Astrid shook Kiki until her eyes fully opened, and the three of them scurried off toward Cheyenne’s room without a peep. Almost as if they had known this was coming. I looked at Rose, who returned my glance with one that said,
I know. What can you do?
Something. There had to be something.
“The rest of you, bathrooms,” Cheyenne said, losing even the false
brightness. “We have Clorox and toothbrushes all ready for you. Get to work.”
“I’m sorry. We have to clean for you?” Sabine asked.
“No, honey,
I’m
sorry—that you’re so slow that you haven’t figured it out yet,” Cheyenne said, patting Sabine on the shoulder. She leaned forward so that the two of them were practically nose-to-nose. “You want to live here, you have to work for it. That’s how it is.”
Sabine shot me this betrayed look that made me want to tear my own hair out. “Cheyenne, we have a cleaning service,” I said. “Just let them go back to bed.”
“Back off, Brennan,” Cheyenne snapped. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Last I checked, I live here too,” I replied. “And I don’t see a point in making them scrub bathrooms when the school already pays someone to do it.”
“The point is, we all had to do it,” Cheyenne said, stepping closer to me. “It’s part of becoming an integral member of this house. It’s called shared experience.”
“That is such a crock,” I replied. “Yeah, we all had to do it, but we all hated it. What do you really get out of making more people miserable?”
Cheyenne’s face was crimson. “Reed, if you don’t like the way we do things, why don’t you just—” Suddenly her mouth snapped shut and her eyes darted past my shoulder.
“What is going on here?” Mrs. Lattimer demanded, striding in all clipped and proper. Our housemother was known for her ramrod posture, high collars, and imperious demeanor. Her gray hair was always back in a bun that only accentuated her sharp, birdlike features and
beady eyes. “You all heard the headmaster. If you girls are conducting some sort of hazing, I will be forced to report it.”
We all closed like a wall in front of the three girls wearing the aprons. Cheyenne and I actually stood next to each other, temporarily united against a shared enemy.
“We’re doing our chores, Mrs. Lattimer,” Cheyenne said sweetly. “You know we have to get them done before class or this place just becomes a sty.”
Mrs. Lattimer eyed her shrewdly. She knew exactly what was going on. We all knew that she knew exactly what was going on. The question was, would Cheyenne’s story be good enough for her to pass off to the headmaster if he somehow got wind of the charade?
“Fine,” she said finally, clutching the collar of her blouse to her neck. “Cleanliness is, after all, an important virtue in young ladies. I admire your ethic.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lattimer,” we chorused, playing our part.
“Well, get back to it, then,” she said.
Then she turned and walked down the stairs. We breathed a universal sigh of relief. But it didn’t last long. Cheyenne turned to the girls again and barked.
“Why are you still standing here? Get to work!”
As the three of them rushed away, Cheyenne looked up at me and smiled. “Guess that’s score one for me!” she sang.
She walked off before I could formulate a response, but I resolved to be ready next time. Maybe Round One had gone to Butt Stick Girl. But she had better be ready for Round Two.
TAKING SIDES
It was 7 a.m. We were all supposed to be at breakfast within the next half hour. As I printed out my paper for English class, I could still hear the girls banging around in bathrooms and opening and closing windows. With each new slam, my muscles coiled a bit tighter. I shoved the paper into my bag and emerged from my room showered, dressed, and ready for battle. Whatever Cheyenne had up her little Lacoste sleeve next, she was going down. Rose, Tiffany, and some of the other girls were gathered just outside my door, looking so tense they could have been awaiting drug-test results.
“They’re still working?” I asked.
“They’re still working,” Tiffany replied grimly.
Cheyenne strode out of her room, clapping her hands. “All right, ladies, in the hall, please!” she shouted.
The six girls came rushing out of various rooms, red, sweaty, exhausted. I knew they were hoping this was it. That they could hit
the showers and get ready for their day. But something in Cheyenne’s eyes told me this was not the case.
“Before you’re done with your morning chores, each of us has a special task for you to complete,” Cheyenne said, shooting me a sidelong glance.
What? No, we don’t.
“I’d like each of you to select a sister and ask her for a task,” Cheyenne said.
