“Kind of like everyone’s now heard I killed Cheyenne,” I said pointedly. “How do you know it wasn’t just a rumor?”
“Well, let’s just say this one I had on good authority,” Marc replied with a smirk. “Anyway, I should be getting to the paper. I have a couple of stories to polish before we put it to bed.”
He turned and speed-walked away so fast, I didn’t even have time to formulate another question, let alone a good-bye.
I sat at my desk on Tuesday evening, listening to a Katy Rose CD and rereading the same gossip article about Ivy for the ten millionth time. It didn’t matter how many times I Googled her, it was always the same articles. Mentions of her family’s philanthropy, her grandmother’s long obituary, some old piece about Ivy and her horse winning some random juniors competition years ago. Google wasn’t about to explain that photo I had found in Ivy’s room. It wasn’t about to spit out a video of Ivy killing Cheyenne. All it was going to do was frustrate me.
Giving up for now, I slapped the laptop closed and turned around to look at my cavelike room. I hadn’t put anything away yet. I think I was hoping that it wasn’t real. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to give in. Stashing my clothes in that sad little dresser and tucking my bags under the creaky old bed would be like admitting defeat. But that night, as I looked around the dreary, confining space, I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t live in a bare cell, plucking my clothes out of
suitcases all wrinkled like some kind of vagabond. It was too depressing. It might just send me over the edge.
Slowly, reluctantly, I pushed myself out of my chair and started to unpack my suitcase. Of course, right on top was the black cashmere sweater Noelle had given me on her return to Easton this fall. Just looking at it made my spirits plummet even further. Maybe this was not the best idea.
There was a quick knock at my door.
“Who is it?” I called out.
“Surprise!”
It was Constance and Sabine, and they had come bearing gifts.
“What’re you guys doing here?” I asked, still clutching the sweater. I reached over to my CD player and turned the volume almost all the way down.
“You said your room was depressing, so we brought you some things to cheer the place up!” Sabine announced, walking in and placing a mini Christmas tree atop my dresser. She unfurled a bright red woven rug in the center of the floor. It just fit between the bed and the dresser.
“I picked out the posters,” Constance said, holding up a cardboard tube. “I remembered you really liked Turner’s seascapes in art history last year, so I ordered you a few prints and had them shipped overnight.”
“Wow. Thanks, you guys. This is incredible,” I said, taking the tube from Constance. Tears of gratitude actually welled in my eyes. They had come at the perfect time. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yeah, we did. Look at this place,” Constance said, holding out both hands. Her face turned bright pink under her freckles. “I mean, not that it’s bad. It’s not. It’s cozy, actually. I—”
“It’s okay, Constance,” I said, tossing the tube on my bed. “It’s a hole.”
“It’s not a hole. In fact, I asked Headmaster Cromwell if I could transfer over here so we could be roommates again, but you were right. He wouldn’t allow it since it’s a single,” Sabine said, smoothing out the corners of the rug.
I laughed, touched. “Well, at least you tried.”
“Forget moving in here,” Constance said, sitting down on my bed, which emitted its signature creak. She dropped her floral Betsey Johnson messenger bag next to her, spilling some of her books and notebooks halfway out. “What we really have to do is get you back into Billings.”
“I second that,” Sabine said, raising her hand. “But how?”
“Well, I was thinking,” Constance said, sitting forward. She pulled her long, red braid over her shoulder and toyed with the piecey end. “You know how everyone who’s trying to get into Billings is giving us gifts? Well, Reed, why don’t you give Noelle something? Like a peace offering.”
“Yes. It would be like telling her you want to start over from scratch,” Sabine agreed, her green eyes excited.
“I don’t know, you guys,” I said, perching on the edge of my chair. “Wouldn’t that seem kind of pathetic? And, you know, desperate?”
Constance’s face fell into a pout. “I think it would be sweet.”
“Maybe,” I said, trying to bolster her. Looking at that face made me feel as if I’d just kicked a puppy. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” Constance said. “Because I really think Noelle would respond to something like that.”
Yeah. With a marathon laughing fit.
“We should put these up,” Sabine suggested, reaching over for the posters. As she opened the tube and started unrolling the prints, I glanced at Constance’s things and saw a copy of last week’s
Easton Chronicle
sticking out of her bag. Instantly I thought of Marc and his odd comment earlier.
