Maybe not with Marc, but with someone. Someday. Maybe even soon. It was actually possible.
* * *
Friday night was movie night at Billings--at least, for those who didn't have dates or visiting parents. As I approached my dorm, I
saw the dim glow of the plasma screen through the front window of the parlor and knew that most of my friends were inside, riveted
to whatever words of wisdom Cameron Diaz or Reese Witherspoon were imparting this week. I yanked open the outer door of the
dorm and paused. The inner door was ajar, propped open with the bronze doorstopper that was only ever used on move-in day to facil-
itate the passage of huge suitcases and trunks. The red security light on the keycard slot was blinking and emitting a low, ineffective
beep, annoyed that the door had been ajar for too long. What was it doing open? And why hadn't anyone noticed?
I stepped inside and nudged the heavy doorstopper aside with my foot, then quietly closed the door. I could see Sabine, Constance,
and Kiki sitting in the parlor with their hair spilling over the back of one of the couches. Nothing seemed amiss. Part of me wanted to
go in there and ask them about the door, but if I did, I knew that Constance would pump me for the details of my date, so instead I
quickly slipped upstairs. Big mistake. The second I opened the door to my room, I froze. Literally. It was freezing inside. Something
moved in the dark. Fear instantly overcame me and I slammed the door, pressing myself up against the wall outside. Someone was in
there. Someone was in my room. My heart was in my throat. Why would someone be skulking around in my room in the dark? Were
they leaving another surprise for me? Or did they have something even worse planned? Whoever was in there knew I was out here
now. We were playing a waiting game. Him or her in there. Me out here. Who would crack first?
Ever so slowly, I turned and pressed my ear to the door to see if I could hear the culprit moving around inside. I held my breath.
There was nothing. Dead silence. Was this person on the other side of the door right now... listening for me? Why were they doing this
to me? What had I done to deserve this? Down the hall, a door opened and laughing voices emerged. I looked up to find Lorna and
Missy walking out of the Twin Cities' room with a bunch of folded blankets. They stopped in their tracks at the sight of me still bun-
dled in my coat, my gloved hands pressed into the door along with my left ear. "What are you doing?" Missy asked with a sneer.
Freaking out. Losing my mind. Having a panic attack. "Someone's in my room," I whispered. "Sabine?" Lorna asked at full voice. I
felt so desperate I wanted to cry. But at least I had backup now. At least if I opened the door, they would see there was someone in
there too. I'd have witnesses. "No. Sabine's downstairs," I whispered hoarsely. "I think someone's sneaking around my room." "Like
who?" Missy asked. "Everyone's in the parlor." I pressed my lips together. I hated that of all the people in Billings, it was Missy who
had to be here for this, but she was better than no one. "I don't know. Maybe someone from outside Billings," I said, thinking of the
open door. "Will you guys please just go in there with me? "
Lorna looked a little freaked, but she nodded resolutely. "Sure." "Thanks." I turned slowly, trying not to make any noise, and
silently turned the knob. "One, two, three," I whispered. Then I flung the door open. Wide open. And braced myself for some kind of
attack. I didn't even realize I had closed my eyes until Missy shoved me aside from behind and I was startled into looking around.
"There's no one in here," she said, flicking on the light. She was right. The room was deserted. "No, but it's freezing," Lorna added.
She dropped the blankets onto my bed and walked across to my window, which was wide open. The wind coming through the ever-
present screen sent the curtains billowing into the room. The curtains. That must have been what I had seen. The curtains moving.
As Lorna slammed and locked the window, my face burned with embarrassment. I was turning into a paranoid freak. And Missy
Thurber and Lorna Gross had been there to witness it. "There's no one in the bathroom, either," Lorna said, checking it. I turned and
checked both closets, now almost hoping I'd find some psycho lurking about. Anything to make me look like less of a paranoid delu-
sional nutcase. But there was nothing. "You don't get enough attention around here?" Missy said with a smirk. "Now you have to cre-
ate fake stalkers? Poor, poor President Reed. Always such a victim." "You know, you're even uglier on the inside than you are on the
outside," I snapped. Missy's jaw dropped. For a split second I actually thought she was going to cry, and I didn't even care. I was too
pent up, frustrated, and embarrassed to care. And besides, why did she always have to be so rude? She had no idea what was going on
in my life. No clue. And did she care? No. She just lived to attack me. "You are such a bitch," she said through her teeth. "You may
have everyone else around here snowed, but I know the nice-girl thing is all an act, and sooner or later you're going to get yours, Reed.
