Ambition

that he was shouting it from rooftops everywhere? "Um, maybe. Can we talk about this later?" "Sure. What's your number? I'll text

  you," West said. He typed in my phone number and gave me a smile before sauntering off.

  "Wow, Reed," London said, sidling over to give me a hip-nudge. She looked West's departing form up and down like he was a

  piece of meat and tossed her thick, artificially streaked hair over her shoulder. "Way to bounce back." "Are you kidding me?" I hissed

  at her. "I just broke up with Josh, I'm not just going to start dating." "Who said anything about dating?" London replied. "Just hook up

  with the guy. West is an excellent kisser," she said, smiling at him over my shoulder. I glanced back there as well. "Ew," I said, realiz-

  ing that London knew from experience. "I have to go." There was only one guy I was interested in right now. The one fleeing the

  scene--my scene--as fast as his squared sneakers would carry him.

  TELL ME HOW YOU REALLY FEEL

  As I approached the art studio, I couldn't ever remember feeling so nervous in my life. Not when I'd first arrived at Easton. Not

  when I had been questioned by the police about Thomas Pearson's murder last year. Not when I thought I was about to be expelled.

  Maybe on the Billings rooftop last winter when Ariana had been hell-bent on throwing me over the side. But that had been more terror

  than nervousness. A trembling, knee-weakening, life-flashing-before-my-eyes kind of terror. This was almost worse. Because there

  was hope behind these nerves. Hope even though I knew I was about to get crushed. But I couldn't seem to squelch it, even to protect

  myself. "

  I pressed my damp palms into my jeans, then grasped the cold door handle and pulled. Perched on a wooden stool, Josh sat with his

  back curled like a C. So lonely and sad. He didn't look up from his easel. On the canvas was a charcoal profile that looked a lot like

  mine.

  He hadn't opened any paints yet. The brushes sat dry and untouched. When he finally turned and saw me there, anger flashed

  through his blue eyes. "You can't be here," he said. "Why not? Maybe I've developed an interest in painting." I tried for levity. Bad

  idea. Josh stood up, nearly knocking his seat over. "No. I mean, you can't really be here. You can't actually think we're going to talk

  about this. That you're going to find some way to explain it that will make me forgive you."

  All the oxygen left the room. Tell me how you really feel. "Josh, please--" "No! Reed, no. God! "He brought his hand to his head

  and winced. "I can't get the picture of you and Dash out of my mind. Do you have any idea what this is like for me?" "Actually, yeah.

  I do," I snapped without thinking. The picture of Cheyenne straddling him on the love seat in the Art Cemetery came screeching back

  in full Technicolor, as did the gut-wrenching horror of how it had felt to watch it all unfold. "But I took you back, remember?" Josh's

  face screwed up in disgust. "You took me back because it wasn't me there with her. Because she drugged me. Because I didn't know

  what I was doing."

  He had me there. I was drunk last night, but I had known what I was doing. Had flirted with the idea of doing it for months. How

  could something that had seemed so right and harmless less than eighteen hours ago now be such an obvious mistake? Why hadn't I

  realized that if I let Dash pull me onto that mattress, if I let him touch me the way he had, that I would be here now--my heart in

  pieces, Josh's heart in pieces, wishing there was any way in hell I could take it all back? What could I say? "Josh, I love you," I at-

  tempted. "I--" "Don't," he spat. "Of all things, do not say that."

  The venom in his voice stopped me cold. That was all it took. All it took for me to realize that this was a lost cause. That Josh was

  lost to me. Forever. All I wanted was for him to hug me. To tell me that everything was going to be okay. To be my rock. He had al-

  ways been that for me. Whenever I screwed up or everything around me seemed to be falling apart, Josh had made it better. But he

  couldn't make this better, because this time my screwup had hurt him. I had deprived myself of my one true comfort in life, and the re-

  alization gouged my heart out. "Please, just go," he said, his shoulders slumping. "Just leave me alone."

  "Fine." My voice, my eyes, my throat, were filled with tears as I took a step back. Away from him. "Fine, I'll go." And I started to.

