by Kate Brian
meeting for eight o'clock in the parlor and by seven fifty-five, everyone was seated on the couches and settees. Noelle sat in one of the
two wing- backed chairs. I took the other. She and I had already come up with an agenda for the meeting, so I dove right in.
"First things first," I began. "We know, at the very least, that we want the event to include a dinner, so next weekend, Noelle and I
will be going to New York to scout locations. London, Vienna, we're hoping you'll come with." "Really?" London squealed. "Road
trip!" Vienna added. They lifted their hands and slapped them together, clasping them for a moment before releasing each other. "Why
do they get to go?" Missy lamented. Like I'd take you with me instead. I'd rather endure Chinese water torture. I'd rather be forced to
watch Josh and Ivy make out for ten minutes. Okay. Maybe not. "Because they have the most connections," Noelle replied coolly.
"Oh, we so do," Vienna replied, laying her manicured hand out flat. "We can get all kinds of free crap from people." "It's what we
do," London confirmed. "No one can say no to us." They looked at each other and giggled, which made all of us wonder what, exact-
ly, they did to make themselves irresistible. But I wasn't about to ask. "Okay, so now that that's settled, we need to make sure this is
the event of the season," I said, popping the top off my pen. "It has to be original. It has to be fabulous. It's last-minute, so it has to
make people want to cancel whatever other plans they might have and make this their first priority."
My friends were riveted by my speech, each sitting on the edge of her seat, fully alert. There was a palpable energy in the room.
We were going to nail this. I could feel it. "So, any ideas?" I asked, pen at the ready. No one said a word. "Anything. Really. We just
have to get started and then the ideas will flow," I urged them. Skittish glances abounded. It was as if they were afraid to speak. God
help us. "I have an idea!" Lorna said finally, raising her hand. Once chunky and frizzy-haired, Lorna had lost a good deal of weight
since last year, thanks to joining the Easton cross-country team, and had tamed her frizz into a sleek mane. Lately she was looking
healthy--almost pretty. And it all resulted in her speaking up more. "Shoot," I told her. "We could do an eighties theme," she an-
nounced happily. Everyone groaned. "Lorna, this isn't a public school prom. It's a fund-raiser. For adults," Missy said with a sneer.
Lorna sank in on herself. I shot Missy an irritated glance. Maybe eighties was a horrendous idea, but why did Missy always have to
be so callous to her so-called best friend? "What ideas do you have, Missy?" I asked. Put on the spot, Missy blanched. "Well, we
could do a silent auction--" "I'm so over those," Portia said, rolling her eyes. "What fun is an auction when you can't beat down your
opposing bidder in front of everyone?" "Besides, what would we auction?" Tiffany asked. "Ourselves?"
Strained laughter everywhere. I looked around. These were fifteen of the smartest, most accomplished, most well-traveled and
well- partied girls in North America. Did they have no thoughts? "Anyone?" I said. "Vicars and tarts?" Astrid suggested meekly.
"Oooh! I like that!" London exclaimed. "You would like anything with 'tarts' in the title," Shelby joked as she checked her messages. I
was pretty sure she was addicted to her iPhone at this point. "What is vicars and tarts?" Sabine asked, wrinkling her nose. "It's a
British thing," Astrid replied. "The men dress up as holy men and the women go as streetwalkers. I know it sounds mad, but the geri-
atrics think it's hilarious. We do them all the time back home, but it would be exotic here, I think." "Maybe."
I didn't like it. I mean, I could see how it could be fun on some level, but I wanted the party to be sophisticated, not like a Playboy
Mansion thing. Still, I wrote it down. I had to write down something. Plus I didn't want Astrid to think I was holding the fact that she'd
borrowed a barrette from me against her. Which she might actually think, considering how bizarrely I had reacted at the time. "Any-
one else?" "We could do a beach theme. Or exotic locales," Sabine suggested, sitting up straight. "Bring summer into winter. We can
bring in sand and palm trees and have everyone wear summer dresses and flowers in their hair and--" "Should we get plastic leis as
well?" Shelby joked. Sabine blushed. "Well, people are always doing Christmas in July. Why can't we do July in the winter?"
