Zane scanned the classroom. His dark brown eyes lingered on her for a second. Bree realized that the only empty desk in the classroom was right next to hers.
“Okay, everyone,” Mrs. Silver announced. “Let’s get right to it, because I know you kids are eager. I’m passing out sketch paper and mirrors now. We’ll start on rough sketches of our self-portraits.”
A collective groan rose up. Self-portraits were the worst.
Zane slowly walked to the desk next to Bree’s, his eyes focused on her the whole time. He threw his cracked leather knapsack under the desk and sat down on the adjacent short metal stool. Then he slowly unraveled his headphones from his neck and wrapped the cord around his slim white iPod. He leaned over and wrote on Bree’s desk with a stub of charcoal, Hey. His handwriting was boyish and spiky.
Hello, Bree wrote right underneath it in elegant calligraphy.
Mrs. Silver handed out charcoal, markers, mirrors, and rolls of shelf paper to each student. Bree stared at her reflection. Her eyes contradicted the sea of nerves inside of her. It’s okay, she told herself. Crystal told you to flirt. But had Crystal told her to have heart palpitations?
“So, did Dalton give you a hard time?” Zane whispered.
“Not really,” Bree whispered back. She wondered if Crystal had told him that she hadn’t made a decision about whether to take the blame or not yet.
“Is Crystal giving you a hard time?”
“Crystal? Uh, no...” Bree put the blunt end of her marker in her mouth. “She’s been okay.”
“Well, I hope she’s not putting you through too much shit. She does that sometimes.”
Bree wondered what that meant. She turned back to her blank sketch paper, well aware that Zane seemed to be sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye. Before Old Bree could stop her and tell her that even though Crystal had said she could flirt, she shouldn’t, New Bree giggled and poked Zane with her marker, leaving a big red mark on his forearm.
“What was that for?” he whispered, examining the mark.
“I wanted to give you a tattoo.” She decided that the mark was a nose and added two tiny eyes and a mouth.
“It’s beautiful,” he declared. Then, he grabbed his own blue marker and wrote on her arm, HI BREE, and drew a frowning, snaggletoothed cartoon character, complete with a curly sprig of hair on the top of its head.
“Is it a portrait of me?” Bree laughed.
“No...is yours a portrait of me?”
“Nooo. But, I once painted my boyfriend in six different styles, from Pollock to Chagall.”
“My dad has a Chagall in his study,” Zane told her. “It looks kind of like I and the Village. I used to stare at that painting for hours when I was little.”
Bree blinked, caught off guard. I and the Village was her favorite. “You...you had great taste for a kid.”
“So, are you still with this boyfriend?” Zane murmured, shyly turning away as he said it and looking carefully into his own little handheld mirror. He made bold charcoal strokes on the blank page in front of him. It was exciting to watch him draw.
“Oh, no,” Bree answered quickly. She and Kaliq had only been together for about three weeks, and then he’d totally blown her off on New Year’s Eve. He was older and had probably just been using her to get back at his real girlfriend, Porsha Sinclaire.
“You must’ve liked him, though. You painted him six times.”
Bree shadowed an area around her self-portrait’s nose, reviewing the slight lie in her head before she said it out loud. “Well, he liked me more than I liked him.”
“I’m sure,” Zane said softly.
Bree sucked in her breath and took another peek at his adorable profile. As she switched charcoals, she saw him peek at her, too. So it wasn’t exactly right, but she couldn’t stop herself. Besides, it was what Crystal has asked her to do, wasn’t it?
“So Bree, you know any good secrets?”
Her hand slipped and made a big black wiggly line across her portrait’s cheek. How about Naomi coming in at 3 A.M. after Bree had seen her leave campus with Mr. Dalton earlier that night? That was a pretty big secret. There was also the gigantically real crush Bree had on Zane—another juicy one. “Um, not really,” she responded quietly.
“I do,” Zane offered.
