Lust - 1 (24 page)

“What? Oh, that was nothing. I mean, I thought you might want to know that Adam—” Kaia cut herself off with a sigh. “Oh … Check out Mr. Powel —doesn’t he look hot tonight in his tux?”

“What about Adam?” Beth persisted. The last thing she wanted to think about was Jack Powel , or how good he looked in his tux. Which, despite her best efforts, she’d already noticed.

“Oh, we can finish this later. Maybe you want to go talk to Mr. Powel ?” Kaia asked innocently. “I won’t mind—I know how
close
you two are.” For the moment Beth forgot about Adam and whatever secret was about to be revealed and studied Kaia closely. Did she—could she possibly—know?

“We’re not close,” she said cool y, deciding, or at least desperately hoping, that Kaia didn’t know what she was saying. “And if you ask me, he’s not a very good teacher.

Working with him on the newspaper sucks.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Kaia said with a sly grin.

“What are you talking about?” Beth asked in a hushed voice. Al her breath had slipped away.

But before Kaia could answer, Kane snuck up behind her and grabbed her waist, twirling her around. A moment later, Beth felt Adam’s strong hands around her as he lifted her off the ground and swung her into his arms. She hoped he couldn’t feel her trembling.

“So what’s going on over here?” Kane asked, once the girls had stopped squealing.

“Trust me,” Kaia said, looking directly at Adam. “You don’t want to know.”

Lucky break that Powel was chaperoning the dance.

Luckier stil that he was standing amidst a smal circle of other teachers. Kaia knew that no self-respecting chaperone could turn down an innocent request to dance with one of his students—at least, not without having a lot of explaining to do.

Kaia excused herself and strode over to the cluster of teachers. Powel , seeing her approach, was already preparing his getaway.

“Mr. Powel !” she exclaimed. “You look so handsome in your tuxedo! Think you could spare me a dance?”

He glared at her, then smiled for the sake of the group. “Oh, Kaia, I’m not much of a dancer—you know, two left feet and al .”

“Go for it, Jack,” urged Mr. Holcomb, from the English department.

“Yes,’cut a rug,’” the librarian added.

The group began to laugh as Kaia led a reluctant Mr. Powel onto the floor. She knew what they were thinking:
How adorable, a little crush
. Wel , let them think what they wanted

—she knew what she was doing.

Kaia looped her arms around his neck and his hands found a spot on her waist—he held her rigidly, careful y keeping a half foot of space between them.

“Did I not make myself clear before, Ms. Sel ers?” The amiable facade was gone. Good. “You and me? It’s never going to happen. And certainly not in the middle of a crowded dance floor with the whole school looking on.”

“Oh, I know, Mr. Powel ,” she said, lowering her eyes and giving him an exaggeratedly chastened look. “After al , it’s your policy not to mix business with pleasure, right?”

“I don’t consort with students, yes, if that’s what you mean,” he said stiffly.

“And I don’t consort with
liars
,” Kaia hissed.

He stopped dancing and pushed her away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” But some of the steely certainty had faded from his voice.

She put her arms around him again.

“Better keep dancing, and keep smiling, Mr. Powel —you don’t want your friends over there thinking we’re having a lovers’ spat.” She gave a friendly wave to the group of teachers smiling and cheering them on from the sidelines.

“I’l ask you again, what are you talking about?” he repeated, smiling through gritted teeth.

“I’m talking about your nonexistent policy, Mr. Powel . I’m talking about your loose relationship with the truth and your looser one with the rules.” She moved in closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m talking about you and Beth—I
saw
you.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” Powel protested. His face had gone white. “There was nothing to see.”

“Right,” Kaia said sarcastical y. “I hope that’s not the poker face you’re planning to use when you talk to the principal, or the school board, or hey, the police—” His fingers tightened on her waist.

“That’s right, the police,” Kaia said. “Smal town like this, ful of al those family values, I imagine they don’t look too kindly on this sort of thing. Teacher preying on innocent students. We’re just children, real y….”

