“Hi, Ivy!” Diana said brightly. “How have you—”
She didn’t get to finish her question because three words in, the girl was already out of earshot, passing us by like she hadn’t heard a thing.
“Bitch,” Missy said under her breath.
“Whore,” Lorna added.
I stared after the girl until she had disappeared through the back door of Pemberly, the tiff with Missy the Nostril Girl forgotten. Things had just gotten interesting.
EVERY LAST INCH
“Her name’s Ivy Slade,” Josh told me, slipping his fingers between mine. “She used to go here, but last year she never showed. Now she’s back. She and Taylor Bell used to room together back in the day.”
Okay. Now I was
definitely
intrigued.
“How do you know all this, exactly?” I asked. He, after all, had only been at Easton a year. Just like me. I tried to work the combination on my mailbox with my left hand, since he was holding my right. It wasn’t entirely working.
“Gage gossips like a girl,” he replied. He held up my hand and kissed the back of each finger, one by one. “He said they used to have a thing. Like, a serious thing.”
“She and Gage,” I said dubiously. “I don’t see him in a serious relationship.”
“Did I say relationship? I meant sex. They had serious sex,” Josh clarified. “All over campus. Or so he says.”
I shuddered. Well, that explained Lorna’s “whore” remark. “Okay. Too much information. Moving on.”
I didn’t need to hear any details of Gage and Ivy’s Easton Sex Tour, but I filed the info about her and Taylor away for future reference. Maybe they had been good friends. Maybe they still were. Maybe this Ivy person even knew where Taylor had ended up. After everything we’d been through together, I was curious to know what the Billings Girls were doing with themselves. Even if they, as evidenced by their total silence, had zero interest in me.
“Okay.” Josh dropped my right hand, took my left, and started kissing those fingers as well.
“What are you doing?” I asked him with a laugh.
“I have this whole plan to kiss all your body parts before the end of the first week,” Josh said matter-of-factly.
“All
of them?” I said, a blush working its way up my neck. The Josh I knew wasn’t normally so forward.
Josh smiled playfully. “Well, whichever ones you’ll allow me to.”
“Ah.” That was more like Josh. I leaned toward him and touched my lips to his.
“You two are so making my first gallery show!” a booming voice announced.
We sprang away from each other. Tiffany Goulbourne raced over, her ubiquitous camera in hand, all smiles.
“Did you just take our picture?” I asked her.
“Yes. And it’s one you’re going to want to show the grandkids one day.” She gave Josh and me the double air kiss she gave everyone,
then leaned back to inspect me head-to-toe. “Reed, my friend. You just got even
more
photogenic this summer. That hair! That skin!”
“Look who’s talking,” I replied.
Tiffany was a resident of Billings House whom I’d gotten to know much better during the second semester of last year, after all the insanity had died down. She was tall and lithe, with ebony skin and short cropped hair. Could have been a model herself, no doubt, but she preferred to be behind the camera. All the time. No matter where she was or what she was doing, she had a lens on her, whether it was an old-school 35-millimeter or a teeny, tiny digital. One was never safe from her keen eye. She was like our very own paparazzo. Except everyone loved her.
“Yeah, right,” she said, blushing. “You have to let me photograph you this year. You have to.”
“We’ll see,” I told her, amused.
Tiff had spent half the spring semester trying to coax everyone we knew to pose in various lights for her final art project. As much as I enjoyed the girl’s positive energy, I’d had enough attention for one year and had found various hiding places in the house to avoid her. Cheyenne had, of course, ended up being the star of her pictorial. For which Tiffany had inevitably received an A.
“Oh. There’s London and Vienna. First Twin Cities pic of the year!” And just like that, Tiffany was off again, dodging through the hordes of freshmen checking out their mailboxes for the first time, ready to snap London Simmons and Vienna Clark—the bodacious Twin Cities—in all their freshly tanned glory.
“Well? Let’s see what you’ve got,” Josh said, nodding at my post office box.
I quickly opened it and pulled out the folded slip of blue paper inside. I’d seen a few other people with them, groaning over their contents, so I already knew I’d been pegged. The short typewritten note read:
Congratulations, Ms. Brennan. You have been selected as an Easton Academy Mentor. Your Advisee is:
Sabine DuLac, Junior (transfer); Residence, Billings House
If you should have any questions, please contact Mrs. Naylor, Head of Guidance.
