“What’s up with you?” I admonished Josh. I grabbed a sandwich and an apple and dropped them on my tray. Josh never snapped at me. Ever.
But then, he’d seemed a bit on edge all day. His eyes were still bloodshot like they had been that morning, and his skin was pasty and wan. His gray T-shirt was spattered with blue and red paint along the side, and he had blue paint under his nails. He’d probably been up half the night working on some new creation and had spent the morning half-sleeping through his classes.
“Sorry, it’s just I can’t believe this crap still goes on,” Josh replied. He selected three cookies and a bowl for a to-be-determined sugar cereal, which he ate at almost every meal. “I thought it was all . . . ”
He paused and shot me a look, like he wasn’t sure if the topic was verboten. I sighed.
“Noelle. I know,” I said. “But apparently it wasn’t.”
It was Cheyenne, too, it seemed. But at least she hadn’t been out hazing Sabine last night as I’d feared. Sabine had come in right before lights out, having spent the entire night in the library, catching up. She’d seemed totally fine, if exhausted, and had gone right to bed before we’d had a chance to talk about the Billings test. I had no idea where Cheyenne had been or when she’d gotten home.
“And if Constance wants to be accepted by Billings, she’s going to have to play along,” I continued. “Luckily she has Walt Whittaker on her side. That’s who the package is from.”
“Well, maybe she shouldn’t want to be accepted by Billings,” Josh said bitterly. He jammed down the lever on the Froot Loops dispenser, filling his bowl to the brim. “In fact, maybe both of you should get the hell out of there.”
“What?” I blurted.
He snagged a coffee cup and placed his tray down in front of the machine so he could fill it up.
“I’m serious, Reed. What do you really get out of living there?” Josh whispered, looking around in a paranoid way. Only the cafeteria worker, placing grilled cheese under a heat lamp, was in earshot. “Good recommendations? Cool parties? You can get the recs on your own from your teachers, and I can take you to cool parties. You don’t have to put up with this crap, you know.”
I touched the diamond
B
on my chest, not quite absorbing what he was saying. Everyone wanted to be in Billings. Being in Billings meant being admired. It meant being feared. It meant being the best. You didn’t just give that up. Even if it almost killed you.
“I can’t transfer out,” I told him. “And I don’t want Constance or Sabine or any of the other new girls to have to leave either.” Except Missy and Lorna, but why bring that up now? “I think it’s going to be different this year with them there.”
“Not so far,” Josh said, picking up his tray. He walked off and I paused, a wave of irritation passing through me. So what if he was
overtired? He didn’t have to be mean. Part of me didn’t even want to go over there and sit with him if he was going to be in that mood.
I was still contemplating this two seconds later when Ivy walked by. She looked me over with her discerning black eyes, shot me a blank stare, and kept walking. What was this girl’s deal, exactly? Was she taking mental inventories of my wardrobe? Seeing a perfect opportunity to give Josh a chance to mellow out, I followed her over to the table near the wall where she’d been sitting alone at every meal the past few days.
“Hi,” I said, standing across from her as she sat.
She flicked her eyes up at me. “Hello.” Dismissive. Cold. I was so unimpressed. I’d dealt with a lot worse.
“I’m Reed Brennan,” I told her.
“I know. You’re the girl Thomas Pearson was murdered over.”
All the air went right out of me.
“What?” I gasped.
“Problem?” Her expression was pure, unadulterated innocence. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“I . . . ” That was it. That was all I had. How the hell was I supposed to respond to something like that? I had come over here to make small talk, maybe be nice to the girl with no friends, maybe find out if she knew anything about Taylor. From her demeanor around school, I hadn’t expected a hug and a warm welcome, but I hadn’t expected this either.
“Was there something you wanted?” she asked, lifting her fork. Still totally without guile.
“No,” I said. “I think I’m done here.”
She stared at me. I stared back, hoping to show her that she didn’t bother me. That as rude and bizarre and dark as she seemed, I was not intimidated. I was a Billings Girl. I stared people down, not her.
“If you’re done here,” she said finally, slowly, like she was talking to someone with a very small IQ, “then you should probably go.”
Crap. She was right. What was I going to do, stand here all day?
“Fine,” I replied with what little dignity I could scrape together. Then, with her dark eyes fixed blatantly on me, I finally retreated to my table.
