Gluttony

Chapter 3

“Ugh, what time is it?” Harper rolled over in the bed and smashed a pillow over her head, trying to block out the painful morning light.

“Shhh, it’s still early, go back to sleep,” Miranda whispered. She climbed slowly and carefully out of bed-but Harper, half hung over and half drunk, felt every pitch and roll of the bed, as if she were seaborne. She had resolved not to drink much the night before-but the stress in her head and Kane’s incessant needling had proven too much. One beer, she’d told herself. One beer, and no more.

She could clearly remember gulping it down and, as the welcome warmth spread through her body, reaching for another. After that, things got a little fuzzy.

Now, too few hours later, even Miranda’s careful tiptoes toward the bathroom sounded like elephant footfalls, slamming against the beer-saturated walls of Harper’s brain. Forget sleep; it was all she could do to keep her head from exploding.

So she lay awake and very, very still. And she heard everything.

The bathroom door closing.

The water running.

And the unmistakable sound of Miranda puking her guts out.

Harper would know it anywhere.

The toilet flushed and the water kept running-the ever-considerate Miranda would be brushing her teeth now, Harper figured. Gargling mouthwash. And then, right on cue, tiptoeing back to bed.

“You okay?” Harper whispered, rolling toward the edge of the narrow bed to give her friend more room to stretch out.

Miranda smiled ruefully. “Just too much to drink. Sorry for the gross-out factor. Go back to sleep.”

But she knew very well that Miranda never threw up when she drank. Harper was self-absorbed, but she wasn’t blind. And what she saw was Miranda stuffing her face last night-and unstuffing it in the morning. She didn’t do it all the time, not as far as Harper knew, at least. She didn’t even do it often-though more often than she had in the fall, before their nightmare year had really begun.

Harper could say something. Miranda always did whatever she said; it formed the basis of their friendship.

But this weekend was supposed to be about making things up to Miranda, celebrating her, not bashing her and her stupid choices. Not driving her away again. Besides, who was she to force Miranda to face reality, when she was doing everything she could to avoid it herself?

Harper took a deep breath and reached out an arm, fully intending to shake her best friend awake. But then her arm dropped to her side, and, feeling suddenly groggy and overwhelmed, she closed her eyes, hoping for sleep.

This… thing, this problem that Miranda had, it wasn’t an emergency, she told herself. She decided to wait until the time was right.

More to the point: She chickened out.

She chose the same no-risk, no-gain approach she took to all her problems these days: ignored it, and hoped it would go away.

Beth was nearly asleep on her feet. They’d crawled out of bed at 7 a.m., hoping to beat the inevitable crowds at the All-American Band Battle registration area. But that was wishful thinking. Judging from the way they looked-and smelled-some of these bands must have camped out in the auditorium all night; Beth and the Blind Monkeys were at least fifty people back in line, which so far had translated into a painful hour of scoping out the competition.

When they finally made it to the small metal folding table at the head of the room, a sullen girl with thick purple eyeliner and matching purple dreads handed Beth a stack of forms without looking up. “Band name?” she asked, sounding almost too bored to bother taking another breath.

Beth looked around at the guys, waiting for one of them to speak, but none of them did. Apparently, she was now groupie, roadie, and form-filler-outer. So much the better. The more responsibilities she had, the more they would need her. “Blind Monkeys,” she said, half proud to be a part of something and half embarrassed by the knowledge that, in fact, she wasn’t.

The girl scanned her clipboard, then sighed in irritation. “Not on here. Did you send in your preregistration forms?”

“Of course-” Beth started to say. Then she caught the glance exchanged between Fish and Hale. “Guys?”

Fish twirled a strand of his long, blond hair; Hale just stared at her blankly. “Did you mail it in?” She’d filled out the forms, signed their names, bought the stamps, put it all together-all they’d had to do was take it to the post office to send it off. She and Reed would have done it themselves, but the guys had volunteered.

“We may have…” Fish scuffed his toe against the shiny hardwood floor. “There was this girl…”

“And the pizza, dude, don’t forget the pizza,” Hale added, his face lighting up at the memory.

“Yeah, and then this guy, and we had to get the truck for him-”

“And the girl was hot, man,” Hale explained, punching Reed’s shoulder. “Smoking hot, you know?”

Reed ran a hand across his face, mashing it against his eyes. “You didn’t send it in,” he said, without looking. It wasn’t a question. “Let’s go. We’re screwed.”

At the sound of Reed’s hoarse, gravelly voice, the girl at the table finally looked up. Her eyes widened, and her surly expression morphed into a half smile. “Not so fast, boys,” she told them, fingering the black, studded collar that hugged her neck. “You come a long way for this?”

“We were on the road all day yesterday,” Beth said. The girl didn’t appear to notice. She was too busy staring at Reed. And he’d noticed.

“Can’t believe the shitty van made it the whole way,” he told her, flashing a rare smile. “We’re probably stuck here for good.”

The girl leaned forward, giving all of them a good glimpse of the dark crease at the base of her neckline. (Could it still be called a neckline when it dipped nearly to her navel?) “That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” she said.

“Maybe not,” Reed agreed, reaching back and rustling the back of his head, which made his wild black hair fly out in all directions. Beth couldn’t help admire the way his sinewy biceps moved between his tight, black T-shirt-and she wasn’t the only one.

She’s flirting with him, Beth thought in disgust. And, what was worse-he’s flirting back.

“I’m Starla,” the girl said, extending a hand to Reed. When he took it, she didn’t shake, just gripped his hand firmly, holding it in midair for a too-long moment. “That’s Starla with a star.” She turned his hand over and, grabbing a ballpoint pen, illustrated on his palm:

STAR LA

Beth felt like she was going to be sick.