  I did. But then, out of nowhere, a terrifying thought occurred to me. A thought that somehow, in all the emotional wreckage, had never

  even been a glimmer until now. And it stopped me in my tracks. Cold dread overcame me. Josh was so angry. So hurt. What if he... I

  couldn't say it. But I had to. I had to beg for mercy. One last favor. For old time's sake? A lump the size of an orange blocked my

  windpipe, trying to tell me this was a bad idea. But my fear of what might happen if I didn't speak overcame my conscience. "Josh, I

  have to ask you one thing," I said, my voice thick. "What?" He glanced at me.

  "You're not... I mean... you're not going to tell Noelle, are you? About me and Dash?" I asked. Josh looked at me for a moment,

  then shook his head and laughed. He laughed so bitterly, I'm not even sure the noise he made could be categorized as a laugh. My

  heart felt sick. I knew what he thought of me right then and I hated myself. But now that he'd left me, I needed Noelle more than ever.

  "No," he said finally, looking at me like I was the crusty scum that formed on the outer rims of his paint jars. "No, I won't tell your

  precious Noelle. If that's what you really care about here, then don't worry. Your slutty little secret is safe with me." Tears spilled

  down my face. Coming from Josh--from someone who was normally so kind and levelheaded and understanding--the words couldn't

  have stung more. But at least I knew he would keep my secret. He was the most decent, honest guy I knew. However awful his word-

  ing was, the promise was just as strong. "Josh--" "Good luck saving Billings," he said with a sneer. His silent message? I hope you

  fail.

  Then he turned his back on me, and I knew it was for good this time. I had to get out of there. Now. I turned and ran for the door,

  holding one hand over my mouth to keep the sobs in check. As I stumbled into the hallway, I nearly took out Ivy Slade in her white-

  and-black plaid cape. Perfect. She was so the person I wanted to see right now. Her blue eyes like ice, Ivy shot me a derisive look,

  then peered past me through the glass pane in the classroom door. Her thin, dark eyebrows arched and she crossed her slim arms over

  her chest. Her dangling silver earrings swung, catching on strands of her sleek, black hair. "Trouble in paradise?" she asked. "Just

  think, if you hadn't crashed my party last night, none of this would have happened."

  Her party. As if the Legacy belonged to her. It was an ages-old tradition, and she had tried to claim it as her own, changing the

  rules and ostracizing all the Easton Academy legacies. Maybe I had crashed it, but I'd only done it because I was trying to help my fel-

  low Easton students get what was rightfully theirs. And, okay, I was also trying to have a little fun. That, of course, had not happened.

  At least not after the first couple hours of drinking and dancing. After that, it had all gone to hell. "Haven't you ever heard that it's in-

  advisable to have major relationship status conversations after chugging several fuzzy navels?" she asked slyly. She was taking plea-

  sure in this, and she wasn't even trying to hide it. "How do you know what I was drinking?" I demanded. "Oh, I make a habit of keep-

  ing an eye on party crashers, just i
n case they decide to cause trouble," Ivy said, tilting her head. "Luckily, you only caused trouble for

  yourself." She placed a hand on the doorknob behind her. Josh was in there. She was about to join Josh. My heart skipped a nervous,

  covetous beat.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded. "Working on my senior project." She glanced over her shoulder again, smoothing

  her shiny hair with her long, pale fingers. "I'll be spending a lot of time in the studio this year," she added pointedly. Implication?

  With Josh. I'll be spending a lot of time in the studio this year with Josh. She was just like Cheyenne with her "seniors stick together"

  routine. All to spend time with Josh. And just like that, I remembered. Ivy's room last night. That bizarre collage. The pictures of her

  and Cheyenne being BFFs on beaches and boats and tennis courts. Ivy and Cheyenne, who were supposed to hate each other. Why had

  they hidden their friendship from the world? And what else was Ivy hiding?

  "Well, I should go. Let you get back to your little fund-raising project," Ivy said. "It's good to have a distraction at a trying time

  like this, Reed. Doctor Phil would be proud." She gave my shoulder a quick squeeze with faux sympathy, then turned and walked into

  the room where Josh sat. Her red lips stretched into a mocking grin right before she slammed the heavy door in my face. The tears

  burst forth all over again. I ran down the hall toward the exit, but before I could get through the door, it was opening. I slammed into

  someone so hard he was knocked off his feet and his stuff scattered everywhere. Who knew the J.A.M. Building was so heavily traf-

  ficked on Monday evenings? "Dammit," I said, automatically crouching to the ground. Tears streaked down my nose, mingling with

  snot. I wiped my hand across my face, not even sure whether it made a difference. "I'm so sorry." "No. It's my fault," my victim

  replied, gathering his bag and notebook. "I never look where I'm going. Hey, are you okay?" I looked in his face for the first time.

