Envy

  “Hello? Beth?” he shouted when she picked up the phone, trying to make himself heard through the static.

  “Adam? Is that you?”

  “Beth?” He could barely hear her.

  “Where are you?” she asked, her voice punctuated by static and silence. “You’re cutting in and out.”

  “Beth, I wanted to apologize.” It took a great deal of effort to get the words out—since really, it was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “What? You want to what?”

  “I’m sorry!” he shouted.

  “Did you say you can’t hear me? I can’t hear you, either.”

  “Beth, I just want to …”

  She interrupted, but her response was incomprehensible. There was too much static, too many moments of dead air.

  “Adam, I—you, but you—if—and then Kane—”

  “What? What about Kane?”

  “—have to go, Adam—later?”

  “Beth, wait!” he called uselessly.

  Disconnected.

  “Nervous?” Harper asked, hoping that her voice sounded normal and that Adam wouldn’t notice the desire throbbing beneath her carefully casual smile. They stood at the edge of the Olympic-size pool, waiting for Adam’s heat to start, and as Adam shifted his weight from one foot to the other and anxiously watched his teammates finish up the butterfly relay, Harper watched … Adam.

  He was wearing nothing but tight orange briefs and an orange and black swim cap with goggles strapped around his head. His tan skin glistened, still wet from his warm-up laps. Harper’s eyes traced a path down his taut biceps, his chiseled abs, the angular curves of his muscles…. His body was like a work of art.

  “Not really,” he murmured, looking out at the huge crowd of screaming spectators. “It’s just a meet, just like any other.”

  The lie was obvious in his face, but Harper didn’t call him on it.

  “Good,” she said warmly. “Nothing to be nervous about.”

  He looked past her into the distance for a moment, a wistful look crossing his face.

  “I just wish …” His voice trailed off, but Harper knew what he was thinking. He wished that Beth were there. Sweet, loving Beth, his little good luck charm, always there to support him in his time of need. But she wasn’t there now, was she?

  Better get used to it, she warned him silently.

  “Never mind,” he said, shaking it off. “It’s going to be fine. I’m going to be fine.”

  “You’re going to be great” she corrected him—and suddenly, without fearing what he would do or think, threw her arms around him. Just a friendly hug, she told herself, pretending not to notice the warm touch of his bare skin against her body. For now. “Good luck,” she murmured.

  “Thanks, Harper,” he whispered, clutching her tightly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  So was she.

  Adam loved swimming. He loved the way his body sliced through the water, he loved the harsh, unforgiving rhythm of the strokes, and he loved the feel of his muscles working in concert, disconnected from his mind, from worries of speed or victory, just pushing and pushing, toward their limit. And, on good days, beyond.

  But most of all, he loved the silence. When he dove off the edge and slipped beneath the water, the noise of the world dropped away. The screams and cheers of the crowd disappeared, and the universe narrowed to a single bluish tunnel of water. Nothing mattered except his body and his breathing, and forcing his limbs to cut through the water, surging ever ahead. He could shut out all the background noise of his life, shut off his mind, and just focus. Just be.

  But today, with so much riding on this race—and with so many problems waiting for him back on dry land—he worried that the water wouldn’t work its familiar magic. As he stood poised at the edge of the pool, waiting for his moment, he couldn’t get the noise to stop, couldn’t find his focus. It wasn’t just the screaming crowd, or the yells of his teammates. It was the sound of Beth’s voice in his head, telling him she wouldn’t be there. Telling him she’d rather stay home, with Kane. Faces flashed through his head: an apologetic Beth, a smirking Kane, and then Harper, with such a look of calm and comfort that he almost believed her, for a moment, that everything would be okay. At the thought of Harper, the voices almost quieted, and the rapid pounding of Adam’s heart subsided—but only for a moment. Because thinking of Harper cheering for him on the sidelines reminded him of Beth’s absence. And that led him back to Kane. He couldn’t escape it, the sound of his own thoughts and fears. He couldn’t clear his mind, couldn’t concentrate, and then—

  The sharp report of the starting gun.

  A dive off the edge, the sharp pain of cold water slamming into him.

  A new world, silent and awash in blue.

  His mind shut down, his body took over—and Adam finally let go.

  They’d had a marathon study day, cramming last-minute vocab and equations into their heads for hours on end until even Beth felt like her brain was about to melt.

  “I’m totally burnt,” she finally said, throwing down her pen. “How about a break? We can pick up with this again in the morning.”

  “You?” Kane asked with mock incredulity. “My faithful taskmaster is actually suggesting we stop early? How inconceivable!”

  “Hey, I can be stupefying sometimes.”

  They both burst into laughter at the ridiculously unnecessary use of SAT words.

  “God, we have turned into complete SAT nerds, haven’t we?” Beth moaned through her laughter.

  “Harvard, here I come.” He looked serious suddenly. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

  “Oh, no, Kane,” she said, blushing. “I don’t even know why you wanted my help in the first place—you’re such a quick study. I barely had to do anything.”

  “You did plenty,” he insisted. “And I still can’t believe you were willing to waste so much time on a screwup like me, not when you had so much else you needed to take care of.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Beth assured him. “What would I have done without the company?”