“Hey, Constance. You knew Marc last year, right?” I asked casually.
“Yeah. We met at the paper. Why?” Constance asked. She sat forward and turned the toes of her D&G sneakers together.
“Did he and Cheyenne ever hang out?” I asked.
“Not really,” she said with a thoughtful frown. “But he
did
do a piece on her.”
“He wrote a story about her?” I asked. That was unexpected.
“Yeah. Remember how we used to do that thing where we profiled a different student each week on page two?” Constance said. “I always thought it was kind of lame, so I cut it this year. But Marc wrote the one on Cheyenne.”
“Huh. Interesting,” I said.
That sort of explained why Marc knew about Cheyenne’s love life last year. Although I didn’t see her advertising her sexcapades for a puff piece in the
Chronicle
. Still, if he’d spent time with her, he would have observed some things. Like maybe even her receiving texts from
the mysterious S.O. But that still didn’t explain why he had known that Cheyenne had drugged Josh to get him to hook up with her back in September. I filed all this away to consider again later.
“Why are you so interested in Marc and Cheyenne?” Sabine asked, glancing over her shoulder as she held up one of the prints to the wall.
“Oh, no reason,” I replied. “He just said something earlier that made me think they knew each other, but I couldn’t imagine the two of them hanging out, you know? She’d never have given a guy like him a second glance.”
Sabine laughed. “True. She probably would have walked right over him without even noticing.” She moved the poster to the small area of wall next to the door and held it up with her arms above her head. “What do we think of this?”
“Looks good to me,” I said. I jumped up and grabbed some tape out of my desk drawer. Just as I slammed it, my entire room filled with the sound of Ivy’s high-pitched laughter. A cold chill skittered down my spine.
“What was that?” Constance asked, wrinkling her nose.
Sabine’s arms dropped along with the poster. “Does Pemberly have an evil ghost?” she joked.
“No, just an evil next-door neighbor,” I told them, dropping my voice. “Ivy Slade,” I said, tipping my head toward the wall by my bed.
“Ew,” Constance said, standing up. “I do
not
like that girl.”
“Join the club,” I said quietly.
“She’s right next door? What bad luck,” Sabine sympathized.
I glanced at the wall, the hairs on my neck and arms standing on end. Suddenly I couldn’t help wondering whether Ivy could hear what was going on in my room as well as I could hear what was going on in hers.
Maybe it was time for me to start watching what I was saying around here. Just what I needed—to feel even more paranoid in my own room. One more reason to get out of here and back to Billings as quickly as possible. Back to where I belonged.
When I walked out the back door of Pemberly the next morning, my gray cashmere scarf pulled up around my chin, the first thing I saw was a horde of students gathered in the middle of the quad. And at the center of the crowd were Noelle Lange and Amberly Carmichael.
I slowed my steps, not wanting to appear too interested, but dying to know what was going on. As I watched, Amberly tossed her blond hair—which she had clearly straightened this morning—and handed a small white card to Trey. He said something that made her laugh before tucking the card away in his back pocket. Then I noticed that everyone walking away from the circle was clutching one of these cards, and those still in the circle seemed to be clamoring for them. What in the world was going on?
Noelle whispered something to Amberly and they both laughed again, the sound echoing merrily across campus. Watching them made my stomach sink. They looked perfect together, all tucked into
their designer coats, puffing clouds of steam into the cold air as they chatted and laughed—like perfectly matched best friends. Surrounded by people, they were clearly the belles of this ball. It was almost like watching Noelle and Ariana from afar last year. They looked that close. That untouchable.
A few weeks ago that had been me. A few weeks ago Noelle and I had been close like that. We had been the center of Easton together. And now . . . now I was merely a loser on the outskirts of Nowheresville. A nothing.
I wondered if Noelle had gotten my e-mail. If she’d read my apology. If I could just get her to talk to me, maybe I could also get her to forgive me for what I had done with Dash. Then she could make the Reed-as-murderer rumor go away. Then I could come back to Billings with a clear conscience and name and everything would go back to normal.
