Josh turned his head fully to glare at her. She didn’t deign to look back.
“Watch the road, Hollis. Unless you want to get us
all
killed,” she said.
With a clenched jaw, Josh turned his attention back to his driving. No one said a word for a good two minutes, during which time I wondered what the hell that little exchange was about.
“Healthy, Noelle? Really?” Kiran said. “Thomas Pearson wasn’t exactly the poster boy for holistic living. He had more chemicals in his system that night than Kate Moss on a New Year’s Eve bender.”
“How do you know what he had in his system?” Josh asked.
Kiran pulled her hair in front of her face and inspected it. “Just an informed assumption, Hollis. When did he ever
not
have crap in his system?”
Look who’s talking, Kiran.
My heart clenched in anger. Hadn’t anyone in this car ever heard of not speaking ill of the dead?
“And even if he
was
healthy, it happens all the time,” Taylor piped up, sitting forward and resting her hands on the back of the front seat. A mangled tissue was crushed in her fist. “Kids our age have aneurysms . . . even strokes!”
Her hope was so incongruent I had to stifle a rueful laugh. Happily suggesting strokes. This was what we had come to.
“Well, if it wasn’t some freak of nature, then I bet it was that shady townie character he was always hooking up with,” Noelle said blithely.
What shady townie character? I knew of no shady townie character.
“These people are like walking time bombs,” Noelle continued. “Living up in the sticks with nothing to do, no outlet for all their little psychotic tendencies. And you know they resent the shit out of us.”
“Maybe one of them snapped,” Ariana suggested, lifting a shoulder.
“I’m just saying it’s possible,” Noelle added, looking at Ariana in the rearview mirror.
I took a deep breath. Images were starting to flood my mind. Blood. Rope. Knives. Guns. Gags. Images I would rather not have dwelled on.
“Do you think the police know that Thomas was dealing?” Noelle asked Josh.
He cleared his throat again. There was no doubt he wanted out of this conversation. “Probably not. If there was one thing Thomas knew how to do, it was cover his tracks.”
“Well, somebody should tell them,” Noelle said, her tone as casual as if she were suggesting an ice cream stop on the way home.
“You want us to tell on Thomas?” I said without thinking.
“Aw! That’s so cute! What are you, five?” Noelle said. “Come on, Reed. What does he care? It’s not like they can arrest him.”
Everyone fell silent. Noelle was getting just a touch too morbid for me.
“I’m serious!” Noelle said. “If that freak show did have something to do with it, he should be brought in and questioned. Unless you want him to get away with it.”
I glanced at Josh, who stared back at me in the mirror. How could we tell the world that Thomas was dealing? He was gone. Didn’t he deserve to rest in peace? To have his perfect prep school boy image untarnished?
“His parents would freak,” Josh said. “I don’t think I could do that to them.”
“You don’t owe those ice sculptures anything,” Noelle said.
Josh’s face went flat—in a way that made me think that maybe he did owe the Pearsons something. Interesting. What could that possibly mean?
“The guy did die,” Kiran said, her eyes half-closed and bleary. “Somebody should probably pay for it.”
Taylor let out a choked sob, then dropped back in her seat and started crying all over again.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
Actually, it kind of snapped out of me. But Taylor didn’t seem to notice. She simply nodded and grabbed a new tissue from the box at her feet.
“It’s just so sad,” she said. “I just wish none of this had happened. I just—”
And then she went incoherent all over again.
After that we all lapsed into silence, watching the world go by as Taylor’s sobs slowly quieted to nothing.
When I walked into my room at Billings, the sun was just starting to set. I was surprised to feel relief as I closed the door behind me. Apparently, this room, with its huge bay window, hardwood floors, and the scent of Natasha’s lavender perfume, had actually become a comfort zone.
Two seconds later, the door opened and my roommate, Natasha Crenshaw, walked in with her cell folded in her hand. Her phone never worked inside our room, so she was constantly going outside or up to the Billings House roof to make calls.
“Hey.”
It was amazing how much tentative sympathy one syllable could convey. She stepped around me to take a survey of my face, probably to check if I was in the midst of a breakdown. Her dark skin was clean and makeup-free, and she wore a pair of yoga pants topped by a baggy sweatshirt.