"No one's going to go for it," Noelle said, shaking her head. "What if it snows and everyone's walking around in coconut bras and
sandals? We could land everyone in the hospital with pneumonia and end up getting our asses sued. No way." Sabine shot me a look
like, I tried, so I smiled gratefully back at her. "At least someone's attempting to think of something," I said. Clearly Sabine had spo-
ken up solely to save me from the awkward silence. "Come on, you guys. Anything?" After another thirty minutes of quiet, broken oc-
casionally by lame ideas, I finally closed out the brainstorming portion of the meeting. It was both exhausting and depressing. "Let's
talk about some logistical stuff," I suggested. "What else do we need to do?" "We need a guest list," Kiki announced, popping her
gum. "Right. Good. Everyone come up with at least twenty people to invite before we meet next," I said, happy to be able to assign a
task that could actually be accomplished. "What else?"
"We'll need to get passes from Cromwell for next weekend," Noelle reminded me. "Right. He's not going to like that," I said.
"Please. Once we remind him there's a cool five mil involved, he'll have no problem writing them out," Noelle replied. "Good point," I
said. "Okay, until we figure out exactly what this event is going to be, I guess there's not much else we can do. Everyone think about it
and let me know if you have any huge epiphanies." The room filled with chatter as everyone stood and gathered their things. Why
they couldn't have been that talkative ten minutes ago, I had no idea. But one thing was certain--someone around here needed to have
a flash of brilliance soon, or we were going to be in serious trouble. If Ivy had sat in on this meeting, she would have been happier
than Vienna and London at a Calvin Klein sample sale. Ivy. Right. Noelle was just tucking her iPhone away and getting up to go when
my conversation with the witch crossed my thoughts. Noelle had been here longer than anyone--and always seemed to know what was
going on with everyone around her. She had to have some kind of insight on Ivy. "Noelle, I have a question," I said, standing. "And I
have an answer," she replied, pausing with her hand on the back of her chair. Typical confidence. But then, she usually did have an
answer. "What is up with Ivy Slade and Billings?" I asked. Noelle blinked. "What do you mean?" I shoved my notebook in my bag
and shouldered it, standing across the way from Noelle. "At the beginning of the year, Portia and Rose wanted to, quote, 're-extend'
Ivy's invite to Billings, but Cheyenne shot the idea down. Was she supposed to be here last year?"
Noelle lifted one shoulder. "Depends on how you look at it. She was extended an invitation at the end of her sophomore year, but
she opted to decline. End of story." Opted to decline? Who the hell declined Billings? "But that doesn't make sense," I said, crossing
my arms over my chest. "Why does she hate us so much if she decided not to live here?" Noelle shrugged again and came around the
chair. "Sorry, Reed," she said as she reached me. "I can't say I'm intimately aware of the inner workings of Ivy Slade's brain. Thank
God." She started past me and something inside of me clicked. I
knew that dismissive tone. There was something Noelle wasn't telling
me. Like I wasn't worthy of knowing. I couldn't let her keep me in the dark again. Not like last year. We were equals now. It was time
to remind her of that. And there were things I knew too. "Did you know that Ivy and Cheyenne were once best friends?" I asked, turn-
ing toward the door. Noelle stopped in her tracks. I had startled her. Ah, sweet satisfaction.
"Who told you that?" she asked, swinging her thick hair back as she turned to face me. I shrugged. "Just something I heard." "Well,
you heard about ancient history," she replied with a condescending smirk. "Whoever your informant is, she should update her
dossier." "It's not so ancient, from what I understand," I replied, thinking of the photo of Ivy and Cheyenne on their first day at Easton.
That was only three years ago. They had come here as best friends. "Reed, as long as I knew those two they were like polka dots and
plaid," Noelle said, taking a step toward me. "They never got along. What is your sudden obsession with Ivy Slade anyway? She eats
one meal with Hollis and suddenly you're on the warpath?" "No warpath," I replied, ignoring the pang in my chest at the mention of
Ivy with Josh. "Just natural curiosity." "Well, bag it," Noelle said. "We have more important things to focus on. Like saving your rep
as Billings president. Unless you want to go down in history as the person responsible for bringing this place down." Satisfied that she
had put me in my place, Noelle turned and strode out of the room. But she hadn't put me in my place. Not by a long shot. I was more
convinced than ever that Ivy's past and her current icy demeanor were somehow entwined with Billings and even more so with
Cheyenne.