Bree felt her heart thud in her throat. “What is it?”
He lowered his eyes, then looked at her again. “I’ll write it down, but you have to read it later.”
“Why can’t you say it?”
“Because it’s a secret.” He scribbled something in charcoal on a piece of scrap paper, folded it three times, and handed it to her.
Bree took the note and shoved it into her pocket. Then something suddenly occurred to her. Crystal had briefed her on how she should flirt with Zane, but maybe Crystal had told Zane the exact same thing. Just be nice to Bree: hang out with her a little, make it look like you guys like each other. Bree could totally see that happening.
Her heart sank. Was that it, and nothing more?
As soon as the bell rang, she rushed into the first stall of the Jameson House girls’ room and opened the note. In chicken-scratched, blurry charcoal letters it said:
The owls at Bridgeport talk. Maybe they’ll talk to us together sometime.
Bree creased the note into smaller and smaller folds and shoved it in her bag. There was no denying that she had a full-on crush on Zane Taylor. Everything about him, from his messy curls to his sumptuous, uneven mouth, to his love of Chagall, to his ink-stained hands.
She finally emerged from the stall and stared into the smeared sink mirror. She didn’t know what she was looking for—maybe evidence, like a physical sign, that something monumental was happening.
Because she was pretty sure Zane was honestly flirting with her. Not because Crystal had told him to but because he wanted to. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Friday, September 6, 3:33 P.M.
Subject: Fw: Upcoming Disciplinary Committee hearing
Naomi,
I’m forwarding you this e-mail from Marymount, below, since it’s about the upcoming DC hearing. Thought you should know.And thank you for joining me for dinner last night. It was very...refreshing.
See you soon,
EFD
Begin forwarded message:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Friday, September 6, 2:20 A.M.
Subject: Upcoming Disciplinary Committee hearing
Dear Eric,
As you know, the first DC case of the year, involving Zane Taylor and Brianna Hargrove, is scheduled for Monday. I’d like to make sure we set a no-tolerance precedent with this case. However, Mr. Taylor is a legacy and his parents are donors, which obviously causes some complications. It’s a shame, because I personally reviewed Miss Hargrove’s application and think she’s a terrific addition to the Bridgeport art program, but someone has to take that fall for this. If she’s found guilty, I’m afraid we’ll have to expel her.
Let’s make sure we start the year off on the right foot.
Thanks in advance,
Dean Marymount
23
Friday afternoon, Naomi sat in the locker room before the first day of field hockey practice tugging at the silver Tiffanyring Corey had given her over the summer. The thing was stuck on her finger, but she wanted it off. As soon as she’d sunk into the plush black leather seats of Eric’s family limousine—he’d had a car take her back to Bridgeport since he was sailing back in his boat—she’d been in Eric withdrawal. They hadn’t even kissed, but she felt like she could still smell him on her. That delicious Acqua di Parma. And this morning’s mocha frappuccino had tasted like red wine.
“Hey,” a voice beckoned shyly.
Naomi turned to see Bree sitting next to her on the long, forest-green bench, pu
lling socks over her shin guards. Her wild black hair was pulled back off her face in a high ponytail, and she wore gray sweat shorts and a cutoff T-shirt with an orange Les Best logo, which was an edgy, preppy-girl-goes-crazy label based in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District. Naomi had felt bad for Bree when she received Eric’s e-mail, but that was what you got for getting in bed with Crystal... and Zane. “Hey,” Naomi said back.
Bree squirmed, pretzeling her legs, as if she had to pee. “So, I think there’s something you should know.”
Naomi stared at Bree. Was she going to fess up about what had happened that night with Zane? Or maybe Crystal had confessed something about Jade’s expulsion? Whatever it was, Naomi definitely wanted to hear it. “What?”
“I...I saw you get in. In the middle of the night. And I know where you were.”
Naomi stared at her, feeling her lips curl up the way they did when she got scared. “What?” Her voice was barely audible.