“Reed,” he told her, without snatching his hand back.

“And I’m Beth,” Beth said, stepping closer to her boyfriend. She wanted to wrap an arm around his shoulder, the universal sign for He’s mine and yon can’t have him, but she was afraid of looking petty. And what if he stepped away?

“I might be able to slip you guys into the schedule,” Star la said.

“You won’t get in trouble?” Reed asked.

How sweet, Beth thought sourly. He’s looking out for her. She wasn’t usually the jealous type-but then, until recently, she hadn’t been the Reed type either. Things change.

“I’m sure it’d be worth it,” the girl assured him. “After all, you could be ‘America’s Next Superstars,’” she said with mock enthusiasm, mouthing the contest slogan.

“Never gonna happen,” Reed promised her, though he leaned over the table and began filling out the forms she’d handed him.

“Have a little hope. Reed Sawyer,” Star la said brightly, reading the name upside down off one of the forms. She pulled out a handful of buttons, each bearing the label #32. Two went to Beth, who handed them off to Fish and Hale. Star la took the third one and pinned it onto Reed’s shirt just below his breastbone. Beth noticed that her fingernails were painted black and a small, thorny rose was tattooed along the length of her inner wrist. She caught Reed noticing it too. “This is Vegas.” Star la slapped her hand flat against his chest. “Anything can happen.”

“How can you watch that shit?” Kane flicked his hand toward the TV, where a bright blue squirrel was chasing a talking bird through the magic forest.

“The question is, how can you not watch it?” Harper asked, stretching her legs to the ceiling, then flopping them back down to the bed with a satisfied sigh. “It’s Saturday morning. These are Saturday morning cartoons. Had you no childhood? Have you no soul?”

Kane shrugged. When he was a kid, he’d spent Saturday morning helping his brother clear up the remains of last night’s partying before their father came home. As for the dubious existence of his soul… it wasn’t a question for a hungover Saturday morning in Sin City.

“I’ve got a phone call to make,” he told the girls. “If this slacker wakes up”-he gestured at Adam, still conked out in his sleeping bag-“tell him not to touch my aftershave.”

“Yeah, we’ll make sure he knows your makeup and hair gel is off-limits too,Tyra,” Harper mocked. He tossed a pillow at her, hitting Miranda, instead. She grabbed it with a giggle and threw it back at him, the worn gray tank top she’d slept in rising up to reveal a taut band of skin above her low-riding boxers.

“Back in a flash, ladies. Try not to miss me too much.” He tipped an imaginary hat to them and slipped out to the hallway. Let his friends sleep in and waste the day away watching TV. Kane had been up for an hour or two and was already showered, impeccably dressed, and ready to go. He just had a few details to finalize.

He dialed the number. “I’m here,” he said into the phone, before his contact had a chance to speak. “When can we meet?”

“Do you have the cash?”

“Do you have the stuff?”

There was a pause. “I have what I said I would. You shouldn’t have to ask.”

Kane always had to ask. “Just tell me where.” A few girls he vaguely recognized from Haven High wandered down the hall in their pajamas, giggling and blushing when they spotted him. He waved, flashed the famous smirk, then, as soon as they passed, turned toward the wall and hunched over the phone. Normally he loved nothing more than to see and, more importantly, be seen; but this was nobody’s business but his own. “Where and when?”

“Two thirty. At the Fantasia, by the fountain in the rear lobby. You know the place?”

“I’ll find it,” Kane said, and snapped the phone shut. He checked his watch: He had almost two hours to kill. Two hours in paradise-not usually the kind of thing he minded. But he was impatient to get the meeting over with, the deal done. He headed back into the room to swig some mouthwash and grab his wallet, his mind already running through all his options for pleasure in the pleasure center of the world.

He never needed a reason to go to Vegas, his haven away from Haven. It had everything he could ever want: booze, blues, girls, gambling, endless possibilities. But a little added incentive never hurt anyone, and as far as he was concerned, there was no better incentive than cold, hard cash.

As much of it as possible.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Harper pressed herself against the bathroom door, blocking his exit. It was far too early in the morning for her plans to be falling so completely apart.

Kane hoisted himself up onto the bathroom sink and swung his feet off the edge. “I mean, I’m walking out the door, closing it behind me, walking down the hall, getting on the elevator-”

“Shut up,” Harper snapped. “It’s too early for sarcasm.”

“It’s past noon,” Kane pointed out.

“Whatever. Are you forgetting what we talked about last night?”

Kane tipped his head to the side, tapped his chin, and pretended to think. “World peace?”

He could be such a bastard sometimes-and yet so useful. At least when he decided to play nice. “We talked about the concert tomorrow. The Crash Burners, remember?” His face remained an impenetrable blank. “You promised to help me track down some tickets today. For Miranda?”

Kane shook his head. “Any promises made under the influence are null and void. Look it up in the rulebook.”

“Geary, you’re always under the influence of something or other,” Harper pointed out.

He rewarded her with a smile. “And now you understand why I never keep a promise.”

“You’re pathetic.” So much for Miranda’s fabulous birthday weekend. So much for her promise, drunken or not. What was she supposed to do all day instead: lie around the room feeling sorry for herself?

“And you love it.” Kane hopped off the sink and scooped Harper out of the doorway. “Look, I can give you the name of a guy I know, he works the controls at the Oasis Volcano, he’ll probably be able to help. Go see him-and bring Adam.”

