Ms. Emory’s office was freaky. She had absolutely no books or personal affects on her shelves, and the only thing tacked to her bulletin board was the Bridgeport call sheet, which listed all of the other faculty members’ office numbers and extensions. A lonely flat-screen computer rested on her dark wooden desk, and a shopping bag with the words RHINECLIFF YARN BARN across the front sat on a bare table behind her. Wooden knitting needles and some tan yarn peeked out from the top. Ms. Emory, a knitter? How random.
Crystal sat down quickly on the black chair opposite Ms. Emory’s desk. Next to her adviser’s all-black turtleneck and practical black pants, Crystal’s sheer pink flouncy skirt and pink-diamond encrusted watch seemed ridiculous.
“You wanted to see me?”
Ms. Emory looked up from her computer keyboard. She squinted one eye and contorted her gigantic mouth into a sneer. She looked like a deranged female Popeye. Why couldn’t Crystal have gotten a nice adviser, like Mrs. Swan, who took her advisees to the Metropolitan Opera three times a year, or Mr. Bungey, who threw his kids Scotch-tasting Christmas parties and listened to all their relationship problems? Oh no, she had to get the crazy Popeye lady, who probably used those knitting needles to poke her advisees in the ass when they misbehaved.
“Mr. Pardee told me I should talk to you,” Ms. Emory announced flatly. “He said that your boyfriend was caught in your room last night. After curfew.”
Crystal took a deep breath to prepare herself. She’d had years of practice bending the truth for her mother, but it always made her nervous. “Well, that’s the thing,” she began. “My boyfriend was there, yes. But he wasn’t visiting me. He was visiting my roommate, Bree.”
“And how do you know that?”
Crystal furrowed her brow. “Because...because I wasn’t there.”
Ms. Emory gave her a look of disbelief. “Umhmm.” She began to type something on her keyboard. Crystal noticed she had very stubby nails, chewed way down to the quick.
Shit. Did Ms. Emory’s umhmm mean Bree had told on her? Crystal didn’t think so: she’d seen the gleam in her eye—Bree was hungry. Why else would she have shown up at the Richards dorm party, basically uninvited? If she didn’t care about the Bridgeport social order, she’d go and be friends with that dorky Yvonne girl. No, Bree wanted more than that, Crystal was certain.
“Look.” Crystal shrugged. “I don’t know what went on. I was studying. It was right before curfew, and I came back and only Bree was there. Zane had left. Mr. Pardee was talking to her.”
“Mmmm. So, then. You and Zane, you’re not a couple anymore?”
Crystal winced. With that horrible I love you still hanging out there, unanswered, every second that went by without him saying it back made her feel ridiculously vulnerable. If they didn’t have sex soon and start talking about how much they loved each other, Crystal might have to check herself into the mental health center along with all the girls traumatized by the ponies on their boards.
“No,” Crystal lied. “We’re not together.”
“Really.” Ms. Emory stared at her over her square black glasses. “Because someone spotted you and Mr. Taylor at the stables only yesterday.”
“We...we were breaking up,” Crystal managed to stutter, her voice dry. “I...I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay.” Damn that Ben! Damn the faculty and staff for living with the students on campus and knowing every freaking intimate detail of their lives!
“Mm,” Ms. Emory replied, looking as if she didn’t believe Crystal at all. “Well, behave. We haven’t forgotten about last year.”
“Okay,” Crystal squeaked.
Then Ms. Emory began to type furiously. Generally this was Crystal’s cue to leave. She badly wanted to crane her neck around to see what she was typing—probably a three-point plan for how to ruin Crystal’s life.
She raced back to class, eager to be back in the soothing world of Latin verb declensions. Seated at her desk, she rubbed her hands together. If Ms. Emory found out she’d lied and that Zane had been there to see her, she’d definitely be expelled, especially after last year’s E episode. Then her mother would disown her and she’d have to go live with her fishy-smelling Aunt Brenda in the most boring suburb of Atlanta. She’d be forced to go to public school with ghetto, ratchet kids who thought a big night out was drinking Smirnoff Ice in the Dairy Queen parking lot. Crystal’s stomach turned.
