Initiation

by Jessica Burkhart

  To Drew for being the first guy cool enough to e-mail me and say you’re reading Canterwood. Keep reading and being exactly who you are. I hope you like the character named after you, as promised!

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1: Lauren Towers, Insomniac

  Chapter 2: My Side

  Chapter 3: Drama Queen Khloe

  Chapter 4: Acting Out

  Chapter 5: Understudy Not-So-Buddies

  Chapter 6: Sweet Treats (Of Many Varieties)

  Chapter 7: Spilling Secrets

  Chapter 8: Kismet

  Chapter 9: Home-Type Things

  Chapter 10: Tea? Party!

  Chapter 11: Schedule Swap

  Chapter 12: Whisper, We’re Not At Briar Creek Anymore

  Chapter 13: The Towers Family Work Ethic

  Chapter 14: Snap! Judgment.

  Chapter 15: Don’t Scare Lt

  Chapter 16: Decorators, Inc.

  Chapter 17: Monday Mornings Suck

  Chapter 18: Second Chances Don’T Exist

  Chapter 19: Someone’s a Little Too Comfy

  Chapter 20: Excusez-Moi?

  Chapter 21: Bbm, Set, Go!

  Chapter 22: Fear Monsters And Lurking Losers

  Chapter 23: Finally Finding . . . Whisper

  Chapter 24: My Reason To Live!

  Chapter 25: Decisions, Decisions . . .

  Chapter 26: Lt And Rotten Reiler=Bffs 4 Eva

  Chapter 27: Head? Meet Desk.

  Chapter 28: Miss You, Love You, Mean It!

  Chapter 29: E-Vitation And TGIT

  Chapter 30: Beware Of Sharks In Indoor Pools

  Chapter 31: Instructor Khloe

  Chapter 32: Step Away From The Coffee

  Chapter 33: Break A Leg

  Chapter 34: Truth Or Dare?

  Chapter 35: Reality Lt

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to everyone at Simon & Schuster, especially those who have been initiated: Fiona Simpson, Bethany Buck, Mara Anastas, Dawn Ryan, Carolyn Swerdloff, Craig Adams, Jessica Handelman, Nicole Russo, Russell Gordon, Karin Paprocki, Lucille Rettino, Courtney Sanks, Alyson Heller, Deane Norton, Virginia Herrick, the fantastic sales team including Mary Marotta, Jim Conlin, Christina Pecorale, and the countless other people who support Canterwood.

  Thank you, Stephanie Voros, for working so hard on the rights for the series.

  Thanks to the fantastic models, stylists, makeup artists, and to Monica Stevenson.

  Special thanks to the bookstores and employees who have introduced Canterwood to readers.

  Jill Cikowski, thank you for being a part of Team Canterwood! Horse Mystique board members, you all are THE BEST. Big s for the support and love you’ve shown to Kate and me! The get well soon banner you created for Kate, among other things, we’ll never forget.

  Brianna Ahern, your texts and kitty pics got me through some rough spots. Thank you for being there at all hours. Lauren’s blog was your idea—thank you! Hug A for me!

  Lauren Barnholdt, you’re a constant source of support.

  Thank you, Katherine Devendorf, for being the world’s best Jane of all trades: managing editor, cat sitter, and kitty photographer.

  Alex Penfold, the offers of a home-cooked meal were so sweet, as were the flowers from you and Paula Wiseman. Thank you both.

  Thanks to Becca Leach, Kelly Krysten, Jennifer Rummel, Mandy Morgan, James Booth, Carrie Ryan, and April Aragam for the encouraging Tweets.

  Josephine Piraneo, thank you for keeping the Canter-wood Crest website looking so lovely.

  Joey Carson, thank you for offering business advice and being a wonderful new friend. Hugs to Lexi and Grace!

  Ross Angelella, I loved our late-night UES write-a-thons. We got some serious work done.

  Shout-outs to the music/TV that I used for inspiration while writing this book:Pretty Little Liars, Switched at Birth, The Nine Lives of Chloe King , The Glee Project, The Voice , Lady Gaga, 2am Club, Andrew Belle, and Keane, among others. Find my complete Initiation playlist on my blog.

  Julia Reed at Sakura of America, thank you for offering Gelly Roll® pens for a contest. The prizes are greatly appreciated!