No one moved. I saw the other girls exchanging amused glances. They already had chores in mind for these girls. Yet another minor detail Cheyenne had kept from me.
“Chop chop!” Cheyenne snipped. “The longer you wait, the later you’ll be for breakfast.”
Astrid sighed and stepped from line. “Cheyenne, is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
“Well, thank you, Astrid. That’s so nice of you!” Cheyenne trilled. “Actually, there’s this crazy buildup of dust and gunk in the corners of all my desk drawers. It’s so nasty. Would you mind cleaning that out for me? Thanks.”
She was kidding, right? She was going to make one of her friends late for that? Astrid disappeared into Cheyenne’s room, and we all heard the sounds of drawers sliding open, their contents rattling.
“Next?” Cheyenne prompted.
Missy stepped out of line and faced Vienna. “Is there anything I can do for you, Vienna?” she asked politely. I could tell she was proud of herself for her fortitude. For being such a good little plebe.
“I’ve been meaning to color-coordinate my closet. Get on that, would you?” Vienna asked. Missy nodded and turned away, looking pleased with her cushy assignment. “Oh, and wear gloves. Your fingernails look like you’ve been digging in manure,” Vienna added.
A few people snorted laughs. Missy ducked her head and fled the hall. Every one of my muscles tightened as I willed someone, anyone, to just ask me. Ask me what I want you to do for me. Someone. Anyone.
Kiki cleared her throat and stepped up to me. She pulled her ear buds out of her ears, and I heard angry guitar music screeching from them.
“Reed? Anything I can do for you?” she asked.
She knew. I could tell from the confident way she looked at me. She knew I would not play along.
“Actually, yeah. You can go take a shower and get ready for class,” I told her.
Kiki didn’t even flinch. She ran for her room.
“Stop! You’re not going anywhere!” Cheyenne shouted.
Kiki slammed her door. Enough of a shock for Cheyenne to momentarily lose her will. Quickly, Constance stepped up to Rose.
“Rose? Is there anything you need me to do?” she asked.
Rose glanced at me uncertainly. She bit her lower lip.
You can do this. Screw Cheyenne. End this now.
“No, Constance,” Rose said finally. “Nothing I can think of.”
My heart expanded to fill my entire chest.
“Rose!” Cheyenne shrieked. “You—”
Sabine stepped over to London. I bit my tongue. Bad choice. Tiffany would have given her a pass, I was sure of it, but London . . .
“Is there anything you need me to do?” Sabine asked.
“Nope,” London said with a shrug.
“London!” Vienna and Cheyenne screeched as one. As sounds go, this one was bloodcurdling.
“What? I don’t,” London said innocently. “I did, but then Rosaline showed up yesterday and practically sterilized the entire room! She even threw out my condoms
and
confiscated my stash. Mother
so
has that woman under her thumb.”
This time I did laugh. I couldn’t help it. Rosaline was London’s parents’ cleaning lady. Her mother shipped the woman up to Easton from NYC once every two weeks to clean London’s living space, bring her care packages that invariably included diet books she didn’t need, and spy on her daughter. This week she’d not only done her job, but had done me a huge favor as well. Cheyenne let out a screech and stormed to her room.
“What? What did I do? Cheyenne!” London scurried after her in her platform sandals. “Cheyenne! Are you mad at me?”
Tiffany patted Rose on the back as the hallway cleared. Constance, Sabine, and Lorna all stood there, however, looking around uncertainly. Didn’t they get it yet? They were free.
“You guys. Seriously. Go shower. You’re done for the day,” I told them.
Then, and only then, did they finally disperse. Guess I had some power around here after all.
THE GAME
“Good morning, tortured souls!” Mr. Winslow strode into our English classroom, all puffed up and loud. “Before we get to our Elizabeth Bowen, let’s have your papers!”
I slid the blue folder holding my fifteen-page missive on Edith Wharton out of my bag and stood with the rest of the class. Mr. Winslow cast a cursory glance at the title page of each paper before placing it on his desk. He frowned thoughtfully at some. Others he laughed at, clearly pleased. He was one of the few teachers, perhaps the only teacher, at Easton who could have been considered handsome in any circle. On the young side—which, when it came to Easton faculty, meant pre-forty—he had dark brown hair that actually made it past his earlobes on his more unkempt days, and an easy smile. Plus, by Friday he always gave up on shaving. The dark stubble look really worked for him. But what he really had going for him was that he was human. And nice. Rare qualities in adults around here.
