Envy - 2 (14 page)

It wasn’t quietly enough.

At the sound of the door her mother came clattering down the stairs and, after a horrified tirade on the state of Miranda’s head, let loose with the bad news: She needed some peace and quiet. Which meant she was sending Miranda’s little sister, Stacy, to the Frontier Festival—in care of Miranda.

And she wouldn’t take “No way in hel am I leaving the house like this” for an answer.

The festival turned out to be just as bad as she’d expected. Hokey and crowded, it would have been punishment enough on its own—but with green hair? It was torture.

Everywhere they went, Miranda felt like people were staring at her (perhaps because Stacy kept pointing at her head and shouting, “My sister has green hair!”).
They might as well put
me in the freak show
, she thought drily.
Come one, come all, see the Amazing Human Chia Pet.

“Hey, it’s the mean, green, fighting machine!” One of the barkers suddenly cal ed out. “Where are you going?” She looked around. The screechy voice booming from the megaphone could only be coming from the tal , gawky boy manning a dunk booth—and it could only be directed toward Miranda.

She shook it off.
Just keep walking
, she told herself.

“Come on, show us your stuff, Incredible Hulk style!” he cal ed. “Three throws for a dol ar—I dare you.”

“Randa, he’s talking to you,” Stacy pointed out, eyes wide. As if she hadn’t noticed.

“Forget it, Stacy. We’re leaving.”

“But—”

“What are you, scared? Where are you hiding your wings, chicken?” When he started clucking, that was it. Enough was enough. Miranda heaved a huge sigh and turned her sister back around.

“Come on, Stacy, it’s time to dunk a dunce.”

The annoying barker—a tal , skinny teen with glasses and a striped T-shirt that made him look like a live action Where’s Waldo—grinned and col ected their money, then scrambled up onto a wooden bench that hovered precariously over the tank of water. He waved cheerful y.

“Worried?” Miranda asked as her sister readied herself to take a throw at the bul ’s-eye target.

“Nah—how about you?” He snickered. “You’re looking a little green in the gil s there.”

As the loser cackled to himself, Miranda leaned down to Stacy and encouraged her.

“Throw hard, sweetie—as hard as you can.”

Bal one.

Miss!

“Nice try, ladies. I’m shaking in my moccasins.”

Moccasins. She should have figured. This guy had loser written al over him.

Bal two.

Miss!

“One more shot—but you’re winners either way.”

“You’l give her a prize even if she doesn’t hit the target?” Miranda asked, pleasantly surprised.

“No, of course not—but don’t you feel like you’ve won just by meeting me?”

“Won what?”

“The game of life, of course.”

“Only if you’re the booby prize,” Miranda muttered. She grabbed the last bal from Stacy’s hands. “Let me take this one, Stace.” Bal three.

Crack!

Splash!

Miranda and Stacy burst into uncontrol able laughter as the annoying loser flailed wildly in the shal ow water, final y popping up for air.

“You think that’s funny, do you?”

“Hilarious,” Miranda agreed.

“Wel , just remember you said that.”

Before Miranda could figure out what he was talking about, he climbed out, soaking wet, and slammed his palm into a bright red panel by the tank.

“Better hold your nose,” he suggested cheerful y.

Too late.

A bucket overturned over Miranda’s head, unleashing a flood of icy water.

“What the hel !” she screamed, looking down at herself, post-tidal wave. Her clothes were soaked and sticking to her body, marred by a few light green streaks—apparently her hair was stil water soluble.

“Language, language,” water boy cautioned her with a smirk, pointing toward Stacy. “There are children here, you know.” He grabbed a giant stuffed bear off the rack and handed it to the girl.

“Here you go, sweetie. Good job.” He turned to Miranda. “And you.”

“I get a prize too?” she asked, holding her arms out from her sides in a pathetic attempt to air dry. “I think you’ve already given me enough.”

“You get the best prize of al .” He scrawled something on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

She uncrumpled it and looked uncomprehendingly at what he’d written: “Greg—555-6733.”

“My phone number,” he explained, a bright red blush spreading across his face and out to the tips of his oversize ears.

“Wha—?”

“I think your hair’s cute,” he spit out, eyes darting away in embarrassment. “And so are you.”

