Bridgeport Academy #2

by AshleyValentine

  I apologize for the late notice, but I trust you will receive this in time. Please do me the honor of stopping by my office today before lunch.

  Best,

  EFD

  20

  You would have thought Zane was two hours late rather than five minutes, judging from the look on Dalton’s face when he opened the door. “Sorry I’m late,” Zane said, wondering why he seemed to always be apologizing to this guy.

  “Sit down.” Dalton nodded toward a shiny leather chair while he stood behind his desk, looking like someone in an acting class who had just been instructed to do “stern.”

  Three hours ago, Zane had been sitting at the conference table in his European history seminar, yawning uncontrollably and taking enormous sips from a triple-shot latte, trying not to think about Bree. He’d been too wired to sleep last night and had stayed up playing Xbox until three in the morning, so he could barely drag his ass out of bed when the alarm went off at seven. He was impressed with how quickly Bree got used to riding Credo. He was afraid that she’d be too terrified to do much more than pet her, but she hopped right on, and even though she looked completely terrified, she managed to trot for almost forty-five minutes. God, she was cute.

  Underneath the table, Zane checked his email on his phone, hoping for a note from Bree telling him when they’d get together again. But instead, he had only a message from Eric Dalton asking him to come to his office before lunch. What the hell was that about?

  He had assumed that Dalton just wanted him to check in since he was still on probation from getting caught in Crystal’s room after hours. That seemed so long ago now. He didn’t even remember that as the night he and Crystal had almost done it; he just remembered it as the first time he touched Bree, when he sat on her bed piss drunk. She had smelled so good—like sleep and oranges and toothpaste—that he wanted to fall asleep next to her.

  Zane stared at Dalton. He’d always known the guy was shifty. Zane had seen the way Dalton interacted with girls. Like he couldn’t believe his luck, getting to be surrounded by so many gorgeous chicks who fawned over him, completely forgetting that they were off-limits to him. And he’d heard the rumors about him and Naomi.

  “Zane?” Dalton clasped his hands together and spoke slowly as though he was talking to someone who was a little retarded. “Do you understand what probation means?”

  Zane pretended not to have heard his patronizing tone, wondering if this was some sort of test. Maybe Dalton just needed to feel like a tough guy sometimes. “It means I don’t get to make any more mistakes or I’m kicked out.”

  “Thank you.” Dalton leaned back in his chair, his elbows on the arms and his fingers making a temple. “I have to tell you that I’ve received several reports of you breaking your probation.”

  “Breaking it?” Zane asked incredulously. “How? I haven’t done anything. Who told you I did?”

  “We’ve gotten several reports,” Dalton repeated, unfazed, “that you’ve been skipping classes.”

  “Oh, yeah? From who?” Zane thought back to the day when he met Bree out in the woods for the painting project. Her last period was a free period that day, and he’d been so eager to get together with her, he’d skipped his AP Art History lecture. But it was a giant class, held in the Berkman-Meier auditorium in the dark, and Professor Braxton acted like his students thought it was a privilege to be in his lecture and never bothered to take attendance. If the professor didn’t bust him, who would have?

  “Anonymous.” Dalton was clearly acting tough because he knew he had nothing on him. He started to relax a little. “And you can’t get expelled on a rumor—that’s true. But it’s going to mean that you’ve got another two weeks of in-house suspension, and if you get caught doing anything else wrong, well, I’m not going to be able to help you.”

  You’re the last guy I’d throw a rope to, Zane wanted to say. But he groaned instead, realizing the Boston trip was planned for next weekend. The Ritz, Bree, Bree in some kind of sexy costume—it all sounded so great. “I don’t get it—this doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t do anything. Can’t you just give me a break?”

  “Rules are rules. You knew what probation meant. You should have been smarter.”

  “Rules are rules,” Zane repeated thoughtfully. “Huh. That sounds funny, coming from you.” Zane spoke evenly, watching Dalton’s face for a reaction. He took a job at a small private boarding school and within the first week tried to bag one—or more—of the students? In Kentucky, you’d get taken out back and beaten until you understood how to be a gentleman. And here he was, trying to be all disciplinarian and self-righteous. Zane looked at the ERIC DALTON name placard on his desk and realized how easily he could turn the ERIC into PRICK with a little white latex paint.