“It’s okay,” Bree said quickly. Naomi’s face grew panicky, making her eyes look huge and dark. Bree had contemplated whether or not it made sense to say anything to Naomi. The thing was, Bree wasn’t so great at keeping secrets. She wasn’t someone who would tell the whole world, but she always had to tell at least one other person. It made carrying the secret’s burden a little easier. So why not tell Naomi’s secret back to Naomi?
“You don’t know anything,” Naomi muttered, turning away to look at the freshly raked playing field.
“Look, please, please don’t worry,” Bree pleaded, her voice growing squeaky. “Your secret is safe with me. Honestly. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
From the middle of the field, Coach Smail blew the whistle. “Girls! Gather around!”
Naomi stared at Bree. Was she serious, or was this some sort of ploy? Could Bree be trusted? Last year Naomi and Crystal and Jade used to sit around in their room at night and talk about every detail of their days, no matter how mundane or spectacular. They’d been the kind of best friends who are almost like sisters, because they loved one another so much that even when they pissed each other off, they knew they were still going to be each other’s bridesmaids someday. But the Jade/E fiasco had made Naomi a lot more suspicious. If Crystal could betray Jade like that—not that Naomi knew exactly what had gone down, but still—who knew what she would do to Naomi?
“You better not tell anybody,” Naomi warned, ignoring Bree’s annoyingly innocent expression. She couldn’t possibly be that innocent, especially if she was from the city.
“Look, as far as I’m concerned, we never had this conversation,” Bree insisted loyally. “But... I just want to make sure...Are you okay? 'Cause you seem, like, a little distracted.”
Naomi gripped her hockey stick and stood up. No one ever asked her if she was okay, not even her parents, and she wasn’t sure how to answer. “Um, I don’t know. Can I get back to you on that?”
Bree smiled eagerly. “Sure. See ya!” She picked up her stick and jogged toward the middle of the field, where the team was waiting.
“Hey!” Naomi called. Bree turned, and Naomi noticed that weird, familiar glimmer about Bree again—like she was channeling Jade, like they had the same special something seeping out of their tiny pores.
Bree turned to find Naomi jogging toward her. “Look, whatever happened with you and, um, Zane?” Naomi said quietly. “Well, I shouldn’t tell you this, but Marymount wants to make an example of you, to, like, set a precedent for the year. So...I’ll try my hardest to keep you from getting expelled, but, well, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Oh.” Bree’s shoulders slumped. Expelled? “Um, thanks.”
Celine Colista, who had olive skin, straight black hair, and full lips coated with MAC lipstick, ran up to them, kicking up grass behind her with her cleats. “Bree, did Crystal give you the cheer yet?”
Bree shook her head.
“Cheer?” Naomi asked.
“Yeah. Bree is going to be part of our cheer,” Celine explained very slowly.
Naomi nodded uneasily. Then Celine turned back to Bree. “C’mon. Let’s go talk to Crystal.”
Crystal was sitting on the long metal bench alongside the field, rewrapping her field hockey stick with tape. She looked up just in time to see Celine and Bree running over. Shit. Benny and Celine just weren’t going to let this cheer thing die.
“Crystal,” Celine cooed. “Did you write the words yet?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Well, you have to hurry!” Celine whined. “Okay, fine, we can finish them at the party tonight.” Celine winked at Crystal and then trotted to center field.
Bree turned to Crystal. “Party?”
“Yeah,” Crystal replied, looking down at her field hockey stick. “It’s a pre-Black Saturday thing. Girls only. You have to come. We all dress up!”
“As what?”
“Well, it’s a secret until the last minute. But it’s tonight, probably in Dumbarton’s upstairs common room.”
“Tonight?” Bree looked crestfallen. “I have to go to a new students’ ice cream social thing tonight.”
“Whatever. You can get out of that.”