Harper wrinkled her nose. “Why would I do that?” The less time spent with Adam this weekend, the better. It was hard enough shutting him out of her life when he wasn’t around. But when he was right in front of her, staring at her with those “love me” puppy-dog eyes, how was she supposed to keep her emotional distance? She was already this close to letting him back in-it was only running into Beth last night that had snapped her back to reality, reminding her that she’d never be able to match up to the pretty princess in Adam’s eyes. And she was sick of spending all her energy to claw her way into second place.

“This guy… he’s got some issues. He won’t talk to strangers-he’ll only help you if he thinks he’s dealing with me. And unless you want to dress in drag…”

Harper rolled her eyes. “I suppose Adam’s got a Kane mask stashed away in his suitcase somewhere?”

“I’ve never met the guy face-to-face,” Kane explained. “He does me favors sometimes, when he’s in the mood. Just get Adam to say he’s me. It’ll be almost as good as having the real thing.”

“You know what would be even better?” Harper drawled. “Having the real thing. You’re really going to ditch me and leave me with… him?”

Kane gave her a condescending pat on the head. “It’s for your own good, Grace. So take it or leave it.”

She hated to lose. And only Kane knew quite how much-which was why, she was sure, he took such a special pleasure in beating her. “I’ll take it.” She sighed, then decided to press her luck. “And I’ll take something else, too.” She opened her palm and held it out in front of him.

“You want me to give you five?” he asked, willfully obtuse. He slapped her palm lightly. “If you insist.”

“More than five, Geary. If you’re going to send me off on some wild-goose chase looking for your skeezy errand boy, I’m going to need to find a way to keep Miranda occupied. And that’s going to cost.”

Kane grabbed her hand and, firmly, pushed it back down to her side. “Just take her with you.”

“It’s got to be a surprise,” Harper insisted. “I don’t want her to suspect anything.”

“And you don’t think dragging me into the bathroom and locking the two of us in isn’t going to make her just a little suspicious?” Kane asked, raising an eyebrow.

She hated that he could do that. In junior high, she’d spent hours in front of the mirror trying to train her eyebrow muscles to work independently of each other, but she’d failed miserably. Maybe the skill was genetic-if so, Harper guessed, it was probably linked to the genes for selfishness, smugness, asshole-ishness, and all the other qualities Kane Geary carried so proudly.

She couldn’t help but admire him.

But that didn’t mean she was going to back down.

“Let me worry about that,” she told him. “Just help me out with this. If you don’t care about helping me, think of Miranda.” From the look on his face, Harper knew it was the right card to play. She knew that, no matter how much Miranda might wish for it, there was no way in hell Kane would ever fulfill her sad little romantic fantasy and declare his love. But Kane knew it too, and Harper suspected that somewhere beneath his preening, posing shell, he felt a little sorry.

Apparently not sorry enough. “Nice try. No sale.”

Harper shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He peered at her suspiciously.

“Sure.” She gave him a perky grin. “No problem. Don’t worry about it.”

“What’s the catch?”

Ah, he knew her so well. “No catch. No hard feelings. I’m sure the three of us will have a lovely day together.”

“The three of you?”

“The three of us,” Harper corrected him. “Miranda, me, and you-together. Just like the Three Musketeers. The Supremes. The Three Tenors. You get the idea. One happy threesome-”

Kane’s smile twitched, and broadened.

“Not like that, gutter-brain,” she snapped. “Like this. You head out on your mysterious mission, we follow. Wherever you go, we go. Whatever you do, we do. And whatever it is you’re up to this afternoon, we-”

“Spare me the tedious details, I get it. You win.”

She met his bitterness with a beatific smile. “Music to my ears.”

“Just take the cash and let me out of here.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a credit card. “Send her to a spa for the afternoon. Girls love that shit, right? Massages, scented candles, mani-pedis, whatever.”

Harper bit back the urge to point out that, between the two of them, Kane seemed the far more likely candidate for spa-hopping. From his Theory shirt to his Diesel jeans, he was Grace’s only known metrosexual, and damn proud of it. But, credit card not yet in hand, she decided silence might well be the best policy.

He handed her the credit card, along with a scrap of paper bearing the name and number of his “guy,” and then, with a final infuriating elevation of his left eyebrow, reached for the doorknob.

“So where are you going in such a hurry?” she asked, knowing better but too hung over for caution.

“I’ll tell you later,” he promised.

Well, that was unexpected.

“Really?”

“No.”

The awkwardness was new-but it was getting old.

Last night had been their first uninterrupted stretch of time together in weeks, and Harper’s frosty demeanor had given way after the first pitcher of beer. Things had been almost easy between them, and Adam had allowed himself to hope. Until this morning, when she’d once again frozen him out.

Adam knew Harper well enough to understand his odds: hopeless. If he wouldn’t give her what she wanted-and he couldn’t-she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of revealing how much she needed him. And maybe, these days, it wasn’t much at all.

So, after a few frosty unpleasantries, Adam had gone back to bed. But not to sleep. How was he supposed to sleep, knowing she was sitting only a few feet away from him, maybe waiting for him to say something-or, for all he knew, waiting for him to blink of out of existence once and for all.

He didn’t even know why she was still there. He had expected her to leave along with Kane and Miranda, but instead, she’d stayed in bed, stretched out with her feet kicking the pillows, staring at the television. Say something, he told himself. Sit up, start a conversation.

But he didn’t know how. Even in the beginning, when they’d first become friends, they had always understood each other. Always known what the other was thinking. It had been effortless. Now, blundering around in the dark, he didn’t even know where to start hunting for the light switch.

