Her eyes went wide as she looked at my fingers on her arm. “You little—”
“Ivy!”
Josh came up behind her and touched her shoulder just as she made a move to attack. To hit me, push me, scratch me? I had no idea. But the touch of his fingers stopped her.
“Come on,” he said in her ear. Right in her ear. Their cheeks touching. Josh’s skin against hers. I was going to throw up. “Come on. Let’s get out of here,” he said in that soothing voice I knew so well.
It sent shivers of regret and longing and pain down my spine. “You don’t need this. Let’s just go.”
Ivy bent her head forward. Leaned her shoulder into him. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Josh turned away, his hand now on her back. He never looked at me. Not once.
“But this isn’t over,” Ivy said to me as he tugged her along. Said loud enough for every salivating student in the solarium to hear. “You just sealed it, Reed. Billings is going down. And I’m taking down every last one of you with it.”
Ivy. It was her. I was sure of it now. She hated Billings. She hated me. Maybe she even had some sort of sick, twisted, leftover loyalty to Cheyenne. She was the one messing with me. She had to be.
As I walked back to Billings with my friends, my hands shoved deep inside my pockets, the cold air clearing out my senses, it all made perfect sense. Maybe Cheyenne was the one who had ended their friendship. If what Noelle had said was true—that Ivy had turned down the invite to Billings—then Cheyenne might very well have cut the girl off. Nothing meant more to her than Billings. She never would have been able to accept the fact that someone didn’t want to be there as much as she did. So maybe Cheyenne had ended their friendship, but Ivy still loved her. Maybe Ivy felt as if Billings had been responsible for the end of her friendship, for the end of her best friend’s life. And now . . . now she was taking it out on me.
“Reed? Reed, where are you right now?” Tiffany asked, leaning forward to get into my line of sight as we reached the front door.
“Just thinking,” I replied. Oddly enough, I actually felt relieved. Happy. Safe. There was a theory that made sense. One that even exonerated all my friends. I couldn’t believe that I had ever suspected any of them. Astrid, Shelby, even Missy. I hated Ivy for making me into a paranoid freak who thought her friends were plotting against her. But at the same time, I was ecstatic to know that I was safe among my friends. Everything was going to be fine.
“Don’t waste any of your brain space on Ivy,” Tiffany said, rolling her eyes. “The girl has completely lost it.”
She yanked open the first door and used her electronic key to get through the second.
“You guys want to hang out for a while?” Rose asked as we all shed our coats in the foyer.
“Actually, I think I’m just going to go check my e-mail and go to bed,” I replied. “It’s been a long weekend.”
I trudged up the stairs to my room, Constance and Sabine trailing behind me, gabbing about Ivy and whether she could possibly be a killer. I tried to tune them out, but they were far too loud.
“I never liked the girl. The way she walks around here acting like she runs the place,” Sabine said.
“And she looks like a witch. With that pointy face and the dark hair and all the black clothes,” Constance added. “Honestly? It’s like
The Wizard of Oz
. Cheyenne was the good blond witch all in pink, and Ivy’s the scary, psycho witch all in black.”
Sabine paused for a moment. “But in that story, the good witch survived and the bad witch melted.”
“Maybe we should go throw some water on her and see what happens,” Constance said flatly as they followed me into our room.
As they continued to gab over on Sabine’s side, I opened my computer with a sigh and brought up my e-mail. Instantly, my heart stopped beating. I had an e-mail from Dash. Right there at the top of the page. It was titled “Long overdue,” and it had been sent from a new e-mail address. Apparently he had wised up about his girlfriend’s e-mail know-how.
Finally. Finally something. The guy sure took his dear, sweet time. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the girls were occupied, then started to sit down in my chair. I was about halfway to seated, when the chair and the whole world dropped out from under me.
Right beneath Dash’s e-mail was an e-mail from Cheyenne. And beneath that another. And beneath that another. I shakily reached for the mouse and scrolled down. Her name filled the whole page. It filled the entire page after that. And another. And another. The more I clicked, the more my eyes stung, watering until I couldn’t focus anymore.
