by Kate Brian
"What does your mother do?" Kiran asked, tilting her head toward me. "Nothing interesting," I replied, wishing like hell I'd kept my mouth shut. "No, come on, Reed. Tell us," Noelle teased. "I'll bet she drives a bus. No! She works in a mill." I felt like I was going to burst into embarrassed tears at any second. Noelle was just goading me. She knew all about my family-- or so she'd implied on several occasions. She'd probably read my file at some point, considering she seemed to have access to anything she wanted. I wondered if she knew only that my mother was on disability, or if she also somehow knew that all my mother ever did anymore was pop pills and make everyone's lives miserable-- for the few hours a day she was awake.
Up ahead the windows of Billings glowed with welcoming light. If I could just deflect this until we got inside . . . "Do people really still do that?" Kiran asked. "You may as well just tell them, Reed. I'm sure it's nothing to be ashamed of," Ariana said. At that moment the front door of Billings opened and Cheyenne popped her head out. "Hurry it up, girls! We're all meeting in the parlor." Noelle paused. I knew all thoughts of my family's occupations were forgotten. I'd been saved by mini-Martha. "Oh, this girl has gone too far. She's calling meetings now?" Cheyenne had disappeared from the library with Dean Marcus about an hour earlier. Apparently whatever they had talked about had gone Cheyenne's way, because she was grinning from ear to ear as she held the door open for us and ushered us in. We all dropped our coats and bags in the foyer, where a fire crackled and the Christmas tree twinkled, and followed her to the parlor. The rest of the dorm had already gathered. Mrs. Lattimer stood by the doorway, her expression pinched, her hand at the collar of her shirt.
"Have a seat, have a seat," Cheyenne said to us, like she was the hostess and we were the guests. Noelle ignored her and stood behind the couch. Natasha dropped onto an ottoman, but Ariana, Kiran, and I stayed standing. As annoyed as I was at Noelle, it felt like the type of moment for choosing sides, and my instinct was still to stay on hers. Cheyenne stepped over Vienna's outstretched legs and faced us at the front of the room. She was practically oozing with self- satisfaction. "I have exciting news," she said. "The dean and I have made a deal. Trey Prescott and I have agreed to do an exclusive interview with the New York Times, all about how amazing it is to be a student at Easton, and in return . . . he's going to let us off campus this weekend!" There were excited gasps all throughout the room. Noelle's hand tightened around the ornate wooden frame of the couch.
"Orchid V.I.P. room, here we come!" Vienna shouted, throwing up her hands. I thought Noelle might rend the furniture in two. I imagined all the girls sitting on the couch falling on their toned butts on the antique rug. "Actually, we're not going to New York," Cheyenne said, quieting everyone again. "The deal stipulated that we go to a prearranged spot. So we're going to my family's summer house in Litchfield." Noelle's grip instantly relaxed. She snorted a laugh. "Wow. How fabulous," she said. "Next you're going to tell us your dad and step- mom are going to be there to chaperone."Cheyenne glanced at Mrs. Lattimer. She nodded shrewdly, cleared her throat, and left the room. Noelle watched the woman go with her mouth slightly open. Someone other than her had just gotten Lattimer to leave us alone. Cheyenne was pink with pleasure.
"Actually, the dean did call my father and asked him to chaperone. Which, of course, Daddy said he would do." Everyone groaned. Cheyenne held up a hand. "But Dad just called me five minutes ago and told me he can't actually make it," she added. "He trusts me. Trusts us. So we're on our own." "And he'll cover for us?" Rose asked. "Of course he will," Cheyenne said. Just like that, she'd won the crowd over again. Cheyenne looked right at Noelle as everyone else squealed with delight. "So it looks like we'll be having our yearly off-campus party after all!"There was a round of cheers and the meeting started to break up. All around me, girls were planning what to wear, which guys to invite, how drunk they wanted to get. All the while, Cheyenne and Noelle continued to glare at one another. Noelle looked murderous.
Cheyenne was the first to break eye contact. She walked around the couch and approached us. "Nice work," Noelle said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You got the dean to agree to let us go hang out in Hicksville. What're we going to do? Go cow-tipping? Take a historical hayride through the square?" Cheyenne smiled and shook her head. "At least I got him to let us off campus, which was something you couldn't do. Oh, no, wait- something you didn't even try to do." Noelle stared down her nose at Cheyenne, silently fuming. "Well, maybe I'm just not a natural kiss-ass." "You can't just intimidate your way through life, Noelle. That's not how it works," Cheyenne said calmly. "Sometimes you have to work with people. Speaking of which, Reed, I have a favor to ask."