There had been that brief period of weirdness in fifth grade, when Harper woke up and realized Adam was a boy, and Adam-courtesy of a windy day, a gauzy skirt, and a bout of humiliated tears-clued in to the fact that even tomboys had their girly moments. Harper stopped wrestling him to the ground and demanding the remote control. Adam stopped mixing her dolls with his action figures. Harper stopped using her Fisher-Price telescope to peer in his bedroom window, and Adam started dating a pretty blond sixth grader named Emma Farren, who once poured red paint all over Harper’s spelling homework.

It was a long week.

Long and lonely-and before too long, Adam and Harper mutually decided to ignore the sticky boy-girl thing and proceed as if nothing had changed. Which, other than Harper’s perfect curves and Adam’s elephant-size libido, it hadn’t.

Since then, he had always been able to count on her, and she on him. They’d climbed the social ladder together, Adam with the unconscious ease of a blond jock built for adoration, Harper with ruthlessness and a fierce determination. Adam had grown cavalier-with his grades, his games, his girls-and Harper had grown vicious, but they’d stayed loyal to each other. Without question, without doubt, without exception.

And then, in short order, it had all been destroyed.

Adam had fallen in love with Beth; a jealous Harper had torn the two of them apart. Adam, oblivious, had fallen in love all over again, with Harper-or with the Harper he thought he knew. And when the truth came to light, when he realized who Harper had become and what she was capable of, he’d pushed her away.

How was he supposed to know that days later, she would be lying in a hospital bed, pale and unconscious, as he waited and wondered and wished he could take back every word? And what was he supposed to do when she woke up and mistook his concern for forgiveness, when she rejected his offer of friendship because he refused to deliver anything more?

She wanted her boyfriend back; he wanted his best friend back. She couldn’t forget how happy they’d been; he couldn’t forget what she’d done, how she’d lied. Adam just wanted to go back to the beginning, before things got ugly and cruel-but Harper preferred to go forward, alone.

And now here they were, awkward and miserable. At least, he was miserable. It had been a mistake to let Kane talk him into this trip, into this ridiculous ambush, as if the element of surprise would shake Harper’s resolve. He needed to get out of here and forget about the whole thing for a while. He decided he would get up, slip into some clothes and out of the room, so quietly and quickly that she wouldn’t have time to react-or, at least, he wouldn’t have time to dwell on how she chose not to.

Then, without warning, she spoke.

“I need your help,” she said, and he could guess how much effort it cost her to keep her voice casual and even as she uttered her four least favorite words.

He couldn’t make a big deal about it. She was on the line, nibbling at the bait-he had to reel her in slowly, before she got spooked.

“Mmmph.” He sat up, realizing she must have known all along that he wasn’t asleep.

“I got Miranda the full treatment,” she said, sounding almost as if she were talking to herself, “which should give us about six hours. But we have to start now.”

Maybe he should have resented the fact that she just assumed he would go along with her-but he knew what it meant. She knew she could still count on him when she needed him.

And she needed him now.

Adam suppressed the urge to jump out of bed and embrace her-or, better yet, shake her and force her to admit that her whole act was a sham, and she needed their friendship as much as he did.

Slow and steady, he cautioned himself. Patience.

“I was going to watch the game,” he complained, grabbing the remote and switching to ESPN.

Harper switched off the TV. “Look, I don’t want to spend the day with you any more than you want to spend it with me, but I’m stuck, and I…”

“Yeah?”

She propped her hands on her hips and stared down at him impatiently. “Are you going to make me say it again?”

“You…”

Harper rolled her eyes.

“You need…”

Harper still stayed silent, though Adam was sure he saw the ghost of a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“You… need… my… help,” he concluded triumphantly.

She sighed. “What you said.”

“Well, since you put it so sweetly…” Adam climbed out of bed. “I’m all yours.”

“Lucky me,” she muttered, shutting herself up in the bathroom so she wouldn’t have to watch him change.

“Lucky us,” Adam said quietly, to himself. She’d opened a door-to possibility, to reconciliation, to the past. No matter what, he wouldn’t let it slam shut again.

chapter 4

“I just don’t get it,” Miranda said again. “What am I supposed to do at a spa?”

Kane shook his head. It was almost charming, her complete lack of comprehension about one of the most fundamental feminine pleasures. He spent most of his life on the arm of beautiful girls who were more primped and pampered than a Westminster Dog Show poodle. Miranda’s awkward naïveté was almost charming. “Not my area of expertise,” he reminded her-while making a mental note that, speaking of pampering, his nails were looking a little too ragged these days. “I’ve just been informed that I’m to drop you off at the spa and make sure you go inside. My mission ends there.”

“Door to door service? Ooh-la-la.”

“Only the best for the birthday girl,” he said, leading her to the entrance of Heavenly Helpers. He grabbed her hand and, in his standard farewell gesture-at least when it came to pretty girls-turned it palm down, lifted it, and brushed it with his lips. Most girls giggled at the faux chivalry, but Miranda, despite a faint reddish tinge to her cheeks, didn’t crack a smile.

“You’re too kind, sir,” she said mockingly. And, with a quick flip of the wrist, she brought his hand to her lips and mirrored his gesture.

“And they say chivalry’s dead,” he joked.

“They say feminism’s dead too,” she shot back, “but here you are, working nonstop on our behalf.”

“I do what I can,” he said modestly.

“Kane Geary,” she said, presenting him to the nonexistent audience with a Vanna White flourish, “helping women one bimbo at a time.”

“You wound me, Stevens,” he said, clasping his hands to his heart.

“Every chance I get,” she agreed. And now, finally, he got a smile.