BOGARTED
The Easton library was silent, save for the sounds of someone shelving books nearby. So silent, we could all hear Josh’s feet bouncing under the table. It happened sometimes. He was a fidgeter.
“Somewhere you need to be?” Cheyenne asked him, smiling in a teasing way.
Don’t talk to him. Don’t even look at him.
Josh’s bouncing stopped. “No. Sorry.”
She shot him a knowing look—like they were sharing some inside joke—then got back to her notes. I wanted to pick up my five-pound text and slam her over the head with it. Sabine, at the far end of the table, stared at me like,
See?
You’re just imagining it. That’s just Cheyenne. She’s a flirt. And maybe she is interested in Josh, but that doesn’t mean Josh is interested in her.
But how could she be so obvious right in front of me? Not to
mention Trey, who was sitting next to Sabine, slumped so far down in his seat, his ass must have been hanging free. Every now and then he stole a murderous glance in Cheyenne’s direction that made me wonder what, exactly, had broken them up. And why on earth he was sitting with us if being near her so clearly made his blood boil.
Josh’s feet started to bounce again. Gage let out an annoyed groan.
“Dude. You need to adjust your meds,” he said, throwing his pen down. He ran his hands up into his super gelled hair until it stuck straight up on the sides. “Sit the fuck still.”
“Dude. There are ladies present,” Trey scolded.
“Yeah, kiss my ass, man,” Josh added, but stopped bouncing nonetheless.
I touched his forearm with my hand, and he gave me a strained smile.
“You okay?” I asked him.
“Yeah. Just tense about this exam,” he replied. He put his pencil down and ran both hands over his face, rubbing hard. When he looked at me again, his skin was blotchy from the pressure. “Maybe I need a break,” he whispered. “Distract me.”
I smiled happily, feeling needed. “Did I tell you Sabine and I signed up for waitstaff?”
“Perfect,” Gage said with a snort. “You can wear your blue collar.”
Cheyenne laughed, then covered it up quickly with a cough. I chose to ignore them and glanced at Sabine. Comments like that one had to kill her crush. But she kept stealing adoring glances in his direction. Perhaps there was a translation issue here? I sighed and moved on.
“You should do it too, so we can hang,” I told Josh, squeezing his arm.
“Actually, we already signed up for the food committee,” Josh said, gripping either end of his pencil with both hands as if he would break it.
“We?” I asked. I had this horrible acidic sensation in my gut.
“Yeah, sorry. I totally bogarted your boy,” Cheyenne said, brushing Josh’s other arm with her fingertips.
Would it be wrong to systematically break every last one of them off?
I looked at Sabine. She was pretending to concentrate on her reading, but she widened her eyes. She knew exactly what was going on.
“Food committee?” I said to Josh, hoping I didn’t sound as shrill to him as I did to me. “Why?”
He shrugged. “We were all talking about it in Lit class, and we just thought it would be cool to all do something as a group.”
“We all?” I asked.
“The seniors,” Cheyenne said in a superior tone. Like it was just so obvious that they were part of something I was not. “It’s our last year. We want to spend as much time as we can together.”
“Basically,” Josh said.
“Oh.” I supposed that made sense. But why hadn’t it occurred to him that it might be cool to do something with me? That it would also be our last year together?
“Better get used to it, Reed. There are a lot of senior events,” Cheyenne said as she jotted a few notes. “But don’t worry about Josh. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get lonely.”
Josh glanced at her, and they both laughed. I felt a flash of anger and jealousy so hot, it could have incinerated the library and everyone in it.
“I’ll do waitstaff with you guys,” Trey offered.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Yeah. I, for one, have no desire to participate in senior events,” he said, glancing derisively at Cheyenne. A look that did not go unnoticed by her. “I’ll sign up tomorrow.”
“Cool.”
“Well that’s just fine, Trey,” Cheyenne said pertly. “I already have plenty of help.”
Her proprietary look at Josh curled my toes. I had to say something. Anything. But what could I say without looking like the psychotically paranoid and jealous girlfriend? How was it that no matter what, Cheyenne always seemed to get the last word?
