Shelby scrunched up her face like I was insane. “I don’t even know where that thing is.” Which made sense. She was, after all, a senior, and the handbook was something we were given out the first day we arrived on campus. Most people forgot about it about ten seconds later.
“I’m sure you can get a new one in the office. Or better yet, take one out of the library. Asking Double H’s secretary for one might arouse suspicion.”
“Speaking of Double H . . . wasn’t there a little announcement about the banning of social clubs?” Vienna said, raising her hand as she spoke.
“Yeah. What does that mean for us?” London added.
There was another creak overhead. We all held our breath. Then a set of keys jangled and the front door slammed so hard some of the furniture piles shook. I looked my friends in the eye, one by one, and summoned the firmest tone I could muster in the midst of my trepidation.
“It means,” I said, “that we’re going to have to be very,
very
careful.”
“Okay, so why are we here again?” Graham asked, coming up behind me and Ivy as we walked into the gym for the girls’ basketball game. “I mean, it’s Saturday night. Sat-ur-day night!” he added, doing a twist move with his hips. “Shouldn’t we be, like, I don’t know . . . partying?”
Ivy and I laughed. I was about to answer when Gage and Trey Prescott, Josh’s roommate, joined us. Gage slapped one hand down on Graham’s shoulder and leaned in close.
“Dude. Look around,” he said. “What’s more of a party than ten half-naked girls, sweating and chasing balls?”
“Gross!” Ivy protested.
“Please don’t let him corrupt you,” I said to Graham. “You’re such a nice guy.”
Graham stood up straight and tilted his head. “Still. The man
does
have a point.”
The three guys laughed as they jostled through the door ahead of us. I rolled my eyes at Ivy and took one of the blue-and-gold pom-poms the freshmen were handing out just inside the door. Easton was playing the Barton School, and Tiffany, Shelby, and Missy were all on the team. Normally this was the kind of thing Ivy would have steered clear of, not being a big school spirit girl and all that, but I had convinced her it would be a good thing to support our prospective sisters.
“So. I’ve been thinking about the first task,” I said under my breath, running the silky plastic of the mini pom-pom through my fingers. “And I think it might be better if we—”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Ivy said, pausing at the end of the jam-packed bleachers. At my old school, Croton High, a girls’ basketball game wouldn’t have drawn much of a crowd, but here at Easton, where we were all campus-bound in the dead of winter, it was like a rave. Gage and Trey had joined Josh and the other guys at the top of the center bleachers. As I found them, Josh met my eyes, then quickly looked away. Graham, I noticed, had broken off from them and was sitting with Sawyer a couple of sections away.
“What do you mean you don’t want to hear about it?” I waved at Constance, who was sitting a few rows in front of Josh, wearing an Easton sweatshirt over a plaid skirt. She was surrounded by Kiki, Astrid, Missy, Amberly, and Rose. She smiled and waved back, but her always sweet and welcoming face turned a tad sour when she saw that Ivy was with me.
“I want to be tested just like everyone else,” Ivy told me, holding her ground as a couple of Barton guys tried to nudge us forward onto the
bleachers. “I already know more than I should. But if we’re going to do this thing right, you should test me and make sure I make the cut.”
The Barton guys finally got the hint that we weren’t budging any time soon and went around us. One of them blatantly checked out Ivy as he went by and she smiled back at him.
Geez. You have a boyfriend, remember?
I glanced at Josh again. This time his gaze was trained on the court, where the girls were finishing up their pregame warm-up and jogging for the benches. I took a breath and told myself to focus.
“That’s insane.” I looked into Ivy’s eyes and realized she wasn’t kidding. “Ivy, I need your help. How am I going to set up these tests and administer them and judge the results all on my own? That’s impossible.”
“Yeah, but it’s the rules,” Ivy said under her breath. “You’re the Elizabeth Williams here, Reed. Once you have a membership, you’ll have all the help you need, but for this one, you’re going to have to make the decisions.”
“If you’re getting tested, then I should be too.” I said, starting up the steps.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me back down, tugging me into the corner by the fire extinguisher. Over the loudspeakers, the national anthem started to play.
