by Kate Brian
I crept along the stone wall of Hell Hall until I found the basement window, the one that had slid open so easily the last time I'd committed this particular infraction. Back then, I'd been stealing a test for Ariana. A test it turned out she didn't even need. The memory tasted bitter in my mouth. If I'd known then what I knew now. Where all of this would lead . . . Well, I couldn't think about that now. I crouched next to the pane and Dash followed, breaking a couple dozen azalea branches with his bulk. I slid the window open.
"That was absurdly easy," Dash said. We both stared at the three-by-three-foot opening. "Physics was not my best subject, Reed, but I don't think I'm fitting through there." Like he didn't get an A in everything. "Good eye," I replied. "I'll go. Meet me at the front door in thirty seconds." Dash stared down at his watch. "I don't have a second hand." "Just. . . count it," I told him. Then I slipped through the window feet-first and landed with a bang on the metal desk below. "Shhhhh!" I heard Dash hiss. Alone in the darkened storage room, I rolled my eyes. Like there was anything I could do about the noise now. I hopped to the floor and navigated my way around the stacked desks and chairs. The frigid air in the basement was already freezing my sweat to my skin, and I shivered as I crept out the door. Once in the hallway, I raced up two sets of stairs to the front entry. Dash was already at the window, standing in full view under the security light. I opened the door as quietly as possible and let him in.
"I counted to forty-five," he said through his teeth. "You're very literal. Anyone ever tell you that?" I asked. He looked perturbed by the comment. "Let's just get this over with." "Fine by me." We took the stairs to Dean Marcus's office two at a time. In the upper hall, the faces of illustrious Easton graduates through the ages stared down at us disapprovingly from their ornate gilded frames. Their glares lent to the paranoid feeling that someone was going to step out of the shadows at any moment and read us our rights. Somehow, by the time we got to the outer door to the dean's office, I was clinging to Dash's arm. He didn't even seem to notice.
"Ready?" he said. "Let's just hope Lewis-Hanneman didn't decide to work late," I joked. All the color drained from Dash's face. "I'm kidding!" I told him. It was past midnight, for goodness' sake. I reached out and opened the door. The place was empty. We both breathed a sigh of relief. Dash crossed to the desk in two long strides and pulled out the leather chair. When he touched the mouse, the screen lit up." Nice. She doesn't power down. That saves us a couple of minutes," Dash said. He pulled out the keyboard tray and it smacked his knees. Automatically he reached around to adjust the chair and I jumped. "Don't!" Dash froze. "What?" "She'll know someone was here," I told him. Slowly, Dash grinned. "You're good." "Thank you."
He pushed a bit further back and started to type. "Okay . . . e-mail system... password..." Quickly he keyed in something that involved a bunch of random characters and numbers. I think there was even a percent sign in there. He hit "enter." "Voila. We're in." I came around the desk. Sure enough, Dash was logged on to the Easton Academy e-mail system as Cara Lewis-Hanneman. The cursor blinked away, just waiting for us to type up a bogus message. "How did you do that?" I asked. "Lance Reagan," Dash said proudly. "Kid figured out the universal password his freshman year. He's gonna be the next Bill Gates. Okay. What's Blake's e-mail?" I pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of my coat pocket and placed it on the pathologically neat desk. Unlike Dash, I didn't trust myself to memorize key information, even though my key information would have been a lot simpler to remember than his apparently was. This was just too important.
Dash typed in the address, then sat back. "Right. Now what do we say?" Yeah. The hard part. How to do this without giving ourselves away. "We have to keep it simple," I said. "If we try too hard to think like her, we'll screw it up." "Right." Dash clicked on the subject line and typed in, Meet me? He looked up at me over his shoulder. "How's that?" "Good, but get rid of the question mark," I said. "Makes it sound more urgent." He deleted it without question. He moved to the message box and typed Blake. "Wait. What if she doesn't call him Blake?" I said. "What else would she call him?" he asked. "I don't know? A nickname? Baby? Snookums? I have no idea," I replied. "But I know that I never put my brother's name in our e-mails. If I did, he'd know something was up."