“That can’t be right,” I said.
“What? Don’t think you’re trustworthy enough to take a young fledgling under your wing?” Josh asked as I slammed the mailbox door.
Josh had not been saddled with a newbie, even though he was one of Easton’s best and brightest. My guess was the administration decided to give him a pass, considering how stressful his junior year had been. When your roommate and best friend gets murdered and you’re mistakenly jailed for the crime, a pass is wholeheartedly deserved. Although, it seemed, there was no such amnesty for the victim’s girlfriend. But then, Cromwell was all business, and a roommate has an official Easton connection whereas a girlfriend does not. At least this year Josh was rooming with Trey. That guy was the epitome
of the all-American boy, jogging around campus every morning, leading the soccer team in goals scored, being recruited by every school in the country. He wouldn’t be dealing drugs, coming home drunk, and inspiring people to hurt him.
Not that I blamed Thomas for what had happened to him, but let’s just say that a year’s worth of perspective had opened my eyes to the fact that he wasn’t a person who was easy to get along with.
“No, it just says she lives in Billings,” I told Josh, holding up the slip. “We haven’t even chosen new housemates. At least I don’t think we have. Unless they did it without me or something.” Which, considering my experiences with the Billings Girls, wouldn’t actually have shocked me all that much.
Josh shrugged and grabbed my hand again. “They probably just made a mistake.” He kissed my pinkie, then my ring finger, and a skittering surge of attraction rushed right through me. Huh. Sensitive ring finger.
“You’re going to have to stop that,” I said under my breath. “I’m a mentor now. I have an image to uphold.” I looked into his eyes, all flirtatious.
“Let me see this,” he said, taking the slip out of my hands. “Sabine DuLac? Sounds like French royalty or something. Probably not too easily shocked.”
He was just leaning in to kiss me when London and Vienna, the Twin Cities themselves, rushed by. They had matching tans, matching highlights, and their matching mega-breasts were spilling over the necklines of very similar sundresses.
“Reed! We have to go! We have a house meeting before first period, and we’re already late. Cheyenne’s gonna be so pissed.”
All our classes had been delayed and shortened for the day so we could get settled. But leave it to Cheyenne to commandeer our time for her own purposes instead. I sighed. Probably best that I leave now anyway, before Josh and I started something entirely inappropriate in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded post office. I had a feeling Cromwell wasn’t the type to turn the other cheek when it came to PDA.
“I guess I have to go,” I told him, lifting a shoulder.
I gave him a quick kiss on the lips, forced myself to pull away, and turned to follow my housemates. Josh grabbed my wrist and stopped me. He pulled me to him and turned me around so that my back was to the mailboxes.
“Josh. What if a teacher—”
He cut me off with his lips, pressing up against me and kissing me so urgently, I forgot all about the faculty and the potential ramifications. Even stopped feeling all the tiny little metal knobs pressing into my back. I felt that kiss everywhere. In every last inch of my body.
“Okay. Now you can go,” Josh said, backing up with a semicocky smile.
I blinked at him, my eyelids heavy. “Which way again?”
Josh laughed and turned me by the shoulders toward the door, where London and Vienna waited, smirking at me.
“Guess you’re happy to be back, huh?” London teased as I tottered toward her.
“Yeah.” She had no idea. “Definitely.”
NEW RULES
“Welcome back, everyone!”
Cheyenne stood at the head of a long, polished wood table that had taken over the entire parlor on the first floor of Billings House, her manicured fingertips pressed into its surface. All the comfy chairs and couches were gone, and the flat-screen TV had been pushed into the back corner. In the center of the table were six small pink jewelry boxes, stacked into a pyramid. At each of the ten chairs around the table—one at each head and four per side—was another pink jewelry box, a white pad of paper, a silver pen, and a place card. I saw my name right away, at the last seat on the right side—as far away from Cheyenne as I could get without being directly across from her. My name, just like the others, was written in pink calligraphy.
“Find your seats! We have a lot to cover in not a lot of time!” Cheyenne announced, waving us in.