“Hey,” I replied, dumping my stuff on my bed.
“How was it?” she asked.
I blew out a sigh and dropped down on the edge of my mattress. My feet cried out in gratitude when I kicked off the heels I’d borrowed from Kiran’s Closet of Dreams. Girl had more shoes than I had pores, but it seemed like every pair was more torturous than the last.
“It was . . . you know . . . terrible,” I told her.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come,” Natasha said. She moved to her own bed so that we were sitting directly across from each other on either side of the wide room. “I just can’t do funerals anymore.”
“Anymore?” I asked.
Natasha took a deep breath. “I lost someone close to me a couple years ago,” she said cagily. “Ever since then I’ve pretty much avoided all the ‘Yea though I walk’ stuff.”
Although my curiosity was piqued, I knew she would have given me more details if she wanted to. And if there was one thing I wanted to respect right then, it was other people’s delicate feelings.
“So, if you want to talk ever,” Natasha said tentatively. “I mean, I know we haven’t had the greatest track record. . . .”
We both laughed quickly at that one. Not the greatest track record—if that was what she wanted to call blackmailing me into snooping around my friends’ dorm rooms. Of course, the offense was fairly forgivable, since she had been blackmailed into blackmailing me. Such was the life of a Billings Girl.
Still, the whole mess had resulted in me learning a lot about who Natasha was—an out-of-the-closet lesbian with a still-closeted
girlfriend whom she’d do pretty much anything to protect—and she had learned a lot about me. Like the fact that I could keep a secret. And the fact that I was loyal to my friends. Somewhere along the line, I had begun to trust her. With a certain amount of caution.
“But, I mean, how are you?” she asked.
I groaned and dropped back on my pillows, one leg dangling off the side of the bed as I gazed at the ceiling. “Got about a year?”
“Sure,” Natasha said.
Huh. Maybe she really did want to listen.
Stupefied
was the word that came to mind.
“Um . . . okay.” I lifted a hand to tick off my various emotions. “I feel . . . crushingly sad that I never got to say goodbye, angry that he left, guilty for the anger, angry some more at his parents, angry some
more
at all the hypocritical assholes around here, and then just tired and devastated and really, really scared that I’m never gonna stop feeling like this. Does that cover it?” I asked, turning my head so I could see her.
Natasha frowned and nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“Oh, wait!” I said, sitting up again. I pressed my hands into the bedspread. I could feel that my hair was staticking out, but I didn’t care. “There’s also the second wave of guilt. You know, the guilt over the fact that I had decided Thomas wasn’t worth my time when I hadn’t heard from him, when
now
it turns out that I hadn’t heard from him because he was—”
My throat closed.
“Because he was—”
Oh, crap.
The tears started flowing.
Natasha got up and sat down next to me.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“No, it’s not.” And suddenly I was bawling. The hot tears just came and came and came. I tried to hold them back. Choked and gasped and tried to swallow, but I couldn’t. “I can’t believe this is happening. This shouldn’t be happening.”
Natasha put her arm around me and rubbed my shoulder. I just cried. I felt like an idiot, but there was nothing I could do about it. There was no stopping me now. All I could see was Thomas’s face. His hands. His arm around me. His smile. I couldn’t believe I was never going to see him again. Could. Not. Believe. It. I choked for air and my throat burned. There were sounds coming out of me that I had never heard before.
I just wanted to expel it all, all the anger at the Pearsons and at myself and at Thomas—even at Missy Thurber. I wanted to get it all out of my system. All I wanted was to stop feeling so wretched.
Finally, after who knew how long, I started to quiet down. I lifted my head and sniffled and wiped below my eyes with my fingertips.
“Better?” Natasha asked.
My breath was shaky. “Yeah. Thanks.”
I got up, grabbed a tissue from my desk, and blew into it. Hard. I sucked in a few broken breaths and blew again. “Did you know that Thomas had a brother?” I asked her.
“Yeah. Blake. He graduated last year,” Natasha said. “Why? Didn’t you?”
I sniffled. Toyed with the soaked tissue. “He never told me.”
“Wow. Maybe everyone has someone in their lives they can’t talk about,” Natasha said.