  The room fell completely silent for several long, awkward moments while Zane wondered what Dalton would say. Finally he cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but if I were you, I’d stop worrying about other people and try to remain focused on not getting expelled.”

  “Why are you being such a hard-ass?” Dalton clearly had a weird need to feel powerful and knock down some lowly students in his way.

  “Why are you being such a dumbass? Bridgeport’s the best thing that happened to you, so you better get it together and realize that and stop pissing your future away.” It was the kind of thing one of Zane’s brothers would say to him, except all three of them were older than Dalton, and even if they treated Zane like a lazy kid, they weren’t nearly as condescending as Dalton was. What was this guy’s deal, anyway?

  “Thanks for the advice, adviser.” Zane shook his head and stood up to go. “I’ve got to get to lunch—I don’t want any reports to come in that I missed it.”

  To: CrystalAlexander@Bridgeport.edu;

  NaomiPeterson@Bridgeport.edu;

  SageFrancis@Bridgeport.edu;

  CelineColista@Bridgeport.edu;

  BennyCunningham@Bridgeport.edu;

  AlisonQuentin@Bridgeport.edu;

  BreeHargrove@Bridgeport.edu;

  VerenaArneval@Bridgeport.edu

  From: JadeCarmichael@Bridgeport.edu

  Date: Monday, September 16, 5:43 p.m.

  Subject: Le initiation

  My dearest Café Society lovelies,

  Initiation Evening Pizza Soiree TONIGHT. Essential for all who wish to stay in the society’s good graces and attend next weekend’s getaway in Boston. Dumbarton 303, 8 p.m. Be there.

  Mr. Pardee, aka Señor Swanky, purchased tickets to the opera tonight. (He sent Mrs. Pardee flowers too—sounds like he’s trying to smooth something over!) The happy couple won’t be home until well after midnight. Thank you, Sage, for your diligent snooping!

  We will be ordering in from our favorite pizza place, Ritoli’s, of course.

  Please note: Dress code is short, tight, and heart-attack-inducing.

  Decadently yours,

  J

  21

  “What do you think the guys do in their club?” Crystal poured some vodka into her Bridgeport mug filled with Country Time lemonade and stirred it with a plastic spoon. She stood at the window where the makeshift bar was set up and stared out at the dark quad, still only half dressed in her black slip skirt and white lace corset. With no makeup on, she looked like a naughty French maid.

  “Who knows.” Naomi flicked her cigarette at the gold-trimmed teacup she was currently using as an ashtray. She missed, and gray ash crumbled onto the floor.

  Bree was flipping through her drawers absentmindedly, occasionally taking a sip from her insulated Bridgeport cup decorated with maroon and gold owl silhouettes and filled with the spiked lemonade. Dumbarton 303 was, for the first time, as clean as it had been the day they all arrived. The girls had put away all their clothes and books, cleared off their desks, and pushed their beds back against the walls. They propped up pillows, vacuumed, and crisscrossed strings of red Chinese lanterns from the ceiling, purchased
that morning from the art store in Rhinecliff. Jade’s iPod was playing through her “pre-party” playlist.

  “Work, work, work, work, work, work…” Rihanna croaked lustily.

  “I don’t know if I have anything exactly heart-attack-inducing.” Bree turned toward the other girls. This was what boarding school was supposed to be like—hanging out with her roommates, drinking spiked lemonade from plastic mugs and ordering pizzas, talking about boys and maybe dancing around a little. She tried to ignore the pit that was forming in her stomach, growing bigger and bigger every time she thought about how she’d lied to Crystal and Jade about Zane. “What should I wear?”

  “Oh, come on,” Crystal scoffed. “All you have to do is show a little cleavage.”

  “Yeah, please.” Naomi sat up. She was already dressed in a flimsy black tank top that tied above her right shoulder, leaving her left shoulder bare and dramatic looking. “I could have the greatest push-up bra in the world, but there’s just not that much to push up.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Bree squealed. “You do not want these.” She pointed to her chest. “Every time I put something on, I have to wonder if it makes me look like a porn star. Do you know what I’d give to be able to wear that tank top? Or to not have to wear a bra if I didn’t feel like it?” Naomi and Crystal giggled. “I’d be jiggling all over the place, like a…bunch of water balloons.”