“You don’t want to screw with me, Kaia,” he warned her in a low, ominous voice.

“Not anymore,” she said lightly, shaking her head. “No, you chose someone else for that—and I can live with it. I just hope that
you
can.”

And, waving again in the direction of Powel ’s fel ow teachers, she squeezed in close to Jack Powel and slammed her lips to his, jamming her tongue into his mouth before he knew what was happening, and then, with a less than gentle nibble on his lip, she pushed him away.

“See you around, Mr. Powel —you can count on it.”

Beth, Adam, Miranda, and Harper witnessed the scene from the sidelines with a mixture of shock, awe, and horror (in different proportions, depending on the witness).

“That girl is unbelievable,” Harper gasped. “What the hel is she thinking?”

“Unbelievable is right,” Adam repeated, sounding almost impressed. Beth looked at him sharply, and his eyes shot down to the ground, avoiding her gaze. In his pocket, his hand tightened around the now empty flask.

“Bet you wish you had the nerve to do that, Beth,” Miranda laughed. “I know I do.”

Beth stammered and blushed and mumbled something about nothing, and final y Harper cut in.

“Oh, please, Beth’s not that pathetic, and neither are you, Miranda. She practical y jumped down his throat—it was embarrassing to watch! What was that you were saying about her being so sad and misunderstood, Adam?”

Now it was Adam’s turn to stammer nonsensical y.

“It’s real y, uh, none of our business,” he final y said, turning away from the dance floor, where Mr. Powel was stil standing alone and motionless, only barely visible through the swirling wal of dancers.

“You’re total y right,” Beth added with relief. “Let’s just dance.”

“Definitely.” He clasped her by the hand and led her quickly onto the dance floor, leaving Harper and Miranda behind in disbelief.

“None of our business?” Miranda asked. “Since when does that stop us? Is this a new policy I wasn’t told about?”

“I guess we both missed the memo,” Harper said in disgust. “Look at them.” She gestured weakly toward Beth and Adam, who were slowly swaying in each other’s arms, despite the fast-paced rock song blaring through the speakers. “He can’t keep his hands off her for a minute.”

“This dance sucks,” Miranda said.

“Tel me about it.”

They stood together at the edge of the action, watching dozens of couples swirling around the floor. That was the problem with scoping for hot guys at school formals. The inspirational girl-power-themed episodes of bad TV shows notwithstanding, the fact was that al the normal guys showed up to these things with dates. So unless you were ready to break up a matched pair and leave some unfortunate girl drying the tearstains on her dress under the bathroom hand blower (not that Harper hadn’t left her share of those in her wake), you were shit out of luck. No, instead you were stuck with prizes like Lester Lawrence, decked out in a sky blue tux and ruffled Hawaiian shirt, and his gang of losers. Miranda was sure any one of them would be happy to dance with her. Great.

And then, like Prince Charming, appearing as if by magic out of the mist: Kane.

He strode purposeful y toward them, with Kaia nowhere in sight.

“You ladies look bored,” he said. “How about a dance?”

For a moment Miranda, who figured any drugs harder than pot weren’t worth the dead brain cel s, final y understood what people were always talking about, that rush of ecstasy, a shot of pure joy exploding out of you, so powerful that it shut out the world for a moment, threatened to sweep you away.

But it was just for a moment.

Because when she came down to earth, Kane’s words stil ringing in her ears (familiar words, as he’d uttered them so often in the G-rated portion of her fantasies), she realized that his arm was outstretched to Harper. Of course.

Harper took his hand and headed toward the dance floor, shooting Miranda an apologetic look over her shoulder. There was nothing to apologize for, of course. This was just the way it worked.

Couples danced, the band played, Lester Lawrence talked to the pet grasshopper in his pocket, and Miranda stood on the fringes of it al .

Alone.

That’s life, right?
C’est la vie
.

