“And each and every one of you will be required to participate in some fashion,” the headmaster continued.
“What?” Missy blurted. “He has to be kidding.”
Grumbles abounded throughout the chapel. One of the guys across the way pantomimed being hanged from the gallows. Such maturity.
“There will be a decorations committee, a food committee, and an invitations committee, as well as waitstaff and greeters,” the headmaster continued, unfazed. “Ms. Ling, the housemother of Bradwell,
has graciously volunteered to be the student liaison for this event. You will all see her by the end of the week to volunteer for one of our committees. If you do not, you will be placed wherever you are needed. I strongly suggest you choose for yourselves. Disinterested students might find themselves washing dishes with the Driscoll staff until the wee hours of the morning.”
“I don’t do dishes,” someone near me groused.
“I don’t
do
anything,” someone else joked.
“You should all see this dinner as an opportunity to present an impeccable image to our esteemed alumni,” the headmaster continued, talking over the murmurs and whines. “Let’s show them what Easton is all about. Let’s show them that this is an institution of which they can be proud.”
“And to which they still want to give money,” Kiki said under her breath.
“Ms. Ling will keep office hours in Hull Hall each day this week and next between 4 p.m. and 5 p.m. to take your names and preferences,” the headmaster continued. “Thank you all for your kind attention. You are dismissed.”
“We should volunteer for the waitstaff,” Sabine suggested as we got up, the pews around us creaking and cracking as they were relieved of our weight.
“Waitstaff? Why?” I asked. I scanned the crowd for Josh, something that came automatically now that we were back.
“Because then we can circulate all night, meet all the alumni, do a bit of networking,” Sabine suggested. “It’ll be fun.”
I looked at her, impressed. I was sure no one else at this school was hankering to volunteer for the lowly waitstaff. But Sabine was right. I could actually benefit from it. Maybe some wealthy alumni would be so impressed with my ability to handle a tray, he would volunteer to pay for my entire college education on the spot.
Unlikely. But stranger things had happened around here. Many stranger things.
“Okay. Let’s do it,” I agreed.
“Do what?” Gage asked sidling up next to us with one hand in the pocket of his gray pants. “And can I watch?”
Sabine giggled and blushed. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Too bad, Martinique,” he said, turning around and backing toward the door. “That’s a show I wouldn’t mind seeing.”
Sabine was so red now, she had to hide her face behind her books. This was so not good.
“Sabine, you cannot be crushing on him,” I said.
“I’m sorry! I can’t help it!” she said, her eyes pleading. “He is
so
beautiful.”
Yeah. For a devil spawn.
I sighed and rolled my eyes, dropping it for now. I knew there was no point in trying to talk someone out of an irrational crush on an enigmatic boy. Knew all too well. I could only hope that Gage would show his true colors somehow, before it was too late for Sabine.
“What is that about?” Sabine asked, lifting her chin.
Up ahead, near the chapel doorway, Cheyenne and Astrid talked urgently, their heads bent together. Astrid said something vehemently,
and Cheyenne grabbed her wrist, lowering her chin as she gave Astrid some no-nonsense speech. Astrid yanked her arm away, but nodded reluctantly. Then Cheyenne glanced around to check if anyone was watching. The second she saw us, she straightened up and smoothed her skirt, then sent Astrid off into the sun. Astrid cast a look over her shoulder, and I could have sworn it was a guilty one. I had sudden goose bumps all up and down my arms, and not from the cool chapel air. What was going on with them?
“Hi, girls!” Cheyenne greeted us brightly. Way too brightly for the chill that had been rapidly forming between us. “This alumni dinner is going to be so fab. I’m going to volunteer for the food committee. My grandmother’s game hen recipe is to die for.”
Cheyenne had always had a Martha Stewart streak, but it hadn’t reared its ugly head so earnestly since last Christmas and the Billings party she’d thrown. What was up with her?
“Sounds great,” I replied. “Something wrong with Astrid?”
“Oh. It’s nothing,” Cheyenne said, turning toward the quad. “She just misses Barton and Cole. He never came back from France last year, did you know? He fell in love with it during the Barton exchange program and enrolled at his host school.”
“Really? That sucks,” I said. Though I didn’t believe for a second that she and Astrid had been talking about her boyfriend.