She had two challenges before her: one, making sure Bree didn’t talk, and two, convincing Ms. Emory that she and Zane weren’t an item. Her life at Bridgeport depended on it.
To: [email protected]
From: KissKiss! Online
Date: Thursday, September 5, 12:50 P.M.
Subject: Surprise!
Dear Brianna Hargrove,
It’s your lucky day! Your friend Crystal Alexander has selected a beauty gift basket for you, full of $50 worth of makeup. The basket comes with a free tote bag! Please go to our Web site to pick the color you’d like.
Kiss kiss,
The KissKiss! staff
CrystalAlexander: Come with me to Pimpernels. Noon.
ZaneTaylor: Shopping? No.
CrystalAlexander: It’s important. We need to talk.
ZaneTaylor: Can’t we talk on campus?
CrystalAlexander: U can come into the dressing room with me...
ZaneTaylor: Aren’t we in enough shit already?
15
Zane saw Crystal leaning up against the storefront, nervously fiddling with her bamboo-handled Gucci bag and holding an unlit cigarette. It was a warm afternoon, and she was wearing a colorful flimsy shirt and matching skirt. Rhinecliff locals—mostly scraggly-haired hippie artists—were milling about the cobblestone street, eating strawberry ice cream cones from the creamery and stopping to talk to Hank, the guy who sold tie-dyed T-shirts and incense on the sidewalk. Zane doubted the hippies were talking to Hank for the incense, though. Hank sold weed to plenty of Bridgeport students, including Zane. He’d already waved his hello.
“Well, look who’s here,” Crystal said sarcastically.
Zane didn’t answer. They were in front of Pimpernel’s, a frou-frou boutique Crystal deigned to shop at. It was the only store in Rhinecliff that didn’t usually sell tie-dyed shirts—and when it did, they were silk, sequined, and cost $300. The last time he’d been here, Zane had spent the whole time examining a tiny knitted socklike thing that cost $360, trying to figure out what it could possibly be. A nose warmer? A bag for weed? A snuggly condom? Crystal had finally informed him that it was a cashmere dog bootie.
It was important that he talk to Crystal, though, so here he was. “We’re in trouble,” he announced flatly.
Crystal examined her freshly manicured nails. “We, huh?”
Zane scowled. “Of course we. And why did I see Bree come out of Dalton’s office? Was it for last night? She had nothing to do with this.”
“Well, Ms. Emory called me in too. And if you must know, yes, Bree was in there because of last night. It’s not like I can take the rap. The E thing, remember? My parents would disown me and send me to public school!”
“What are you talking about?” Zane demanded, rubbing the unshaven sides of his face.
Crystal shook her mane of long hair off the back of her neck. “Look, I don’t want to get kicked out. So I said you were there with Bree and that we were broken up.”
“What?” Zane asked, stunned. Crystal shrugged and pushed open the door to the store. Chimes jingled to announce their arrival.
“Sweetheart! Welcome back!” shrieked a very tall, very thin woman with slicked-back blond hair as soon as they stepped through the door.
“Hi, Tracey!” Crystal cooed. They kissed each other’s cheeks in a well-rehearsed routine. Zane hung back, wanting out. Immediately. Shopping, screaming girls, cashmere dog booties— so not his thing. Why had he come? He should be enjoying his last days at Bridgeport.
“I held some things for you over the summer.” Tracey be
ckoned, whisking Crystal and Zane into a little back alcove. She brought out a garment rack of shiny dresses, skirts, and blouses. She held up an ivory Alexander McQueen gown. “Isn’t this pretty?”
Zane turned his head to the side to read the price tag: $2,250.
“Oh, yes,” Crystal breathed. She didn’t seem at all concerned that she’d gotten her new roommate in trouble or that she’d lied to the administration. Nope. All she was worried about was whether this dress came in a small enough size.