Kaia shut off the TV in frustration. There were only so many hours of nothing on that she could take. But what else was she supposed to do? She’d read a book, read the latest issue of
InStyle
—twice—even done her homework (truly a move of last resort). And it was stil only Saturday night. She’d pretty much burned her bridges for what passed as A list social life around here, and she didn’t have much interest in pal ing around with social climbers who thought that hanging with someone who used to be at the top of a social ladder was the next best thing to ever being there themselves. And what did that leave? Kaia, alone and bored in her father’s palatial monstrosity of a midlife crisis (complete with pool table, hot tub, giant flat screen TV). After a few weeks trapped in smal -town hel , even the luxury oasis wasn’t cutting it.

She wondered what was going on back at the home front. Kaia got an e-mail or two a week from members of her old crowd (even, once in a while, a note from her mother, complaining about the decorator’s incompetence or her dermatologist’s too frequent vacations). But that was about it.

Principle dictated that she wait for them to cal her and describe how empty life was without Kaia. Boredom dictated that she cal them and torture herself with the knowledge of the life she should be living.

Boredom—and masochism—won out.

“Kaia, we miss you so much!” Alexa fawned. (They had al fawned over her, back in New York, jockeying for favor as if hoping her light would shine down on them and redeem their pitiful lives. It was a horrible way to think about your friends—but then, Alexa and the rest weren’t
really
friends, were they? So what did it matter?) “K, you missed the sale of the season yesterday. Bergdorf’s—you would not
believe
the scene.”

“Oh, I can imagine.”

“I should have snagged you something, but it was just too crazy.”

“Wel , not much cal for Marc Jacobs out here in the sticks, anyway,” Kaia admitted.

“Oh, that’s right,” Alexa said, her voice dripping with pity. “Burlap sack is maybe more your speed these days, right?” A beat. “Just kidding, of course.”

“Of course,” Kaia said drily.

“How are the hotties out there? You climbed into bed with any cowboys yet?”

“A few. It’s slim pickings, though. Like Presley Prep on a Monday morning.” Showing up in homeroom at eight a.m. on a Monday, sans hangover, was basical y admitting to the world that you’d spent the weekend poring over your stamp col ection. Or, Kaia thought, looking around in self-pity, forming a permanent body-size lump in your couch, flipping aimlessly through the TV channels 24/7.

“Tel me about it,” Alexa drawled. “But by Tuesday—total y yummy. Tyler was getting so jealous the other day when—”

“Tyler?”
Her
Tyler? Six-feet-two Kenneth Cole addict with a nasty sense of humor and a silver Ferrari?

“Uh, yeah,” Alexa mumbled. “You know we’ve been seeing each other. You know, nothing serious.”

“I
don’t
know,” Kaia corrected her cool y. “Maybe you should enlighten me.”

“Oh, I already told you al about it. I’m sure of it. You remember—you said you didn’t care?”

It was an utter lie. But pointing that out would violate the code, the code that forbade you to ever admit to caring. Not when you were with a guy, not when the guy moved on to someone else, not when your supposed friends stabbed you in the back.

Kaia didn’t real y care about the code—but then again, she didn’t much care about Tyler or Alexa, either. So she let it pass.

“Actual y, he’s here right now,” Alexa final y remembered to mention. “Want to say hel o? Ooh, Tyler, quit it. I’m on the phone.” There was a series of giggles, then a disconcerting pause during which Alexa and her Harvardbound hottie were doing who knows what, then, “Sorry, I’m back, what were you saying?” Before Kaia could answer, the doorbel rang—it was like a gift from the gods.

Or possibly the delivery guy, waiting outside with the pizza she’d ordered. Either way, it was a sign.

“I was saying I have to go—hot party to get to,” Kaia lied easily.

“Sure, sure—awesome to talk to you, K, we miss you so much here. Oh, Tyler, for fuck’s sake, quit it. We think about you al the time. No,Tyler, I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Kaia.
Kaia
. Tyler, stop it! I mean it!”

“Yeah, miss you, too,” Kaia said dul y, her voice drowned out by giggles. She shook her head in disgust and hung up the phone.

Think about her al the time? Yeah, right.

