“Yeah, Em and I are like this,” Kris held up two crossed fingers and winked over his shoulder at me. “You won’t have any problems with rivalry from us.”
Forgetting my stomach, I narrowed my eyes at him and stuck out my tongue, my knuckles turning white from how hard I clenched the edge of the carousel.
I dragged my things down the antique-lined inn hallway, studying the doors for my room number. Red said that my roommate, the girl from Montana, was already checked in. I tried to curb my inward horror at sharing a room before getting there—it was one thing to be in a hotel room with one of my best friends, like Phoebe or Grace or even Alec, but a stranger was a different story. What if she snored or had already claimed the better bed and filled the closet and took over the bathroom so I’d be living out of my suitcase for a week, sleeping on a lumpy mattress in the darkest corner of the room?
The sound of a flute hitting high G carried down the hallway and when I stopped in front of my door and slid in my keycard, the music continued in perky little staccato notes from under the doorway. I opened the door to a slurred phrase that sounded a lot like Dvorak and made my head spin with its complexity. The girl sitting by the window finished with a flourish and laid her flute on her music stand before standing up and giving me a brilliant smile. “You must be New Jersey.”
“Em,” I said quickly, dropping my bags on the hardwood floor. The room was a turn-of-the-century dream, from the two narrow four-poster beds to furniture that looked like it had been there since nineteen-twelve. Diamond-patterned golden wallpaper and satiny curtains finished the look. I thrilled at the antiques scattered throughout the room. I squinted down at the paper Red had handed me with my room and roommate information. “And you must be Anne from Montana.”
“Ann without an E. Perfectly plain and practical, and no extra Es,” she said, then added, sheepishly, “I always start with that because you won’t believe how many Anns with ‘e’s are out there. In case, you know, you’d ever have to write it out, which we probably won’t have to, but it never hurts to let people know. But, anyway, enough about my name.” She bounced over to pick up my tote bag full of competition stuff and dropped it onto the coffee table next to hers to give me room to move. “It’s so nice to meet you. Sorry if I’m a little chatty. I feel like I know you already from your bio sheet.” Her long skirt swirled as she walked, and bangles like the ones Dev brought from India for Phoebe jangled with every movement. Even her hair glowed in the light from the window, the light-brown waves tumbling down her back and past her butt. She looked like a cross between Galadriel and Arwen, as if Cate Blanchett and Liv Tyler really were elves and she was their love child. I was rooming with a Midwestern fairytale princess.
I weighed the idea of pretending I’d read her bio, too, or pretending it got lost in the mail, but settled for the truth. “I haven’t had a chance to read your bio, so I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said, feeling a little guilty for expecting the worst. Ann hadn’t taken over, after all. Her nametag hung on the bed closest to the door, leaving me the one by the window, and a quick peek into the bathroom showed she had only taken a little corner of the counter. But her personality was overwhelming, even for me. “You play flute?”
“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind if I practice. I couldn’t take off for an entire week. Did you bring your flute? I saw that in your bio, too. We could try some duets.”
I pulled the crumpled bio sheet out of my carry-on and skimmed it—first chair in her state youth orchestra. No wonder she was practicing. My flute rarely saw the outside of its case when I wasn’t physically in band. “I didn’t bring mine. I thought I’d take the week off. You know, rest my hands?” I wiggled my fingers at her and made a mental note not to discuss anything orchestral with her. This girl already made me feel like a total slacker. She’d probably crush me in flute trivia.
“Makes sense. I’d take a break, but my teacher would kill me.” She bounced onto her bed. “Isn’t this place amazing? I read in our binder that the people who own it block it off every year just for the Change Council. And they don’t charge the competition anything except for food.”
I tried to keep from narrowing my eyes at her. “How long have you been here?”
“About two hours. Dan said you and the Vermont kids were going to be the last ones to get here. So I thought I’d read the binder. It has all of our speeches in it, you know.”
