Thorn Abbey (6 page)

Even though he probably won’t remember any of this later, when he’s sober.

Even though I know now with one hundred percent certainty that I never had a chance with him.

It’s just as well, right?

I’
M NOT SURE HOW
I
GOT THROUGH THE MORNING
. F
IRST
I
HAD
to sneak back into my room without waking Devon, who would have asked a million nosy questions. Fortunately she was out cold, not even crazy-talking in her sleep.

Then I took an extra-long shower, got dressed in my school uniform, downed two cups of vending-machine hot chocolate, and checked over my homework twice. At that point, I was running on pure adrenaline. But by the time I got to my first-period class, Intro to Philosophy, I started to crash. By Latin, I could barely keep my eyes open, especially during verb conjugations. I got
amat
mixed up with
amant
, and the teacher made some joke about it that I totally didn’t understand. By American history and the founding fathers, I was practically vegetative.

Now it’s lunchtime, and instead of eating and socializing, I’m in the computer center. I really should be taking a quick nap, but I wanted to see if maybe, just maybe, Max has sent me an e-mail. I figured that since it’s Tuesday, and we didn’t have English together this morning, he may have wanted to thank me for saving his life or whatever.

My in-box contains exactly three messages, and none of them are from him. Oh, well.

Of course, I could always write him first, and then he would feel obligated to write back:

Dear Max,

Just wanted to say hi!

Hope you’re feeling better!

Tess

PS Do you believe in love at first sight?

Delete, delete, delete.

Sigh.
I seized the day, and I failed. Kayleigh thinks that “seize the day” is a line from her favorite pop song. I’ve told her it’s actually a translation of
carpe diem
, from a poem by Horace. Which makes me the smart, nerdy girl who knows two-thousand-year-old Latin poetry. Not that it’s going to get me kissed by Max anytime soon. Or ever.

I read my e-mail. The first is from the Dean of Students, regarding upcoming events. There is a boys’ soccer game on Saturday. I jot down the details on a piece of scrap paper. It might be my only chance to “accidentally” run into Max this weekend. So far, we only seem to share the one class, English. Which means I may have to be more creative.
Give it up
, I tell myself sternly. I crumple the paper and toss it in the trash.

The second e-mail is from my mom:

Honey bunny!

I hope you are doing well and settling in at Thorn Abbey. The house seems so empty without you, just me and Marshmallow Fluff, who sleeps with me now that you’re not around.

How do you like your classes? Did you decide to take Sculpture or Painting for your art elective? What is your dorm like? Are you making lots of new friends? Please write and tell me everything ASAP!

Do you need me to mail you anything from home? Let me know. I can run over to the Pack ’n’ Ship during my lunch hour.

Love you forever,

Mom

I get a little teary eyed, reading her e-mail. I’m so used to seeing her every day, puttering around the house doing Mom
stuff. It’s Tuesday, so if I were home, she’d be making tacos for dinner. Friday we’d watch back-to-back episodes of
Law & Order
, the two of us competing to see who could solve the mystery first. Sundays are always Swedish pancakes for breakfast. And so on and so on. Mom is into family rituals. She calls them “mental vitamins.”

I write her a detailed reply, signing off with lots of
x
’s and
o
’s, before I open the third e-mail, from Kayleigh. Kayleigh was my closest friend in Avery Park, sort of, because she lives down the street and we were both in band and she didn’t think I was a freak for being a straight-A student. She’s pretty much the only reason I didn’t have to sit in the losers’ corner of the cafetorium. But lately, she’s become obsessed with witches and unicorns and other supernatural stuff that I can’t quite relate to. Her parents are getting divorced, so I guess she has an excuse.

Hey, Girl!!

How are you doing in your fancy rich kid school? I bet everyone there is a genius like you haha.

Guess what happened?! And I swear I’m not making this up. Last nite these three angels visited me in my dreams! They told me that Paulie Wozniak is going to wake up soon and that he’s going to be OK!

I’m not sure if I should tell Paulie’s mom and dad about
this or what. PRO: They deserve to know, right? CON: It might be weird cuz they never talk about Paulie anymore. I know cuz whenever I babysit his sister Corey, they act all fake cheerful like everything’s fine and not like their son is lying in St. Michael’s in a coma. What do you think I should do???

ANYWAY, not much else going on here. School is super-boring as always. Pretty much the entire football team was arrested for smoking pot at Kyle Oestreicher’s house Saturday nite, and now they’re talking about canceling the Homecoming game. BIG YAWN. Oh, and the parental units are still insane and fighting over the family fortune haha. I CANNOT WAIT for one of them to move out. I’m secretly hoping it’s Mom. Remember that time she had to go to Detroit on a “business trip” and you slept over and Dad let us eat Dove Bars for dinner? Life could be phenom for us with him in charge.

Well, except you’re not here. I miss you! But maybe I could visit you some weekend? I checked out the website and Thane Abby looks GORGEOUS from the pix. Plus the boys look daaamn fine.