  Thank you, Hana Johnson, for providing Pro Hair Tinsel in a variety of colors as a giveaway during the book’s release. I heart Hair Flairs!

  Kate Angelella, Canterwood is a fifty-fifty product cultivated by both of us. You are not only a wickedly talented editor, but also an author, a business owner, and the best friend a girl could hope for. I’m honored to co-own Violet & Ruby with you. I’m so excited to see what the future holds. My wish came true when you came to the dark side and started writing full-time. I remind myself every day how lucky I am to have you in my life as more than just my BFF. LYSM.

  LAUREN TOWERS, INSOMNIAC

  11:59 p.m.: Days left: 1!

  Tomorrow morning (!) I leave home and Briar Creek for Canterwood Crest Academy. I got up to blog because I could not sleep. Usually, I’m up late on Fridays anyway, but not like this. Blogging is better than talking sometimes because I can sit down and let all of my thoughts come out unfiltered on the page. I’ve been blogging all summer—Dad’s suggestion—and now I’m totally addicted to it.

  I’m scared about tomorrow. So scared. I’m still second-guessing all of my decisions about everything. I’ll admit it: All of these questions keep rolling around my brain, like:

  Am I leaving Briar Creek too soon?

  Am I ready for the competitive riding life again?

  Are Whisper and I prepared?

  Will anyone find out my secret before I’m ready to talk about it or any other part of my past?

  That last question is the one keeping me awake. Tonight and every night.

  Posted by Lauren Towers

  MY SIDE

  THIS WAS REALLY IT.

  My breath caught, forcing me to sit on the bare twin bed. My parents and older sister, Becca, had dropped me off in my new dorm room only an hour ago.

  I already had eight light blue sticky notes lined up along my eggshell-colored walls. At least I knew I was still me at Canterwood—the crazy-organized, to-do–list compulsive girl that my friends liked to tease.

  I stared at all the boxes with Lauren scrawled on each in grape Sharpie. My roommate hadn’t arrived yet, so I’d picked the right side of the room, hoping she wouldn’t mind.

  This was surreal. I—Lauren Towers—was a seventh grader at Canterwood Crest Academy—one of the most elite boarding schools on the East Coast. The Connecticut school had a reputation for rigorous academics and—the main reason I’d applied—an even more intense equestrian program. I picked up my BlackBerry and scrolled through my photos. There were a few family pics of Mom, Dad, Becca, and Charlotte—my oldest sister.

  I tightened my grip on my phone’s sky-blue gel case when a photo popped up of me with my best friends, Brielle and Ana. In the picture, the three of us were smiling at the camera as we posed on horseback. We were—had been, I corrected myself—riders at Briar Creek Stable. Even though it was summer in the photo, my skin was as porcelain pale as it was now in the fall. Sunlight glinted off Cricket, the Welsh cob school pony that I’d ridden at Briar Creek.

  I put my phone down—unable to continue looking at the pictures. They would only make me miss everyone and everything. I surveyed my room, my boxes. Mom, Dad, and Becca had helped me move in a ton of luggage, duffel bags, and boxes. I imagined how it would look with my poster and my laptop. Right now, the room was empty. Once it was decorated, it would look amazing. I could tell already.

  Gentle September sunlight streamed through two large curtainless windows. I couldn’t wait to decorate with my roommate. My room at home had a light-blue-and-white color scheme.
Light, sky-blue was my favorite color and decorating was one of my favorite things to do. I’d brought a messenger bag of pages and pages that I’d torn from design magazines for inspiration.

  I lived and breathed for fashion, decorating, and riding. Hopefully, my roommate would like some of my ideas. The last thing I wanted was for us to clash on day one.

  Khloe Kinsella. I said her name to myself. My guidance counselor and math teacher, Ms. Utz, had given me and Khloe each other’s e-mail addresses so we could determine who would bring what for our room. I’d started a “what to bring to CC” list in a purple-with-silver-polka-dots notebook.

  I’d e-mailed Khloe first just to say hi. Her reply was friendly enough, but she seemed really busy. She’d e-mailed sporadically throughout the summer and had given me just enough information to know what to bring to school. We hadn’t exchanged much personal information. My stomach churned a little at the thought of meeting the girl I’d be living with for the year.