Just wait." She stomped out of my room with her blankets, leaving Lorna hovering behind. Was that a threat? Had Missy just threat-
ened me? And why had she used the word stalker? I hadn't said anything about a stalker. Just that I thought someone was in my room.
Did she know I had a stalker because she was the stalker?
Fab. Now my brain was starting to hurt. "Are you okay?" Lorna asked me quietly. "Yeah," I said, catching my breath. "I'm fine.
I'm just going to... get ready for bed." "Okay." Lorna picked up her blankets and went after Missy. I closed the door and rechecked ev-
erything, just to be safe. The bathroom, the closets, under the beds. Nothing seemed amiss. I took a deep breath and tossed my coat on
the hook behind the door. Then I turned to my dresser for my pajamas and froze. No. Couldn't go in there. No drawers. Rationally, I
knew that all I had seen were the moving curtains, but I was irrationally scared anyway. I pulled my sweater off over my head and
glanced at the closet. No. Couldn't go in there either.
Feeling childish, I folded my sweater and placed it atop my closed laptop. Suddenly, I felt exhausted. Beaten down by my own
paranoia. I didn't want to wash my face or brush my teeth or check my e-mail or do anything. My bag for tomorrow was already
packed, sitting on the floor at the end of my bed. If I went to sleep, I could wake up and go to New York. Get out of here and not see
this room for two whole days. Two whole days in a place that didn't know me. Two whole days in a town where Cheyenne's memory
couldn't haunt me. Two whole days where whoever was messing with me couldn't reach me. New York. The words were like a
promise. I would feel less crazy there. I knew I would. Jeans and T-shirt still on, I crawled under the covers and, leaving the overhead
light blazing, attempted to get some sleep.
POWER TRIP
The lobby of the exclusive Gramercy Park Hotel was like something out of a modern-goth Alice in Wonderland, with its checker-
board floors, abstract art, ornate chandeliers, and dark stone walls. Yet it was somehow cozy. Comfortable. Welcoming. In two words
it was this: Not Billings. I felt myself start to breathe easier as we stepped further inside. There was a couple at the front desk sur-
rounded by piles of buttery leather luggage, a tiny dog peeking out from the woman's handbag. A group of men in tailored suits strode
by us in heated conversation, clearly on their way to some high-powered brunch, and they all stopped talking to check us out as the
y
went by. One even surreptitiously snapped our picture with his phone, which London and Vienna automatically posed for. This was
not the kind of clientele one might find at the Super 8 in Croton. This place oozed glamour. I wondered what our suite would be like.
Imagined a sumptuous bed I could sink into and sleep in for real. For hours and hours and hours without dreams. I shook my head. I
had a long day ahead of me in the most exciting city in the world, and suddenly, all I wanted to do was go to bed. "Miss Simmons,
Miss Clarke, good to see you again," the bellboy-- who was way too cute to be a bellboy--greeted them as he loaded our bags onto a
cart. "I'll take this up to your suite. Is there anything else I can get for you?"
London looked at the rest of us expectantly. "Should we lunch out, or have them bring something to our room?" "Lunch? It's ten-
thirty in the morning," I pointed out. "And we have appointments to keep." "So we'll do brunch," Vienna said, sinking into a red vel-
vet chaise. She leaned back and kicked her heels off. "God, it's so good to be home." "Home? But you don't live here." Sabine said it
like a question, glancing around almost warily. Apparently, she didn't feel as comfortable here as I did. London and Vienna laughed.
So did the bellboy. "Practically," they said in unison. "You can take our things up," Noelle told the bellboy, handing him a few crisp
bills from her Louis Vuitton wallet. "We'll let you know if we need anything else." As the bellboy silently disappeared, Noelle sat
down on the chaise near Vienna's feet and slid her arms out of her coat. "I say we head up to Sarabeth's for brunch, then hit Blooming-
dale's and Dylan's. I'm definitely going to need chocolate later."