She shifted her attention to me before Noelle could formulate another comeback. "A favor?" "Yes. The dean thought it might be a good idea to have at least one scholarship student in on the interview. You know, to show the world that we're not just a bunch of overprivileged snobs," she said with a small laugh. "Of course, I immediately thought of you." * "Oh, I-" There was literally nothing I wanted to do less than have some reporter grill me on my months at Easton. Did I actually have anything good to say? "You won't have to talk about Thomas and all that drama unless you want to," Cheyenne said, correctly guessing the source of my hesitation. "You can focus on the teachers, the classes, the dorms. Tell them what a world-class education you're getting. I think the dean would really appreciate it." My gut twisted in twenty different ways, but I got her point. "Okay," I said. "If it'll help him ease up on us, then sure. I'm in." "That's great!" Cheyenne said gleefully. Then, much to my surprise, she grabbed me in a quick hug. "I'll let you know as soon as I have all the details. Have a good night, girls!" she trilled. Then she bounded out of the room like a happy puppy. I didn't dare look anyone else in the eye. I simply turned around, grabbed my stuff, and followed.
BUDDY-BUDDY
I was just dozing off that night--something I was pleasantly surprised I could still do after all those sleepless nights--when the door to my room opened, spilling dim light in from the hallway. I sat up straight in my bed and my heart caught when I saw Noelle's shadow entering the room. Ariana and Kiran were right behind her. Here it was. My new round of hazing. Well, this time I wasn't going anywhere without a real fight. "What the hell are you guys doing?" Natasha asked before I had the chance. Ariana flicked on the lights. She wore a white nightgown with lace at the wide neck and carried a Burberry shopping bag. Kiran, in a red nightie, placed a martini shaker and a bottle of vodka down on my desk. Noelle, wearing a black silk pajama set, added four martini glasses. I was officially confused. They were all in PJs, so they weren't dragging me anywhere, and apparently they were setting up a bar. "I couldn't sleep, so I went to Kiran's," Noelle explained. "Kiran thought a couple of drinks might help, but I never drink alone." She picked up the shaker and started shaking. "So here we are."
Natasha and I looked at one another across the room. We could throw them out, but that might cause more trouble than it was worth. If we let them stay and have one drink, they'd go faster and happier. We communicated all of this silently; then, decision made, Natasha threw her covers aside with a huff and we joined them at the desk. "Make mine a double," Kiran said. Noelle expertly poured out a glassful of liquid. Ariana took a jar of olives out of her bag and speared two with a toothpick. "We should open a bar when we get out of here," Noelle joked to Ariana. "I think we would do very well," Ariana replied. I stared at them. They were in too good of a mood. Where exactly was this going? "Reed?" Noelle asked as Kiran took her drink and perched on Natasha's desk chair. "None for me, thanks," I said. "Oh! Is living with Miss Moral Center rubbing off on you?" Noelle asked.
"No, it's just I can't be hungover tomorrow. I have class and a lot of work," I said. "You're having a drink," Noelle told me, holding a half-full glass out. My heart thumped. "No. I'm not." "You're having a drink," she said. "You can either drink it, or I can dump it on your head. Your call." My teeth clenched together. I could have killed the person who decided
that having no locks on our dorm room doors was a good idea. Of course, a lock wouldn't have stopped Noelle anyway, I knew. She found a way around everything. "Fine." I took the glass from her and sat down on my bed with no intention of drinking it. Noelle smiled her triumph, then poured out drinks for Natasha, Ariana, and herself. Soon we were all seated around the room, sipping. Or pretending to sip, as it were. "So . . . ," Natasha said finally. "So what?" Noelle asked. "So what are you doing here?" I asked. "Can't friends share a midnight drink with friends anymore?" Noelle asked. "We just came to talk," Ariana clarified. "The term is almost over, and lately we haven't really had time to bond." "Bond." Kiran hiccupped a laugh. "I love that word."