  They sat across the table from each other, silent for a moment. The air was charged with tension. Beth stared into his eyes, wanted to look away, but couldn’t. She didn’t know what she was doing or feeling—but she knew it was dangerous.

  “Well, I don’t know about you,” she said finally, with a forced joviality intended to break the intensity of the moment. Her too-loud voice seemed to echo in the still room. “But I’m voraciously ravenous. You want to meet back here early tomorrow?”

  Kane smiled. “Actually, I think I’ve got a better idea—meet me at the northeast corner of Dwyer Park in an hour? I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

  “Tonight? Don’t you have a hot date or something?” She winced inwardly at the thought of him groping yet another bimbo—or worse, someone actually substantive, someone he could really fall for.

  She stopped herself, suddenly—that wouldn’t be worse, that would be better. She wanted the best for Kane, she reminded herself. He should be with someone good, someone substantive—someone else.

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be tonight than with you,” he assured her. “Now, I know I’m only a poor stand-in for Adam—”

  “Forget about Adam,” she said, a little more harshly than she’d intended. “You’re right. We’ve been working hard, and we deserve to celebrate—you and me.”

  “Okay, then don’t forget,” he said, heading toward the door. “Dwyer Park, northeast corner, one hour. Can’t wait.”

  Neither could she.

  Adam raised his trophy over his head one more time, and the Haven High fans sent up a deafening cheer. He’d been grinning so hard, and for so long, that his face felt stretched out of shape, but he couldn’t stop. Third place in the four hundred-yard IM at regional championships—it was better than he’d ever expected to do. And if he was disappointed to have lost out on first place by only a few seconds—well, his beaming teammates and the adoring
crowd had wiped such thoughts from his mind.

  He turned to Harper, who’d been standing loyally by his side all day long. She’d been there to wish him luck before his races, and had greeted him with a howl of triumph every time he’d pulled himself out of the pool. After his big event, the four-hundred IM, he’d swept her, soaking wet, into a tight hug—relieved the race was over, relieved he had someone with whom to share his victory. Together, they’d watched the rest of the heats, cheered on his teammates, waited through the interminable award ceremony. And when Adam had stood to receive his two-foot-high trophy, Harper’s shouts of encouragement had risen above the noise of the crowd.

  The meet had cleared his mind, worn him out. He had no energy, no will, to think about his problems, to worry—instead he just relaxed and enjoyed himself. And enjoyed Harper. It was so easy between the two of them. They’d been friends for so long that they didn’t have to try when they were together, they didn’t have to wonder or worry about what the other was thinking. They could just laugh and talk—just be together.

  “Come on,” he urged her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her along. Now that the meet was over, the hosting high school was throwing a big, all-school pizza party—and he wanted to get there before all the pepperoni was gone.

  Harper leaned against his shoulder and smiled up at him, and Adam marveled for a moment at the warmth and sincerity that filled her eyes. He knew there were a lot of people at Haven High who had their doubts about Harper—but if they only knew her like he knew her …

  “Actually,” she hedged, giving him a mischievous grin, “I have a better idea.”

  As she explained, Adam laughed and shook his head—leave it to Harper to find her Valley Glen equivalent and snag an invitation to the Pit, a secluded clearing in the nearby woods that was apparently the place to hang, if you were into that whole good music, warm beer, no adult supervision thing. (And who wasn’t?)

  “She promises it’s better than it sounds,” Harper wheedled. “A bunch of them are headed over there now—”

  “We don’t even know these people,” Adam said hesitantly. “And you don’t want to miss the bus.”

  “It’s close by—we’ll be back with plenty of time to spare,” she promised, pressing closer to him. “No one will even notice we’re gone.”

  Adam shrugged his shoulders and nodded. He supposed that he should stick around for the pizza thing, bond with his teammates—but suddenly, laughing it up with the guys, watching them stuff their faces with pizza and smash soda cans against their foreheads, didn’t have much appeal. Not compared to sneaking off somewhere mellow and secluded, somewhere with Harper.

  Besides, at this point Adam would have agreed to pretty much anything. He felt strange—weirdly relaxed, loose. It took him a moment to place the unfamiliar sensation, but then he got it: He was happy.

  Beth didn’t know what to expect when she walked up to the park—really a dusty brown square in the middle of town with a sprinkling of sallow, brittle grass that the town replanted, to no avail, every winter, only to see it all die off by the end of summer. There was a rickety band shell at the other end, which tonight was festooned with banners advertising: GRACE NOTES IN CONCERT! ONE NIGHT ONLY! She smiled and shook her head. This town got more ridiculous with every passing day.

  When she found Kane, he waved and, with a flourish, pulled a daisy from behind his back.

  “What’s this?” she asked, giggling.

  “A flower for the lady,” he said. “Just the beginning—follow me, please.” He led her through the park toward a picnic blanket that was laid out with a cornucopia of delicious-looking food—heaping sandwiches, cheese, fresh-baked bread, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a bottle of red wine in the center. Kane sat down and gestured for her to do the same.

  “You did all this?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “I’m a man of many talents,” he said, pouring her a glass of wine. “I figured it was the least I could do to thank you.”