Standing there alone, I suddenly saw something move out of the corner of my eye. Something outside the window. Heart in my
throat, I raced over and shoved the lace curtain aside. Someone was just ducking around the corner of Billings, and I could have sworn
I saw a dark ponytail being tossed in the breeze. Determined to catch Ivy at her game--whatever that game was--I started toward the
lobby, but then I realized I didn't have my key on me. If I went out there, I'd have to shout up at the front windows to get someone to
let me back in. So instead, I took a deep breath and told myself to chill. I didn't have to chase her. I knew it was her. But what was she
doing lurking around Billings after dark? Was she waiting for us all to go upstairs? And if so, why? Whatever Noelle said, it was clear
that Ivy had a major interest in Billings. And I was going to find out what it was.
DEFENSIVE
It's difficult to research a paper on World War II when your ex-boyfriend may or may not be starting up a relationship with one of
the people you loathe most. The only invasion of enemy territory I could think about was Josh potentially invading Ivy's. Not a pleas-
ant thought. After an hour and a half in front of my computer later that night, I had exactly three sentences, all of which sounded as if
they could have been written by a third-grader. I kept endeavoring to focus, sit up straight, pay attention to my notes. Then five min-
utes later I would find myself staring out the window, thinking about the art cemetery nightmare--with Ivy playing the Cheyenne part
this time--and flinch. Only then would I realize I had stopped working. Again.
I had just woken up from one such reverie when I heard Sabine let out a mournful sigh. Propped up against her pillows on her
white bedspread, she lazily turned a page in her chemistry book. Then she blew out a loud breath. Clearly, something was on her
mind. I closed my laptop and turned toward her in my chair. Not like I was getting anything done here anyway. "Hey, Sabine?"
"Yeah?" she asked, eyes trained on her book. "Everything okay?" I asked. "I guess." Not exactly a positive tone. She toyed with
the silver ring on her left hand, turning it around and around with the pad of her thumb. "What's the matter?" I hooked my elbow
around the back of my chair. "Nothing." Her gaze flicked in my direction. "You'll just get angry if I tell you." She turned the page
again, not fooling anyone. The girl was getting about as much work done as I was. "Did I do something?" I asked, dreading the an-
swer. I knew I had been in my own, tortured little world the past couple of days, but I couldn't afford to ostracize my friends. Especial-
ly not now. These girls were all I had left. "It's not you," she replied, laying her book aside. Relief. I got up and walked over to sit at
the foot of her bed. "So what's up? I swear I won't get mad." Unless you're after Josh too. Then, no guarantees.
Sabine shot me a hesitant look. Then she seemed to make up her mind. She pulled her knees up and hugged them to her, resting her
chin on the left one. "It's Noelle," she said, deep resignation in her voice. Of course. Instantly, my shoulder muscles coiled. Truth? I
was sick of Sabine complaining about Noelle. She had been doing it ever since the day Noelle had returned to Easton, and it was start-
ing to grate on my nerves. Why couldn't the two of them just get along? Or at the very least, let each other be. "What about Noelle?" I
asked, sounding defensive. "See?" Her green eyes widened. "This is why I didn't want to tell you! You're just going to defend her."
I took a deep breath and pulled myself all the way up onto her bed, sitting with my legs curled under so I could face my roommate.
Patience, Reed. This girl is one of your best friends. Don't bite her head off for having feelings. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's just... you
guys are my best friends. I wish you could just bury the hatchet or whatever. But if she did something, I want to know about it. So
what happened?" Sabine dropped her knees down, plopped a green throw pillow onto her lap, and toyed with the chenille fringe along
the edge. "I just don't understand why it's automatically assumed that she'll be the one to go to New York with you. It's like whatever
you do, she just expects to be included."
"Well, Noelle lives in New York. She knows the place like the back of her hand. And I've been there exactly three times," I replied.