"Okay. But what if she always puts his name in her e-mails? Won't not putting it there tip him off?" Dash said. We stared at each other for a long moment. Outside the wind whistled and the windowpane behind the desk rattled in its frame. "We're overthinking this," I said. "Just think urgency. She's worried. She needs to see him. Pretend you've been away from Noelle for a couple of weeks and you need to make her come to wherever you are." Dash turned to the keyboard. Nothing happened. Not sure what that meant, but it had to mean something interesting. "Here. Let me," I said. Dash got up and I took his seat. I deleted the "Blake" and thought of Thomas. Of how the simplest words from him had made me long to be near him. I typed up the first words that came to mind.
I need to see you. Don't call, just come. Please. Friday night, 11 o'clock. The art cemetery. I leaned back, satisfied. Dash hovered over my shoulder to read my masterpiece. "That's it?" he said. "That will do it," I replied confidently. "And I put in the 'don't call' so that he wouldn't try to get in touch before then. That could be bad." ' "Brilliant," Dash said. "All right then."
He reached over my shoulder, moved the mouse, and clicked "send." My heart gave a lurch as the message disappeared from the desktop. The plan was in motion. There was no turning back now. Then Dash opened up another screen. The "sent mail" screen. He quickly deleted the message we'd just sent from the folder. "No evidence," he said. "Wow. You're good too," I told him. "Thank you," he said, preening. I grabbed the paper with Blake's e-mail address on it and shoved it back into my coat pocket, then logged off the e-mail system. All bases now covered. I hoped. "Just one question," I said, spinning the chair around to face Dash. "How is he going to get on campus with all the new security and the new rules?" Dash stood up straight and lifted his shoulders. "He's Blake Pearson," he replied. As if that answered everything.
DON'T CARE
Ariana's desk was not normal. I hadn't noticed it before, but now that I was sitting at it, attempting to study, I couldn't help making a few mental notes. One, it was completely devoid of memorabilia of any kind. There were no photographs, no ticket stubs, no party invitations or concert flyers, no pictures clipped out of InStyle magazine. The bulletin board was new and the only thing pinned to it was her class schedule, right smack in the middle. Near the corner was a cup full of natural wood pencils. A votive of fresh flower buds stood on the other corner. There was a stack of white, lined pads within reach and a light blue satin box with a lid. I could only imagine it contained paper clips or something equally innocuous. That was it. I glanced across the room at Noelle's desk, piled as it was with books, CDs, cosmetics, and small bags of all shapes and sizes, with eyeliners and pens and iPod and bottles of perfume sticking out of them. Photos both loose and in frames. Just tons of crap. It was a disaster area, but at least it was normal. "How's the English lit coming, Reed?" Ariana's voice sent a chill down my back. I looked over my shoulder at her. She sat on her flowered bedspread with her back against her throw pillow collection, her ankles crossed. On her lap was her history text and next to her was a notebook. Her pencil pressed into the page. She looked right through me, like she knew what I'd just been thinking.
"Fine," I said quickly. "Good," she replied. Her lips formed a smile. Her eyes did not. I returned to my work. "So, how many did you get on the guest list?" Noelle asked Kiran. They were sitting on Noelle's unmade bed, books open but ignored. All they'd been talking about since we'd commenced our study session was their off-campus jaunt. Some club called Orchid in New York that only celebrities and debutantes could get into. The V.I.P. room. Five-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne. Limos waiting for them in town. They had it all set up. Too bad it was never going to work. "Just twenty," Kiran replied. "We'll have to be very selective." I tried not to shake
my head at their total obliviousness. Did they really think they were going to sneak twenty people off campus right now? Had I not told them about the new security camera on the front gate, in full view of their little hole in the fence? Maybe they had the ability to become invisible. Another Billings Girl secret. When you reach junior year, you're given your superpowers.
"Believe me, I want to keep this small," Noelle told her. "The more selective the better." "That's what I like to hear. So who are we including?" Kiran asked. Her thumbs were poised over her BlackBerry, ready to take down the pertinent information. Noelle straightened her legs and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Not Cheyenne. Let's start there." "Fabulous decision." "Girls. Let's not be rude," Adriana said in her stern voice. "She's not going to come anyway," Kiran told her. "All the more reason to extend the invitation," Ariana replied coolly. "It's always better not to burn bridges. You never know who Cheyenne might become." "I already know. The frigid, cuckolded wife of some repressed gay senator," Noelle said. She and Kiran laughed, and Kiran dragged her hand across Noelle's. "Charming," Ariana said. Noelle rolled her eyes. "Fine. We'll invite her," she said. But when Ariana looked down again, Noelle shook her head at Kiran ever so slightly. Kiran smirked. Dissension in the ranks. Who knew?