She wasn’t hot, he reflected. Pretty, maybe, in an understated way, if you liked them short, pale, and skinny. Definitely not his type, though he was certain-despite her blustering and her refusal to stage a sequel to their last hookup-she wished she were. But she was a much better kisser than he’d expected, and there were times during these conversational jousts, when her face got flushed, her voice high, and her eyes bright, when he wished he could just drop the game and grab her and-

Whoa. He stopped himself abruptly. That was not a place his mind was supposed to go with Miranda Stevens. Good kisser or not. This was Vegas, land of gold fringe and stiletto heels; he refused to allow Miranda, with her ill-fitting jeans, faded T-shirts, and assorted neuroses, into his fantasies, much less his schedule.

“Door-to-door service, and here’s the door,” he said, losing the flirtatious tone. “Have fun.”

Miranda raised her eyebrows. “Sure you don’t want to see for yourself what-”

“Another time,” he cut in, before he could get sucked into another round of volleying. He waved and backed away before she could say anything more, and didn’t turn around to check that she’d stepped inside the spa, Harper’s instructions be damned.

It didn’t stop him from being sorry to see her go.

Shake it off, he warned himself. You’ve got business.

It was a five-minute drive to the Fantasia-or would have been, had traffic on the Strip not been at a standstill. Kane had never considered himself a small-town guy, even though he’d spent his life in a place where the prairie dog population outnumbered the human one. But he couldn’t help gaping at the flashing lights, packed sidewalks, and feverish motion of everyone and everything in sight.

Someday, he vowed, he would live in a place like this; someday, he would run it.

He dropped off the car with the valet and made his way to the back lobby, trying to ignore the many temptations along the way. (Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a redhead with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a deck of cards in the other: one-stop shopping for all his vices.) His contact was already waiting.

“Maryjane420@xmail.com, I presume?” A tall, wispy guy in his early twenties stepped out from behind a column, extending a hand.

Kane noted the guy’s woven hemp necklace and scraggly blond goatee-he was a dead ringer for the dealer who’d hooked them up. Not a huge surprise; these Berkeley guys liked to play at being nonconformists, but with the tie-dye and the Birkenstocks, they might as well be wearing a uniform. “Kane,” he said, giving the guy a firm handshake. He couldn’t afford his customary caustic snark; another temptation to avoid for the sake of business.

“Jackson,” the guy replied, flashing a peace sign.

Kane suppressed a snort. If this loser was as happy-go-lucky as he looked, things would go very smoothly indeed.

“So are you the small-talk type, or are you ready to see the merchandise?” Jackson dropped his faded gray backpack to the ground and began to unzip it without waiting for an answer.

“Here?” Kane hissed. His contact had assured him this Jackson guy was 100 percent professional, a safe way to kick his own business up to the next level. But was he too dim to realize that Las Vegas was closed-circuit-TV central? That was the problem with Nor Cal dealers, Kane had found-too much sampling of their own merchandise had fried their brains. Kane, on the other hand, prided himself on restraint. He was only too happy to supply others with whatever they needed, as a gesture of goodwill-and good profit-but he wasn’t about to follow them down the rabbit hole.

“Here, there, anywhere,” Jackson babbled. “That’s the beauty of it.” And before Kane could stop him, he pulled something out of his bag. It was about four inches long and wrapped in orange and brown foil.

It was perfect.

“‘Munchy Way,’” Kane read off the wrapper, admiring the logo’s similarity to the familiar Milky Way swirl. This was even better than he’d hoped.

“And here’s a couple Pot-Tarts,” Jackson said, pressing a small stack of foil squares into his hand. “For later.” He grinned proudly. “Cool yeah?”

They looked almost real. It was the perfect product for Kane, who was tired of serving as a go-between for his brother’s skeevy dealer buddies and their junior high customers. With a gimmick like this, he could attract a bigger crowd, a better crowd-and the operation would be all his. He’d pocket all the money, carry all the risk; and, with no one else involved, he could be sure that the risks were kept to an absolute minimum.

Kane didn’t trust anyone but himself-but he trusted himself absolutely.

He ripped open the foil and took a bite. It was the familiar gooey chocolate goodness-with an equally familiar, almost bitter undertaste.

“I’ve got Rasta Reese’s, Buddafingers, Puff-a-Mint Patties, whatever you need,” Jackson told him, zipping the bag shut.

“This could work,” Kane mused, hoping to disguise his enthusiasm. Jackson might have been a dippy hippie, but he was also a pro; this was, on the other hand, Kane’s first big buy, and he wanted to do it right. “What’s your price?”

“Not so fast,” Jackson said, and the foggy expression vanished, replaced by a look that was sharp, canny, and hungry. “I don’t know you, I don’t know if I can trust you. I definitely don’t need you. So why don’t you start by telling me what you can do for me.”

The rapid shift caught Kane off guard, but not for long. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, if you want in, I’m going to need some insurance-and I’m going to need some incentive.”

It turned out that the Oasis Volcano was really a giant fountain with reddish water cascading down its sides and spurts of fire shooting out of the top. Like everything else in Vegas, Harper was discovering, the plastic mountain was impressive until you got up close-then it was just tacky and sad.

“One thing I forgot to tell you,” Harper said as they approached the operator’s booth in search of Kane’s “guy.” She hadn’t forgotten-she’d just been trying to keep conversation to a minimum until absolutely necessary. “You’re Kane.”

Adam wrinkled his forehead. “Try again. I’m Adam.”

She used to think it was so cute when he tried to be funny-even when he failed. Especially when he failed.

“This guy will only talk to Kane, but they’ve never met face-to-face,” she explained impatiently. “Kane called and told him we were coming-I mean, that he was coming. You know what I mean. So you’re just going to have to play the part.”