  I weighed options, flipping through the Canterwood campus guide I’d gotten in the mail weeks ago. I wanted to go to the stable to see my horse, Whisper. But I was nervous about going to the stable alone. I’d been there with my parents and Becca to get Whisper settled. But everything had been so new and unfamiliar, I hadn’t paid attention to anything but Whisper. It was as if I hadn’t gone to the stable at all—I couldn’t even remember much of what it looked like, let alone how to get there. It had been a whirlwind of activity around me. I did remember that Whisper had a giant, roomy box stall that she’d settled into quickly. And before I’d left, she’d taken a delicate sip of water from her pink bucket and started munching hay.

  And okay, maybe there was . . . another reason I was stalling. Even though I knew no one recognized me—that no one paid attention to seventh graders—my nerves still wouldn’t go away. The fear that someone at the stable would look at me sideways, squint for one second too long and wonder if maybe I was that girl from TV. I tried to shake the thoughts from my head. I didn’t want to fixate on that.

  Mom and Dad already spoke to Mr. Conner, I reminded myself. They’d already met with my riding instructor, Mr. Conner, and explained my background. He’d understood that I wanted to keep my past just that and had promised not to mention previous competition experience or anything else that would connect me to what had happened. No one would find out anything from him—not one student on campus would know until—if—I ever decided to tell them myself.

  I glanced out the window again, chewing the inside of my lip. I wanted to be with Whisper, but I wasn’t ready to face the new stable yet. Just a little more time. Maybe some unpacking would distract me. I began to visualize where I wanted to put some of my belongings. I stood, surveying the layout of the room again. The double room was even bigger than I’d expected. There were two twin beds separated by space for two bedside tables. The windows above each bed looked over the gorgeous courtyard, which made the room feel even bigger.

  On my side of the room, near the door, was a skinny counter with a microwave, two cabinets and space for the cheerful yellow mini-fridge that would be arriving any day from Pottery Barn Teen. Khloe and I had gone in on it together.

  Each side of the room had its own closet with enough room on each side for one desk. I squinted my eyes. There was enough floor space for a small coffee table if Khloe and I decided we wanted one. I walked into the private bathroom on Khloe’s side of the room. New white tile had been scrubbed clean, along with a shower with a glass door, a decent-size vanity mirror, and a wooden cabinet under the sink. I already had several ideas for color schemes in mind—I couldn’t wait to talk about them with Khloe. We’d learned over e-mail that both sets of parents had given us “decorating allowances” to make the room feel like home.

  I walked out of the bathroom, looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror. It had taken me almost all summer—no exaggeration!—to choose my first-day-at Canterwood outfit.

  Since it was Saturday, I’d decided to go for comfort-slash-chic. Skinny dark wash distressed jeans, a short-sleeve slouchy black tee with thin gray horizontal stripes, and a white tank underneath. For accessories, I’d decided on my beryl birthstone necklace. Classic and never out of style. I’d seen them on legendary icons from Audrey Hepburn to today’s hottest celebs featured in Trends magazine .

  I smoothed my long, wavy brown hair—letting the soft curls cascade down my back. My makeup was minimal—a sweep of shimmery caramel eye shadow that accented my blue eyes, concealer where needed, and a coat of CoverGirl’s LipSlicks in Princess. Before we’d left home this morning, I’d applied a thin layer of Neutrogena moisturizer with SPF 30. I never left the house without sunblock. Becca said my sunscreen obsession made me smell like summer all year round.

  Footsteps stopped outside the door and a key turned in the lock. Khloe! My hand flew to my necklace—a beryl birthstone on a thin silver chain with a tiny diamond above it. Beryl stones were naturally clear, but my parents had gotten me one with a light blue tint.

  The door opened and I clutched the blue stone tighter. A pretty girl with warm brown eyes stared at me. She was about my height, tan, and her long blond hair hung in beachy waves around her shoulders. She looked as if she’d come from California, not Boston, where she’d told me she lived. She looked très glam in a white tier-ruffled A-line skirt, a clover-green V-neck shirt, and a three-quarters-sleeve cardigan. Gucci sunglasses were perched on top of her head, and delicate silver bangles hung from her tiny wrists.