  Light brown skin, dark, floppy hair, concerned brown eyes. Light brown eyes. Odd. Nice.

  "M'fine," I mumbled. "Just have to get out of here." "Okay." He stood up, repositioning his stuff as it slid in his hands. "I'm Mar-

  cellus Alberro. Marc for short. And you're Reed Brennan." I looked at him quizzically. Why he felt the need to tell me my name was

  beyond me. "Yeah." "I thought it was so cool how you didn't back down from Cromwell," Marc said with a smile. I immediately

  thought of my encounter with West. Damn. Was this guy going to use my so-called bravery as a segue to ask me out too?

  "I'm gonna do a story about it for the Chronicle, " he told me. "I was actually just on my way up to the offices to do some research

  and see if they've ever tried to shut down a whole dorm like this before. I'm on the paper," he added needlessly. "In case that wasn't

  clear." I heard myself laugh, which was a surprise. "Well, good luck with your story, Marc-For-Short," I said, shoving the door open

  and letting the cold air pour in. All I wanted to do was go back to my dorm and do that curling-up-in-a-ball thing. "Thanks. I'd like to

  interview you for it, if I could," he blurted. "Now?" I asked. "Now's good. If you can." Couldn't he see what a mess I was? I was in no

  shape to be interviewed. But still, maybe it was a good idea. Get the press behind us. Some free publicity. Another distraction. "Actu-

  ally, I--" But Ivy's laughter cut me short. It wafted down the hallway from the studio, through the air vents, along the walls. It was ev-

  erywhere. And it made the hair on my arms stand on end. Josh had made her laugh. Angry, bitter, brokenhearted Josh was down there

  right now, making Ivy Slade laugh. "I'm sorry. I have to go," I said Letting the door bang behind me, I tore across the rapidly darken-

  ing campus, leaving an understandably confused Marc-For-Short Alberro behind.

  BLACKBALLED

  I had to call Dash. He was, after all, the reason I was such a total mess. I had risked everything for him, and now that I knew that I

  had risked and lost, I had to know why. Why had he lured me up to the roof at the Legacy? Why had he begged me to be with him?

  Why, when he was still in love with Noelle? Why, when all along he was planning on getting back together with her?

  Or had he already? Had he gotten back together with her before we had hooked up? The idea sent my pulse into panic-attack mode

  as I rushed through the dark to Billings. I had to know. After everything that had happened, I deserved some kind of explanation. I

  knew now that I'd been used, but I was not at all blameless. I needed to know how awful my infraction was when it came to Noelle.

  Had I simply hooked up with a friend's ex right before they had gotten back together, or had I helped the guy cheat on said friend?

  There was a big difference.

  "Reed! Wait up! Hold the door!" someone shouted as I slid my electronic key through the slot next to the inner door to Billings.

  The outer door was slowly closing as Kiki Rosen managed to slip through. "Hey. Thanks," she said, breathless. "I lost my key." "You

  did?" I asked. "Yeah, over the weekend. Probably somewhere between here and Boston. I gotta go to Hell Hall tomorrow and get a

  new one. Such a pain in the ass," she said, tugging the earbuds from her ears. I could hear tinny guitar music and drums blaring

  through them. She hustled inside and headed straight for the parlor off the Billings lobby, where a few people were hanging out.

  "You coming?" she asked over her shoulder as she struggled out of her puffer coat. "Astrid said we were going to talk fund-raiser."

  "In a minute. I have to do something first," I replied. I sprinted up the stairs before anyone could protest, taking the steps two at a

  time. My room on the top floor was, mercifully, empty. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I struggled to get my breathing under control as

  I speed- dialed Dash on my iPhone. I held my breath, unsure of what I was going to say, but certain it was going to be shouted. I had a

  lot of angry, confused adrenaline to spew. Why not spew it at Dash "You're All I Think About, Reed" McCafferty? The phone rang

  once, then clicked over to voice mail. "This is Dash McCafferty. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." So

  formal, that Dash. I hung up before the beep. I was not in the frame of mind to leave a coherent message. I yanked my laptop off my

  desk and hit a few keys to bring it to life. My fingers trembled as they hovered over the keyboard, waiting for my e-mail to boot up.