“Whoever left you that book chose you,” she said. “You’re the one person who gets a pass.”
“Okay, fine,” I said. “You can do the tasks. But if you fail any of them, I will personally kick your butt.”
She smirked. “I would expect nothing less.”
The players gathered at the center of the court for the tip-off. Cheers of “Go Easton!” and “Let’s go Barton!” erupted from the stands as sneakers squeaked on the freshly waxed floors.
“I’m going to go get a soda,” Ivy told me. “Save me a seat.”
“Okay.” I sighed, suddenly heavy with the full weight of the Billings Literary Society on my shoulders. “I’ll be up there with Constance and those guys.”
“Got it,” Ivy said with a nod.
She paused to let a crowd of Barton fans through, their faces painted red and white. As the buzzer commenced the game, I started up the bleachers, carefully avoiding fingers and toes and book bags. Halfway up, I felt someone watching me and glanced toward the top bleacher. Josh. He quickly looked away, and a lump formed in my throat. I wished I could just go up there and join him. Hang out with him, talk to him, just be near him. But I couldn’t. Feeling suddenly conspicuous, I slid into the aisle where my friends were sitting. Constance made room for me on the bench next to her, slipping her backpack onto the floor and her coat under her butt. I sat down and smiled, concentrating on not looking back at Josh again.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” she said, tugging her thick, red ponytail over her opposite shoulder. “Where’d Ivy go?”
“To get something to drink,” I replied, keeping one eye on the game.
“Oh. That’s good.”
Constance continued to fiddle with her hair. Then she uncrossed and recrossed her legs half a dozen times and sighed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked finally.
“Nothing! It’s just . . .” She turned toward me, her back toward the other girls, and lowered her voice. “You planned this whole thing with her, didn’t you? The BLS?” she said, her whisper dropping to barely audible. “Her and Noelle.”
My heart skipped a tentative beat.
“Noelle had nothing to do with it.”
A Barton player with a frizzy blond ponytail scored a sweet three; half the crowd went nuts.
“But they both knew about it before the rest of us,” Constance whispered as the cheers died down. “We could all tell.”
“I needed someone to help me figure it all out,” I admitted, keeping my eye on the game. Tiffany stole the ball and raced down the court, executing a perfect layup. I clapped my hands as the Easton side cheered. “Noelle said no so I asked Ivy.”
Constance swallowed, her lips pulled back almost as if she were trying not to throw up. “Ivy Slade.”
My gut tightened. Suddenly I knew exactly where this was going.
“Constance, I—”
“She’s not even a Billings Girl,” Constance said, ducking her head. “I mean, why would you ask her instead of, like . . . Kiki or Astrid or—”
“You?” I finished.
“No! No . . . I mean . . . well, yeah,” Constance said with a shrug. “Why not me? I mean, I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” I said. “It’s just, Ivy . . .”
How was I supposed to explain this? Was I really going to say that Ivy was stronger? Smarter? Better at keeping a secret?
“Ivy was . . . She was really depressed after the shooting,” I lied. “I just felt like she needed something, you know? Like a project? Something to make her feel like she was useful and part of something.”
Constance’s eyes widened. “Really?”
She was so gullible I felt even guiltier for lying. “Yeah. But don’t say anything about it, okay? She’s still pretty sensitive.”
“Okay. I get it,” Constance said eagerly. If there was one thing she loved, it was to feel included, to be brought into someone’s confidence.
“Constance, you know not to tell anyone about this, right?” I said, placing my hand on hers. “Not even Whit?”
Constance rolled her eyes. “Please. I know what the word
secret
means, Reed.”
I sure hoped so.
She shifted in her seat and looked out at the court. “That’s so nice of you to do that for Ivy. Especially since she’s with Josh and everything. You’re, like, a saint!”
I gave her a stiff smile.
Just then, Ivy joined us, dropping down on the bench next to me and taking a swig of her Coke. “All right, explain this game to me,” she said. “I know you’re supposed to get the ball through the hoop, but other than that I got nothing.”
“I can explain it to you!” Constance offered, getting up and shooing me aside so she could sit next to Ivy.