  Crystal wrinkled her nose and slipped a pair of dangling earrings in her ears. “Ew. That’s awful.”

  “Tell me about it.” Bree decided on a black sleeveless Raves T-shirt with strategically placed cutouts designed to show skin in only the right places. With her short Forever 21 jean skirt, she felt very punk rock.

  “Are you guys almost ready?” Jade burst into the room wearing a turquoise tube dress, the kind Bree always saw in Victoria’s Secret catalogs—the ultra-clingy, revealing kind that could only be worn by supermodels and girls lucky enough to have curves in exactly the right spots and not an ounce of fat in any of the wrong spots. Clearly Jade was one of those people. Her eyelids were covered in gold shimmer, hoop earrings as big as apples hung from her lobes, and she wore a pair of jeweled Giuseppe flat sandals on her feet. Wow. Was she even human? Bree looked at herself and Naomi and Crystal, all dressed in black, and then back to Jade’s bright blue dress.

  “Nice dress, Jade,” she heard herself saying. She hadn’t said much to Jade since, well, she’d met her, but screw it. The spiked lemonade was going to her head, and she was feeling a little brave. So what if Jade was the queen of Bridgeport? She’d kissed Zane Taylor!

  “Why, thank you.” Jade gave her a throwaway smile, barely looking at her as she walked over to the floor lamp and tossed a dark purple handkerchief over the light, bathing the room in violet.

  “Knock knock.” Benny Cunningham pushed through the doorway with Sage Francis right behind her. “Are we late?” She was carrying two bottles of wine in one hand and one of those rabbit-shaped corkscrews in the other. “Courtesy of Daddy Cunningham—he just sent these in a back-to-school care package.”

  “My father just sends me newspaper clippings,” Bree piped up, forgetting about her new iPhone for a second.

  Benny smiled at Bree pityingly. “That sucks.” Benny’s hair was French-braided down her back, and she was wearing what looked like a scarf wrapped around her chest, showing off her sleek stomach and tiny onyx belly button piercing. “Where should I open these?”

  “When did you get that?” Jade demanded, pointing at the stomach jewelry, which Bree thought looked like a tick had nestled into Benny’s stomach.

  “Oh, this summer…”

  “To impress a boy,” Sage said, wrapping her arms around Benny’s shoulders. Her short hair contrasted with Benny’s long locks. “It didn’t work.” She kissed Benny on the cheek, leaving a red smudge.

  “Bitch.” Benny shrugged Sage off. “Where’s the bar?”

  “Over here.” Crystal walked to the window seat that had been designated the beverage area and helped Benny open the wine bottle and pour the wine into the plastic cups Naomi had stolen from the library bathroom. “These are for wine shots,” Crystal joked, taking one of the filled cups and tossing the liquid down her throat.

  “Slow down, girl.” Benny sipped at her own plastic cup. “Or you’re going to end up curled around the toilet tonight.”

  Soon the other girls arrived, wearing the required short, tight outfits and bearing a six-pack of Diet Coke and a bottle of Bacardi. Jade had switched the playlist to “party,” and Future came on. Bree, Celine, and Naomi kicked their shoes in the corner and started dancing. Bree used to envy the girls who danced like they were practicing to be in someone’s music video, but then she realized she could do that too. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. The girls froze, but Jade, unafraid, turned the music down a notch and strode over to the door before they could even hide the rum bottle.

  The door opened to a welcome sight: Angelo in a pair of well-worn Levi’s and a navy blue hooded sweatshirt, holding four boxes of sweet-smelling pizzas. Hello!

  “You sneak!” Crystal cried out, thinking they’d been busted. “I didn’t even know you ordered it yet!”

  “Thank you, Angelo, for bringing this all the way up here for us. That’s very sweet. Could you put them on that table, please?” Jade indicated one of the suitcases they had covered with tapestries, and when Angelo headed in that direction, she casually closed the door. Bree took a deep breath. She had a feeling that in Jade’s mind, the party was just starting.

  “Can I get you a glass of wine? A rum and Coke?” Celine leaned toward Angelo and stroked the neck of the wine bottle suggestively. Was she really trying to win that bet?