Of course, there was no way to know if she’d read my e-mail unless she decided to come to me. And right now it looked like I was the furthest thing from her mind.
A group of Billings Girls broke off from the crowd and started toward the cafeteria, clutching their cards. Missy and Lorna were among them, but so were Astrid and Sabine. I hesitated for a moment, then realized I could endure the sneers of the former two if it meant I could get info out of the latter pair. I scurried to catch up.
“Hey, guys,” I said, falling into step next to Astrid.
Missy scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“Oh . . . hey, Reed,” Sabine said tentatively.
“What’re those?” I asked, nodding at Astrid’s card.
Astrid glanced warily at the others before reluctantly handing over the white square. It was an invitation for a party thrown by Noelle and Amberly. Scheduled for next Saturday evening.
“I don’t get it,” I said. Why would Noelle and Amberly be throwing a party together? It didn’t gel.
“It’s a pre-party for Kiran’s birthday extravaganza,” Astrid said apologetically. “It’s so everyone can gather on campus before the party buses come round to get us.”
My heart curled into a tight ball inside my chest. I had received my invitation to Kiran’s birthday party the week before the fund-raiser. The week before the proverbial shit had hit the proverbial fan. But I hadn’t thought about the event for days. Other dramas had shoved it to the back of my mind. Did my falling-out with Noelle and my ostracism from Billings mean I would no longer be welcome? Did Kiran even know what had happened? Would she care?
“Everyone’s invited. Well, everyone who matters,” Missy said snidely, plucking Astrid’s invite out of my hand and giving it back to its rightful owner.
I ignored her comment. “Okay, but why Noelle and Amberly? Why are they throwing it together?”
Astrid and Sabine slowed to a stop, as did Missy and Lorna, who hovered a bit behind them. The silence dragged on for so long I was starting to get knee-knocking cold.
“Oh, for God’s sake, if you don’t want to tell her, I will,” Missy
said, stepping forward. “It’s Noelle’s way of welcoming Amberly into Billings. We just voted her in last night.”
I felt as if all the stately buildings of Easton had just crumbled around me, shaking the earth beneath my feet.
“Amberly?”
“Yep,” Lorna replied. “She’s moving her stuff in this afternoon.”
I glanced at Sabine, who confirmed it all with one guilty and sad look. Amberly would be moving her stuff into
our
room. Into
my
space. I felt nauseated and dizzy. That was my room. My bed. Mine.
“But she’s a . . . a freshman,” I stammered.
“So? You were a sophomore when you got in,” Missy reminded me. “Clearly if they can bend the rules once they can bend them again.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?” I asked Sabine, my throat dry.
“I didn’t . . . I’m sorry . . . I just didn’t want to upset you,” Sabine said, as a stiff wind tossed her long dark hair behind her. “After how hopeful we were yesterday . . . I didn’t even know we were holding a vote until they woke me up in the middle of the night.”
Holding a vote. The Inner Circle ritual. Suddenly I could see it all so vividly. The girls being roused from their beds. The candlelight as they trailed down the stairs in their nightgowns. The chairs in the circle. The marbles being dropped one by one. I could even see Amberly’s picture set before them. Her sniveling, smiling little face beaming hopefully out at them.
And they had voted her in. There was no longer an open spot in Billings. I had already been replaced. And by a
freshman.
“Can we go now? It’s freezing out here,” Missy said, shoving her hands into her coat pockets.
She and Lorna started for the cafeteria, but Sabine and Astrid hung back.
“I’m really sorry, Reed,” Astrid said.
“It’s okay,” I heard myself croak.
But it wasn’t okay. It would never be okay. Because I knew that Noelle had done this on purpose. Just like she’d told everyone about my meeting with Hauer before Thanksgiving and let everyone believe I was a killer. She had chosen Amberly because she had known it would be the ultimate snub. The Billings president replaced by a lowly freshman. She was trying to show me how very little I had meant. How very easy it was to fill my shoes.
She was trying to hammer it home to me that it was over. I would never get back into Billings. Never.
My Spanish notebook was propped up in front of me, my textbook open to the five-page short story about which I was supposed to write an essay (all in Spanish). I had my English-to-Spanish dictionary out, a new file open on my computer, and iTunes set to shuffle. I was ready to work.