Thorn Abbey (4 page)

I wish.

Franklin shifts in his seat, and his elbow bumps my elbow. “Sorry,” he whispers, sounding embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” I whisper back.

The movie starts, and a woman with cold cream on her face screams about her missing jewels. As the plot unfolds, I’m paying attention but not paying attention because I’m hyper-aware of Max sitting on the other side of Franklin. If I turn my head slightly and Franklin is leaning back in his seat, I can sort of see Max’s rigid, regal profile in the dark.

Is he thinking about Becca? Was he thinking about her in Mr. Bagley’s class this morning as he gazed out the window with that lost, lost look?

Or is he maybe, just maybe, thinking about me?

Yeah, dream on.

Someone gives a loud whistle. It’s the famous hotel room scene. Grace Kelly is in a strapless white dress and diamonds, and Cary Grant is in a black tux. They flirt like mad until he
can’t take it anymore and kisses her almost violently. Fireworks explode outside their window as they fall back against the couch.

Max jumps to his feet. “Sorry, homework,” he mutters to Franklin, and takes off.

“Maximilian!” Franklin calls after him.

“Shhhh,”
a girl in front of us hisses.

Franklin stares after Max.

“I’ll go make sure he’s okay,” I whisper to Franklin, which is completely random, because what am I doing, offering to check up on Max? He’s Franklin’s friend, not mine. And it’s not like Max said he
wasn’t
okay.

But before Franklin can talk me out of it, I get up, grab my backpack, and take off too.

I find Max sitting on a bench in the middle of the quad, tossing pebbles into a massive fountain. Water trickles down from a tall stone pillar that is engraved with the phrase
AD PERPETUAM MEMORIAM
, which means “in perpetual memory” in Latin. I’ve been taking Latin since the beginning of freshman year. Most of the other kids at Avery Park chose Spanish or French. Only six of us chose Latin, and I was the least socially challenged. Which is not saying a lot.

I slide onto the bench next to Max. “So I guess you don’t like Hitchcock?”

“What? No. He’s fine. I just needed to . . .” He pitches a pebble into the water, hard. “It was stuffy in there.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

He continues flinging pebbles. I know he doesn’t want me there, but I can’t seem to move. A moment ago, I was on this boy-crush adrenaline high, following him out of the movie. Now I’m frozen with terror. What should I do? What would someone who’s
not
socially challenged do?

Probably ask questions, get him to talk about himself.

I clear my throat and clasp my hands in my lap. “Do you live in Chapin?” I ask him politely.

“Yup.”

“Do you like it?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been there since freshman year.”

“Are you from around here?”

“New York City. You ask a lot of questions.”

Crap. My strategy is backfiring.

“Sorry. I tend to babble when I’m nervous,” I admit.

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m
always
nervous.”

He cracks a smile.

“I’m from Avery Park,” I volunteer. “I’m sure you’ve never heard of it. It’s this incredibly depressing suburb upstate.”

“Why do you live there if it’s so depressing?”

“I’m not sure. We’ve always lived there. My mom works as a receptionist at the chip plant.”

“Like potato chips?”

“If only. Semiconductor chips. A potato chip plant would have been way better, though. Free samples. I’m a huge sour cream and onion fan.”

Max cracks another smile. I will myself to shut up. He’s used to sophisticated, salad-eating Thorn Abbey girls like Devon. And Becca.

I start to bite my nails, then stop. A minute passes, then two. A few students walk across the quad, going in and out of the library. But other than that, things are totally dead, including my non-conversation with Max.

He looks up at the sky. I look up, too. It’s velvet black and dotted with stars. I try to make out the Big Dipper, Orion, the Pleiades.

“If we had to do it all over again, do you think we’d see the same constellations that people saw thousands of years ago?” I muse. “I mean, maybe we wouldn’t see a big dipping thing or a hunter’s belt or whatever. Maybe we’d see completely different patterns. It’s all a matter of perspective, right?”

Max picks up another pebble and aims it at the pillar. He hits it with a loud
thunk
. “You’re kind of strange. You know that, right?” he says after a moment.

I blush furiously.
H
e thinks I’m a freak, too.

“Besides, the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt aren’t constellations. They’re asterisms.” He stands up. “I’ve gotta go. See you in Bags’s class. Thanks.” He smiles, turns, and walks away.

Hope flutters in my chest.

He smiled at me. For real. And he thanked me for . . . well, I’m not sure what, but
something
. Was he flirting with me just now? Maybe he doesn’t hate me after all.

Back at Kerrith Hall, I check in with the security guard in the lobby and race up the stairs, two at a time. My thoughts are in a mad, happy jumble. Max. Maximilian. Maximilian De Villiers.

Tonight felt like a breakthrough. Max and I made a connection. A tiny, fledgling connection, but still. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy for him to find the right person to help him move on after Becca’s death. After all, we deep, smart, solitary types have a tough time relating to people who aren’t like us.

But now Max has me. As a friend. Even as more than a friend. Whatever he wants.

I haven’t had a crush on a boy in ages, not since Will Weikart in eighth grade. Will and I were in band together. One day during rehearsal, he gave me this
look
. Kind of like the one Max gave me this morning after class. No boy had ever looked at me that way before, as if I were cute or interesting or special,
and in that instant, I decided that Will and I should become boyfriend-girlfriend. Which never quite happened. He kissed me once, in the parking lot after the holiday concert while I was standing in the freezing cold with my clarinet case, waiting for my mom to pick me up. That was the extent of our relationship. After the holiday break, he acted like he had no idea who I was. I texted him a bunch of times, but he never texted back.