“I’m going to have to play the part…” he prompted, his eyes twinkling.

She sighed. Magic word time. “Please.”

The operator’s booth was stationed in the back of the volcano, behind a low fence that Adam vaulted easily. He reached out his arms for Harper. “Want help?”

“I got it, thanks,” she said brusquely, and scrabbled over, catching the edge of her shirt in one of the barbs. She didn’t notice until she slid down to the other side and her shirt, still caught at the top of the fence, flew up over her head. Harper slammed her arms over her chest, trying to tug the shirt down with one hand and extricate herself with the other, a move that would have been possible only if she’d picked up some triple-jointed tricks from the local Cirque du Soleil troupe.

“Still got it?” Adam asked, standing a couple feet away with his arms folded.

“I’m just-almost-” After nearly stretching her arm out of its socket, Harper gave in to the inevitable. “Get me off this thing, will you?” And a frustrated moment later, “Please?”

Adam stood in front of her and, reaching an arm around either side, fumbled with the back of her shirt. It seemed to take a very long time, and Harper spent it trying not to notice that his head was so close to hers that she could smell his shampoo. She didn’t want to meet his eyes-or worse, let her gaze travel down his body, lingering on her favorite parts-but she refused to look away.

“You’re free,” he told her. But she was still locked into place by his arms on either side.

She ducked underneath and escaped. “Let’s do this.”

“I’m Kane?” he asked, as she knocked on the window of the tiny booth.

“You’re Kane,” she confirmed, crossing her fingers. Adam’s idea of acting usually involved bad foreign accents and funny hats. This could end poorly.

The door swung open, and a bulky guy with acne and a shaved head beckoned them inside. “Yo, Jenkins, dude, how’s it hanging?” Adam asked, giving the guy one of those handshake/slap/snap things wannabe skater dudes exchange on MTV.

Harper tried not to roll her eyes. This could end very poorly.

“I’m Carl,” the guy said, extending a hand to Harper. “Carl Jenkins. Kane’s told me how much he likes beautiful women, but… wow.”

Harper knew she was supposed to be flattered, not grossed out. Fortunately, she was a better actor than Adam. Practice makes perfect, right?

“That’s so sweet, Carl,” she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it (and resisting the urge to wipe the grease off on her jeans).

“You mackin’ on my lady?” Adam asked, wrapping an arm around Harper’s waist. Without warning, he began to tickle her side-she squealed and sprung away. “You know you want me, Mandy,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back against him. “I mean, uh, Sandy. I mean…” Adam gave Carl an exaggerated wink, and then shrugged. “Who can keep track? All I know is, she sure does come in handy!”

“I can imagine,” Carl said, with a low whistle. “You’re like my hero, man.”

“That’s why they call me LL-Cool K,” Adam joked. “Ladies Love Cool Kane.”

Oh. My. God. Harper buried her face in Adam’s shoulder as the giggles burst out of her, hoping Carl would mistake it for a sudden burst of affection for her man. She only wished Kane could be here to see exactly what Adam thought of him.

And imagining that, she began to laugh even harder.

Adam patted her heaving shoulders. “Her pet cat died this morning,” he explained. “Her name was Lady. So every time she hears the word, well…” He dropped his voice to a loud whisper. “You know girls.”

After a moment, Harper regained control of herself and looked up, her face stained with laughter-induced tears. Perfect. “I’ll miss her a lot,” she said, her breath still ragged and torn by the occasional leftover giggle. “But at least I’ve got Kane here to comfort me.” She patted him back. Hard.

“But there’s only one thing that would really comfort her, Jenkins, you know what I mean?” Adam winked.

“Oh… uh… I’d give you some privacy, but I can’t leave the booth-but there’s this storage room in the lobby where no one goes and-”

“Ew-no!” Harper shivered. She didn’t want any part of Carl’s gross fantasies. “I mean, that’s not what he meant. Tell him, Kane.”

“Tickets,” Adam said, and now he was the one choking back laughter. Harper could feel his body tremble. “For the Crash Burners tomorrow night-they’re her favorite. And when we talked on the phone, you said…?”

“Oh, yeah.” Carl rubbed the back of his neck. “Look man, I know I owe you, for that other thing you did.”

“Yeah, uh, that thing. That was rough,” Adam said quickly. “You definitely owe me, Jenkins.”

“And I thought I could deliver, but turns out these tickets are impossible to get.”

“There’s nothing you can do?” Harper asked, dropping the damsel-in-distress act. “There’s got to be something.”

“There’s one person who might be able to help you,” Carl said, giving Harper a shy smile. He tore out a page from his magazine-Guns and Ammo, Harper noted with displeasure-and scrawled down a name and address on the back. “She works at the Stratosphere, up top, on the coaster. Tell her I sent you, and maybe you’ll get what you’re looking for.”

Adam made another attempt at the lame handshake combo. “Thanks, dude. I’ll remember this.”

“So next time I need, you know… you’ll… you know?”

“Oh, totally.” Adam gave him a mock salute. “You’re my guy.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah, yeah, totally awesome,” Harper added, impatient to get going. “Great to meet you and all, but we’ve got to…”

“Yeah.” Carl checked his watch. “Holy shit, it’s time for the eruption. I’ve gotta kick you guys out. But stick around, you’ll love it.”

Adam escorted Harper out, and, since the fence unlocked from the inside, they made it back to the tourist zone unscathed.

“What was that?” Harper asked, bursting into laughter once they were a safe distance away.

“What?”

“That! You were supposed to be acting like Kane, not like… like some Saturday Night Live lounge lizard.”

