“One more question,” I said, unable to stop myself.
“Make it quick. I have to take a piss before my club meeting,” Gage said.
Charming.
“Are Ivy and Josh . . . are they, like, serious?” I asked, filleting my heart down the middle and leaving it wide open to his answer.
Gage looked at me for a moment, and for that one moment I swear I saw actual compassion in his eyes.
“Please. Ivy is never serious about anyone,” he said, standing. Then he turned and faced me and opened his arms. “Besides, the girl does have a brain. She’ll be coming back for more of
this
in no time.”
Gag. But still. I hoped he was right.
“Has everyone come up with a guest list?” I asked that night. Via e-mail, I had reminded each of my Billings sisters that they were to create their own lists of invitees for the fund-raiser—friends, family, people with cash. We were getting down to the wire, so I hoped that everyone had made time to work on it between classes.
“Got it!” Portia announced, holding up her rhinestone-covered PDA as everyone else murmured their assent.
“Mine’s handwritten. Is that bad?” Constance asked, biting her lip.
“It doesn’t matter what format it’s in as long as you have one,” I replied. “Now I need someone to volunteer to compile them all and cross-reference for any duplicates. Volunteers?”
“I’ll do it!” Kiki offered. Her mouth was full of the mini éclair she’d just popped into it, but I got the gist. Vienna had ordered up a
few dozen delicacies from the French bakery in town, which were now being passed around on silver platters.
“Great. Everyone get your lists to Kiki by the end of the night,” I directed. “We’ll also be inviting every Easton alumni under the age of sixty-five. Ms. Lewis e-mailed me the list today, and I’ll forward that to you as well,” I told Kiki.
“Okay,” Kiki said, taking Constance’s list. “What do I do with all the addresses once I have them?”
“Actually, I was kind of hoping that maybe you and Astrid could come up with some kind of gorgeous e-mail invite to send to everyone,” I replied. “We can mock it up now and then just add in the locations once we have them. Sound good?”
“I’m in!” Astrid announced.
“I just got this new design software from my dad that’s still in prototype. It’s killer,” Kiki added.
Noelle sat forward in her chair and cleared her throat. “E-mail? Really?” she asked, looking up at me like I had suggested finger-painting the invites. “Isn’t that sort of gauche?”
I felt my fingers start to curl. I had decided to go with her theme. Did she really have to contradict my one piece of input in front of everyone? I mean, I know I had flirted with her man and all, but did that mean I was never going to get a say in anything ever again?
No. I wouldn’t let her step all over me that way. So I’d flirted with Dash. Last year she’d helped kidnap my boyfriend and had left him for dead. I’d say we were even. Until she found out about the fact that
I’d almost slept with Dash. That might tip the scales in her view. But as of now, she didn’t know about that.
“It’s the fastest and cheapest way to reach everyone,” I told her patiently. “If we have to get invitations printed and stamped and mailed, by the time the guests receive them, it will be two days before the party.”
Noelle raised her palms. “Point taken.”
I let out a breath. See? She wasn’t trying to control things. She was simply voicing an opinion. Way to overreact, Reed.
“Okay, I think that’s it for tonight,” I told the room. “If anyone has any suggestions for us before we leave for New York on Saturday, stop by my room and let me know.”
The meeting broke up with everyone gabbing happily and comparing their lists, swiping a few more treats from the platters around the room. I suddenly felt too exhausted to move. It was difficult, keeping up appearances and being a leader when my mind was on Josh and Hauer and a million other things. It took a lot out of me. Noelle stood, selected a small tart, and wrapped it in a linen napkin to bring with her upstairs. I had been hoping for a moment alone with her and was glad she had hung back from the crowd.
“I swear, with the amount of crap we’ve been consuming at these meetings, the eating disorders in this place are about to skyrocket,” she joked.
“Noelle,” I said, wiping my palms on my wool skirt, “have you heard anything about Detective Hauer meeting with Josh this afternoon?”
Noelle smiled sympathetically. “Worried about the boy who dumped you? You’re so sweet.”
The boy who dumped me? I’d never told anyone that was how it had happened. Did she know, or did she just assume? Did she know more about that night than she had let on?
