Flash, click.

And Kane tracing his fingers down Harper's bare back.

Click.

Harper and Kane pressed together, their lips locked in a kiss.

Click.

And more, and more, and more.

Not that Harper was enjoying the rubbing and the pressing and the groping and the kissing of the fake hookup. And not that Kane was turned on by the warm, supple body writhing in his arms, her mind committed to someone else, her body all his. Kaia, certainly, could not have been taking a secret thrill from the voyeurism of it all, playing the puppet master, barking out commands, suggesting poses, capturing it all on film.

All three of them, they a.s.sured themselves, would never sink low enough to actually enjoy the depravity.

Still, when the pictures were all taken, the arms and legs untangled, the clothes back on, all three were sorry to see the evening end.

"Well, it's been fun, ladies," Kane said, grabbing the camera and flipping appreciatively through the stills they'd captured. "You look good, Grace."

"You're not going to start chasing after me now, are you?" Harper asked, feigning disgust.

"Oh, don't be so full of yourself. You may look good," he pointed out, "but I look better."

"On that note, should we get out of here?" Kaia suggested. "I think we got what we needed."

"Here's my cell, Kane." Harper handed over her phone, with its own stock of photos still intact. "So you're sure you can actually make this work?"

"Have no fear-my Photoshop skills are second only to my carnal skills-and you've got personal confirmation of those."

"Gross, don't remind me," Harper complained, smacking his chest good-naturedly. "Come on, let's go-I think after that, we could all use a drink."

They crept out as silently as they'd crept in, and drove off together into the dark night, the cell phone and digital camera safe and sound in Kane's bag. It was the dynamite that would blow Beth and Adam's relationship apart-and the fuse had just been lit.

The dunk tank guy, Greg, had been only too eager to take Miranda for dinner, and they'd met at seven that night at the one nice restaurant in town. It turned out he was a junior (a bit embarra.s.sing, but not nearly as bad as if he'd been a soph.o.m.ore), and when he wasn't dressed like a cowboy, he was at least pa.s.sably cute. Or at least acceptable. The ears were still too big and the thick-framed gla.s.ses still a no go, but she could at least handle the freckles. After all, they matched her own.

The dinner itself had gone, well ... okay. Miranda was wearing the s.e.xy new outfit she'd impulse bought the other day, and while she was still slightly afraid it made her look like a thick-trunked tree, she told herself she probably looked okay. And Greg, once you stripped away the nervousness that apparently made him act like a d.i.c.k, was a pretty nice guy with an easy laugh. He seemed fun, witty, smart, and-what should have been the best part-totally into Miranda.

And that was the problem. Yes, it was great to be adored, but it wasn't enough. Because when she looked at him, all Miranda could think was: Yeah, he's okay.

As they walked toward the coffee shop together, he took her hand-and she let him. It wasn't unpleasant, it was just-neutral. Maybe this is how it's supposed to be, she told herself. Girl likes boy, boy likes girl-maybe the sparks come later. Maybe love at first sight is for suckers and Hilary Duff movies. Maybe, out in the real world, being smart and nice and funny and kind of cute was enough. No wild heartbeats, no movie-star good looks, no rapt gazing into each other's eyes-just good food, good conversation ... and an okay time.

That's what she told herself, at least, as they strolled through the night hand in hand. And she was almost convinced. Then they stepped inside the coffee shop.

And there he was.

Movie star good looks.

Her heart beating wildly.

Her gaze drawn inexorably to his.

Kane. And in an instant, she remembered what it was to feel, to want, to crave the touch of someone's hands, his lips, to glow under the warmth of his smile, to light up when he was around, to suddenly forget the existence of everyone else in the room. In the world. To look at other girls, foolish girls, and think, How can they not see what I see?

There was one guy in that room who made Miranda catch her breath with desire-and it wasn't the one she'd come in with.

He sat at a table with Harper and Kaia. (It was only later that it would occur to her to wonder what Harper-supposedly home studying-was doing out with Kane, or what either of them was doing with Kaia, of all people. But that was later.) "Miranda!" Kane called out, catching sight of her and Greg and waving them over.

Miranda pulled Greg over to the table to say h.e.l.lo. She tried not to drool.

"Small world," she commented.

"Small town" Kaia snorted, and excused herself to get more sugar for her, as she put it, "sorry excuse for a macchiato."

"What are you guys doing here?" Miranda asked.

