Ambition

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-