“Yeah, but she’s known about it for months. It’s so past time for her to get over it,” Cheyenne said. She quickly checked her gold watch. “Well, got to go. I have to grab some things at the school store before class.”
“Wow,” I said, stunned by the obviousness of her evasion. What had she and Astrid really been discussing? In her rush Cheyenne bumped right into Ivy Slade and stopped short. The look Ivy gave her could have cut through ten layers of steel. Cheyenne looked at the ground and scurried away. Ivy stood there for a good few seconds, just glaring after the girl.
Okay.
Really
no love lost there.
“I know. Just being around you makes her nervous,” Sabine said, reclaiming my attention. “Maybe you should just ask her what’s up with her and Josh. I always like the direct approach.”
My heart nose-dived into my stomach. I hadn’t even thought of that. I had just assumed that Cheyenne was giving Astrid pointers about the Billings test or something. Josh and their supposed canoodling hadn’t even entered my mind. Until now.
“Right. Yeah. Maybe,” I said, not wanting to dwell on the subject.
“See you in class!” Sabine said with a wave before taking off.
“Yeah. Later.”
Was Sabine right? Was Cheyenne really avoiding me—and maybe even fighting me on the Billings stuff—because she had a thing for Josh?
“There’s my girl,” Josh said in my ear, slipping his warm arm around me from behind. My breath caught and I turned around to face him. He smiled before planting a long, slow kiss on my lips.
When I pulled back, I wanted to ask him. Just ask him what he thought of Cheyenne. Whether they had partaken of some cozy bench bonding that first morning. But I didn’t want to be that girl. That girl
who asked pathetic searching questions of her boyfriend. That girl who didn’t have the confidence to know that he only had eyes for her. That was not me.
“And there’s my guy,” I replied, putting a little extra emphasis on the
my
.
“You know it,” he told me as he laced his fingers through mine.
Exactly. I know it. I just had to make sure that Cheyenne knew it as well.
CAT BURGLARY
“What am I going to do?” Constance wailed, sitting on the rattan throw rug in the center of my room. She was wearing a cute Harvard hoodie Whit had sent her and a pair of gray yoga pants, her red hair twisted into two long braids. “I mean, what do they even want? I know you can’t tell me, but . . . can you tell me?”
I barely heard a word she said. I was too busy staring at a new e-mail from Dash, a reply to my last. Part of me had thought I wouldn’t hear from him again. That he was maybe just e-mailing me such a short, staid note to let me know that nothing had, in fact, happened over the summer. Yet here he was, e-mailing right back. And this one almost, kind of, sort of referenced that night.
This Cromwell guy could be exactly what Easton needs. Now I
really
wish I could have come back. It might be interesting to see what he does next.
Really
wish. So he remembered what he’d said that night. Which means he also might remember what he almost did. I wondered if he was coming to alumni weekend. What if he wanted to talk about what had almost happened? The very idea tied my stomach in knots.
“Reed?”
“What? Sorry.”
I closed the e-mail window and turned around in my desk chair. Focus, Reed. Actual drama at hand here. Forget the stuff you’re making up in your head.
I recognized in Constance the exact desperation I’d felt last year when Noelle had told me to steal that test for Ariana in the middle of the night. I’d felt trapped. Sick. Frantic to please them and at the same time, pathetic for knowing I’d do anything to please them. But Constance also looked pale. And wan. As if she hadn’t eaten all day. Which she probably hadn’t. While I had proved to be braver than I had ever thought I was last year, Constance didn’t have a brave bone in her body. She was probably making herself sick.
“Constance, they just want you to prove you want to be here,” I told her, feeling very wise. At least last year’s experiences were being put to some good use. “That’s all this is about.”
Of course in my case, it was also about Ariana’s need to torture me, but there was no point in bringing that up.
“So, can’t I just write them a poem or something?” she joked, pulling her knees up under her chin.
“Probably not,” I replied.
“Well, what’s Sabine getting?” she asked. “Did she tell you?”
“I actually don’t know,” I said, looking over at Sabine’s perfectly made bed. I hadn’t seen her since we’d gone to Ms. Ling together to sign up for the alumni dinner that afternoon. She hadn’t even been at dinner.