Harper shot Kane a cryptic look. "Study break," she said quickly. Then she noticed what Miranda was wearing, and her eyes widened in surprise. "That shirt-I thought-when did you get it?"

Miranda did a little twirl. "You like?"

"It's ..."

"It's ravishing," Kane said with an approving grin. "No offense to your date here, but you keep dressing like that and he's going to have himself some serious compet.i.tion."

Miranda flushed with pleasure. It was the first time Kane had ever given her a compliment on how she looked-maybe the outfit had done its job. Maybe Kane would finally start seeing her in a new light, as more than just a snarky brainiac. Or maybe Harper was right, and seeing her with another guy had made him jealous and- Oh, right. Another guy.

She suddenly remembered Greg, who was standing quietly, obediently beside her. s.h.i.t.

They'd decided on coffee instead of alcohol, since Kane had a long night of Photoshopping ahead of him. And it had seemed a fine choice-until Miranda and her date walked in. Harper almost spat out her mochaccino at the site of her. In that outfit. Fortunately, it seemed Miranda was too dazzled by Kane's presence to wonder what the trio was doing there together. That was the silver lining-the black cloud, of course, was that Harper could tell from the queasy look on Miranda's face that this Greg thing wasn't going to work.

Not a big surprise-Greg was scrawny, gawky, and worst of all, bland. Under normal circ.u.mstances, Harper would have given him the big thumbs down-Miranda could do way better.

But these weren't normal circ.u.mstances, and she was going to have to take what Miranda could get. Which, at the moment, was a geeky, gawky loser. That, however, was a problem for another time-for tomorrow. Tonight she was still riding high on her triumph, and once Miranda was gone, she could continue celebrating in peace.

As Kane and Kaia bantered flirtatiously back and forth about who had the hottest drink, Harper zoned out, letting the conversation wash over her. The plan was set in motion now, and it was only a matter of time before the big payoff. She didn't know how she was going to make it through the next couple days, hoping that nothing went wrong, that no one-including herself-lost their nerve, and knowing that by the end of the week, if all went according to plan, she and Adam would finally be together. And when that happened, she knew, she would stop all this ridiculous worrying about what she'd done and who she'd betrayed-because being with Adam would feel so right, it would justify anything that had happened along the way. She couldn't wait.

Kane lifted his mug and proposed a toast.

"To getting what we want," he proclaimed, "by any means possible."

They clinked gla.s.ses and drank up. Harper smiled weakly, suddenly glad he hadn't suggested an alternate toast: "To getting what we deserve."

"Can you guys just shut up for one second?" Beth screamed in frustration. But it was no use. Her bratty brothers continued their hyperactive race through the house, hollering and squealing as they clomped up and down the stairs. Disaster was inevitable. Whether it would be one of the twins colliding with a heavy piece of furniture or Beth's head exploding (or some combination of the two, featuring an irate babysitter and a blunt object), she didn't know. But she did know she couldn't take this much longer. The stress of the SATs always looming over her, the fight she'd had with Adam eating away at her, and now, these brats. The world was conspiring to drive her insane.

Not that she didn't love her little brothers.

And maybe, if their house had been fully stocked with all that stuff supposed to keep five-year-olds in check-PlayStation, cable TV, DVD collection-she wouldn't have minded spending day after day after day with them. But her family couldn't afford any of that stuff. So the twins just had Beth-and each other. Normally, Adam would be here, occupying the twins with one of those lame magic tricks they loved, or teaching them how to tie different kinds of knots. Adam was an only child, and always claimed he was jealous of her "adorable" little brothers. "If you think they're so cute," Beth usually responded, "take them home with you. Please." But she had to admit that, when Adam was around, even she found her brothers kind of cute-he brought something out in them. And in himself.

But she and Adam weren't speaking to each other-hadn't since the day before, when he'd left her in the middle of the highway and sped away, covering her in a cloud of dust. She was on her own with the babysitting thing tonight, and that meant she had two options: continue to yell and scream, which would neither get the twins to shut up nor get her any closer to that perfect score-or bribe them with ice cream sundaes.

As always, it worked like a charm. Jeff and Sam, who, when they were silent, looked almost cherubic with their big blue eyes and curly blond hair, sat side by side at the table in front of their heaping bowls of ice cream, chocolate sauce, and a cherry for each. Their legs dangled several inches from the floor, swinging back and forth as they dug into their frozen treasure.