THE PRESENTATION
I sat in the parlor on the settee on Saturday night, wedged in between Rose and Portia, who could not stop adjusting her hair and elbowing me in the process. Lined up in front of the fireplace were five of our six new Billings residents—or prospective Billings residents, as Cheyenne kept calling them, even though they already did live here—and each had an item on the floor next to her, covered in a sheet or hidden inside a bag.
Constance chewed on her lip and eyed me excitedly. I couldn’t muster much more than a smile in return. I was too worried about Sabine, who was conspicuously missing.
“Where
is
she?” Rose asked, sounding nervous.
“I have no idea,” I replied.
She had told me several times over the past twenty-four hours that she had this task thing covered, though how, I had no idea. Maybe she
had simply decided to bail. Maybe she, like Josh, thought this wasn’t worth the effort.
“Well, we said seventy-two hours and it’s been seventy-two hours and two minutes,” Cheyenne said. “I’d say it’s time to begin.”
Right then the front door slammed and in ran Sabine, breathless. She held a large black scroll in one hand.
“Is it over?” she asked. Gasped, really. “Did I miss it?”
Everyone looked at Cheyenne. Cheyenne’s already straight posture somehow straightened even further. She was enjoying her position of power.
“Don’t let it happen again,” she said coolly.
Breathing a relieved sigh, Sabine went to take her place at the end of the line next to Astrid, but Cheyenne stopped her.
“No, no. You stand here,” she said, placing Sabine between Kiki and Constance.
What was that about? I glanced at Rose, who shrugged. Just Cheyenne being power-hungry Cheyenne. Now that everyone was in place, Tiffany snapped a picture of the whole nervous group.
“Let’s begin,” our leader said, stepping to the top of the line. “Lorna? What have you brought for us?”
Lorna swallowed hard and looked at Missy, who pursed her lips to urge her on. With a quick throat clearing, she reached into her Neiman Marcus bag and pulled out a small gold placard, bent on one side and scratched up a bit. It read:
DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT ROBERTSON
CLASS OF 1935
A few of the girls around me snickered. Tiffany’s camera flashed.
“You stole Big Bubba’s plaque?” Cheyenne asked flatly.
“It’s a part of Easton history.” Lorna’s voice was barely a squeak.
Big Bubba was this monstrous oak tree outside the chapel that had been dedicated to the memory of some late Easton student named Robert Roberston. Lorna had stolen the evidence of that dedication.
Cheyenne sniffed. “Well. We’re off to an inauspicious start.”
Lorna paled as she placed the plaque back in her bag. Her chin quivered, but she managed not to cry. Suddenly, and much to my surprise, I felt sorry for her. Lorna had never been much more than Missy’s lackey, really. And maybe her presentation wasn’t all that impressive, but at least she’d tried.
“Missy. Let’s see if you can do better,” Cheyenne said, stepping up to Nostril Girl.
“Oh, I can,” Missy said simply.
Nice. Way to stick up for your supposed best friend. She reached into her own bag and pulled out a small leather-bound book. Instantly my jaw dropped. Rose lifted up from her seat to see better.
“Is that the—”
“The original Easton Academy handbook.” Cheyenne was obviously impressed. And well she should be. The original handbook was kept hermetically sealed in a glass case in the center lobby of the Easton Library, locked up tight.
“How very black ops of you, Miss,” Portia said.
“I know people,” Missy replied, pleased with herself. Next to her, Lorna turned green.
“Well. The bar has been set a bit higher.” Cheyenne handed the book back to Missy. “Kiki?” she said. “You’re next.”
Kiki popped her gum, turned around, and picked up a heavy-looking object from the floor. She placed it on the table and removed the blue sheet she had covering it. Every person in the room gasped. It was a small gray, square stone with the date 1858 etched into it, the numbers so worn, they were barely visible. It was the cornerstone from Gwendolyn Hall, the original Easton Academy class building.
“Kiki. What did you do?” I blurted.
“It was no big deal,” she said, lifting her shoulders and popping her gum. “All I needed was a crowbar. It just popped right out. Building’s crumbling anyway.”
“I like this girl,” Tiffany said, snapping off a few shots.
“Tiff, maybe you should put that away,” Cheyenne said, holding up a hand.
For the first time, Cheyenne looked to be rethinking the sagacity of this little test. Everyone was now eyeing Kiki with a mixture of respect and fear. She stepped back into line and blew a bubble.