Wrath

If only the truck would go faster.

If only he hadn’t used up all his stash.

Things were easier when you didn’t have to think.

When you didn’t have to feel.

I feel nothing, Beth thought, watching the tiny red light flash on her phone. I see his name flash up on the screen, again and again, and I feel… nothing.

It was just after dawn and she was at work. These days she was always at work, she thought bitterly, plunging the first batch of fries into the deep fryer and switching on the coffeemaker. She couldn’t complain too much; it’s not like she had anywhere else to be.

The phone rang again-she stuffed it into her bag.

It was easy to hide out in the diner, losing herself in the mechanics of wiping down the counters and mopping the floors. Sometimes, she even thought she’d reached some kind of Zen state, where she could accept whatever happened and move on.

The phone rang a third time and, without warning, the wave of rage swept over her. It beat against her, pummeling her with the whys she couldn’t answer. Why me?

That was at the top of the list.

She pictured Adam rolling around in bed with Kaia, while they were still together. She pictured Kane and his lying smile, touching her, stealing her trust. She pictured Harper whispering poisonous nothings in Jack Powell’s ear. It wasn’t fair, she raged, stomping from one end of the kitchen to the other.

And when another part of her responded: Life isn’t fair, it only fueled her anger.

Beth began refilling the ketchup jars, wiping off the lids. And she instructed herself to calm down. She’d never felt like this before, so helpless and so powerful at the same time, and she didn’t know what to do with it, or how she was supposed to get herself under control.

Maybe deep breaths.

Counting to ten… or a hundred.

Closing her eyes, sitting down, forcing her body to chill.

It all might have worked-but instead, she tightened her grip on the ketchup bottle, and then, without thinking, flung it across the room. It shattered against the wall, spraying glass through the air and leaving a garish smear of red dripping down the stained tile.

Beth should have felt horrified or panicked, afraid of herself-or for herself.

But she didn’t.

She just felt better.

Chapter 10

Reed was all about avoiding the hassle. School sucked, but it’s not like there was anything you could do about it, right? So he floated along, attending the occasional class, laying low, sneaking out for a smoke when it all got too much. He stayed under the radar. That would have been his motto, if he’d ever bothered to formulate one.

That, also, was too much effort.

So when they pulled him out of class, he was stumped-and also a bit stoned, which wasn’t helping matters. He hadn’t done anything. He never did anything. So why haul him down to the vice principal’s office and stick him in front of the administrative firing squad?

Best not to speak until spoken to. More words to live by.

So Reed slouched in the low-backed wooden chair and stared at them: the principal, the vice principal, that French teacher all the girls were so hot for. They didn’t scare him.

And then his father stepped into the office.

Shit.

“If you admit what you’ve done, I may be inclined to go easier on you,” the vice principal finally said.

He’d done nothing, so he said nothing. And he tried not to look at his old man.

“Mr. Powell found the evidence,” the vice principal continued. “You can’t just weasel out of this one, Mr. Sawyer. Just tell us why you did it. And who helped you.”

Reed laced his fingers together and put them behind his head, sliding down in the chair. He didn’t have to speak out loud for them to receive his message: Get to the point.

“Does this look familiar?” Vice Principal Sorrento dropped a can of spray paint onto the desk. “Mr. Powell received a tip that led us to search your locker. Imagine our surprise when we found a number of these.” He pursed his lips, as if it pained him to continue. “It’s obviously what you used to doctor the billboard.”

“I don’t know anything about that.” Damned if they were going to pin that lame stunt on him. As if he’d waste his time. If Reed wanted to say something, he’d say it-he wouldn’t need to hide behind an anonymous prank. And if he had nothing to say, he’d shut up.

“Are you denying that we found these cans in your locker, young man?”

Reed snorted. “For all I know, you found them up your ass.”

“If they’re not yours, perhaps you have an alternate explanation to offer?” the principal jumped in, before Sorrento could lose his shit.

Reed shrugged.

“Maybe you’ve been framed, is that it?” Sorrento suggested sarcastically. “Someone’s out to get you, right? And who might that be?”

Reed shrugged again. “For all I know, it was you.”

That’s when his father spoke for the first time. “That’s enough! For God’s sake, boy, just tell them you did it and that you’re sorry, and we can get out of here.”

Reed was sorry, but only that the school had bothered to drag his father out of work for this. His father usually didn’t care what Reed did-but he did care about missing his shifts. And, like everything else, this would somehow become all Reed’s fault.

He would have been happy to speed things along, even if it meant sucking it up for a parental lecture, but he wasn’t about to admit to something he hadn’t done.

Bring it on, he thought, staring at the vice principal. You don’t scare me.

Sorrento couldn’t threaten Reed, not with anything that mattered, because you could only threaten someone who cared.

“Mr. Sawyer, I hope you realize that your son is putting us in a very difficult situation here,” Principal Lowenstein said. “I simply can’t have this brand of… disruptive element polluting my student body.”

Reed’s father took off his cap and rubbed his bald spot, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Reed wondered what kind of memories this office held for the old man, who’d been a proud Haven High dropout, would-be class of’88.

“I understand, ma’am, you gotta do what you gotta do,” Hank Sawyer said, and Reed winced, hating the way his father talked to the people who ran his life. “You wanna suspend him for a week or so, I’ll put him to work, set him straight.You don’t have to worry.”

Not his life, Reed vowed to himself, not for the first time. Not for me.

“I’m afraid you don’t understand me, Mr. Sawyer.” It seemed to physically pain the principal to address Hank with even the barest term of respect. “If Reed here refuses to take responsibility for his actions-his very serious actions, I might add-we might be forced to take harsher measures. As I always say, if a student truly doesn’t want to learn… well, I’m afraid sometimes there’s just nothing we can do.”

“I’m not sure I get what you mean,” Hank mumbled.

But Reed got it. He wasn’t as thick as people thought.

“She means if we can’t settle this to our satisfaction-if we see no signs of… remorse, it may no longer be possible for Reed to attend Haven High School,” Sorrento explained with a barely hidden smile.