"Bethie, can I ask you a question?" Jeff asked, slurping down a spoonful of Rocky Road.

"Sure," she said, expecting to have to explain why the sky was blue or why Daddy smelled strange and acted so funny when he came home late at night.

"Is Kane your boyfriend now?"

"What? No, of course not," she said quickly. Kane had been over at the house a lot lately, studying-but she hadn't realized that her brothers had noticed.

"He's just a friend."

"I like him," Jeff said.

"Me too," Beth replied.

"But I like Adam better."

"Adam stinks, I like Kane," Sam countered. Beth knew he was just trying to get a rise out of his brother-but still, it hurt to hear.

"Sam, take that back!" she scolded him.

"No way," Sam said, grinning, seeing he'd made her mad. "Adam stinks. Kane's way better."

"Adam is!" Jeff yelled.

"No, Kane!"

They went back and forth, louder and louder, until finally Beth pulled away both their ice cream dishes and held them high in the air.

"No more, unless you guys behave!" she threatened.

They shut up immediately, and she handed back the bowls.

"But Beth," Sam asked quietly, "which one do you like better?"

They both stared at her, their eyes filled with curiosity, and Beth shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It was just too weird to hear the question coming out of her little brother's mouth, the same question that Adam had been pestering her with one way or another for weeks. The same question that kept bouncing up in her mind no matter how hard and how many times she tried to push it away.

"I like them both, Sam, in different ways."

"But who do you like better?" Jeff repeated insistently.

She ignored the question and skipped over to the refrigerator. When in doubt, distract.

"We almost forgot-who wants whipped cream!"

Greg pulled the car to a stop in front of Miranda's house.

"So," he said awkwardly, turning off the ignition and staring straight ahead as if afraid to look at her.

"So," she repeated, giving him a half smile. Part of her wanted to throw open the door, jump out of the car and never look back. But it would be so rude, even cruel ... and a part of her was just a little curious to see what would happen if she stayed.

So she did.

"I had a great time tonight," he said hopefully, twining his fingers with hers.

"Me too," she replied-it was only polite. She looked down at her hand, linked with his, as if it belonged to someone else.

He touched her cheek with his other hand. "I'm really glad you agreed to go out with me."

He was so earnest, it was painful. "You've got really pretty eyes," he whispered. "You know that?"

Oh G.o.d, just kiss me already, she thought, stifling a laugh. But she just smiled sweetly. "Thanks."

And then, even though she'd been waiting for it, he took her by surprise. One moment his face was a foot away, the next it was on hers, b.u.mping awkwardly against her nose, and then their lips were suctioned together. There was no wave of pa.s.sion, not even a ripple. Instead, she just observed, as if from very far away.

His lips were oddly soft and very wet.

She'd never before noticed how strange kissing was, really. All that squishing and sucking and smacking together. Where your tongue goes and what your hands should be doing. She'd never really thought about it before.

But then, she supposed, you probably weren't supposed to be thinking very much, during. You certainly weren't supposed to be thinking about your unfinished chem lab or yesterday's episode of General Hospital while his fingers were crawling up beneath your shirt, hungrily grasping at your bare skin. And you probably shouldn't be thinking about another guy.

But Miranda was-and wished that those were his arms wrapped around her, his breath hot against her neck.

But then again- It was dark inside the car, and they were just shadowy silhouettes pressed against each other. He could be anyone. She could be anyone. When she closed her eyes, there was only the feel of a body next to hers, of a solid chest and broad shoulders, of warm flesh and hard muscle.

When she closed her eyes, they were two strangers coming together in the dark.

When she closed her eyes-he could be anyone.

CHAPTER.

11.

"So I think I'm going to ditch out on this whole swim meet thing," Miranda said, stretching herself out on Harper's living room couch.

"What do you mean, 'ditch out'?" Harper asked lazily. She was curled up in a worn orange armchair, feeling far too relaxed and contented to get upset about Miranda's last-minute change of heart. "Why wouldn't you go?"

"I don't know." Miranda, who'd been playing a game of 'should I or shouldn't I eat this' with a bag of Chips Ahoy! for the last twenty minutes, finally pushed the unopened bag away in disgust. "With the SATs and all, it just seems like maybe I should stay home and study-"

"The SATs aren't until Sat.u.r.day," Harper pointed out. "We'll get back from Valley Glen Thursday night-you'll have all day Friday to study." They'd had this conversation already, a few days before, and Harper had thought the matter was closed.