“He bought it, didn’t he?” Adam asked indignantly.

“Ladies love cool Kane.” Harper shook with laughter, and soon Adam joined in. “Seriously? LL-Cool K? I mean, seriously?”

Adam shrugged and gave a gee-whiz smile. “What can I say? The ladies love me.”

Something about the line stopped her cold, and her smile faded away. “We should get going,” she said, already feeling the distance beginning to grow between them. “We don’t have all day.”

“Wait.” He reached for her arm, but pulled back just as his fingers grazed her skin. “Wait,” he said again. “Let’s at least stay for the show.”

As he spoke, a loud rumbling began, deep inside the volcano, which looked even faker now that Harper had seen the switches, dials, and the guy who made it run. But it couldn’t hurt to stay for just a few minutes and see what the big deal was.

They inched closer to the front of the crowd, stealing a spot on the guardrail at the edge of the fountain pool, and waited. Soon the volcano began bubbling and burbling, and then a huge plume of flame burst out of the top, followed by a geyser of red water, arcing out of the crater mouth and out toward the crowd.

Harper leaped back. Adam, too slow on the uptake, merely stared slack-jawed at the sky as a wall of bloodred water crashed down on him.

Another burst of flame, a puff of smoke, and the eruption had ended. Adam rubbed the water out of his eyes and began wringing out his sopping T-shirt. “That was…” He looked down at himself, soaked to the skin. “… unexpected.”

Harper felt another surge of giggles rippling through her. It felt good to laugh again. “I don’t know why you didn’t see it coming,” she sputtered. “You said it yourself, LL-Cool Kane. Lava Loves Cool Kane!”

“Very funny,” Adam growled. “You know what’s even funnier?” He lunged toward her and gave himself a mighty shake. Water flew everywhere.

“Watch it!” she cried, twisting away.

“I think you mean, watch out.” He chuckled, and lunged toward her again, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her against his soaking body. She struggled playfully for a moment, but these were arms that regularly shot fifty free throws a day. They didn’t give. “Thanks for helping me dry off,” he teased, rubbing his wet arms up and down her back.

“Thanks for ruining my outfit,” she complained, but she stopped struggling. He didn’t understand how hard it was for her, having him so near, touching her, holding her, and knowing that he didn’t mean it, didn’t want her.

Knowing that he didn’t think she was worthy of him-and that he was right.

The moment she let down her guard and let him in, just a little, waves of pain came along for the ride.

Let go of me, she thought, but couldn’t force herself to say, even though it would be for her own good.

Adam held on tight.

Reed slammed his hand down on the guitar strings in disgust. “Fish, you’re still coming in a beat too late after the bridge!”

Fish snorted and pointed at Hale. “If this dude would actually follow my cues, I wouldn’t have to-”

“If you picked up the tempo and-”

“At least I’m not playing in the wrong key,” Fish shot back.

“At least I’m playing-a monkey could bang sticks together. What I do takes talent,” Hale argued.

“You’re right,” Fish agreed, slamming his stick against the cymbal. “Too bad you don’t have any.”

Bah-dum-bum. Beth shifted in the folding chair, searching for some position that wouldn’t leave the metal bar digging into her lower back. Star la had squeezed them into a rehearsal room in the basement of the Fantasia for some last-minute fine-tuning-but so far, the band had barely managed to make it through a single song.

“Maybe you guys should take a break?” Beth suggested.

Fish and Hale exchanged a glance. “Dude, can you tell your girlfriend to chill?” Fish said quietly to Reed-but not quietly enough.

“She’s kind of freaking me out, just staring at us like that,” Hale added.

“She’s right here, guys,” Beth said loudly. “She can hear everything you say.”

“Dude, it’s just that-”

“Forget it.” Beth stood up, realizing that her left foot had fallen asleep. She stamped it against the ground, trying to get rid of the pins and needles. “I’m going to take a walk.”

Reed hurried over to her and tipped his head against hers so that their foreheads met. “You don’t have to go,” he said softly. “They’re just… we kinda suck right now, and-”

She ran her hand lightly up the back of his neck, playing with some loose strands of curly hair. “You guys are great,” she assured him. “You just need practice. And you don’t need me throwing things off.”

Reed kissed her on the cheek. “I need you.”

She laughed and, for a moment, was tempted to stay-but she knew better. “Yes-but you don’t need me right now. You need to practice.”

Reed crinkled his nose, the way he always did when he was surprised. “You know what?”

“What?”

His answer was a kiss.

Beth left-reluctantly-and wandered through the cavernous lobby, barely noticing the people she passed by. She still saw Reed’s face in front of her, looking at her like she could do no wrong. He was the first person she’d ever been with who didn’t judge, didn’t impose, didn’t expect. It wasn’t even that he wanted her to be happy-which was something she couldn’t do, not even for him-it was enough that she did what she wanted, and that she wanted to be with him.

It made her feel like a fraud. She could hear the clock ticking in the back of her mind, and time was running out. Eventually, she would be exposed. When his arms were around her, she could relax. But every time she left his side, the fear descended like a black curtain. Would he be there when she came back?

She knew it was crazy to wonder.

But maybe it was even crazier not to prepare herself for the inevitable. Because one day, he wouldn’t.

She needed some fresh air. But the hotel was like a maze, hallways leading to stairways leading to more hallways, all of which seemed to lead directly back to the gaping mouth of the casino.

“Didn’t think you were the gambling type,” someone said from behind her.

She didn’t have to turn around to put a face to the voice-and didn’t want to turn around, since it was a face she never wanted to see again.