Clearly she had been drinking way before Noelle had showed up at her room. Plus we figured it would be nice to have a little fun," Noelle said, lifting her glass. "Since we won't be having any this weekend." "Oh, so that's what this is about. You want to bash Cheyenne," Natasha said, leaning forward. "Who needs to bash her?" Noelle asked innocently. "Everyone already knows that her idea of fun is totally lame." "The rest of the dorm seemed to like it," I pointed out. "The rest of the dorm is too stupid to realize how boring it's going to be," Kiran said. "So you guys aren't going to go?" I asked. "Of course we're going to go," Noelle said. "If only to rub her nose in her incredible failure." They all laughed and clinked glasses. "I think you're just annoyed because she's managed to do what you couldn't," Natasha said to Noelle. "I think it kills you."
"Anyone can suck up to authority, Crenshaw. I prefer to do things my way," Noelle snapped. "Unfortunately, your way got us grounded," Natasha said under her breath. "Oh, like you had so many better things to do," Noelle said. "Last time I checked, your entire social life had been unceremoniously drop-kicked out of this school, never to show her pore- clogged face again."
Natasha looked as if she'd been slapped. Not only had Noelle just insulted Natasha's girlfriend, but she was throwing around Leanne's expulsion, when we all knew very well that Noelle was the one who'd gotten her expelled. "But let's not talk about the past," Noelle said, turning to me. "I want to talk about Miss Reed." Oh God. Here we go. "You seem very buddy-buddy with the automaton," she said. "Excuse me?" "Cheyenne. She's talking about Cheyenne," Ariana said firmly. "Yes, her. The dean's robot. What's that all about?" Noelle asked. "I'm not buddy-buddy with her," I replied. "She just asked me to do the interview." "Right. The interview. That which she used to go over my head and make plans without me. Without any of us," Noelle said.
"Look, I'm just trying to help us all out," I said. "The dean's pissed at us, and if this helps him be less pissed, then I'm going to do it. I don't love Cheyenne, but I think it was smart of her to offer an olive branch. After everything that's happened, we need a little good PR." Noelle stared at me. For a moment I actually thought she was seeing the validity of my point. But then she scoffed. She lifted the toothpick from her glass, brought her teeth down on the olive, and pulled it off. "She's got you all totally brainwashed," Noelle said, shaking her head like it was just too funny. "It's almost pathetic, really. I so hate to see my friends all brainwashed."
Unless, of course, it was by her own hand. "And that's why she needs to be taken down a peg." A heavy sense of foreboding settled over the room. "What do you mean, exactly?" Ariana asked, intrigued. Noelle shrugged and smiled. "I have my ways." "We know you do," Kiran said, half-gleeful, half-resigned. And suddenly I felt sorry for Cheyenne. Because when Noelle decided to knock someone down a peg, that person usually ended up getting knocked all the way down to the pits of hell.
THE FUGITIVE
It was stifling in the dean's office. For some reason he had a fire lit in the old fireplace--maybe to give the photos a cozier and quainter feel--but it was making my very blood boil. I'd already shed my sweater and now sat in the center of the room between Cheyenne and Trey wearing a Philadelphia Eagles T-shirt that I was seriously regretting wearing. It made me look like the scholarship student I was. It made me feel like anything but a Billings Girl. And if I was going to survive what had turned into nothing less than an ambush, I was going to have to channel my inner Billings Girl. If I had one.
"I don't want to talk about that," I said for the tenth time. For the tenth time, the reporter ignored me. "How did it make you feel? Not only had you lost your boyfriend to a very violent death, but to know that your new boyfriend might have been responsible ..." Her digital recorder sat on the arm of her chair, its red light glaring at me. She leaned forward, holding a mechanical pencil poised over her notebook. Her dark hair fell over her tiny-framed glasses, but she didn't push it away. Her brow creased in faux concern as the photographer snapped a rapid-fire series of photographs, clearly capturing the slow demise of my spirits. Against the wall, the dean leaned back, his index finger crooked around his lips as he stared at the floor.
"I knew he wasn't responsible," I said through my teeth. Next to me, Cheyenne and Trey shifted in their seats. "You knew. You knew for absolute, one hundred percent certain," she said dubiously. "I never doubted him," I said firmly. "Then who do you think did do it? " "All right, this interview is over," Dean Marcus announced. Thank God. I was wondering if he was ever going to put an end to this. Cheyenne had said I wouldn't have to talk about Thomas if I didn't want to, and yet that was all this woman had asked me about. That and nothing else. "I have a right to ask these questions, Dean," the reporter said. "You're here to do a profile of the school and students, not an expose on Thomas Pearson's murder, a topic which your paper has already covered exhaustively," the dean said, holding out a hand toward the door. "This young lady has already been through enough."