“You could practically wear this to your wedding!” Tracey shoved the dress up against Crystal’s body.
“If you were a hooker,” Zane added rudely. He plopped down onto the lavender couch, pulling a frilly, pink-lace pillow out from under his ass.
Crystal rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she sighed at Tracey. “They know nothing!” Then she walked over and stroked Zane’s arm. “So, was Dalton mean to you?”
“He said I might get kicked out.”
“Oh, but you won’t. You’re a legacy. They never kick out legacies.” Zane saw a flicker of worry cross her face as she gathered up the dresses Tracey had given her to try on.
“I don’t know,” he responded as she closed the pink dressing room door. “What if they decide to set a new example?”
“They won’t,” Crystal insisted determinedly, throwing her nude bra over the top of the dressing room door. It looked flimsy and a little sad. “You’re definitely safe.”
“So you’re just going to let Bree take the rap for you then?”
“Why not? Mr. Pardee caught her, after all. And she’s prepared. We discussed it.”
Zane sighed. “You know, Dalton told me she didn’t say one way or another what happened. So what if she tells?”
“She won’t,” Crystal called back, her voice cracking with forced determination.
Zane sat back. The shopkeeper, Tracey, stared at his Converse high-tops, which he’d propped up on the store’s lavender velvet ottoman. What, was he not supposed to put his feet there? Tough.
Suddenly, Crystal stuck her head out of the dressing room door. “Sweetie? I need you to do me a teeny, tiny little favor.”
“What?” If it was to help her untangle her thong or zip something up, he really wasn’t in the mood.
Crystal’s eyes met his. “Well...” She curled a strand of black hair around her forefinger. “If Bree’s going to take the rap for me—and I’m sure she will—we need things to look... believable.”
“Believable?”
“You know. Like something actually happened between you two.”
Zane rolled his jaw around incredulously, staring at her.
“So,” Crystal breezed ahead, “this might sound weird, but I’m wondering if you might flirt with her a little. You know, maybe if you two acted like you liked each other. Just a little.”
“You’re asking me to flirt with another girl?” Zane laughed, taking his feet off the velvet ottoman. “Have you forgotten you’re the most jealous person on the planet?”
Crystal closed the door again and slung the dress she’d just been wearing over the top. “I am not jealous,” she retorted.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Flirt. Be nice to her. Friendly.”
With the dressing room door closed, Crystal’s view of Zane was obscured. But if she could have seen him, she might have been confused by the seemingly huge, googly grin on his face. When she stuck her head out of the door again, he’d managed to compose himself.
“Does that really sound so bad? You’re not going to get kicked out of school. That’s just silly. But you were already seen by Mr. Pardee in the dorm, so you’re already in trouble. It wouldn’t hurt to make it a teensy bit believable, would it?”
“Well, they’re right!” Zane put his hands in the air helplessly.
She jiggled up and down out of frustration, and Zane looked at her chest for a second. “Sweetie, please? Wouldn’t that be awful if I got kicked out?”
“But what if I get kicked out?”
Crystal screwed up her face. “You won’t,” she said firmly. “I already told you that.”
Zane hesitated. Was it possible that Crystal had somehow seen him sitting on Bree’s bed last night, touching her back, and that this was all a test? Better to play it like he wasn’t sure about the idea—although inside, of course, his whole body felt like it had been struck by lightning. Was it really possible that his girlfriend was actually asking him to get to know the girl he was digging? “This doesn’t sound very moral,” he answered calmly, keeping the shit-eating smile off his face.
“Moral?” She slammed the door shut again. “Are we forgetting about how you stole me away from Amir Phillips last year? Right out from under his nose?”
“So?”
“That wasn’t exactly moral, was it?”
Zane shrugged.
“Anyway,” Crystal continued, “I’m going to tell Bree about it, too. It’s not like I’m asking you to have sex with her or anything. Will you please just do this for me?”