I had blocked Cheyenne’s address. Changed my own. I had stopped this. How had these e-mails gotten through. How? Was it Ivy? Was she some kind of computer hacker? Was she trying to show me that she could get to me no matter where I was?A bubble rose up in my throat and before I could stop it, a strangled sound came right out. I slapped my hand over my mouth, shut the browser, and quickly powered down
the computer. But it was too late. Sabine and Constance had stopped talking.
“Reed? Are you all right?”
“M’just . . . sick,” I mumbled. And it was true. The second I spoke I felt dinner coming back up. I raced past them into the bathroom, slammed the door, and fell to my knees in front of the toilet. After retching for what felt like an eternity, I flushed and put my butt on the floor, shoving myself back against the wall, wondering if I’d ever really feel safe again.
The morning was always better. By the light of day everything seemed fine. Nightmares seemed impossible. Still, I didn’t go near my computer. As much as I wanted to know what Dash’s e-mail was all about, I couldn’t handle Cheyenne’s name staring me in the face like that. That was no way to start a day.
At breakfast everyone was discussing the upcoming fund-raiser, whom they might bring as dates, what they were going to wear, where they would stay in the city that night, when Portia came whirling in with a copy of the
New York Post
.
“O. M. G.!” she said dramatically, whipping the paper open and slapping it down in front of me. “Look at this!”
It was the infamous Page Six gossip column, and staring out at me was a large, full-color photo of Kiran Hayes in a hot pink dress, draped all over some Adonis and smiling seductively at the camera.
She had grown her dark hair out, and it fell in perfect waves over her tan shoulders and back. Gorgeous as always.
“What is this?” I asked, pulling it closer as Noelle, Tiffany, and Astrid rose out of their seats to better see.
“Check the cap!” Portia instructed, pointing a manicured nail at the text beneath.
“‘International It Girl Kiran Hayes celebrates her eighteenth birthday in style at the Ritz in Amsterdam,’” I read aloud. “‘But don’t fret, kiddies. Word is Miss Hayes will be bringing the party stateside next month. Think you’re a VIP? You’ll know if you receive an invite.’”
“Sweet!” Tiffany said, sitting down again. “There’s nothing like one of Kiran’s birthday parties.”
“She didn’t have one last year,” I pointed out.
“That was because of all the . . . unpleasantness,” Noelle said dismissively.
“Did you guys know she was planning a party here?” Vienna asked from the other end of the table.
“No,” I replied.
“Of course,” Noelle said at the same time, digging out a spoonful of yogurt and berries from her bowl.
She looked at me from across the table and smirked. Of course she knew and I didn’t. Of course. But did that mean I wasn’t going to be invited? That I didn’t rate as one of Kiran’s VIPs?
“So, Reed. Have you thought about who
you’re
going to bring to
the fund-raiser?” Noelle asked, smoothly changing the subject as she took another bite of breakfast.
“Do I really need a date?” I asked. “I’m going to be busy enough as it is without babysitting some guy.”
“Are you kidding? Of course you need a date,” Portia said as she slid into a chair at the other end of the table. “How would it look if the chairwoman of the event didn’t have a date? Answer? N.G.”
Great. I had no idea people cared about such things. I glanced over at a small table near the corner, where Josh and Ivy sat together and alone, talking urgently over their untouched meals. Suddenly I felt hollow inside. Were the rumors that Josh and Ivy were together true, or did it just
look
that way? Part of me wished I knew for sure, but a larger part of me wanted to know nothing—wanted to be able to keep living in my own little world. A world in which he was still pining over me. He couldn’t have started up with someone else so fast. Especially not a girl like her. And he certainly couldn’t have been kissing Ivy in front of Pemberly. He was Josh. A gentleman. A thoughtful, caring, sensitive person. He just couldn’t.
As I watched, Josh leaned even closer to Ivy and hot anger shot through me. Did he really have to be so public about it? Did he really have to rub my face in whatever he and Ivy had? I was going to find a date who would put Josh to shame. I would do it if it killed me. And I was also going to find some way to prove that Ivy had been stalking me. He could never be with her if he knew that. Right?
My phone trilled, knocking me out of my daze. I fished it out of my bag quickly and checked the screen. The call was coming from the manager of the St. Sebastian.
“It’s Cheryl Wallace,” I told Noelle.