The other girls, who had been chatting in little groups around
the room, took their chairs. I slid into mine, and Rose Sakowitz, Cheyenne’s diminutive, red-haired roommate from last year, took the chair at the end of the table. She had a bit more meat on her bones than she had last year. Comforting, since she had always looked as if she could blow away in a stiff wind. But she was still probably rocking a size zero. Her yellow skirt was so tiny, I could have used it as a headband.
“Hi, Reed,” she whispered with a smile and a quick wave.
“Hi,” I whispered back. “Good to see you.”
“You, too. How was your summer?” Rose asked.
“Ladies! If you don’t mind?” Cheyenne snapped.
Oh. So that was how this was going to go. Ever since last spring when Cheyenne had taken the whole sorority thing and really run with it, she had been on a power trip from hell. She had run for president unopposed and created a cabinet that included London and Vienna as co-social chairs, Rose as philanthropy chair, and Tiffany as historian (which basically meant Tiff was a glorified scrapbooker). With her new regime in place, Cheyenne had made sure that no moment of free time was left unoccupied. There had been teas and parties and fund-raisers and day trips. Whenever we weren’t studying, we were bonding. And it had been fun. Most of the time. Except for when Cheyenne was cracking her whip. What was that saying about absolute power corrupting absolutely? Cheyenne could have that stamped across her forehead. Sometimes I missed the old semisweet Cheyenne from last Christmas, but the more we hung out, the more I realized that these were Cheyenne’s true colors. At the end of the fall semester she’d
merely put on a happy face in her effort to overthrow Noelle. Now that Noelle was truly gone, she was back to her bitchy self, and only every once in a while did Cool Cheyenne come shining through.
“First of all, welcome back to Billings,” Cheyenne began as Tiffany snapped her photo. “I hope you all had fabulous summer breaks. I’d love to hear all about the European tours and the trips to the Cape, but right now we have some business to attend to.” She grinned and lifted her palms in the air. “Now I know you’re all dying to find out what’s in those little boxes, so go to it!”
London squealed and snatched up her pink box like it was steak and she, a rabid dog. I had actually forgotten about mine. I pulled it closer and cracked it open. Inside was a tiny letter
B
on a thin gold chain, with diamonds and in script. All the girls around me oohed and aahed as they fastened them around each other’s necks.
“Cheyenne! These are so yum!” Vienna trilled, helping London on with hers.
“They’re perfect,” London added. “Now everyone will know who’s a Billings Girl and who’s not.”
As if they don’t already.
“Thanks, Shy. You’re so gen!” Portia Ahronian trilled. She added the necklace to the five or six gold chains she always wore around her neck, which offset her olive complexion gorgeously. I had never gotten to know Portia all that well last year, but I had witnessed her stellar partying skills and noted her serious jewelry fetish. She was also quite the fashionista and would probably take Kiran’s place as head couture monger of Billings, now that Kiran was apparently an
expatriate. Portia also had a penchant for shortening words, which drove me insane. Talking to her was like talking to a text message.
“Don’t thank me. Thank the Billings Alumnae Fund,” Cheyenne said. I noticed she already had a
B
necklace shimmering against her milky skin. Was it just me, or was hers slightly larger than all the others?
“The Billings Alumnae Fund?” I asked.
“God, Reed. Did you pick up nothing last year?” Cheyenne asked with a laugh.
“All the Billings alumnae contribute to it every month,” Rose explained. “It’s how we paid for all the parties and trips last year.”
Interesting. I’d never heard of the alumnae fund before. But then, I had been kept in the dark about a lot of things last year. Rose offered to help me with my chain, and I turned to let her fasten it. The
B
felt cold and delicate against my chest.
“We have to take a picture of all of us with our necklaces on!” Tiffany announced. “Get together everyone!”
“After the meeting,” Cheyenne said bluntly. Those who had started to get up fell back into their seats. “We have a lot to cover,” Cheyenne continued. She pulled a pink plastic folder out of her Kate Spade bag and unwound the fastening string. “Normally we choose new housemates in the spring, with the aid of the outgoing seniors, and extend our invitations then. But considering all that went on last year, it seemed a bit gauche.”