“Of course, I didn’t think you were the druggie type either, not after that whole Just Say No lecture on New Year’s Eve,” Kane sneered. “So I guess nothing should surprise me now.”

Beth braced herself for attack. Since their breakup several months before, she and Kane had been at war-and things had only gotten worse since Kaia’s accident. He always looked at her suspiciously, as if he could see her guilt. So, just in case, she tried not to look at him at all. “Leave me alone, Kane,” she said wearily. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Maybe I can help with that.” Until he spoke, she hadn’t even noticed the guy standing next to Kane. Maybe because he looked about as un-Kane-like as you could get, from his baggy patchwork jeans to the henna tattoo crawling across his neck. “Guaranteed mood enhancement,” the guy said, handing her a chocolate bar. “Instant happiness, or your money back.”

It would take more than chocolate to guarantee her happiness, especially with Kane on the prowl. Beth waved the candy away. “Thanks, but-”

“Don’t waste your time,” Kane sneered. “She’s morally opposed to… well, pretty much all of life’s pleasure’s, wouldn’t you say?”

The guy pressed the candy bar into her hand and wrapped her fingers around it, holding on for several moments too long. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he said, and something about his tone made Beth uneasy. She pulled her hand away.

“No, it’s true,” she assured him. “Kane’s right. You’re always right, aren’t you?” she asked, aiming for sarcasm but achieving only fear.

“I was wrong about you,” he pointed out.

Not wrong enough. He’d been right to think that she was naive enough, stupid enough to fall for his sympathetic act, straight into his arms. And he’d been right to think that he could string her along for weeks, charming her with smiles and kisses and extravagant gifts and suckering her into trusting him.

He’d just been wrong to think that when the truth came out, she’d slink away peacefully, never to be heard from again.

“Turns out this little holier-than-thou act is just a pose,” Kane said. “Turns out she’s just as selfish, weak, and indulgent as the rest of us-she’s just not as good at it.”

Beth thought about her single-minded pursuit of revenge against the people who’d ruined her life: Harper. Kane. Adam. Kaia. She’d indulged her rage, overruled the weak protests of her conscience, selfishly ignored the consequences. She’d done it all incompetently-and someone had died.

Kane didn’t know it, but he was right yet again.

Reed wished he hadn’t let her leave. The music still sucked, Fish and Hale still bugged-nothing was different without her there.

Except him, and not for the better.

He let Fish and Hale take off, and then he wandered off, half hoping he would find her, knowing it was unlikely. There were too many people, a crowd of strangers crushing past him. And she wasn’t answering her cell.

Eventually Reed headed back to the practice room, knowing she would show up eventually. And for a second, when he opened the door and saw a figure inside cleaning things up, he thought he wouldn’t have to wait.

Then he took in the dark dreads, the tattoo, the wicked smile. “Hey, Star la,” he said, leaning in the doorway. “Thanks again for the space.”

“You remembered.” She turned to face him, and caught him staring at the pale purple snake tattoo that twisted around her waist and climbed upward, disappearing beneath the tight black shirt.

“Tough to forget a name like that,” Reed told her, his face growing a little warm. Did she realize that they didn’t make girls like her back home? That if someone had asked him, last year, to describe his ideal woman, she would have looked like the front-woman of some rock funk punk band, moved like someone born onstage, spoke like music was pounding in her brain, and smiled like she knew a secret that was too good not to spill and too dangerous not to keep?

He’d thought girls like that only existed in magazines and wannabe rock star fantasies. But here she was, in the tattoo-covered, multipierced flesh.

It didn’t matter what he’d wanted a year ago, he reminded himself. He’d been a kid, and now… a lot had changed.

But it didn’t stop him from staring at her as if she were some mythical creature he’d brought to life with the power of his mind. Maybe anything was possible. Dragons. Giants. Centaurs.

And Star las.

“I was looking for you, actually,” Star la said.

“Yeah?” Had his voice just cracked? She was surely only a year or two older than him; but he suddenly felt like he was thirteen again, covered in zits and begging his father for a real guitar.

“I just downloaded this new song and I thought you might like it,” she said.

“Why?” Shit, that was rude. “I mean, what made you think that I’d…?”

“I was standing outside listening to you guys practice. Does that bother you?” she asked defiantly.

Only because they sucked. “Whatever. What did you think?” Bad idea, he told himself. This girl was obviously totally into the music scene here-and here was about as far as you could get from home, where the Blind Monkeys were the only rock band in thirty miles, which meant they played every gig from birthday parties to funerals, despite their general level of suckitude. Star la, clearly, would have higher standards.

She laughed. “I thought you might like this song I just downloaded. So… wanna hear it?” She pulled an iPod Nano out of her pocket-exactly the model he’d been craving but couldn’t afford, not when all his extra cash went to fixing the van and helping his dad with the never-ending stack of bills.

Reed nodded, not wanting to risk another humiliating falsetto moment. He reached out for the iPod, but instead she just gave him one earbud and stuck the other in her own ear. Tethered together, they sat down on the floor, backs pressed against the wall, legs pulled up to their chests, and arms just barely touching. She pressed play.

A scorching chord blasted through the buds. A sharp, syncopated beat charged after it, overlain by a twangy acoustic guitar solo-and then, without warning, the band plugged in. And the song took off. Reed closed his eyes, letting the music storm through him, banging his head lightly back against the wall in time with the drums, his fingers flickering as if plucking and strumming invisible strings.

Everything disappeared but the music-and then the music stopped.

The first thing he registered, as the song came to an end: He and Star la had leaned in toward each other, their cheeks and temples pressing together as they lost themselves in sound.

The second thing: Beth’s face in the doorway.

She just looked lost.