  “Yeah, um, I don’t know if I can really stay.” Angelo’s eyes wandered around the room, and he shuffled his feet nervously. “I’ve never been in one of the girls’ dorm rooms before. This is pretty cool.”

  “You really have to stay for a drink or two.” Crystal pressed a spare Bridgeport mug filled with rum and Coke into his hand. “Or else you’ll hurt our feelings.” He stared at her, transfixed, and took the mug. She grinned triumphantly at Celine, who stuck out her tongue. Bree couldn’t help hoping that maybe Crystal would fall madly in love with Angelo. Then she wouldn’t mind who Zane was with.

  “Is this what all your Monday nights are like here?” Angelo sat down on the floor next to another tapestry-covered suitcase. He still looked a little uncomfortable, like he really wanted to call his buddies and have them join him to protect him from the pack of rabid teenage girls.

  “Sometimes we order Chinese.” Jade sat down next to Angelo, holding a paper plate with a gooey slice of mushroom-and-cheese pizza. She leaned back against the bed, and he dragged his eyes away from her and focused on his drink. He took an enormous gulp, wiping his full lips with the back of his hand.

  “And sometimes we play games.” Crystal sat down on the other side of Angelo, leaning into him. “Wanna play a game?”

  Poor guy. He was probably thinking, Who the fuck are all these weird girls? Bree was reminded of the scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail (one of her brother’s favorite movies, although he was too much of a snob to admit it in front of anyone) where Sir Galahad discovers the castle full of beautiful and lonely nuns, and they pull him inside and practically devour him before he’s rescued—to his dismay—by Lancelot. Angelo looked like he knew he was about to be devoured and seemed appropriately freaked out and turned on. He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Uh, what kind of game?”

  Benny plopped down to her knees in front of him, holding the empty bottle of wine. “Well, we have a bottle…”

  “How’s that going to work with so many girls?” Alison nudged in next to Benny, sitting cross-legged in a pair of sleek red satin pants. The rest of the girls formed a little circle in the carpet. “I may be drunk, but I’m not making out with you, Benny.”

  Benny smirked at her. “Why not? You’ve made out w
ith everyone else.”

  “How about this?” Jade spoke up, as if she’d just come up with a brilliant idea, but Bree suspected she’d been planning this from the start. “We’ll spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on has to kiss Angelo.”

  Shit, Bree thought, trying to meet Naomi’s gaze. She didn’t want to kiss Angelo. Was there any way she could get out of here before things got too crazy? Maybe she could pretend to go to the bathroom and just stay there for the rest of the night. But maybe it wouldn’t come to that… She really didn’t want to be a party pooper, not when she was just starting to feel like she finally belonged here.

  “I think I need another drink.” Angelo rubbed his hand over his eyes and chuckled to himself. Crystal got up and poured him another, using a little more rum this time, and gulped down more wine. She walked carefully back to the circle, like she could already feel the room beginning to tilt.

  “You do the honors and spin first, Angelo.” Jade placed the bottle in the middle of the small Oriental area rug that Crystal’s mother had sent to school with her as a dorm-room-warming gift.

  He spun. The fat bottle twirled around and around on the rug before wobbling to a stop, pointing directly at Benny. She gave a squeal of delight and crawled on her knees across the circle, pausing to sit up in front of Angelo, who was staring at her long neck, her hair pulled up into a calculatedly sloppy ponytail.

  “Here goes nothing.” Benny leaned in and pressed her lips to Angelo’s full ones. He seemed shocked at the suddenness of her move, but then he quickly yielded, and all the girls watched as their lips moved together.

  Guess Benny wasn’t as much of a prude as everyone seemed to think, Bree thought, a little surprised. Benny finally pulled away and shimmied back to her place in the circle, her lips wet and curled in a huge grin.

  “My turn,” Crystal ordered, jealous that Benny got to kiss Angelo first. She turned the mouth of the bottle toward her this time, then grabbed Angelo and kissed him hard and passionately, like she thought they were on a soap opera. Naomi nudged Bree as the kiss stretched on and on. Angelo was about to reach up and touch Crystal’s hair when Jade cleared her throat authoritatively.