  When it did, I typed a simple message. Dash, We need to talk. Call me. -Reed

  Message sent, I tossed the computer on the foot of my bed and collapsed backward, my legs hooked over the side of my mattress,

  feet on the floor. Dried tears tightened my cheeks. Josh hated me. Hated me. And Dash had abandoned me. And Noelle was going to

  kill me when she found out. How had I gotten here? How had everything gotten so screwed up? My head pounded as if my brain were

  pulsating against my skull and my skull against my skin. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and brought my fingers to my temples.

  Breathe, Reed. Just breathe. But Josh's disgusted expression kept flitting through my brain and my head pounded harder. My throat

  was desiccated, and the muscles in my back and neck coiled painfully. I couldn't take it anymore. This wasn't just the drama talking.

  This was the hangover. The lack of sleep. I had been awake since yesterday morning. Awake and partying and drinking and puking

  and barely eating a thing. God, I loathed myself. It was still early. Not even six o'clock. Dinner had yet to be served at the dining hall,

  but I didn't care. This day
had to end. Now. I would take something for the headache and go to bed, and tomorrow I would start fresh.

  Start my life without Josh. Somehow, I would start over. I forced myself up to a seated position, my eye sockets exploding with pain,

  and reached for my top desk drawer, where I kept a small bottle of Tylenol. As I yanked the drawer open there was a racket not unlike

  the sound of a dozen bowling balls racing down their lanes. Then a slam. The unexpected noise scared me half to death, but when I

  peered into the drawer, my heart all but stopped. Black marbles, dozens of them, had rolled forward from the back of the drawer and

  slammed into the front. A few latecomers still trickled forth, bouncing around my pens and pencils to join their friends.

  Black marbles. Used in the inner circle for voting people out. For expelling people from Billings. Who had put these in my drawer?

  Why? Was it just some kind of stupid prank, or was someone sending a message? That they wanted me out? Wanted me gone? I was

  just starting to hyperventilate when the door to my room opened. I grabbed the Tylenol bottle, then slammed the drawer so hard the

  framed picture of me and my brother, Scott, fell over on my desktop. Sabine came traipsing in, all excitement, too hyper to realize

  anything was wrong. "Omigosh! Everyone on campus is talking about how incredible you were," she trilled, dropping her backpack

  on her bed. She turned to me, her green eyes glowing. Lately Sabine had updated her Caribbean wardrobe to better suit the New Eng-

  land autumn weather, and today she was wearing a kelly green turtleneck, tartan skirt, and tall brown boots. The preppy look suited

  her, but she still wore her shell earrings, which dangled almost to her shoulders. "Your fund-raiser is the hot topic of the day. Do you

  have any ideas yet?" "No. Not yet," I said shakily.

  I popped the top off the Tylenol bottle with my thumb and let it fall to the floor. The two white pills lodged for a second in my dry

  throat, but I managed to choke them down. "Do you want some water or something?" Sabine asked. "M'fine," I mumbled. I kicked off

  my sneakers and tipped to the side so I could free my covers from under my butt without actually standing up. "You're going to bed?"

  Sabine asked, her face falling. "But everyone's waiting for you downstairs to talk about the fund-raiser." "Tomorrow," I told her,

  clicking off my desk light. I lay down fully clothed and pulled the covers up over my head, turning my back on her crestfallen face--on

  my desk and everything it contained. All I wanted was to go to sleep and put the past two days behind me. Suddenly, I felt her weight

  at the foot of my bed. I looked up to find Sabine sitting near my feet, looking at me with concern in the dim light coming through the

  window.

  "Is it Josh? Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. "Not now," I replied. "Because I know it's hard, having your heart broken,"

  she said sympathetically. "Who broke your heart?" I muttered. There was the tiniest light of curiosity deep inside of me. Sabine had

  never mentioned any exes before. "Me? Oh, no one. I've never had a real boyfriend," she told me, looking down at her hands. "But I

  helped my sister through a horrible breakup. She said she would never have survived it if it wasn't for me. So maybe I can help you,