“No, the e-mail said it was mandatory.” Bree shrugged. “I should probably go. But I’m really excited about Black Saturday. There’s a secret party then too, right? And this cheer sounds cool.”
“Well, the cheer’s so not a big deal. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
“No, I do!” Bree couldn’t keep the shakiness out of her voice. The girls were all talking to her, and she felt more included than she ever had before, but she was also about to be expelled.
Crystal was tempted to confess that the cheer was a not-very-funny joke, but a few years ago, when Tasha Templeton, then the captain of the team, had told the new girl, Kelly Bryers, she was about to be punk’d, the whole team had unleashed on her. They’d cut holes in her bras, right where the nipples were. And no one had spoken to her for months. Her boyfriend had broken up with her, and she’d lost all her power. Crystal didn’t dare.
Suddenly, Crystal looked down at Bree’s skinny brown arms and noticed the letters peeking out from underneath her right sleeve. It looked like Bree had scrubbed at her arm for a while to get the marker off, but Crystal could still make out the familiar boyish, messy script, and that stupid spiky-toothed face that Zane always drew. Immediately, a knot formed in her stomach, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. What was Zane doing writing on this bitch’s arm? But then she stopped herself. Chill. You asked him to do this.
“So how’s Zane?” she inquired instead, swallowing her worry.
“Oh,” Bree squeaked.
“You getting along all right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Good.” With any luck, the teachers would think so too. But why was Zane writing stuff on Bree’s arm? That wasn’t really necessary. Especially that snaggletoothed character of his. That was her character: they’d made it up that time they snuck down to Brooklyn and spent the whole day in Williamsburg, shopping for vintage clothes and innovative art. They’d gone to Schiller’s Liquor Bar on the Lower East Side after that, and he’d drawn the silly face right onto the back of the menu. Then they’d snuck into the tiny bathroom and kissed, annoying all the impatient tourists.
All Crystal had wanted was a little flirting, and, as usual, Zane had gone overboard. But whatever. If it meant Bree would take the fall for her at DC, then Bree could have the snaggle-toothed dude.
“Come on.” She squeezed Bree’s arm, trying her hardest not to appear jealous. “Smail’s giving us the evil eye.”
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Friday, September 6, 4:15 P.M.
Subject: Miss you!
Hi Sweetheart,
I miss you! Please meet me at the library steps at 5 P.M. today. Sharp!
xoxoxoxxox,
Crys
P.S. How
’s Bree?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Friday, September 6, 4:23 P.M.
Subject: Spa treatment
Dear Brianna Hargrove,
Crystal Alexander has sent you a gift certificate for a relaxing spa treatment at our facilities. You’re all signed up for a shiatsu massage and an oxygen-blast facial. Please call or e-mail to schedule your appointment.
Regards,
Bethany Bristol
Rhinecliff Woods Spa Manager
24
“I can’t see,” Zane mumbled, as Crystal led him blindfolded up the smooth marble stairs of the library.
“That’s the point. I want to surprise you.”
She pushed through the unmarked, heavy oak door. Beyond it were walls and walls of books, glass cases of scrolls, leather smoking chairs, and a tiny, stained glass window. So romantic. She pulled her hands away from his eyes.
“The library?” He looked around, confused.
“Not just the library.” She folded up the red satin eye mask she’d gotten from flying first class. “Don’t you remember? It’s the rare-book room! It’s where we first...” She trailed off, pushing a lock of jet-black hair behind her shoulder. What to say? Where they first consummated their love? They hadn’t consummated anything. They’d made out. She’d put her hand on the outside of his pants. She’d cheated on her then-boyfriend, Amir.
“Yeah, I realize that,” Zane replied, walking around the room, running his hands over a row of rare, dusty books. There were first-edition Steinbeck, Faulkner, and Hemingway novels in a large glass case, thanks to a certain J. L. Taylor and an R. Dalton.
BRIDGEPORT ACADEMY #1 Page 13