“I didn’t—”
“I’m just messing with you,” Noelle said, stepping toward me. “I heard it was just a routine questioning. Because apparently she used the same stuff to off herself as she used to mess with him. There’s an obvious connection.”
Obvious. Obvious that Cheyenne was a nut job who was capable of anything. Why wouldn’t they just chalk her death up to suicide and let it go?
“Besides, didn’t you say you both left campus before they had a chance to question you?” Noelle asked, arching her brows. “Maybe they’re just now catching up with Hollis as well. If, of course, that was really the reason for your visit with the police the other night.”
My face turned warm. I felt as if she could see right into my brain. “Right. That makes sense.”
Noelle smirked, then instantly shifted gears. “Don’t worry, Reed. He’ll be fine,” she said kindly, soothingly. “He can take care of himself.”
“I know.” Or maybe Ivy was taking care of him.
“Come on. You can help me with my Spanish. You’re one of those dorks who love homework, right?” she joked, knocking me with her arm as she passed me by.
“I’ll be right up,” I told her.
I hoped she was right—I hoped Josh was fine without me—but the idea that he could be only made my heart ache worse. As much as I was trying to move on and cling to my anger with him over Ivy, I hated not knowing what was going on with him. I hated not being able to be there for him. I hated myself for doing this to us.
I had never been inside a Drake Hall common room before. It was nice. Cozy. There was a fire in the old stone fireplace, big leather chairs all around the room, and the walls were paneled in dark wood. It had the feel of a mountain lodge. Not that I’d ever been to a mountain lodge, but I imagined this was how it would feel. Unlike the common room on Josh’s floor in Ketlar, there was no big-screen TV or boys shouting over a round of Guitar Hero in the corner. The few guys dotted around the room were studying, carrying on whispered debates.
This was where the real students lived.
“So, where are you from, anyway?” I asked Marc. I leaned over the open Tupperware box on the table between us, chose one of the flaky, homemade desserts his mother had sent him, and leaned back in my comfy leather chair.
“We’re supposed to be interviewing you,” Marc reminded me.
“I’m bored of me,” I replied. “Let’s talk about you for a while.”
Marc smiled and turned off the recorder, which sat next to the Tupperware. “I have one more question first, off the record,” he said.
“Sure,” I replied, licking some powdered sugar from my lower lip. Whatever I was eating was damn good.
“Is this an interview or a date?” he asked.
My heart skipped a surprised beat. “What makes you think it’s a date?”
Marc looked at the floor and rubbed his hands together shyly. He glanced up with a tentative expression. “Constance said something about a list. . . .”
I laughed and finished off my little pastry. “Trust Constance to stick her nose in. So maybe it is a date.” I didn’t want it to be a date. Not really. I didn’t want to be on a date with anyone other than Josh. But that was what this was supposed to be. So I said it. “Is that okay with you?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Very okay.”
I felt a bit guilty after that. Like I was giving him false hope. But I soldiered on.
“Good. So where are you from?” I asked again, reaching for another pastry.
“Miami,” he replied.
I paused mid-bite. When I thought of Miami, I thought of neon lights, hot pink spandex, and loud music. Marc was none of these things. His very being screamed New Englander. “Really? But you’re so—”
“Preppy? Ambitious? Sober?” he supplied.
“Okay,” I said.
“I never really fit in there,” he told me. He leaned back in his chair and laid his arms on top of the chair arms, then started to tap a beat on the front of them with both hands. “My older brother, Carlos, was born to live there. All my friends worshipped him because he, you know, raced cars and knew all the bouncers and had a different girl over every night and never seemed to actually work a day. They thought he was the coolest thing ever. I just thought it was sad. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Too much information?” he asked.
“No. Not at all. It just sounds familiar,” I replied.
“You have a slutty, drag-racing older brother?” Marc joked.
I laughed and reached for my coffee cup. “No. Not that part. Just the part where you couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“Didn’t fit in out there in central Pennsylvania?” he asked.
My paranoia flared instantly. “How did you know where I was from?”
“Reed, I’m a reporter. I’m doing a story on you. Come on,” he said, turning his palms up.