The reporter glanced at me. I tried to look pathetic so she'd leave me alone. At the moment it wasn't that much of a stretch. "Fine," the reporter groused, rolling her eyes. She got up, gathering her oversize bag and recorder. "I've got enough for my piece." "Good. Please feel free to call me if you have any further questions," the dean suggested, ushering her out. He walked her through his outer office, where Ms. Lewis-Hanneman sat at her computer, typing away. I wondered if she was really working or if she was just trying to look busy for the reporters. "I'm so sorry about that, Reed," Cheyenne whispered to me as we brought up the rear. "She promised the dean she wouldn't ask anything too personal.""It's all right," I told her. "She's just doing her job."
But if I'd known where her car was, I'd have let all the air out of her tires right then. Just before the dean and the reporter got to the door, it burst open and Dash barreled in, breathless. For a moment everyone froze. It was obvious to the world that he had a huge announcement to make. He took one look at the reporter and cleared his throat. "Hey. How's everyone doing?" he asked awkwardly. "Fine, Mr. McCafferty. Thank you for stopping by to ask," the dean replied. His hand was on the small of the reporter's back as if he was more than ready to shove her out the door if he needed to. "McCafferty. Dash McCafferty, right?" the reporter said, her eyes lighting up. "What's going on?""Nothing," Dash replied. "I just. . . came over to tell Trey that we're starting our study group an hour early. Are you guys done here?"
"Yes. We are," the dean said, even as the reporter opened her mouth to protest. "Mr. Jackson, would you kindly help me escort Ms. Vasquez and her colleague to the gates?" "Absolutely, Dean Marcus," Scat said, emerging from a chair in the corner. The reporter protested, but Scat had her out of there in five seconds, closing the door behind them. "What is it?" I asked Dash. "They found Blake," Dash said. Ms. Lewis-Hanneman stopped typing but otherwise didn't move. Somehow I got the feeling she was not all that surprised by this revelation. "No way," Cheyenne said. "Where was he?" I asked." At the family's house in Bermuda," Dash said. "His parents sent a neighbor by to check, and he'd been there for a few days." "It took them that long to think of their house in Bermuda?" Trey asked. "It's not their only vacation home," Dash said. "They had to check all of them." "So what's the deal?" Cheyenne asked. "Did he turn himself in?" "Well, yeah. He's already been brought back for questioning, but he's maintaining his
innocence," Dash said, sounding very official. "But who knows? Hopefully we'll finally get to the bottom of this." Cheyenne took a deep breath and blew it out, shaking her head. "Well, we should get to dinner, I suppose," she said, checking her gold watch. She probably wanted to get there ASAP so that she could share this dish with everyone before they had a chance to hear it from someone else. "Coming, Reed?"
I glanced over at Ms. Lewis-Hanneman. Her fingers sat motionless on her keyboard. "I'll be there in a minute," I told her. "I have something to ask the dean when he gets back." "Okay. Thanks again for doing this," she said, reaching out to quickly squeeze my arm. She and Trey walked out, and I had to smile. Cheyenne was so unlike Noelle. Noelle would have been suspicious and wanted to know what business I had with the dean. Either that or she would have smiled knowingly as if she already knew what business I had with the dean. Cheyenne had no interest. It was kind of refreshing. Dash shot me a questioning look and I waved at him to go, which he did. Also refreshing. "Are you okay?" I asked Ms. Lewis-Hanneman as soon as I was sure we were alone. "I already knew," she said. "Blake's lawyer called me this morning." "What did he say?" I asked, approaching her desk.
"He said that Blake left the country because of me. Like he wouldn't be in this mess if I wasn't such a cold-hearted bitch." "He said that?" "No. But he was very good at implying it," she said with a small smirk. "Like I didn't feel guilty enough already." "So . . . what? Blake was trying to get away from you or something?" "Or something. I never told you this, but after Josh was arrested, I stopped taking Blake's calls. I didn't know what to do. Seeing him when we knew what we knew ... it just seemed too complicated. I needed a break." "I don't get it," I said. "What does that have to do with Blake going to Bermuda?" "His lawyer says he just had to get away. He was heartbroken. He left the country because I was avoiding him, not because he was on the run." She picked up a bunch of papers and knocked them repeatedly against the desk to straighten them. Then knocked them a few extra times. "So it's all my fault he looks so guilty. Isn't that fab?"