"I need her there." "But London and Vienna are going, no?" Sabine asked. "They know the city well too." I shifted my legs into a
more comfortable position. "Well, yeah..." Sabine tossed the pillow aside and leaned forward. "It just felt like once again she was in
charge," she told me. "She's so proprietary when it comes to everything Billings. It's like she can't accept the fact that you're the pres-
ident now." I sighed at the overplayed riff. Sabine had been telling me this for weeks. She hadn't trusted Noelle from the moment they
met, and she was overly protective of me and my presidency. I knew it must have been hard for Noelle to see someone else running
things around here, but she hadn't let it show. Not once. For some reason, however, Sabine couldn't recognize that.
"It doesn't matter if she accepts it or not. It's fact," I told her. "And when it comes down to it, she has way more experience plan-
ning these events than I do. I need her help if we're going to save Billings." Sabine slumped and looked away, reaching for the pillow
again. "It just... it would have been nice to be invited to New York, "she said morosely. "I've always wanted to see it." Instantly, a big
cartoon lightbulb snapped on over my head. This wasn't about the fact that Noelle was going on my Save Billings road trip. It was
about the fact that Sabine wasn't. 'You want to go?" I said, brightening. "Why didn't you just say so?" Sabine shrugged. "Well, you
and Noelle acted like it was just for you and the Twin Cities, so..." "Sabine, there is no
law stating that only the four of us can go. You
should totally come." "I should?" she asked, her mood doing a quick one-eighty. "Definitely! You have an artistic eye. I'd love to have
your opinion too," I told her, pushing myself up off the bed. "Besides, every Billings Girl has to see New York. It's, like, a cultural im-
perative." Sabine laughed and my heart felt a lot lighter. "Are you sure Noelle won't mind?" she asked. I paused and looked over my
shoulder at her with a mischievous grin. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" I said. "It's not up to her."
* * *
Somehow, getting up the next morning was harder than it had been all week. It was like I suddenly realized that the nightmare of
being without Josh was not going to end. That I was actually going to have to do this brave-face thing every day. The thought was ex-
hausting. But tonight was my study date with Jason. The first date of the rest of my life. I had to get up. Get psyched. Act like the girl
who was super-fine with moving on. So I stripped off my covers and swung my legs out of bed, forcing myself to smile, even though
Sabine was in the shower and there was no one there to see me. I could do this. I could be fun, confident Reed. I had to be.
Then I heard a loud spattering sound and glanced at the window behind my bed. It was gray outside and raindrops battered the
pane. Wind whistled past, as if to hammer home the message that stepping outside today would be frigid, wet, and decidedly unfun. I
groaned, shoved my feet into my slippers to protect myself from the always freezing wood floors, and trudged over to my closet. For-
get the Single Reed power uniform. This was a jeans-and-sweatshirt day if I had ever seen one. I yanked open the door and reached up
to the left side of the first shelf for the cozy Penn State sweatshirt my brother had given me last Christmas. As my hand fell on the em-
broidered white letters, I froze. Hanging at the far end of my closet, perfectly spaced on unfamiliar wooden hangers, were three items
of petal pink clothing. A cardigan. An oxford. A short-sleeved silk blouse. Three items of pink clothing. Not one of them mine.
Shaking, I withdrew my hand and took a step back, as if the clothes were going to jump off their hangers and attack. Pink? I owned
nothing pink. But I knew those clothes. Would have known them anywhere. They were Cheyenne's. Some of her favorites. My hand
shot forward and slid the closet door shut with a bang. My heartbeat pounded in my chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
What were Cheyenne's clothes doing in my closet? How the hell had they gotten there? Okay, Reed, think. Take a deep breath and
think. Maybe they're not Cheyenne's. Maybe they're Sabine's. She likes colorful clothing. Maybe she hung them up in your closet by
mistake. Feeling slightly comforted by this theory, I breathed in again and opened the closet door. I tentatively reached for the sweater
and held it out at arm's length. Little white roses embroidered around the collar. Tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. Instantly, I was assault-
ed by images of Cheyenne wearing this sweater. Laughing at some stupid joke of Gage's in the dining hall, slipping it over her shoul-