I got up and sat down across from Constance. “I already told you how to break into Hell Hall,” I said. “Just take something from one of the professor’s offices.”
“But it’s supposed to have history,” Constance said, clutching her knees even tighter. “And I can’t go out in the middle of the night by myself and break into a building, Reed. I just can’t. Two years ago my doorman caught me going through other people’s packages behind his desk and I ended up vomiting on Park Avenue. If I get caught, I’ll die. I’ll just die.”
This was not good. Billings House was no place for a girl with a weak stomach. But it had to be. Constance wanted to be here more than anything. And that should have been the only requirement. Not a penchant for cat burglary. I pressed my lips together and brought my knees to my chin as well, mimicking her pose and trying to think. “Okay, how do we get a piece of Easton history without breaking into a building . . . ?”
“Josh!” Constance exclaimed.
“Josh what?” I asked.
I glanced at my phone as if he were still on the other end of the line. We’d ended our daily 10 p.m. phone call a little while ago. Lots of mushy talk, too embarrassing to repeat.
“Josh has the key to the art cemetery, right?” she whispered,
grabbing my hand. “Do you think he’ll let us borrow a painting?”
“Um . . . no,” I said. “Sorry. I just don’t want to suck him into this. He’s had enough drama in the past couple of years to last him pretty much forever. And if he got in trouble, I’d hate myself.”
“Right.” Constance looked dejected. “You’re right.”
“Okay, but there has to be someone else who can help us. Someone who knows more about this school than we do. Someone who’s been here for more than a year.”
We looked at each other, the totally obvious hitting us at the exact same moment. “Whit.”
Constance’s eyes lit up like brights on a Hummer. “Why didn’t I think of this before?”
“Call him,” I said. “Whit knows everything about this place.”
Constance pushed herself up and wiped her sweaty palms on her yoga pants, looking semi-normal for the first time all day. She went to her bag and pulled out her cell phone and a Snickers bar. I laughed to myself as she tore into it. Crisis averted. Whittaker would take care of his girl. Now all I had to do was figure out something for Sabine.
Which I’d be doing right now, if I had any idea where the girl was.
The door to my room opened, and Portia stuck her face, which was covered in a blue mask, inside.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to knock or anything,” I told her flatly.
She rolled her eyes. “Have you seen Shy?”
“Not since dinner,” I told her.
Portia groaned and lifted her cell. “Her phone’s off, and she’s supposed to help me condition!”
I felt a skitter of apprehension. I didn’t know what she was conditioning, and I didn’t care. All I knew was that both Cheyenne and Sabine were MIA. If Cheyenne was messing with Sabine somehow, I was going to go ballistic on her. Seriously.
“Whit! Hey, it’s me!” Constance trilled into her phone.
“Portia, can you excuse us, please?” I said nervously.
The last thing we needed was Portia overhearing this conversation. She narrowed her eyes at the two of us, knowing instinctively something was up, but sighed.
“Whatevs. If you see Shy, I’m in mine.”
“Got it.” I think.
She banged the door closed and was gone. Now all I had to do for the rest of the night was stare at the clock and wait for Sabine.
QUIT BILLINGS
“Why do you keep looking at your watch?” Josh asked Constance as we inched forward in line at the cafeteria the next afternoon. “Got a hot date?”
Constance’s cheeks turned pink, and she almost dumped over her bottled water. “No. Just . . . I have to get to the post office before class, so I need to get some food and scarf it.”
“What’s the urgency?” Josh asked.
“She’s expecting an overnight package,” I told him.
“Reed! Shhh!” Constance said, blanching. Her eyes darted around like she was afraid of lurking ghosts. “We can’t talk about this outside of—” She looked at Josh and made a choking sound. She really was taking this Billings test seriously.
“Constance, chill. Josh knows what goes on,” I told her. He knew because I had, in fact, talked to him about it. Before we were ever even together. Before I knew how seriously some people took it.
“Wait. Are you talking about hazing?” he hissed, his blue eyes flashing. “Reed. What the hell?”
Okay. That was a tad vehement. Constance flinched and she looked at me with an apology in her eyes. “I’m just gonna go eat this. Fast,” she said, making a swift escape.