Private 03 - Untouchable (17 page)

"I will have nothing less than fresh holly and Douglas fir. Do not bring me one of those horrid Frasers like you did last year."

Ms. Lewis-Hanneman, Dean Marcus's assistant, strode right past me, talking into her cell phone. I saw my entire Easton career flash before my eyes. If she turned her head so much as an eyelash width, she'd spot me here, where I definitely was not supposed to be. Why was I always doing these things? Did some sadistic part of me want to go back to Croton?

"No ... no! That is unacceptable! I believe I have been perfectly clear!"

Damn, that woman was wound tightly. She shoved open a door down the hallway and I glanced after her. I could see what Kiran had been talking about at Thomas's funeral. Ms. LewisHanneman did have a nice body, probably the product of daily yogalates or something. And her dark-blond hair, back in a bun, gleamed under the recessed lighting. But had she really been carrying on an affair with Blake Pearson a couple years ago? Youngish or not, what kind of adult had sex with students?

There was a slam and she was gone. I was just about to breathe again when the door behind me opened and gravity took over. I fell backward, my stomach swooping skyward. Someone caught me in his arms.

"Reed Brennan. What, pray tell, are you doing falling into rooms where you do not belong?" Josh smiled down at me.

'You scared me to death!" I whisper-shouted, whacking his arm as I stood up. Every inch of my skin was throbbing now, unwilling to respond to the fact that I was out of danger. I straightened my Dior coat and glanced around the room. It was circular in shape, and I realized we must be inside one of the four rounded turrets that stood at each corner of the building. It was dimly lit, thanks to a few green-glass torch lamps, and heavy curtains all but covered the two tall windows. But the most striking features of the room were the paintings. Every last inch of wall space was crowded with paintings of all sizes: portraits, landscapes, abstracts, still lifes. There was barely an inch of wall visible between each work.

"What is this place?" I asked, stepping toward a beautiful canvas, all yellow and orange swirls.

"The art cemetery," Josh explained. "People are constantly donating artwork to the school, and they don't have nearly enough space to display it all, so most of it ends up here."

"Seriously? What a waste," I said.

"Well, some of it sees the light of day occasionally," Josh said. He hit a few keys on a laptop set up on a low table, which sat between two round-backed couches--the only furniture in the room. He turned the screen toward me. "They keep a list of who donated what. This way if, say, Sir Cornelius Mosley calls and says he's showing up for tea with the dean, they can whip out his prized Manet and hang it in the drawing room."

"Wow." I stepped past him and squinted at the long, long list. "So . . . why are we here?"

"Mr. Lindstrom's an old friend of my mother's, so he lets me help him with the collection. I keep the list up-to-date and make sure all the paintings go back where they're supposed to be, so I have keys to the room," Josh said, lifting a key ring out of his front pants pocket by his thumb.

"That's why you're here," I said, turning around to face him fully. "But why are we here?"

But I knew why we were here. It couldn't have been more obvious to the world. It was difficult to wrangle alone time at Easton. And an untrafficked room with a locked door in a remote corner of campus seemed almost too good to be true.

Josh smiled slowly. "I guess I was hoping it would impress you. Does it impress you?"

"Oh, so much. Really. The keeper of the art cemetery? Wow!" I joked, clasping my hands beneath my chin.

"Not that, you loser," Josh said, grabbing the flap on my coat and pulling me closer to him. "The fact that there is a room on campus to which I am one of only two people who have the key."

My heart pounded a sweet little beat as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Now that is impressive."

"I thought so."

Josh grinned before leaning in to kiss me. Everything fluttered as his tongue searched mine, his hands cupping my face. We stood there for what felt like a very, very long time. Kissing, touching, gently searching. Slowly, he unbuttoned my coat, and I let the ridiculously expensive piece of couture hit the floor. I was very 
aware of the couch right next to us, and when my legs started to ache from standing in one place, I crooked at the knee and brought Josh down with me.

"We don't have to do anything," Josh said, breathless. His lips looked swollen and pink. He was trembling slightly. "I just wanted to see you. That's all."

"I know. I know," I said. I trusted Josh in that moment more than any guy I had ever touched lips with before. "Let's just.. . see what happens."

So we did. And everything that happened was sweet and pure and perfect.

CONGRUITY

What is Josh doing right now? Is he painting? Studying? Possibly sitting on his bed pretending to be reading, but instead daydreaming about me?

I looked down at my open history text and smiled to myself. I was descending into dorkdom over this guy--and it didn't even bother me. Especially since Natasha was downstairs in the lounge and not here to catch me spontaneously smiling.

I felt a pang of guilt oncoming and steeled myself for it, let Thomas's face pass before my mind's eye. At moments I wished there was something I could do to bring him back. I did. But at other moments I wished that I would have just stayed broken up with him before his disappearance. Then maybe my new crush wouldn't be overshadowed by guilt and sadness. I wished I could just be happy. I was human, after all.

The door to my room opened and I jumped. Noelle stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"You scared the crap out of me," I said, my hand to my chest.

Noelle's nose wrinkled quickly. "I've always hated that phrase. I mean, just the visual." She shuddered. "That would be so unsanitary."

I rolled my eyes and pushed back into my pillows, setting the heavy book aside. "What's up?"

Obviously, something was up. She wouldn't have been here unless something was up.

"Not much."

Noelle walked over to my desk. She picked up a framed picture of me and my brother, put it back. Plucked the top off my one ceramic jewelry box, which held my four pairs of earrings, then placed it down. Slipped the novel Natasha had given me from atop a pile of books and flipped through it. I waited patiently as she pawed my things. It wasn't as if there was anything interesting for her to find.

