ders in the parlor when she got cold one Friday night last spring. It was Cheyenne's, definitely Cheyenne's.
There had to be a logical explanation for this. Maybe someone had taken these clothes from Cheyenne's room before her parents
had packed it up. Maybe they had sent them out to get laundered and somehow they had ended up in here. London and Vienna had a
cleaning woman come every week to work on their room. Maybe she'd been confused and had left their cleaning in my closet.
But these things hadn't been here yesterday. Had their cleaning woman, Rosaline, come yesterday? I doubted it. No, she usually
came on weekends. And I was sure I hadn't heard those heavy steps of hers plodding around the hallway. Of course, there was another,
more disturbing explanation for this. Whoever had planted the black marbles in my desk drawer had planted these clothes here as well.
Someone was messing with me. But why? Why would anyone want to keep reminding me of Cheyenne? Did someone know about her
final e-mail? Did someone blame me for Cheyenne's death, like Cheyenne had? Ivy. She had been skulking around Billings yesterday
evening. She had claimed we had done something to her. Did she think I had driven Cheyenne to suicide? But if she was doing this to
get back at me, how was she getting into Billings? The bathroom door opened, startling me out of my skin. Sabine drew a hair pick
through her long hair as she approached in her skimpy white waffle-weave robe, checking out the sweater that was clutched in my
hands.
"I thought you didn't take any of Cheyenne's things after the funeral," she said, raising her eyebrows. "So this is Cheyenne's," I
said, my temples throbbing. "Yes." She looked at me, confused. And why not? Shouldn't I know if I had appropriated the sweater of
our dead housemate? One would think. "Remember? She spilled coffee on the cuff the morning of initiation and went into that tem-
per." Sabine reached for the sleeve and turned it over, revealing the small, dark stain. "Why would you take a stained sweater of all
things?" "I don't... I didn't...." Sabine's brow creased as I fought for an answer to what was, to her, a simple question. "I didn't realize it
was stained." I shoved the sweater back into the closet and slammed the door closed before Sabine could spot the rest of the pink
clothing. "Too bad." Sabine turned around and continued combing through her hair. "It was a nice sweater."
'Yeah. Nice." I turned away from the closet. I'd wear something from my dresser instead. My fingers slipped from the knobs of the
drawer as I tugged on it, slick with nervous sweat. I paused for a moment and forced myself to breathe. Sabine, meanwhile, hummed
to herself as she got dressed in the far corner, oblivious to my panic. I hadn't taken those clothes, had I? Maybe I... maybe I had taken
them and just didn't remember. Those few days were still a blur. Everything that had gone on... the freaky e-mail, the funeral, the stuff
with Josh... Maybe I had gone in there and taken some of her clothes from her room and had just blocked it out.
But this new theory did nothing to comfort me. Because if I was blocking things out, that wasn't normal. It wasn't good. If I had
blocked out something that simple, what else was I not remembering? What else might I have done? No. No. People didn't just block
stuff out for no reason. They didn't just lose time unless they were on something--pills or way too much alcohol. It wasn't me. It
couldn't have been me. Which left one other explanation. Someone was screwing with me. And as I yanked open my dresser drawer I
resolved to figure out who it was. I was president of this house. No one messed with the president of Billings. No one messed with
Reed Brennan.Not anymore.
SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR
One question kept repeating itself in my mind all day. If Ivy was responsible, how was she getting into Billings? The thought of Ki-
ki's lost key crossed my mind. Maybe Ivy had found it. Or even stolen it. If that was the case, could I get the administration to change
the locks? But then I would have to tell them why. Would have to admit to potentially being stalked. And that would open up a whole
can of worms I wasn't ready to deal with. Like heightened security around Billings. Like people watching me as if I was a freak. Like,
possibly, explaining about Cheyenne's e-mail--explaining why Ivy or someone else might want to stalk me. No, thank you. I would
have to figure this one out on my own.
In the meantime, however, I had to keep up with my regularly scheduled life. And that included a study date with Jason Darlington.
Fun, independent Reed was about to start her fun, independent life. It was still raining and windy, as it had been all day long, when I
started across the dark campus, keeping to the pathways closest to the buildings in an effort to duck the weather. I huddled under my
black umbrella and kept my head down as I scurried along, already looking forward to being back in my room later, cuddled up under
the covers. Halfway to the library, the wind carried a voice to my ear and I looked up. Headmaster Cromwell stood just inside the
open doorway of Hull Hall, shaking hands with Detective Hauer. I nearly tripped over myself when I saw them.
Detective Hauer. Lead investigator of the Thomas Pearson murder case. The man who'd arrested Josh last year right in front of me.
The man who had later arrested Ariana after she tried to kill me. What the hell was he doing back on campus? My abrupt stop caught
their attention. Predictably, the Crom fixed me with a grim glare. But Detective Hauer was less in character. Last year he had almost
always been nice to me--treated me as if I were his kid sister--as if he were on my side. But when he saw me there, he didn't smile or
wave. Didn't even nod. He simply stared at me as if disconcerted. As if he didn't quite know what to make of me. What was up with
that? Thrown, I quickly started walking again, and even jogged the last few steps to the library. Why had Hauer looked at me that
way? And why did it make me feel so... guilty? I didn't have time to dwell on it. The moment I stepped into the cozy warmth of the li-
brary, my iPhone beeped. I had a text from Jason. U on ur way? im in 2nd flr stax. got a good corner, come up. Study-date time. I
took a deep breath, shook my damp hair back, and started up the wide staircase at the back of the marble-floored lobby. The lighting
in the upstairs stacks was dim at best, provided mostly by low-wattage, fogged-glass lamps in the ceilings. Way more conducive to
sleep than studying. I could hear people whispering at the ends of the packed bookshelves, ensconced in the high-backed chairs or
huddled over the small tables. I even caught a telltale snore near the antiquities section. When I finally reached the end of the aisle
near the window, I looked right, then left, and spotted Jason. He had not only found us a private corner, he had found us the only cor-
ner in the Easton Library with a love seat rather than single chairs. He looked up and smiled, flashing those dimples. Damn. He really
was cute.