"Omigod, totally!" London squealed, perching on the edge of a round-backed love seat. "And Sarabeth's has that French toast with
the--" "You guys, we can't go out for brunch right now," I said, hovering with Sabine as the three of them got comfy. "We have an ap-
pointment to see the Regent in half an hour, then another at the studio at eleven- fifteen. I blocked out time for lunch at twelve-thirty."
"What are you, auditioning to be a cruise director? " Vienna joked, checking out a sunglassed couple as they walked by to see if they
were anyone worth seeing. "Yeah, Reed, why don't you just relax?" Noelle suggested. "This is a vacation. And besides, I went to a
wedding at the Regent last year, and they tried to pass off this crap caviar from Maine or some godawful place as something decadent.
People were spitting it out into their napkins all night." She, London, and Vienna all snickered like they were in on some inside joke,
which just made me feel uncomfortable. Sabine as well, if I was reading her closed-off body language correctly. There was no way I
was going to let Noelle completely hijack this weekend. I needed her input, definitely, but she wasn't going to tell me how to run this
whole thing "You guys, this is not a vacation," I said pointedly. "We're here to plan a fund-raiser to save Billings, remember? And I
don't care about the caviar, because I wasn't planning on serving any anyway. So get your butts in gear. We've got appointments to
keep."
Vienna and London looked at each other, and Vienna pushed herself up in her chaise, rolling her eyes. "God, Reed. You sound like
my mother," she said. But she grabbed her black cashmere coat and stood. "As long as we get to Dylan's at some point today, I'm hap-
py," London said with a shrug. "Now that you brought it up, I can't stop thinking about their cappuccino gelato. Dee-vine. " Noelle
eyed me as the Twin Cities buttoned their coats and smoothed their hair. I knew she couldn't believe she'd just been unceremoniously
snubbed, and I felt a quick rush of triumph. I was in charge now. She was just going to have to get used to it. With a heavy sigh,
Noelle finally arose and picked up her coat. "All right, then. We'll go. But it is an utter waste of time." "We'll call up the car!" London
announced, grabbing Vienna's arm as they traipsed off toward the front desk. Noelle slowly belted her black coat and looked at me
with narrow- eyed interest. "You really are enjoying this power trip you're on, aren't you, Glass-Licker?" "Just doing my job," I said
with a forced smile.
She smirked and strolled off after the Twin Cities, leaving me alone for the moment with Sabine .Her brows knit as she adjusted
her new, very trendy white cloche hat. "Why does she call you Glass-Licker?" she asked. I paused, letting the memory of my first-ever
conversation with Noelle wash over me for a moment. Letting myself relish the fact that even though she couldn't give up the nick-
name, our positions in life had completely changed. So much so that the insulting moniker was starting to feel like a joke. An homage
to times gone by. A term of endearment. Somehow, it didn't hold the same power it used to. "It's a long story," I told Sabine, looping
my arm through hers the way London and Vienna were always doing. "Along, stupid story."
* **
"Oh my God, Vienna! I thought Etienne was going to die when he realized you let someone else trim your bangs!" London cried as
we stepped out of the Lange family's chauffeured limo somewhere on West Thirteenth Street. A stiff wind nearly blew me off my feet,
and a pair of NYU boys eyed us with interest as they strolled by. "I think he actually cried. I swear I saw a tear," I added. "Well, that's
what he gets for refusing to come up to Easton every week to shape me," Vienna said blithely, flicking her hair away from her face. "I
even offered to pay for his transportation, but no. He simply cannot be away from the city for an entire afternoon," she added, putting
on Etienne's thick French accent. "It would mean disastre!" We all laughed, slightly high on the triumphs of the morning. Not only
had the proprietor at Tassos's studio of choice practically bent over backward to accommodate us once we'd dropped the photogra-
pher's name, but Vienna had guilted the owner of her salon into canceling all his appointments for next Saturday afternoon so that we
could rent out the entire facility. We'd even had a chance to swing by Dylan's Candy Bar to load up on sugar. So far I'd consumed al-
most half a pound of gummy bears and a Wonka Bar. I was having actual fun, and had hardly thought of Josh or Cheyenne or Ivy all
day. So far, so perfect.