"Okay, so, the four of us, Cheyenne," Kiran said, half-laughing. "Who else?" "Uh, you guys can leave me out of it," I told them. The room fell silent. I continued to pretend to read as if I hadn't just kiboshed the merriment. "You're not serious," Noelle stated. "I'm sorry. I'm just not in the mood to party right now," I told her without looking up. I could feel them looking at one another. "God, Reed, why don't you get over yourself already?" Kiran said. My face stung. "Excuse me?" I blurted, turning to her. "Sorry. I don't think I meant to say that out loud," Kiran told me, looking surprisingly chagrined. Noelle shot her a look that could have wilted steel. "I think that what Kiran means to say is, you need to find a way to get past this," Noelle said. "And I think that this night is exactly what you need."
"Yeah, you've mentioned that," I replied. "I just don't agree." "Look, Reed, I know things have sucked lately," Noelle said. I snorted. "Okay, that's an understatement, but I don't know what word would cover it, so just go with me on this, okay?" she said, pushing herself off her bed. "I know things have sucked, but that's exactly why we have to get out of here. This place has nothing but bad vibes lately. Don't you just want to get away from it for a few hours?" "Of course I do," I told her. "But I can't do that until--" "Until what? Until Josh is free?" Noelle said. "Even if he is found innocent, that could take months. What are you gonna do in the meantime? Just sit around here and wallow?" "She's right. It's not good for your health," Ariana said, closing her book. "Not to mention your complexion," Kiran put in. I wanted out of this conversation. Especially in the next moment, when Noelle's eyes narrowed and took on that wicked sheen.
"Or maybe you just want to stay home so you can sneak out in the middle of the night again," she said. Of course. Of course she knew I'd left the dorm the other night. Why did I ever think I could get away with it? Ariana and Kiran both looked surprised, however, so Noelle hadn't shared this information with them. "When are you going to get it into your head, Reed?" Noelle said. "I--" "Know everything. I know," I said tersely. "It's in my head already, believe me." I stood up, ignoring the ire on her face at being interrupted, and quickly gathered my things. "Let me ask you this. Do you know where I went?" I didn't even know I was going to ask her that until the words were out of my mouth. But then I realized I had to know. Was she aware that Dash and I were sneaking around together in the middle of the night? Did she know why? Were we both in for some kind of retribution?
But as I watched, her defiant expression faltered slightly and I knew. She had no clue what I'd been doing. She was hoping I'd panic and tell her. So that she would be fully in the know, as she so loved to be. "Guess not," I said, savoring that moment. That one moment when I actually knew for sure that I knew more than Noelle. "In case you haven't heard, I haven't really been sleeping lately. Running calms me. So there you go. Now you've got all the facts. Enjoy." I was already halfway across the room when she spoke again. "You've been acting like a serious bitch lately," she said. I paused with my hand on the doorknob. "What are you gonna do, Noelle? Kidnap me again? Force me to do some stupid errand? Kick me out of Billings?" I looked her dead in the eye and, even though I didn't fully believe it myself, part of me very much wanted to say it. So I did. "Do whatever you want. I really don't care anymore." For once all three of them were stunned into silence.
BLAKE PEARSON
Dash had never been to the art cemetery before. As I sat on the one divan, fiddling nervously with the key he'd lifted from Josh's room to get us in here, he strolled along the walls, admiring the rows and rows of artwork by the dim light of the one lamp we had dared to turn on. He'd risked everything sneaking into Josh's police-taped dorm to get this thing, and later he'd have to risk it again to sneak it back in so that the cops wouldn't notice it was missing. Yet there he was, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolled, like he was checking out a new SoHo gallery, instead of waiting for his dead best friend's brother to show up under false pretenses he'd concocted, after which he'd have to go back to his dorm and break the law. Again.