That made my competitive heart skip a beat. “Really?” I left my things where I’d dropped them and pulled the big navy and grey binder out of the competition tote bag. Dropping onto the edge of my bed, I flipped through—we were alphabetical by state and I stopped on New Jersey.
“I like your speech; it’s different from a lot of the others,” Ann said, not noticing my frown at the word “different.” While talking, she had somehow managed to twist her hair up into a bun and hold it in place with pen from the night-stand. “I think it’s going to be tough to beat the boy from Louisiana, though. If his delivery is anywhere near as good as his writing, it’s a killer speech.”
We are integral pieces of a process born over two centuries ago from the hopes and blood of— I looked up from skimming Kris’ speech. I had to admit, it was pretty good, even if it was about getting involved in the political process to make change happen. “You must read really fast.”
“I only got halfway through, but I’ll read the rest tonight. I want to get all my angsting over with tonight so I can spend the rest of the week enjoying Boston. I’ve never been this far east before.”
“Mmmhmm,” I didn’t look up this time, focused completely on picking out any possible suckitude in his speech. Nothing. Crap.
“The best part of all of this is that I can be anyone I want to be here, you know? I grew up with everyone at my school. Here, I don’t know anyone and no one has any preconceptions about ‘Ann’ and I love that. It’ll be so much easier to make new friends.”
“Must be nice to be you,” I said under my breath. She didn’t have to deal with sharing the competition with her greatest antagonist. When she tilted her head in confusion at me, I closed the binder and went over to my suitcase. “Sorry, I think I’m still a little sick from the flight.”
“Right. I didn’t mean to talk you to death. I’ll just go back to practicing and let you rest.” Ann went back to her spot by the window and picked up where she had left off, New World Symphony filling our little room.
I picked up my tablet to call Wil and let him know I made it, but then I changed my mind. I was just too tired for the emotional rollercoaster that was bound to happen if he wasn’t ready to make up. Really, he knew I was travelling— he should have been the one to make sure I got to Boston safely. His Photogram account was full of really good signs that our relationship was going to smooth right back to where it was, like pictures of places we’d talked about him showing me if I ever visited him, but I was still waiting for him to do his part and swoop in with an “I’m sorry” and some big, romantic gesture, like Romeo climbing the balcony or Lloyd holding up his boombox in Say Anything. Until then, I needed to think about me. And sleep.
Less than an hour in Boston and I’d already thrown up in front of my nemesis, chickened out about making up with my boyfriend, and alienated my roommate. Go, me.
The only positive to rooming with a morning person who decided to wake me up at six in the morning was that I had time to diffuse my hair dry so it didn’t stick up all over the place. I stifled a yawn as I followed Ann into the Inn dining room, pausing to check my reflection in one of the giant mirrors set in the doors. My nametag kept getting caught in the folds of my awesome Grace-approved drapey cardigan, so I pulled off the tag and tied it by the lanyard onto my zipper pull. That pause was enough to separate me from Ann in the buffet line and, by the time I was through, I found myself balancing two plates and scanning the room for somewhere to sit.
Old Em would normally go up to the table with the cutest boy and set my flirt-gun to stun, but that was pre-W
il. I had to remind New Em that I already had problems dealing with one long-distance boyfriend and I didn’t need to add another one, even if there was so much adorable accent potential in the room. With my normal seating strategy out, I was totally adrift until a waving hand caught my attention.
“Em, over here.” I followed Ann’s voice and hand to a table that was, surprise of all surprises, right by the front of the room and only a few feet from the podium.
“Thanks.” I set my plates down and looked around the table at the other six people sitting with Ann. “Hi, I’m Em.”
They all introduced themselves, but my brain could only lock on the states. Another Montana, two New Yorks, the boy from Louisiana who had the most delicious accent on the planet, a girl from Alaska. My gaze fell on the boy to my left and I froze at the familiar face peeking out from the most relaxed look I’d ever seen him in. Kris’ hair, which was now in messy soft waves, kept threatening to fall into his eyes as he smiled up at me. My appetite suddenly disappeared. “Forget your hair gel?” I couldn’t keep the snark out of my voice.