Her brows knit as I answered it, which gave me a thump of foreboding. Did this mean that something was wrong?
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hello, Miss Brennan. This is Cheryl Wallace from the Saint Sebastian,” a woman’s voice said pleasantly. “How are you this morning?”
“Fine. How are you?” I asked, confused.
“Well, I have some bad news, unfortunately,” she said.
I automatically turned away from my friends, swinging my legs into the aisle between tables. “Bad news?” I repeated, lowering my voice.
“Yes. I’m afraid there was some sort of snafu with our scheduling program,” Cheryl said. “It seems your date has been booked for weeks.”
“What?” I blurted loudly. “No. That’s not possible.”
Everyone at the two Billings tables fell silent, as did half the dining hall. I placed my hand on my forehead as my heart began a panicked dance inside my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Brennan, but there’s nothing I can do.”
“No. There must be something. The fund-raiser is less than a week away,” I said desperately, closing my eyes against the curious
stares. “We signed a contract. We . . . we put down a deposit.”
“Which will be refunded in full, of course,” she said politely.
“You’re not getting it,” I replied, my voice so tense I barely recognized it. “The invitations have already been sent. You can’t—”
“Again, Miss Brennan. I’m very sorry. But—”
“Don’t tell me there’s nothing you can do!” I shouted. “Who booked the place? Maybe I can call them and convince them to—”
“I’m afraid I can’t share that information,” Cheryl said, clucking her tongue.
“But you have to! There has to be something I can—”
“Please accept my apologies, Miss Brennan. I’ll put your check in the mail today.”
With that, she hung up and I started to hyperventilate. I placed my phone on the table and slowly turned around, resting my elbows on either side of it. I stared down at the screen, willing it to ring again. Willing Cheryl to call back and tell me it was all a joke. A misunderstanding. But the phone lay still and silent.
“Reed, what is it? What’s going on?” Tiffany asked.
“She said . . . she said the place had already been booked. They messed up,” I replied, looking up at all of them desperately. “She says there’s nothing she can do.”
The Billings Girls stared back at me, shocked. I had let them down. I had let them all down.
“There goes the fund-raiser,” Missy said finally.
“And Billings,” Rose added, looking ill.
Tears stung my eyes. What were we going to do? I had let them all down. Every one of them. I was going to go down in history as the president who killed Billings.
“All right, all right. Everyone calm down,” Noelle said loudly. “I happen to have a backup plan.”
“You do?” Vienna asked.
“You do?” I echoed, feeling a rush of hope.
Noelle looked at me and folded her arms in front of her on the table. “I booked Loft Blanc,” she told me. There was something approaching an apology in her eyes. “Just in case.”
“You what?” I blurted, my relief turning to anger. “Why would you—”
“Just in case,” she repeated. “When you throw together an event this fast, it’s always good to have a backup.”
My skin started a slow burn. All day Sunday she had acted as if she had come around to my way of thinking. That the St. Sebastian was the best venue for our event. But all the while, she had already gone behind my back and booked the place she had wanted. She had been hoping something like this would happen. I could see it in her eyes.
“Noelle! You are a genius!” London cried, getting up and hugging Noelle from behind.
“What would we do without you?” Vienna added.
Suddenly everyone was getting up, congratulating Noelle. A few people even golf clapped for her achievement. And I had to sit
there and watch it all. Watch them thank her for saving my ass. Watch her preen at the attention.
No matter what I did, no matter how hard I worked, it was always Noelle who saved the day. Always Noelle who got the credit.
“I am so glad Noelle had a backup plan,” Constance gushed as she slid into the seat next to mine in calc class that afternoon. “I swear, when you said that place had been booked already, I saw my life flash before my eyes. I mean, to get into Billings and then have it shut down? That would be so not fair.”
“Yeah. Thank God for Noelle,” I grumbled halfheartedly, taking out my heavy calculus tome.
Sabine and Missy looked at each other as they took their own seats nearby, and both scoffed in unison. That was interesting. I was pretty sure I’d never seen those two connect on anything. Ever.
“What?” I asked warily. The rest of the classroom started to fill in around us, but Mr. Crandle hadn’t arrived yet.