"What if he doesn't come?" I asked. My heart was pounding in my bones. My skull throbbed. My fingers were moist. I was a PingPong ball of nerves. He leaned in closer to an abstract painting, inspecting the signature. Infuriatingly composed. "He'll come." "But what if he doesn't?" I clutched the key. Let it cut into my palm. "What do we do next?" "Trust me. I know Blake Pearson." There was a slight laugh in his voice. "He'll come." "How can you be so calm?" I asked finally. "Meditative focus," he answered. "My older sister's kind of a New Age guru. Some of the stuff is actually useful." "Your sister. A New Age guru," I said. He turned to me and smiled. "Kind of the black sheep of the McCafferty clan." "I can only imagine." A door clicked out in the hallway. We both heard it. I got to my feet, my heart slamming against my rib cage. As the footsteps approached, I shoved my sweaty hands into the back pockets of my jeans and stood next to Dash. His size was comforting.
The door across the room opened. Blake Pearson stepped inside. He was different than I remembered him from Thomas's wake. He wore a casual sweater and coat and distressed jeans over hiking boots. His black hair was mussed and curled at the ends, which made his face look less thin. There was more color in his skin as well, but that could have been due to the extreme cold. He froze the moment he saw us, his blue eyes like ice picks. I looked up at Dash. Dash opened his mouth, and Blake turned to go. Just like that. Without a word. "Wait!" Dash shouted. It was so loud I was sure the Easton security force was about to descend. But it had its desired effect. Blake stopped. Dash took the opportunity to cross the room and get between Blake and the door. "We just want to talk to you, man," Dash said, raising his hands.
"Oh really?" Blake said. "About what?" My heart shriveled and I had to gasp for air. His voice was exactly like Thomas's. I hadn't heard it in so many weeks, but I recognized it instantly. I backed up against the wall and blinked back the tears of shock. Pain. "What's wrong with her?" Blake asked, with a dismissive glance. "You all right?" Dash asked me. I managed to nod. "I'm fine. Go ... go ahead." "You're sure." Dash was always the gentleman. "I'm fine," I repeated firmly. "All right. We know you were here that night, Blake," Dash said. "Why haven't you gone to the police and told them what you know?" Blake crossed his arms over his chest. "All right, McCafferty, I'll bite," he said. "What do I know?" "That Josh is innocent," Dash said, frustrated. "You and Hot Secretary are his alibi."
"Her name is Cara," Blake said, his eyes flashing with fury. "Right. Sorry. Well, maybe you and Cara can do the right thing here," Dash said. "The right thing? What are you, still living in black and white?" Blake said, pacing away. "If I go to the police, then everyone's gonna find out about me and Cara. She'll be fired, her husband will divorce her, and it'll be yet another scandal for Easto
n. As far as I'm concerned those are three very good reasons to keep my mouth firmly shut."
"No," I heard myself say. "What?" Blake truly looked at me for the first time. My knees felt like they weren't even there anymore, but somehow I pushed myself away from the wall. "You have to tell," I said. "You have to. Josh's life is on the line here. I think that trumps your need to protect your mistress." "Reed," Dash said. "No. I'm right, aren't I? I mean, Josh could go to jail for the rest of his life and you're worried about your precious Cara's husband finding out that she's cheating? Well, news flash! She is cheating! Maybe she deserves to get a divorce!" "That's it. I'm outta here," Blake said, gunning for the door. "Don't you even want to know who really killed your own brother?" I blurted. My fingers curled into fists. Blake paused. For a moment I thought I'd actually gotten through to him. Then he laughed. He tipped his head back and laughed. Loudly. Openly. Evilly. "This is unbelievable!" he said. "Thomas is dead and he's still fucking up my life!"
Cannonball, this is my gut. Gut, meet the cannonball. "What?" Dash blurted, his face contorted with disgust. "Oh, come on, Dash, don't be so naive! You know what life was like with Thomas around," Blake ranted, spittle appearing at the corners of his lips. "Him disappearing for days at a time. My parents getting woken up in the middle of the night by phone calls from some random police station in Miami or Vegas or freakin' Columbus, Ohio? Him showing up for events late, trashed out of his mind, making scenes, embarrassing my parents, embarrassing me!" He pounded his chest with both hands. I could feel the pain coming off of him in waves, the pent-up rage just bursting to come out. I knew what it felt like. Thomas had known what it felt like. Damn if the Pearsons didn't raise two very angry kids. "Thomas was a pointless waste of existence, and all he did was screw up the lives of everyone around him."