“Actually, I did. Want to lend me some of yours?” He reached over and flicked one of my curls, which was frozen in a perfect spiral.
“No, I think I’ll do you a favor and force you to waver from your Kennedy-wannabe look. It’ll be good for you.”
New York watched our conversation like we were the first match of the French Open. “You two know each other?”
“Unfortunately,” I said, while at the same time Kris said, “Yeah, it’s a pretty awesome coincidence.”
I glared at Kris, and said as I sat down, “We go to the same school.”
“You know, neither of you sound like you’re from New Jersey,” Montana-boy said around a mouthful of croissant. Boys.
I raised one eyebrow, a trick that totally came in handy in situations like this, and put on my most nasally voice. “Oh my gawd, you mean we don’t sound like this?”
“Yes! Why don’t you sound like that, Joisey?”
Kris and I shared a look that was equal parts annoyance and tolerance, for once on the same page. “Because it’s an unfounded stereotype created by people not from our state who think they’re comedians, not to mention it’s a parody of ethnic accents in parts of the state.” he said.
I blinked in surprise at his calm but definitely not super political let’s-gloss-over-stuff-so-you-like-me answer. “What he said,” I said in my own accent again. That nasal thing made my throat hurt. “It’s annoying.”
Louisiana, forkful of bacon hanging mid-air, nodded empathetically. “I guess it’s like people expect me to sound like Gambit from X-men or something. I don’t go around calling people “cher”all day.” He managed to fit all the bacon in his mouth in one shot.
I propped my elbows on the table and leaned forward with the grin Wil always said was my ‘heartbreaker’ look. “You can call me anything you want in your accent.” I shoved back the little guilt-angel propped on my shoulder with a toss of my hair. There was absolutely nothing wrong with a little innocent flirting, after all. Wil hadn’t called to make up yet, so technically, we were on a break. And I needed something to entertain me, considering I had to spend an entire week trying not to strangle Kris.
Louisiana laughed and choked down the bacon before taking a sip of his orange juice and saying, “Maybe I’ll reconsider the ‘cher’ thing just for you.”
“Please don’t,” Kris said, and I had to restrain myself from dumping my tea on his not-so-artfully messy hair.
The girl from Alaska looked from Kris to me and seemed to take a deep breath. I bet she regretted picking our table. “I don’t know which part of this week I’m looking forward to the most—the conference or the tours. I’ve never been to Massachusetts.”
New York girl paused her own flirty attempts mid-hair-twirl, though hers were, for some reason I couldn’t figure out, aimed straight at Kris. She directed her next words at him, too. “Boston’s awesome. My brother goes to MIT and I’ve been up here a few times. There are some great party spots I can show you.”
“I seriously doubt our advisors will let us out to party,” Ann said, a little bit of amusement combined with eye-roll in her voice. She nudged me with her shoulder and grinned.
“Exactly.” A tall woman with cropped black hair and wearing a grey business suit said as she passed our table on the way to the podium, looking like Pearl Bailey taking center stage. New York girl straightened up immediately. The room fell silent as she continued over the microphone. “While we want all of you to have a good time, everyone needs to understand you will all be under constant supervision by the conference staff and, for your safety, you need to stay in groups where we can keep an eye on all of you. Anyone trying to break the rules outlined in the binders you were given will be disqualified from the competition and sent home.” Her teacher-look softened and she smiled at the suddenly sober faces around her. “But enough with the rules. My name is Ms. Shawnee and I’ll be your lead advisor for the week.”
Kris pushed away his breakfast plate and leaned forward on his elbows in a perfect show of kiss-upped-ness. I countered by sitting back with a bagel in my hand and trying to look like I was relaxed and paying attention at the same time. Ms. Shawnee went through the usual “congratulations for making it to this point, we’re proud of you” shtick, then got to the important part of her speech. “Judging will be on the last day. You will be divided alphabetically by state or territory and will individually go before the judges to read your speeches. Up until that point, you’ll be working with mentors to polish your speeches. We’re confident that, with their guidance, your speeches will go from great to amazing.” She smiled widely at all of us and all the heads at my table bobbed in agreement, so I nodded, too.