  She dropped two purple faux-crocodile bags that she’d had slung over her shoulders, and they thudded to the floor.

  She turned to face me, put her hands on her hips, and jutted out her chin. Her pearly pink lips pursed. “Well,” Khloe said flatly. “I guess you’ve already chosen my side of the room.”

  DRAMA QUEEN KHLOE

  I CLASPED MY NECKLACE HARDER, MY MOUTH opening and shutting. Great, job, Lauren, I thought. My roommate knew me for ten seconds and she already hated me!

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, a flush spreading from my face to my neck. “I didn’t mean to make that decision without you. It should have been something we talked about. I’m happy to change sides and—”

  Khloe grinned, clapping her hands.

  Okay, now I was completely confused.

  “Yes! You totally bought it! I mean, unless you’re acting, too. You’re not, right?”

  “Not what?” I asked.

  Khloe put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no. I scared you. I’m sorry, Lauren! I’m in Canterwood’s drama program. I was just trying out my ubermean girl character. I’ve been working on her all summer.”

  I sat on my bed, breathing again.

  “So . . . none of that was real?” I asked.

  Khloe hurried over to sit beside me. “I’m serious—I was totally joking. I’m so sorry. I honestly didn’t think my mean girl was any good. I thought you’d see right through her. I don’t care what side of the room I’m on! Trust me. I wouldn’t have even cared if you’d painted the room black before I’d gotten here.”

  I looked at Khloe. Sincerity radiated off of her. Regret and empathy filled her brown eyes.

  I smiled—wanting her to feel better. She had been kidding.

  “You definitely fooled me,” I said. “I was ready to request a room transfer!”

  Khloe smiled. “Is it wrong that what you said makes me feel bad and good at the same time?”

  “No way,” I said, laughing. “I never would have been able to pull that off the way you did. If I ever decide to take drama, I’ll definitely have to come to you for advice.”

  Khloe kicked off her silver Havaianas, taking a seat on my bed. “I want to be an actress more than anything. Well, that and a professional equestrian. I know it sounds crazy, but I can totally do both. You said in your e-mails that you’re a rider, too.”

  I nodded.

  “What else are you into?”

  “Well, I was in glee club at my old school,” I said. “So, I�
�m definitely trying out for Canterwood’s glee club. And, of course, I still have to test for the riding team to see where the instructor will place me.”

  Someone knocked on our door, still left partially open after Khloe’s dramatic entrance. A tall, bald man stuck his head inside.

  “Miss Kinsella?” he said.

  “Right here,” Khloe said, raising her hand and smiling.

  “I’ve got the rest of your luggage,” the man said. “I’ll put it right inside.”

  “He’s a mover my parents hired to help bring my stuff from home to Canterwood,” Khloe explained.

  From the hallway, he unloaded boxes and a few suitcases onto Khloe’s side of the room. She thanked him and he left the room.

  Right away, I noticed that none of her boxes were labeled. Not even her name was anywhere. I’d been two seconds away from ordering a label maker, but Becca had talked me out of it.

  “How do you know what’s in each box?” I asked. “I practically went through a package of Sharpies labeling mine.”

  Khloe got off the bed, unzipping a zebra-print suitcase. “You’ll find this out soon enough—I’m the most disorganized person ever.” She scanned my boxes. “Wow. Maybe some of your organizational skills will rub off on me. Everyone knows I need it.”

  Khloe flipped open the suitcase’s top, revealing riding boots in zipper cases, a couple of helmets—one with scrapes, that had to be for practice only—and the other in a cover, that I guessed was for showing. A half-dozen pairs of leather gloves and stock ties were in a knit bag in a side pocket of the suitcase.

  “I swear,” Khloe said. “My dressage stuff takes up half of my suitcases. I’ve got two filled with show coats, shirts, and breeches. And that doesn’t even count the bags for my other riding stuff.”

  “You’re a dressage rider, too? That’s my favorite discipline!”

  I couldn’t believe how lucky I was—Khloe had learned my last name via e-mail, but still didn’t know about my accident.

  “Cool!” Khloe said. She unzipped another suitcase. “My roommate last year, Isabella, wasn’t a rider. She was sweet, but she got bored whenever I talked about horses.”