Wait, pictures? Of the students?

I quickly switch over to the Thorn Abbey home page and locate a link in the corner that says
GALLERY
. I don’t remember seeing this when Mom and I were researching private schools
last winter. Of course, I wasn’t really thinking about daaamn fine boys, either.

I click and begin scrolling. Images blur by: random kids in class, in the Lanyon Commons, at a dance. There is Yoonie playing the violin. There is Franklin peering through a microscope. There is what’s-his-name, Nate, from Mr. Bagley’s class, kicking a soccer ball. I keep scrolling, looking for Becca or Max. But there is nothing.

And then, at the bottom of the page, there it is: a picture of the two of them walking through a snow-covered quad. Becca is wearing a cream-colored coat, leggings, and boots. Max is wearing a leather jacket and jeans. Her hand is tucked cozily in his pocket, and he is smiling down at her. His happy, relaxed expression seems completely at odds with the Max I know.

I lean into the screen, squinting, frowning. They look perfect together. There’s no other way to describe it. She is so beautiful, and he is so beautiful, and they are so obviously and madly in love.

“Tess?”

I startle. Franklin has materialized at my side. I try to gracefully block the screen so he can’t see that I’m cyber-stalking his roommate. “Franklin! Hi!”

“I’m so glad I ran into you. Have you eaten yet? Do you
want to grab some lunch?” As always, he is the epitome of friendly.

“Actually, I have to . . .” I’m so rattled, not to mention sleep deprived, that I can’t even come up with a suitable lie. I glance around the computer center, which is pretty much empty except for a couple of guys printing documents and talking loudly: “And then she walks in on me getting with her roommate, and I’m like, “what’s your problem,” and she’s like . . .”

“Actually, I already ate. But I’ll walk with you?” I say to Franklin.

“Sure. Hey, what did you do to your face?”

“Oh, you know, big klutz. It looks worse than it is.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Wow. I’m glad you’re okay.”

I close out of my computer account, double checking to make sure I’m really and truly signed out, and we head off together. We pass a girl leaving the ladies’ room, tucking a tube of pink lip gloss into her backpack. Not that she needs it. Is physical attractiveness a prerequisite for getting into Thorn Abbey, and if so, why did they let me in? I’m sure they’ll never include
my
picture on their website.
We need to work on that self-esteem of yours, honey bunny
, I can hear my mom saying.

I think I have a tube of lip gloss somewhere. Kayleigh made me buy it at CVS over the summer. Maybe I should start using it.

“So you missed the best part of the movie,” Franklin says.

“What?”

“Last night?
To Catch a Thief
?”

“Oh, right! Actually, I know how it ends. I’ve seen it before.”

“You have? Me too. Three or four times. I have a crush on Grace Kelly, along with every other guy on this planet.” Franklin grins. “Well, every other guy on this planet who likes old movies.”

Have I shown you a picture of her? She looks like Grace Kelly, actually.

“Tess?”

“Hmmm?”

Franklin touches my arm. “Are you okay?”

I force a smile. I’m so not in the mood to be reminded about how amazing Becca was. “I’m fine. Just trying to remember if I finished my Algebra homework.”

“Really? You don’t seem like the not-finishing-homework type,” he jokes.

“Well, there’s always a first time, right?” I joke back.

“Right. Hey, I meant to ask you.” Franklin lowers his voice. “Did you ever find Max after he went flying out of Chapin? He can be a little intense.”

I hesitate. Franklin must not have heard about the cliff incident this morning.

“I know about Becca,” I confess.

He stares at me. “You do?”

“I heard about it from—from some people, and it’s awful! I can’t imagine what Max must be going through. No wonder he’s, um, intense, like you said.” I’m speaking very fast, and I probably sound a little nuts. But I’m dying to talk to someone, anyone, about Max and Becca, especially after what almost happened this morning.

The
two
things that almost happened this morning.

“Were you friends with her too?” I rush on, noticing Franklin’s silence. “How long did she and Max go out? Was he the one who found her body, or—”

“Tess,” Franklin interrupts, and this time, his voice is not friendly. “You’ve got the wrong idea about Max. He’s my best friend. We grew up together, and I probably know him better than anyone. He’s not who he appears to be. He’s got issues, and it’s probably best if you steer clear of him.”

I
T’S
W
EDNESDAY MORNING, AND
I
HAVE DOWNSIZED THE
bandage on my cheek, so I don’t look as banged up as I did before. Of course, this doesn’t keep the two Kerrith girls from shooting me judgmental looks in Mr. Bagley’s class.

Unfortunately, Max is not looking at me at all, judgmentally or otherwise. He is sitting in the same seat as Monday, his gaze fixed on his laptop screen. I keep trying to catch his attention, but it’s as if I don’t exist. Although to be fair, he seems to be ignoring everyone—not just me.

Why is this happening? I haven’t seen him or heard from him since the drama yesterday on the cliff. I actually spent time getting ready this morning—brushing my unruly hair, applying lip gloss—because I knew he’d be here.