She hated them al for a moment—her parents for forcing her into exile, the friends who’d left her behind even though she was the one who’d left, Harper and her cronies here, who had al the social capital that Kaia had worked so hard to accumulate in her old life. You can’t take it with you, they say.

Ain’t it the truth.

She shuffled down to the front door to col ect her pizza and got another unpleasant surprise.

“It’s you,” the scruffy delivery guy grunted when she opened the door.

“Do I know you?” It seemed a highly unlikely—and highly disturbing—prospect.

“We’ve met. I rescued you?” He spoke slowly, his words spaced out as if he were in danger of forgetting which one came next. It was the kind of voice that you imagined saying

“yo” or “dude” every other word—so much so that the words almost didn’t need to be said. They were just implied.

Stil , it was true, they’d met before. Under the dweebish Guido’s hat and apron was the same grody guy she and Harper had blown off in the Cactus Cantina.
And now my night
is officially complete
, she thought in disgust.

“Oh yeah,” she grudgingly admitted. “What was your name? Weed? Seed?”

“Reed,” he corrected her, glowering. “Hopeful y next time you’l get it right.”

Weed would have been more appropriate, she decided, judging from the smel hovering around him and the glassy look in his eyes. He reeked of pot.

“Hopeful y there won’t be a next time,” she retorted.

“Fine with me, princess.”

“I hope you don’t treat al the people you
serve
in this manner,” Kaia said haughtily.

“Not too many people home to serve on a Saturday night,” he said with a sly smile.

Was
he
actual y criticizing
her
social life? Or would that be giving him too much credit? Veiled insults take brain power, and Kaia was sure this guy was running on empty. She knew she should just shut the door and go back to her night, lame as it was—but there was something about this guy that held her in place. Maybe it was his deep, dark, intense gaze, or the way his soft lips curled up into a knowing smile—

She shuddered. Surely she hadn’t sunk low enough to be attracted to a guy like
this
. Raw sex appeal notwithstanding, he was stil a delinquent pothead. A delivery boy, she reminded herself. That was it.

“Better sitting at home eating shitty pizza than running around town
delivering
it like a servant on wheels,” she pointed out, trying not to watch the way his body moved beneath his tight black T-shirt.

“Dude, at least I get paid,” he countered. “If you think about it, you’re kind of paying me to hang out with you.” He snorted and shook his head, as if pitying her. “I can think of better ways to spend my money.”

“You know what? Me too.” She snatched back the couple dol ar bil s she’d given him for a tip and slammed the door in his face.

“And then he asked you out?” In her excitement, Harper almost dropped the phone. She flopped back onto her bed and kicked her legs in the air in triumph. This could be just the loophole she was looking for.

“He gave me his phone number,” Miranda clarified. “It’s not the same thing.”

Details, details. “Okay, but he basical y asked you out. Excel ent.”

“Um, were you not paying attention when I described what an annoying loser he was?” Miranda asked. “And did you miss the part where he dumped a bucket of water on my head?”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Harper teased her. “Besides, that was just his way of flirting. Maybe he’s a little shy and awkward. I think it’s adorable.”

“Since when do
you
find shy and awkward adorable?”

Harper’s mind was racing. Sure,
now
she was betraying Miranda by helping Kane get another girl—if you wanted to look at it that way. But as Harper saw things, Kane had made it painful y clear that he wasn’t interested. Just because she’d sworn a solemn oath to Miranda that she’d do everything she could to make it happen … wel , what was she? A magician? It’s not like she had any power over what Kane wanted.

The problem was just that Miranda might not see it that way. So if Miranda found some other guy to lust over in the meantime, someone who actual y wanted her in return, and she got swept up in some torrid new romance? Wel , she’d stop feeling so shitty about the Kane thing and Harper could stop feeling so guilty.

Problem solved.

“I say you go for it,” Harper urged. “How long has it been since you’ve gone out on a date?”

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“Miranda,” she said warningly.

Miranda sighed. “Okay, okay, too long.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know—because I’m fat? Because I have frizzy hair that now looks vaguely like seaweed? Because I’m so short that a guy has to fal over me before he notices I exist?”

“Shut up, loser,” Harper snorted. “You know none of those things are true. Plenty of guys ask you out.”