She was referencing Leanne Shore, her girlfriend, but I instantly thought of my mother. My mother, who was probably passed out in her bed drooling right now, even though it was four o’clock in the afternoon. An open bottle of pills would be on her nightstand and some bad Court TV reality show would be playing in the background. I wondered if my father had even told her what had happened. That had been a fun phone call. It had taken me twenty minutes to convince him not to pull me out of school. When he’d finally agreed I had felt relief beyond anything I’d felt before. I did not want to go back to my dung-colored life in Croton, Pennsylvania. Even if there was, potentially, a murderer running around campus. Easton with a murderer was far better than Croton High without one. It was an indisputable fact.
“Was Blake there? Did you talk to him?” Natasha asked.
At that moment, the door was flung open, and Noelle and Ariana burst in, followed by Rose Sakowitz and the Twin Cities—London Simmons and Vienna Clark. They had all changed out of their funeral drab and into much more colorful outfits. In their arms they carried a half-dozen bakery boxes and various bottles of champagne.
“Reed Brennan! Welcome to your first Fat Phoebe party!”
London squealed, holding up two bottles of champagne. Her ever-pushed-up breasts nearly spilled out of her tank top, and her dark hair was done in two low ponytails. One look at her in that getup and half the guys I knew would have orgasmed on the spot.
“You guys—” Natasha said, rolling her eyes.
“Come on! It’s the perfect remedy for
whatever
ails you,” Vienna said, opening one of the boxes. Inside were at least a dozen perfect-looking chocolate éclairs.
“What’s a Fat Phoebe party?” I asked.
I noticed that Kiran and Taylor were suspiciously absent, but upon arrival at the Easton gates each had been catatonic for different reasons. Hopefully, they were both already sleeping it off.
“It’s an age-old tradition with a highly inappropriate title,” Ariana explained.
“It all started, like, ten years ago when this manic-depressive girl got into Billings,” Vienna explained.
“Phoebe Appleby,” Rose put in.
“Unfortunate name,” Noelle said with a shudder.
“Really slipped through the cracks, that one,” London said.
“Anyway, whenever Phoebe got depressed—”
“Which, according to legend, was every day—”
“She ordered up a bunch of pastries from the local patisserie and broke out a bottle of Cristal—”
“And threw a Fat Phoebe party! Whooo!” London cried, lifting the bottles again.
“Though I don’t think that’s what
she
called it,” Ariana put in.
“Basically, it’s champagne and chocolate,” Noelle explained. She walked over and hooked her arm around my neck. “Obscene amounts of both.”
“It’ll take your mind off more unpleasant things,” Ariana added, wrinkling her nose in a dainty way.
More unpleasant things. Like we were talking about a particularly nasty foot fungus or something.
“Let’s do this!” Rose cheered. “I need a chocolate fix, stat.”
Everyone cheered.
My skin crawled and I ducked away from Noelle. I felt like screaming. What was wrong with these people? They really thought a sugar high and a buzz were going to make it all better?
“Sorry, you guys. I’m not up for a party,” I said.
“What? Why?” London asked, pouting as she lowered her bottles.
Take pity on her. She’s a ditz. She doesn’t know how idiotic she looks.
“Because I . . . I’m tired,” I told them. “Exhausted, actually. I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”
Noelle gave me a reproachful stare. She wasn’t used to hearing the word
no
.
“Reed—”
“You guys have fun,” I said flatly, moving forward, crowding them toward the door.
Rose, London, and Vienna took the hint, jostling their way out. Ariana paused and looked at me with her clear blue eyes.
“You really should try to get your mind off things,” she said. “You’ll feel better.”
“I already do,” I said honestly.
Not 100 percent. But after venting my emotions and blubbering all over Natasha, I
was
much improved. For now. But if I thought for one second longer about the idea of partying, the anger was going to come back full force.
“You’re sure?” Noelle said. “You really don’t want to come?”
“I’m sure.” I placed my hand on the door. “Please, Noelle. Just go.”
Ariana and Noelle locked eyes. Never a good sign. I knew I had stepped over a line in their eyes, and for a split second I was reminded of how scared I’d been of them just a couple of weeks ago. Thomas’s death had cured me of that, at least temporarily. At that very moment, I couldn’t imagine remotely caring what they might do or say to me.