  “It’s amazing,” she breathed. And it was: the food, the warm breeze, the starry sky. “This is just what I needed—how did you know?”

  “Like you said, I’m a quick study. But that’s not all.” He looked at his watch. “The entertainment portion of our evening should be starting just … about … now—”

  Suddenly a low base line began booming out of the speaker propped up a few feet behind them, and a moment later a four-part harmony broke into the familiar strains of “Blue Moon,” one of Beth’s favorite oldies.

  She looked up at the band shell and, sure enough, four old men in silver vests and bowler hats—the Grace Notes, she assumed—were crooning away. In the darkness Beth could barely see any of the other picnickers, and it felt like they were singing just to her.

  “Did you know about this?” she asked Kane.

  “I saw the fliers earlier this week,” he admitted. “Thought it could be fun.”

  “I wouldn’t think this was quite your speed,” she told him, laughing—she’d been laughing so much these past few weeks.

  “Hey, we can leave if you want,” he offered, starting to get up.

  “Leave? Are you crazy?” She grabbed his arm and pulled him back down again, taking a sip from the glass of wine. She almost never drank—but this was, after all, a special occasion. The wine trickled down her throat, warm, sweet, and delicious. “This is wonderful, Kane—thank you.” She leaned over and hugged him. For just a moment too long.

  They sat side by side in the moonlight, enjoying the food and the wine, letting the music wash over them, laughing, talking—and then, as the night wore on, quiet. And close.

  And when Beth’s cell phone rang, she didn’t answer it—didn’t even check to see if it might be Adam.

  And when she shivered, and Kane slowly, tentatively put an arm around her and pulled her close to his warm body, she didn’t move away.

  chapter

  12

  Adam came back to the small campfire and plopped down next to Harper, who passed him a joint. “Everything okay?” she asked quietly.

  Adam, who didn’t usually go for pot, inhaled deeply and hoped that if it was going to mellow him out, it would work fast.

  “Fine,” he said shortly.

  He didn’t know why he’d had to ruin a perfectly good day. He’d been in a great mood, tired but happy—so he’d let his guard down, called Beth to share the good news of his victory.

  There was no answer.

  Was she screening? Was she out?

  He didn’t know, and he supposed it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was here now, free, and if he didn’t stop stressing, the moment was going to pass him by.

  He looked good-naturedly around at the small group of Valley Glen high schoolers who’d gathered at the Pit. Their names and faces may have been different from the familiar Haven High crowd, but they seemed familiar—Adam had never felt so instantly at home. An old Jay-Z album was booming through the tinny speakers of an old boom box, and Adam leaned his head back, enjoying the way the driving beat enlivened the still, dark woods. He and Harper were perched on a thick log in front of the improvised campfire, next to Miranda and her new guy, who had tagged along when Harper and Adam sneaked away from the pizza bash. It was just like being back in Grace—only better, because here Adam wasn’t the center of attention, wasn’t the big man on campus, carrying the burden of everyone’s hopes and expectations. Here he could just sit back and watch the action from the sidelines.

  “I’m glad you dragged me out here,” he confided to Harper in a low voice, leaning close to her ear.

  She favored him with a warm grin. “Me too, Ad.”

  Suddenly filled with a burst of affection and gratitude for his oldest friend, he swept her into a bear hug.

  “What would I do without you, Gracie?” It was what he’d called her sometimes when they were kids, because it was funny to watch her get red in the face and throw things at him. He knew she secretly loved it.

&
nbsp; “Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” she promised him in a muffled voice.

  “Dude, get a room!” one of the random Valley Glen guys called out.

  Adam looked up, suddenly realizing everyone was looking at him. Maybe he wasn’t the center of attention out here—but he wasn’t invisible, either. He flushed hotly and jumped up. “You guys think we need more beer?” he asked Harper and Miranda. “I think we need more beer. I’ll go grab some.” He jogged off in the direction of the massive coolers.

  No one here knew him, of course—and it seemed unlikely that Miranda or her random guy would run home and start spreading gossip. And, Adam reminded himself, there was nothing to gossip about—he and Harper were just friends. Everyone knew that. But still, if someone got the wrong idea, and somehow Beth got wind of it … that was really all he needed, for word to get back to Beth that he’d been up here macking on Harper.

  On the other hand … he pictured her and Kane back in town together, curled up on a couch, studying, ignoring her ringing phone. Maybe she wouldn’t even care.

  And maybe he didn’t either.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” Miranda hissed as soon as Adam was gone. It wasn’t a request.

  “What is it?” Harper asked, visibly annoyed.

  She was annoyed? Let her try spending the day fending off the advances of a human cactus who had all the sexual chemistry of a rock. Then she could talk to Miranda about feeling annoyed.

  “Not here,” she whispered, and dragged Harper off deeper into the woods, away from the rest of the group—away from Greg. “I cannot believe you,” she told Harper, once they were a safe distance away from the group.

  “What?” Harper asked wearily.

  “What do you mean, ‘what’? What’s the deal with telling Greg we were coming out here and inviting him along? Like I didn’t have enough trouble staying away from him all day long?”