanted more.

She opened her Web browser and clicked back to the Web site she’d come across of award-winning essays on every topic. According to the description at the top of the page, it was supposed to serve as an inspiration for students in her position, but Beth knew what it was really for. She’d always known sites like this one were out there, she just never thought she’d be visiting one herself.

But her mind was so clogged with bitterness that she couldn’t string two sentences together, much less compose a speech. And here they were, dozens of them-all better than anything she could have come up with, even on her best day. She could just highlight the text, cut and paste, change a few words here and there…

It would be wrong, not to mention risky and totally beneath her-she was supposed to be someone who, unlike Harper, actually had principles.

It would be wrong, she repeated to herself.

But it would also work.

“What do you want?”