Kane swung her around the dance floor, moving effortlessly in time with the music, now a slow R&B groove. He danced with ease, skil , and grace—the same way he did everything else. (If Kane couldn’t do it wel , he didn’t do it at al .)

“Having a good time, Grace?” he asked.

“Not particularly.” There was no point in putting on a brave face, since she was sure he couldn’t care less. “How about you? Enjoying your date with our very own Lolita?” She spotted Kaia on the sidelines, fending off a crowd of curiosity seekers—Mini-Me, she was pleased to see, among them. Harper supposed she should be a bit dismayed that her own personal fan club seemed to be redevoting itself to Kaiaworship, as it was just another sign of the rich bitch encroaching on her territory. But somehow, she just couldn’t work up the energy—besides, having the sophomore squad chase after her was, in the end, far more punishment than reward.

“I’m enjoying myself very much, thanks,” Kane replied. “Of course, not as much as
him
.’ He swung her around, bringing her face-to-face with Adam and Beth, arms draped loosely around each other, swaying in the middle of the dance floor, clearly in a world of their own. Their eyes were closed, and Beth’s head rested on Adam’s broad shoulder. He ran his hands slowly up and down her back.

Harper felt sick. She looked away—right into Kane’s disgustingly knowing grin.

“Jealous?”

Harper said nothing.

“Just letting you know, my offer stil stands. You and me, the anti-Cupids. Just say the word.”

Harper stole another glance at the happy couple. Adam was now running his fingers through her long, blond hair.

God, it was tempting.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Harper breathed a sigh of relief—Kaia’s icy voice had never been more welcome. “He is
my
date, after al ,” Kaia pointed out snottily.

Harper let her hands drop and stepped away.

“My pleasure—he’s al yours.” She walked away—but not quickly enough that she didn’t overhear Kaia’s parting shot.

“It’s so sweet of you to keep Harper company, Kane,” she oozed. “You know, since she couldn’t find a date of her own.” Harper resisted the temptation to turn back and slap her—and the marginal y more powerful temptation to take another look (or extended, longing stare) at Adam. Instead she kept her eyes focused on Miranda, lingering next to a large bowl of pretzels and looking forlorn; she focused on Miranda and, about ten feet behind her, the exit.

It was time to get the hel out.

When the going gets tough, the tough get stoned. Which is exactly what Harper and Miranda proceeded to do.

They stopped off at the after party (Harper: “After al , we planned the damn thing”) but after ascertaining that al the details were in place—beer, music, lanterns, il icit acts featuring Haven High’s elite—they ditched out. (Harper: “Just a bunch of losers getting laid”) Kane had roped scuzzy Reed Sawyer into supervising things so that the rest of them could focus on their night of debauchery—al it took was a dime bag of weed and a six-pack; apparently Reed didn’t have anything better to do anyway. A burnout like him certainly wouldn’t be caught dead at a school dance—and there was no way he would have made it onto the invite list under any other circumstances, but Harper supposed that climbing his way up the Haven High social ladder wasn’t too high on his list of priorities.
Getting
high? Yes. Scoring some kind of record deal for his posse of talentless losers? Probably. But that was about it.

Trust Kane to find a guy like that.

He lay sprawled on one of the motel’s musty sofas and lazily watched the chaos swirl around him. Harper wasn’t sure exactly what “supervising” was supposed to entail—yes, he’d turned on the music and made sure that the kegs were tapped and flowing, but if someone tried to make off with the stereo or burn the place down, would this guy be wil ing or able to do anything about it? Harper highly doubted it—but at the moment, she didn’t real y care.

Besides, back at Miranda’s place, the parents were out, the pot was ample, the beer didn’t come from a keg, and there were no unidentifiable fluids or condom packages littering the floor. Nor was there anyone they didn’t want to talk to—which, at the moment, included pretty much everyone except for each other.

It took an hour for the one taxi company in town to dispatch a driver—but it was wel worth the wait. (It was also worth it not to have to ride away from the party in the hot pink monstrosity that had carried them to the dance.)