Maybe things will be different with Max.

When I reach the second-floor landing, I hear the faint strains of pop music, voices, laughter. There is no one in the halls, though, and everyone’s door is closed. I wonder if Devon is still up. I wonder if I can get her to tell me about Max and Becca’s relationship. The more I know about the two of them, the easier it will be to get closer to Max.

I am almost at the third-floor landing when someone taps my shoulder. I whirl around, surprised.

As I turn, my feet go out from under me with a sudden, swift force. I fall, and my face slams hard against the wooden step. I cry out in pain and touch the raw, tender place on my cheek. I can already feel a bruise forming.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people!” I shout at whoever was behind me.

But no one is there.

“
OW!
T
HAT
HURTS
!”

“Oh, shut it,” Devon orders me. She holds my head still with one hand while she rubs a weird-smelling cream on my face. “I know it stings, but it’s good for you.”

“What is it, anyway?”

“It’s a special blend. My acupuncturist made it for me when I messed up my leg at Killington.”

“What’s a Killington?”

“Really, Tess? It’s a ski resort in Vermont.”

Noted.
I add “Killington” to my mental Thorn Abbey cultural-literacy checklist. I have to stop being so clueless if I’m ever going to fit in. I wonder if Max skis? Does he go to this Killington place too?

Devon leans back and scrutinizes her handiwork. “God, you look like a poster child for domestic violence. Are you sure you didn’t get into a girl fight?”

“I told you, I tripped on the stairs. I thought someone was following me, and—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ve got to stop being such a klutz. These buildings are older than dirt, and don’t even get me started on the fire hazards. Elinor and I were smoking in the third-floor lounge one night, and we almost burned the place down. The walls are, like, made of straw.”

“You’re allowed to smoke cigarettes here?” I ask, surprised.

“Seriously? No, you’re not allowed to smoke anywhere on campus. Besides, I wasn’t talking about cigarettes.” Devon sighs. “Stay there. I’m just going to put a piece of gauze on that so the cream stays on while you sleep.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She twists her shiny black hair up in a clip and pads over to the closet in her fuzzy slippers. She looks like a Victoria’s Secret model in her flannel pajama bottoms and multiple tank tops. When I wear stuff like that, I just look sloppy, like it’s laundry day.

Clothes rustle, stuff falls, Devon swears, and a minute later, she returns with a giant first-aid kit. “My mom made me bring it. She’s a doctor,” she explains.

“Really? What kind of doctor?”

“A cardiologist.”

“Wow, she must be smart.”

“She’s a psychotic bitch.”

“Oh.”

I wonder what Devon means by that. Is her mom really crazy and mean, or does Devon just not get along with her? Should I ask Devon, or would she be offended? I’m not used to having intimate conversations with other girls. Or boys. Or anyone, for that matter.

Devon takes a square of gauze and lays it gently across my face. It feels light, almost imperceptible, like butterfly wings. I close my eyes and try to figure out what happened on the stairs. Maybe Devon’s right, maybe I’m just a klutz. But I could have sworn someone tapped me on the shoulder. Was I so busy daydreaming about Max that I imagined the whole thing?

“I just need to tape this up, and you’ll be all set,” Devon says.

“This is really sweet of you, thanks.”

“What are roommates for, right?” She rips off a piece of surgical tape. “So where were you tonight, anyway?”

I blink. “I went to that Monday night movie thing.”

“You did? Who’d you go with?” she asks skeptically.

“I went, you know, by myself.”

Devon smirks. I must sound pretty pathetic. “I saw Elinor and Priscilla there,” I name-drop hastily.

“Did you sit with them?”

Okay, so how do I answer that? I don’t want to admit that I was too scared to ask Elinor and Priscilla if I could join them. That would
definitely
make me sound pathetic. On the other hand, I don’t want to mention Max. Devon’s friend’s ex-boyfriend. But if I
don’t
mention him, she might find out anyway.

“No. I would have, but that Franklin guy showed up. The one from my English seminar? And he was with his—with Max De what’s-his-name. They sat down next to me,” I blurt out finally.

Devon stares at me.

“I didn’t really speak to them because the movie started,” I say in a rush. “
To Catch a Thief.
It’s amazing. Did you ever see it?”

She doesn’t answer. I realize that the “not talking to them” part isn’t exactly true. And she probably didn’t buy how I mangled Max’s name.

But I’ve told her enough. I seriously don’t want her to know that I stalked Max out of Chapin and that we
did
talk. A lot. I think Devon’s starting to warm up to me. If she figures out that I’m interested in Max, she’ll probably hate me forever out of loyalty to Becca or whatever.

“She loved that movie,” Devon says quietly.

“I’m sorry. Who?”

“Becca.
To Catch a Thief
was one of her favorites. Have I
shown you a picture of her? She looks like Grace Kelly, actually.”

Grace Kelly?
“Um, no.”

Devon walks over to her dresser and rummages through a small wooden chest, dumping out earrings, bracelets, strands of pearls. Finally, she plucks out a tiny silver key. Then she sits down at her desk, opens the bottom drawer, and pulls out a box. It’s large and flat and silver and etched with some sort of flower design.