"So, you and Hollis," she said finally.

A pleasant warmth spread through me at the mention of his name. I drew my legs in, knees to chin, and held them. Was she actually here for girl talk? First the Thanksgiving phone call and now this. Crazy.

"Okay, you got me," I said. "How did you know?"

"Have you not been paying attention? I know everything."

It always stunned me when she made statements like that. Who had that kind of ego? That kind of absolute certainty? I envied it to no end. She had moved on to my collection of classic novels on the shelf above my desk and was inspecting their well 
worn spines. Not that I'd had a chance to crack any of my old favorites since arriving at Easton. Too much to do--studying, playing soccer, getting hazed, mourning boyfriends: My plate had been pretty full.

"Do you not approve?" I asked with a bit of a challenge.

Noelle raised one eyebrow at me. "Do you care?"

Of course I care. You know it. I know it. Who are we kidding?

I decided, however, to ignore the obvious and move on.

"He's so amazing, Noelle," I said. "He makes me forget all about Thomas. In fact, he makes me wonder what I was ever doing with Thomas."

"Something we all wondered."

I decided I'd ignore that as well.

"It's just that he's so good, you know?" I said. "He's like Thomas's polar opposite."

"I wouldn't go that far," Noelle said flatly.

My heart kind of halted. "What?"

Noelle sighed and moved over to my bed. She sat down near my feet and looked at me in that way that made me feel like I was the kindergartener and she was the teacher.

"Reed, there's something you should know about Hollis."

Oh. Dear. God. What now? Please tell me it's something good. Like he's the undercover heir to the British throne or his dad is the guy who came up with Google. Please tell me this warning will be along the lines of 'You may have to get used to jetting around the globe and meeting loads of interesting people. Can you handle that?"

"He's only at Easton because he got kicked out of his old school. He used to go to St. James Prep in New Hampshire."

"Josh got kicked out of school? Please," I said.

"I'm serious, Reed. And it wasn't for anything normal like going on a bender or flunking out," Noelle told me. "There was this whole scandal involved."

I felt a tickle in the back of my throat. "What kind of scandal?"

Noelle blew out another sigh. I wasn't sure if she was having a hard time telling me this or if she was pausing for dramatic effect. If it was the latter, I didn't appreciate it.

"What, Noelle?" I prompted.

"His roommate died," she said.

All the air whooshed out of my lungs.

"Come on."

"Supposedly, he killed himself, but the details were all suspicious," she said. "Some people said that the suicide looked--"

"What?"

"That it looked staged."

I laughed. My temples started to throb. "Yeah, right."

"I'm not kidding, Reed. There was this huge investigation, and no one ever proved anything, but people suspected that the guy was actually . . . murdered."

A chill shot down my spine, but I ignored it. It was just that word. That god-awful word I could not seem to get away from. It was not the congruity of the situation. Because it wasn't even a situation. It was a lie.

"And--don't tell me--Josh was a suspect," I said wryly, holding up my hands.

She was not getting to me. She wasn't. My heart was not fluttering in a way that scared me.

"Well, apparently, rumors started flying that maybe he had something to do with it--"

"Noelle"

"And then he, like, stopped taking his meds or something and went on this manic -schizo rampage that ended with him tearing apart the dean's office," she continued. "That will get you booted. Deans tend to like things tidy, you know."

"His meds?"

Noelle looked at me blankly. 'You didn't know about his meds? Kid's like a walking pharmacy. He's on everything from Haldol to Ambien. It's a wonder he's not walking around drooling half the time."

At that moment I heard a snap. "Stop it, Noelle!" I was on my feet. I didn't even know how I got there. "Just stop it!"

"Reed--"

"No! This is some kind of joke, right? More hazing?" I said. I was shaking. My fingers trembled so violently I shoved them into my hair and held them against my skull.

"Reed, no."

I didn't understand. She wasn't actually saying what I thought she was saying.

"So . . . what, Noelle? What do you mean? Are you trying 
to tell me that Josh killed this guy? Is that what you're saying?"

Noelle lifted her shoulders. "I'm just telling you what I know."

"Well, if he killed some guy, he wouldn't just be kicked out of school," I told her defiantly. "He would be in prison, right? Or do you people not go to prison?"

"Reed, calm down," she said. "I told you, they weren't able to prove--"

"No! I don't believe you! Why the hell are you doing this?" I blabbered. "Do you not want me to be happy for some reason? Do you just get off on seeing me miserable? Why are you lying to me?!"

"I'm not lying to you," Noelle said with an incredible calm. "I wouldn't lie to you."

"Right. Because you've never done it before," I said sarcastically.

Noelle stood up slowly. "Reed, I told you that was over. I told you that you could trust us now."

"Consider the source," I spat.

Noelle's eyes flashed. She was seething at that one, I could tell. But she took a deep breath and shook her hair back.

"Fine. I suppose I deserved that," she said finally. "If you don't believe me, research it yourself. It was all over the news. Or just ask the guy, see what he says. It's up to you."

"Fine! Maybe I will," I said.

"Fine." Noelle took a deep breath. "I think I'll go now."

"Good."

She turned slowly and walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the knob, gazing at me over one shoulder, her thick, lustrous hair tumbling down her back. She looked as beatific as a Renaissance angel. "I'm just trying to protect you, Reed. That's all."

SEARCH AND DESTROY

Josh's pen tap, tap, tapped against the tabletop as he scanned his essay for Spanish, reading it over for mistakes. He chewed on his bottom lip and tap, tap, tapped. The white collar of his rugby shirt had a small, nonspecific stain right near the left point. For some reason, I couldn't stop staring at it. Tap. Tap. Tap, tap, tap.