Ms. Shawnee stepped alongside the podium, still close enough for the microphone to pick up her voice. “This morning, we’re going to start you with a walking tour of Boston, and, after lunch, we’re diving right into the conference. Any questions, feel free to ask me, Dan, Rosie, or any of the inn staff.” She pointed to the back of the room, where Red stood with a pink-and-blue haired girl, both of them in Change Council long-sleeved t-shirts. “We’re excited to have you all here. I hope you have a wonderful experience.” As we stood up to leave, Ann put down her coffee cup with a clank and leaned over me to stare at Kris’ shirt. I had to scoot back to keep from getting a face full of braided bun. “Wait, do you volunteer for Noelle’s Song?” I twisted my head to look and realized I had totally missed the familiar music-note logo on this t-shirt.
Kris tugged at his shirt. “I do. I’m on the teen advisory board.”
“But why?” I couldn’t help but ask. “You’re not involved in any of the music programs at school. You hate music.” Noelle’s Song had been formed to help fund music programs in the schools when one of the girls at our school who had been a first chair violinist and a soprano in the choir died of a genetic heart condition. Definitely not the type of charity I expected Kris to be interested in.
He huffed at me, giving me a pretty annoyed side-eye at the same time, before saying, “I don’t hate music. And Noelle Winslow was my cousin.”
Noelle. Oh. “Oh, right. I forgot you were related to half the town,” Lambertfield’s founding family didn’t spread out much beyond the town borders.
He poked me in the arm, lips quirking in a not-quite-smile. “I bet you were expecting me to say I do it because it looks good on a college application, weren’t you?”
I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of showing him how right he was. “Possibly.”
That not-quite-smile turned into a self-satisfied grin. “Actually, it really does, but it’s also a pretty amazing group. We’re in fifteen states so far and my aunt says there’s international interest, too.” His voice then grew softer than I ever expected from him. “Noelle would be really happy if she could see what we’ve made happen.” “We just started a chapter in my town,” Ann said, breaking the heavy silence that fell b
etween us after Kris’ last sentence. She finally stopped leaning over me and walked around to sandwich Kris between us. “The music budget was just cut in a few of our schools, so we’ve started fundraising and collecting used instruments for them. I teach flute to some of the city kids who can’t afford to have lessons. Plus, the Scout troop I lead has been working on informing the community about how important the arts are for schools so we can start lobbying our local officials. The webpage for NS is really great about giving tips about that.”
Holy cannoli, I was rooming with a saint.
Kris grinned at her, puffing his chest out like a peacock getting ready to show off. “I actually wrote that part of the webpage.” He held the door open for us, and added, “That’s awesome what you’re doing. I’ll have to get you in touch with Aunt Rose. She’d love to spotlight your chapter in the newsletter.” He slowed his pace to keep alongside us as we shuffled out the front doors of the Inn and towards the busses “It’s really important to showcase successes so the different chapters can learn from each other.” New York girl pulled him aside to ask him something and Ann and I hopped on the bus, her grabbing a seat next to the guy from Louisiana.
Ann leaned across the aisle and said, “He’s so nice.”
“That’s because it’s early. His ego is bound to start suffocating us in t-minus three hours,” I said, turning to the girl next to me, who had shortish, curly hair like mine, except hers was the color of fire. “Hi, I’m Em.” My eyes went straight for her badge—Pennsylvania.
“Lia, from Philly.”
Kris finally stepped through the doorway and I watched as he paused at the top of the aisle. His eyes swept the bus, stopping for seconds on the empty seats, like he was sizing each one of them up. After a few seconds, he seemed to nod the tiniest bit and made his way, super confident, over to the back where one of the advisors was talking with some of the southern kids.
“Figures,” I muttered, and when Lia raised her eyebrows at me, I tilted my chin at Kris. “We go to school together. He’s so politician-y, even out of school.”
Dramatically Ever After Page 7