“I...” Zane croaked. She wasn’t testing him. She was serious. He really was the fucking luckiest guy in the world.
Crystal opened the door, wearing the white Alexander McQueen dress. She looked like Boarding-School-Bitch Barbie on her wedding day. “So you’ll do it?” she asked. He slowly nodded, and she broke into a smile. “Thank you, sweetie. It’ll be a humungous help.”
No, no, Zane thought. Thank you.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Thursday, September 5, 12:15 P.M.
Subject: Miss you
Hi Dad,
I just had my first English class. My teacher read part of "Howl" aloud and it made me think of when we snuck your gross-looking but yummy oatmeal cookies into that weird movie place and watched that documentary on Allen Ginsberg. I loved that day.
Field hockey tryouts were yesterday and you're not going to believe this but I'm a total natural. Did you secretly coach a hockey for beat poets team or something? Because I don’t know where I get it from...
I’m still adjusting to everything here—it’s different from the city and Willard in so many ways. Smells much better and there are no roaches, but there are lots of RULES—I’m still learning what they are...Let’s hope I pick up on them as quickly as field hockey.
Have you heard from Mekhi?? I admit I even miss him sometimes.
Hugs and kisses!
Love you,
Bree
P.S. Can you send my cell phone? I thought they weren’t allowed, but as it turns out, everyone has them here. It’s on top of my bureau in my room. Thanks, Dad. Love you again.
16
“So tell me about this sexy teacher,” Naomi’s sister cooed. Naomi had ducked behind Stansfield Hall to make a quick cell phone call to the Elle offices before rejoining Eric for lunch. “You’re going to have lunch with him?”
“It’s a working lunch,” Naomi said. “We ran out of time this morning. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it does! What’s his name, anyway?”
“Eric Dalton?”
“What? You cut out for a sec.”
“Eric Dalton,” Naomi continued loudly again, and then took the phone away from her ear to look at the screen. The screen flashed CALL LOST. She shoved her iPhone back into her bag.
Naomi couldn’t help but feel nervous. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Eric since they’d met yesterday. He was a little awkward and aloof, which was a challenge. Naomi also had a sense that he liked her but that he knew that he shouldn’t—another challenge. Naomi liked challenges.
This morning, in calc, as Mr. Farnsworth was explaining the concept of infinity, Naomi had imagined them sneaking away to New York City, snagging the presidential suite at the St. Regis, ordering champagne and eggs Benedict from room service, and having hours and hours of sweaty sex with the curtains wide open so they could watch th
e horse-drawn carriages in the park.
The one time she and Corey had gone out in the city, Naomi had wanted to get a martini at the King Cole Bar, which was right in the St. Regis Hotel. But Corey had demanded they go to Champs because he knew the Yankees-Sox game would be blaring from their plasma-screen TV. Her stomach flopped when she thought about Corey coming over this afternoon. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to see him.
Naomi gritted her teeth as she climbed up the stairs toward Eric’s office. All she wanted to do was sit on Crystal’s bed, drink her signature banana daiquiri protein shake straight from the blender, and tell her about every freckle on Eric’s perfect face. But since they’d moved in, she and Crystal had hardly spoken. She’d tried to ask Crystal about the Bree/Zane thing when she’d stopped by the dorm after the morning meetings, but Crystal had quickly rushed to the showers without answering. So what, they weren’t friends now? Or maybe Crystal was afraid that if she let her guard down, she’d confess what she’d done to Jade? Probably.
Naomi knocked on Eric’s office door and smelled green tea brewing inside. He flung the door open and broke into an adorable grin.
“Hey,” he said, stepping back to let her pass.
Naomi smiled back at him, willing herself not to throw her arms around his brown, sexy neck. He looked gorgeous, from his neatly knotted tie to his...argyle socks. No shoes, just green, soft-looking argyle socks. Her insides quivered. Because after all, right underneath that layer of what she bet was Brooks Brothers cashmere, were his feet. He was basically one step away from being naked.
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