“Ah! Ms. Brennan!” he said as I handed over my offering. “Looking forward to this one.” He ticked off my name on his assignment sheet.
I shot him a surprised look. “Oookay.”
“What? Anyone who wins Firsts twice in her first year as a transfer student gets a buzz going in the faculty lounge,” he said. “Let’s hope you live up to the hype.”
“Thanks. I think.”
I turned around, my heart fluttering with nerves. Should I be psyched that I had a rep for excellence now, or petrified that I’d never live up to it? Somehow I had a feeling it was the latter.
I was about to take my seat again when I noticed that three students had yet to get up. Constance was digging through her bag in a panic. Lorna had removed every last one of her books from her own backpack and was paging through them. Sabine simply sat in her chair, staring stoically forward.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Sabine, sliding back into the seat behind hers.
“My paper’s gone,” she said.
She didn’t move. Just kept staring straight ahead.
“What do you mean, gone?” I asked.
“I printed it out at the library last night and put it in my bag. Now it’s gone,” she said flatly.
I glanced at Constance, who was still digging, now on the verge of tears. At the front of the room Astrid calmly handed in her own paper. Kiki as well. Missy wasn’t in this section, but I had a feeling that if she had been, her paper would have been ready to go.
“Okay,” Mr. Winslow said, running his finger down his checklist. “I seem to be missing three papers. Ms. DuLac? Ms. Gross? Ms. Talbot? What have you got for me?”
He looked up with an expectant smile and was greeted by three nauseated stares. His joy disappeared.
“Ladies?” he asked, stepping around his desk.
“It was in my bag this morning, Mr. Winslow,” Constance half whimpered. “I swear it was. I can run back right now and print it out again—”
“You know the policy, Constance. If you don’t have it in class—”
“You can’t give us all zeroes,” Lorna said, sounding panicked. “We did the work.”
“We can bring them in later,” Constance added.
“How fair would it be if the entire class was held to the deadline, but you all were not?” Mr. Winslow asked with a pitying expression. “I’m sorry, but I have to give you zeroes for today. If you like, we can talk about makeup work later.”
“But, Mr. Winslow—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, making a note on his clipboard. To his credit, he truly did look upset. “There are rules and I have to adhere to them.”
As he turned to the board, a couple of kids in the classroom snickered. Sabine tore a blank page out of her notebook and crushed it in her first. My heart felt sick. I simply could not believe that Cheyenne had sunk so low. Stealing their papers? This was immature, even for her.
“If this is the game she wants to play, we’ll play it,” I said under my breath, both to myself and to Sabine.
After all, I’d learned from the best
.
YOUR CHOICE
“I feel so naughty,” Tiffany joked, looking down the table in the cafeteria at lunch. She lifted her camera and snapped our picture. “I kind of like it.”
Everyone laughed nervously. Even though it was ridiculous to be nervous. But I saw Tiffany’s point. The eight of us—myself, Josh, Rose, Tiff, Trey, Constance, Sabine, and Lorna—were the only students in the spacious sunlit room. I had sought each of them out between classes that morning to share my plan, and they had all shown up dutifully. Constance and Lorna had been uncertain at first, but after some wheedling, their resentment of Cheyenne had come through. Lorna, especially, was sick of Missy getting preferential treatment while she was crapped upon left and right. Guess the girl had some personality after all. It seemed like both she and Constance were now ready to take a stand. At least, I hoped they were. The scene we were about to endure would not be for the weakhearted.
Gradually, the lunch crowd started to arrive. I took a bite of my sandwich and waited. My stomach didn’t want food right then, but it was going to have to take it anyway. We had to look casual here. That was crucial.
Then Ivy Slade emerged from the lunch line alone, her eyes finding me as they always seemed to lately. She walked right by us, gazing at me as she passed by.
“Hi, Ivy!” Rose said.
My heart caught. She paused. Looked from Rose, to me, then back again. “Rose,” she said.
Then she just kept right on walking.
“Okay, what is that girl’s deal?” Constance asked, leaning toward the table. “She is creep-adelic!”