I slid closer to Kiki and tried not to hang my head in shame. Now Constance was being nice to Ivy because she thought the girl was depressed? Good one, Reed.
But so what? I’d only lied to spare Constance’s feelings. The one little lie wouldn’t matter.
During a lull in the noise, I heard my phone beep and fished it out of my bag. It was a text from Upton.
Haven’t heard from you in a while. Are we still friends? :)
My heart clenched and I looked around at the Easton crowd. Ivy and Constance were chatting with their heads bent close together. The rest of the girls were cheering as Tiffany set up the next play at center court, dribbling the ball in front of her. And behind me, I could practically feel Josh’s presence. Feel his eyes on the back of my neck.
Just my imagination. It was just me wishing I was as important to him now as I’d once been.
From the corner of my eye, I glanced at Ivy. She was completely focused on the game. Slowly, I turned around, trying to make it seem like I was just looking for someone in the crowd.
And Josh was staring right at me. My heart stopped. He held my gaze for a long moment. A
very
long moment. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All I wanted to do was grab him and pull him out of here and kiss him. Then finally, slowly, he looked past me at the court. The moment passed, but my pulse continued to race.
My throat completely dry, I turned around again and looked down at my phone. It was possible that Josh and I would never be together again. But I was starting to think that my getting over him
was completely
im
possible. My heart heavy, my fingers trembling, I texted Upton back.
Of course we’re still friends. but would u hate me 4ever if i said “just friends?”
I held my breath, fretting over his reply. It came almost instantly.
Could never hate u. And can never have enuf hot American friends.
I laughed, relieved, and texted back a thank-you, then tucked my phone away and tried to concentrate on the game. At least one relationship on my life was now clearly defined. Now if only I could figure out the rest of them, I’d be golden.
“Did you guys know that Mitchell and Micah Easton had a sister? Her name was Marianne and she married this French guy against her father’s wishes and moved to Paris,” Constance gushed, leaning over the table at the solarium on Sunday night.
“I like the girl already,” Astrid put in.
She was kicked back, her big black boots on the marble table, a huge hardcover copy of
Jane Eyre
open in front of her. Tucked inside of it was her Easton Handbook, open to a back page having to do with Easton’s prized historical objects. The old bell, the paintings in the art cemetery, the cornerstone from Gwendolyn Hall, the oldest building at Easton . . . at least until last semester’s fire leveled it. The cornerstone was now encased in glass in the library.
“Do you think anyone is wondering what we’re doing?” London whispered, leaning over the table as she looked around.
Constance, Kiki, Lorna, Missy, London, Vienna, and Rose also had
their handbooks hidden inside novels from the list inscribed at the back of the Billings Literary Society book. The list had been added to throughout the years, starting with Thomas Paine’s
Common Sense
and ending with
Fear of Flying
by Erica Jong. It was our way of paying homage to the original Billings Girls, and it gave the handbooks the perfect camouflage. Any teacher might have thought it was odd if a table full of coffee-sipping girls were poring over the Easton handbook—especially considering we were all juniors and seniors. Library books, however, were more of a common sight around here.
“They’re probably wondering what
you’re
doing since you haven’t taken out a library book since your Clifford the Big Red Dog days,” Vienna joked.
London shoved Vienna’s arm and clucked her tongue but laughed as she sat back again.
Surreptitiously I glanced around the octagonal solarium. Sandwiched between the Coffee Carma counter on the far wall and the bay of windows that overlooked the now darkened campus were about twenty other students. Some were curled into the high-backed chairs and a few sat chatting on couches and laughing over texts. A group of senior girls at the next table over were eyeing us with what could only be called disdain. I wondered just how many people here thought that the razing of Billings was justified.
Then my gaze fell on Diana and her friend Shane Freundel. I lifted my hand in a wave, which they reciprocated with a smile. They had always been so intrigued by Billings. Were they annoyed that it had been torn down—that they wouldn’t get that last chance to live
there as seniors? Maybe next year, after the current seniors graduated, I would invite them and Sonal to be in the new class of potentials.