Wrath

She had, more than once, drifted off to sleep while imagining them together in a romantic scene from a black-and- white movie. Everything about him repelled her now-even the accent seemed phony.

“Get out,” she said steadily. “I told you before, I’ll tell the administration what happened, what-you tried to do, if you don’t leave me alone.”

The last time they’d talked one-on-one and she’d unveiled this threat, it had knocked him off balance. But this time was different. He was expecting it-and more than that, he seemed to welcome it.

“Get off it, Beth. I didn’t do anything to you. We both know that you wanted-” He cut himself off and gave himself a little shake. “Enough of that.” And suddenly, his cold look was replaced by an amicable grin, the same one that made every other girl in school swoon. The sharp change, as if he’d swapped personalities with the flip of a switch, was the scariest thing of all. “That’s why I stopped by,” he said pleasantly, as if she’d invited him in for tea. “To tell you that the past is behind us. You won’t be going to the administration, or making any more threats, and I’ll do whatever it is I want to do.”

“And how do you figure that?” Beth asked, forcing herself not to look away. Facing this Powell was even more unsettling than confronting him in attack mode. At least then, she knew what to prepare herself for. Now, looking at his blank face, she could only image what lay beneath the surface. This was the face she still saw in her nightmares.

“You made a good show of it, Beth, and I’ll agree, you had something on me. Impressive. But, unfortunately, I now have something on you.” He pulled a folded-up page out of his pocket. Beth knew what it was before he’d unfolded it and waved it in the air like a conqueror’s flag. The blood red color gave it away. “I’ve got proof,” Powell said simply.

“What you did is worse,” she whispered-any louder, and she couldn’t trust her voice not to break.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “But you’ve no evidence of that. My word against yours, remember? And as for this”-he waved the flyer again-“I’m afraid I’ve got all the evidence I need. Ask your little friend Miranda if you don’t believe me. I presume you’ll find her in detention.” He shook his head. “Nice of you to stand up and face the music with her, by the way. That was a classy move.”

Beth felt a blast of shame rise to her cheeks. “So we’re even,” she said, fighting against the suspicion that it wouldn’t be quite that easy. “I’ve got something on you, and you’ve got something on me.”

“Not quite,” he stopped her. “As I see it, since I’m the only one here with any kind of proof, you’ve got nothing on me. Any accusation you make now is tainted. Nothing more than a pathetic attempt to get yourself out of trouble by discrediting me. No more than you’d expect from a coward who lets her partner take the blame.”

She sighed. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. For now.” Powell leaned back on the couch and kicked his feet up. “I just wanted to alert you that there was a new game afoot. Oh, don’t look so glum,” he admonished, twisting his face into a parody of her own miserable scowl. “This means we can be friends again, just like in the old days-back when you were so eager to help me out.”

Beth remembered. It made her want to throw up.

“And if you’re nice, there are things I can do for you too,” Powell said.

“Like what?” she asked snidely.

“Like, for example, telling you who turned you in. Like they say, the best cure for losing one battle is winning the next. I’m sure you’d like to get even with someone, and since it’s not going to be me…”

She knew it would be stupid to play any more of his games, but could it hurt to stay a moment longer, to smile and ask nicely? To get a name?

She was tired of being a victim. Maybe Powell was right: Just because she’d lost this battle didn’t mean it was time to give up.

Maybe it was just time to find a better target.

And reload.

She felt like a Bond girl, or a savvy spy from Mission: Impossible, as she snaked her way through the crowd and took position, waiting patiently to deploy her grand master plan.

We need to talk, her note had said. Meet me on the 6 P.M. Twilight Trails train. I’ll be in the front seat of the second car from the back. Beth

The Twilight Trails company ran fake freight trains on a scenic route through the desert every day at sunset. They stopped at Grace, then continued on for an hour into the wilderness before turning around. Which meant that she and Adam would be trapped together for two hours. And unless he wanted to throw himself from a moving- albeit painfully slow-moving-train, he would be forced to listen to what she had to say.

She paid her exorbitant fee and settled into a window seat, glancing disdainfully at the scattering of passengers around her, wondering who would actually waste their money on a tour of this wasteland. She put on a pair of sunglasses-all the better to play out her interlude in espionage-and pulled out a magazine.

She didn’t have to wait long.

“I was so glad to get your note-” Adam began, his voice breaking off when she turned her face from the window. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Harper tried to smile and ignore his tone-and his disappointment. “I guess the jig is up,” she quipped.

“What is this?” Adam asked, whirling around to scan the rest of the train car. “Where’s Beth?”

He could be so slow sometimes… but, still, so adorable.

“Beth’s not coming,” Harper said, spelling out the obvious. “I sent the note.”

He shook his head. “You’re really sick, you know that?” He turned on his heel and walked back down the aisle, taking a seat toward the back of the train car.

Harper sighed, stood up, and followed him, ignoring the glare of the conductor, who cleared his throat and pointed at the large red letters ordering passengers to STAY SEATED WHILE THE TRAIN IS IN MOTION.

“It’s not that big a car,” she pointed out, sitting down behind Adam. If she squeezed in next to him, it might scare him away. “Do we really need to play musical chairs?” She sat on her knees and leaned forward, resting her arms on the seat in front of her. He didn’t turn his face up to look at her, but if he had, her lips would still have been too far away to brush his forehead. “Train doesn’t stop again until Salina,” she pointed out. “You’re stuck with me.”

Adam closed his eyes and began to rub the bridge of his nose. “Fine. What do you want from me?”

“I want to know what you want from me, Ad. What can I do to fix things? Just tell me.”

“Nothing,” he grunted.

“You can’t stay mad forever.”

“Watch me.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Harper watched the scenery crawl by, mile after mile of low ranging hills and straggly scrub brush. All painted in the monotonous sepia tones of desert life. Who would search this out? she wondered again. Who would pay? One elderly woman across the aisle wasn’t even looking out the window. Instead, she had her eyes glued to a trashy romance novel, as if the scenery was beside the point.

“So,” Harper began again, casually, “who do you think spray-painted the billboard? My money’s on the sophomores-it was so lame. Reeks of some pathetic attempt to establish a rep. As if-”

“Don’t do that,” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“Don’t act like everything’s normal.”

“It can be,” she pointed out. Pleaded.

“No.”

She’d tried being patient and giving him his space, but that just wasn’t her. She couldn’t just wait-she needed to act. She refused to let Beth win, and she was physically incapable of just letting him go. If it meant sacrificing her precious dignity and making him understand how much she needed him, then that’s just what she would do. And so she’d formulated her plan, and now she just needed to push through his anger and pride, and uncover that piece of him that still loved her.

“Adam, you want Beth to forgive you, right?”

“Don’t talk about her.”