“I thought the story was more about Billings.”
“Yeah, and you’re president of Billings. The girl who’s single-handedly trying to save it,” Marc said. Like,
duh
. “You’re kind of central to the story.”
“Oh. Right.” I laughed.
And as I laughed I realized that I only ever laughed anymore when
I was with Marc. I looked at him and he looked at me and I felt nothing. Zero tingle. Zero attraction. Zero emotion. He wasn’t Josh, but I liked being with him. It made me forget the other stuff. There was a definite possibility that this guy could be a good friend.
“So. How big’s
your
scholarship?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Like I’d ever tell you that,” I responded, and smacked his arm lightly.
“I’ll get it out of you eventually,” he told me, reaching for one of the pastries. “It’s what I do.”
I sipped my coffee and settled in. We spent the next hour talking about how surreal it was to be at Easton without trust funds behind us. Our hopes of breaking into the Ivy League. The crazy birthday gifts our parents cobbled together during leaner years. In the end it was one of the most enjoyable nights I’d had in recent memory. And he didn’t even try to kiss me at the door.
As I strolled away from Drake Hall, I felt somehow lighter. I knew that there was definitely going to be life after Josh Hollis. Maybe not with Marc, but with someone. Someday. Maybe even soon. It was actually possible.
Friday night was movie night at Billings—at least, for those who didn’t have dates or visiting parents. As I approached my dorm, I saw the dim glow of the plasma screen through the front window of the parlor and knew that most of my friends were inside, riveted to whatever words of wisdom Cameron Diaz or Reese Witherspoon were imparting this week. I yanked open the outer door of the dorm and paused. The inner door was ajar, propped open with the bronze doorstopper that was only ever used on move-in day to facilitate the passage of huge suitcases and trunks. The red security light on the keycard slot was blinking and emitting a low, ineffective beep, annoyed that the door had been ajar for too long. What was it doing open? And why hadn’t anyone noticed?
I stepped inside and nudged the heavy doorstopper aside with my foot, then quietly closed the door. I could see Sabine, Constance, and Kiki sitting in the parlor with their hair spilling over the back of one
of the couches. Nothing seemed amiss. Part of me wanted to go in there and ask them about the door, but if I did, I knew that Constance would pump me for the details of my date, so instead I quickly slipped upstairs.
Big mistake. The second I opened the door to my room, I froze. Literally. It was freezing inside. Something moved in the dark. Fear instantly overcame me and I slammed the door, pressing myself up against the wall outside. Someone was in there. Someone was in my room.
My heart was in my throat. Why would someone be skulking around in my room in the dark? Were they leaving another surprise for me? Or did they have something even worse planned? Whoever was in there knew I was out here now. We were playing a waiting game. Him or her in there. Me out here. Who would crack first?
Ever so slowly, I turned and pressed my ear to the door to see if I could hear the culprit moving around inside. I held my breath. There was nothing. Dead silence. Was this person on the other side of the door right now . . . listening for me?
Why were they doing this to me? What had I done to deserve this?
Down the hall, a door opened and laughing voices emerged. I looked up to find Lorna and Missy walking out of the Twin Cities’ room with a bunch of folded blankets. They stopped in their tracks at the sight of me still bundled in my coat, my gloved hands pressed into the door along with my left ear.
“What are you doing?” Missy asked with a sneer.
Freaking out. Losing my mind. Having a panic attack.
“Someone’s in my room,” I whispered.
“Sabine?” Lorna asked at full voice.
I felt so desperate I wanted to cry. But at least I had backup now. At least if I opened the door, they would see there was someone in there too. I’d have witnesses.
“No. Sabine’s downstairs,” I whispered hoarsely. “I think someone’s sneaking around my room.”
“Like who?” Missy asked. “Everyone’s in the parlor.”
I pressed my lips together. I hated that of all the people in Billings, it was Missy who had to be here for this, but she was better than no one. “I don’t know. Maybe someone from outside Billings,” I said, thinking of the open door. “Will you guys please just go in there with me?”
Lorna looked a little freaked, but she nodded resolutely. “Sure.”