"He should know better," Noelle sniffed as she looked up and down the sidewalk, trying to pinpoint our destination. "You and your
sister have been his most loyal clients ever since you first sprouted hair." "I forgot you had a sister," Sabine said to Vienna, hugging
herself against the cold. "Will we get to meet her at the fund-raiser?" "Are you kidding? She practically peed in her pants when I told
her about Frederica Falk and the photo shoot. She already sent me her donation," Vienna said. "What about your sister, Sabine? Did
you invite her?" I asked. "She's out of the country right now," Sabine replied, her face brightening at the subject. "But she so wishes
she could come. I think she--" "Where is this place?" Noelle asked, interrupting Sabine. Quite rudely, I thought. "I can never remem-
ber which entrance..." Suddenly, a plain black door right in front of us opened and out stepped the single most perfect specimen of
manhood I had ever laid eyes on outside a movie theater. He was tall, with highlighted blond hair, golden stubble all along his cut
cheekbones, and blue eyes that could cut steel. His suit was black, his shirt a pristine, crisp white that was opened one extra button to
show the top of his tanned chest. For a moment none of us breathed.
"Reed Brennan?" he asked with an inquisiti
ve smile. London had to forcibly shove me forward. "That would be me," I said to the
supermodel. His smile widened and he opened the door further. "Welcome to Suite 13." "I don't care where we have this thing, we're
hiring this guy as our doorman," I whispered to my friends. "I second that!" Vienna offered. Giggling like girls at a tea party, we hus-
tled inside. "I'm Lucas, the assistant manager of Suite 13," Mr. Hot said as he led us down a dimly lit hallway with red-glass lamps
hanging from the ceiling. He offered me his hand to shake. It was warm, strong, and very large. "Here at the suite, we pride ourselves
on being one of the most versatile spaces in all of Manhattan. With our high ceilings, moveable booths, and huge square footage, we
can turn our suite into anything your heart desires."
We came out onto a balcony with two staircases on either side, descending at a curve to a large, pitlike room. There were huge bars
on either side, and round, suede booths in dark jewel tones dotted the room, surrounding a gleaming black dance floor. I could just
imagine the place decorated with dark floral centerpieces and swags of cloth, flashbulbs popping, and champagne flowing. It was in-
credible. "Oh, no," Noelle said under her breath. "Yeah. I know," Vienna replied. "Not good." "What's going on?" I asked. "Is there a
problem?" Lucas added, gripping the railing with one hand. "No. Not at all," Noelle replied smoothly, tossing her hair over her shoul-
ders. "I just need to confer with my friends for a moment." "Take your time," Lucas replied. He moved a few feet off and whipped out
his Treo. Noelle tugged my arm, leading all four of us into the tiny alcove outside the bathrooms. "We can't have it here," she whis-
pered. "Why not? I like it," I replied.
"Dash had his seventeenth birthday party here," Noelle said, glancing over her shoulder. "I forgot about it until I saw the room."
My shoulder muscles coiled at the mere mention of Dash's name. At the not-so-new but still annoying realization that he and Noelle
and everyone at Easton had had very full lives before I ever showed up there. That he and Noelle had a shared history I would never
be a part of. I knew that hooking up with Dash had been wrong, but it still stung that he had been able to dismiss me so easily, without
so much as a phone call or an explanation. All of this hit me from every angle as I stood there with Noelle, Sabine, and the Twin Cities
waiting for my comment. "So?" I said finally. "That was almost two years ago." "Exactly," Sabine added, taking my side as always.
"And you heard what Lucas said. The room can be anything we want it to be. We can make it look completely different."
Noelle smirked and glanced over at Vienna, who hid a laugh behind her hand. London simply chuckled out loud. Clearly, they were
all so very amused at our naivete. Which, of course, made my blood boil. "First of all, it doesn't matter what Mr. Universe over there
says, people will know it's the same place," Noelle replied in a facetious tone. "This is supposed to be the event of the season. You
don't want it to feel as if it's been done before, do you?" "You really don't," Vienna put in with a shudder. "Like, really," London
added helpfully. I looked at Sabine, who suddenly seemed as uncertain as I felt. These people were, after all, the experts. And we still