Okay, date time. If Josh could have breakfast with Ivy, then I could do this. Fun, independent Reed could do this. "Hey," I whis-
pered, hoping I didn't look as unattractively waterlogged as I felt. "Hey." He was taking up one half of the small couch. I shrugged out
of my wet coat and slung it over a nearby chair, out of the way. As I perched on the other side of the couch, I placed my bag on the
floor and pulled out a hair band to wrap my soaked locks back in a ponytail. Once that was done I felt much more human. Much more
dateworthy. Dateworthy. I was on a date with someone who wasn't Josh. How was this possibl
e? "Can you believe this weather?" Ja-
son asked. "Kinda makes you want to hunker down in here all night and wait it out." I smiled. Way to work in the phrase "all night"
before I'd even settled in. Boy was jumping right in.
"Seriously," I replied. I dug into my bag and pulled out all the novels we had read so far this year, as well as my massive notebook,
all of which I dropped on the low table. "You sure you want to study here? There's not much light." Unless you want to make out.
Which is so not happening. Not even with Fun Reed. Even she isn't ready for that. "It's fine," Jason said. "I've been here awhile. Your
eyes will adjust." His arm was draped along the back of the couch, so that when I sat down, I could feel the soft fuzziness of his
sweater sleeve against my neck. "So, what do you want to do?" I asked, restacking my books nervously. "Do you want to tackle the
novels in order, or--" "Yeah. That seems like a good plan," he replied, picking up his own, worn copy of The Death of the Heart.
Okay, so maybe he was here to study. We settled in and started to go over our notes, flipping through our marked-up, dog-eared
books to remind ourselves of specific references. Jason turned out to be smart for a child star--a very perceptive reader--and before
long I found myself enjoying our heated discussions.
"Wait, so you actually liked this book?" I asked, holding up my copy of Sister Carrie between my thumb and forefinger like it was
a bag of smelly garbage. "Okay, I admit it was somewhat over the top," Jason said, flashing those dimples of his as he drew his knee
up on the couch to better face me. "But Dreiser had his reasons for--" "Somewhat? Somewhat? Are you kidding me?" I demanded, my
voice going shrill as I laughed. "There were points when I actually wanted to track down Dreiser's grave, dig his ass up, and beat on
his bones just for torturing me." "Um, don't you think it would be easier to take out your wrath on Winslow?" Jason suggested, his
eyes sparkling. "He did assign the book." "Point taken," I replied with a smile. "But he is giving me an A so far this term, so--"
"All right, then. Dreiser's bones it is," Jason joked. "Thank you," I said, dropping the book on the table. "You're welcome." He
righted himself on the couch so that we were both facing forward again. We were both still smiling, and there was this warm cama-
raderie between us. A nice, friendly warmth. "This is fun," I said. "You sound surprised," Jason replied. "Do I?" I said, embarrassed.
"Sorry." "It's okay." Out of nowhere his hand fell on my shoulder. He was much closer than he'd been ten seconds ago. "The library's
gonna close in half an hour," he said, looking into my eyes. "So?" I said stupidly. "Sooooo..."
He leaned in and kissed me. I was so taken aback that I didn't even have time to stop him or pull away, and suddenly I was leaning
backward, with him bearing down on me, the arm of the couch pressed into the center of my back. Okay. Cute boy kissing you. Nice,
cute boy kissing you. Don't freak out. Just... kiss him back. That's what Fun Reed would do. So I tried. I tried to kiss him back. But
then his unfamiliar tongue shot into my mouth and I thought of Josh. How very not-Josh this guy was. Suddenly I wanted to hurl. "Ja-
son, stop," I said, pushing him gently away and sitting up. Maybe there was still a way to salvage this. Get out of this gracefully and
retain Jason as a friend. It wasn't his fault I was on the rebound, after all. He was just doing what half the other guys at this school
seemed to want to do--land the Billings president. "I can't do this right now," I said.
"Sorry. Sorry," he said awkwardly, tugging at his pants legs as if to de-wrinkle them. "I'm such an idiot." "No. It's okay. It's just--"
"You're not over Hollis yet. I get it." He was all red as he flashed me a self-deprecating smile. "I just figured that since he was already
hooking up with Ivy Slade, you might be ready to, you know--" My heart plummeted. "What?" "What what?" Jason asked, surprised
by my outburst. "Who told you they hooked up? Did he tell you that? " I asked. "No! I-" "Then who told you?" I demanded.
"No one. Someone," Jason babbled. "I don't know! Everyone's talking about it." Everyone's talking about it. Everyone but the people
around me. If there was something going on, the Billings Girls knew about it. What were they trying to do, protect me?
"I have to go to the bathroom," I said, feeling more nauseated than ever. I had to get out of there. I had to think. "Wait! Reed, are
you okay?" "I'm fine," I mumbled. "I'll be back." Then I turned and fled. Ivy and Josh, Ivy and Josh, Ivy and Josh. Suddenly the im-
ages my mind had conjured the night before took on a new and realistic clarity. His hands in her thick black hair, her short- but-toned
legs wrapped around him. I had to cover my mouth to keep from throwing up as I raced down the staircase toward the bathrooms on
the first floor. Please don't let me boot in the middle of the library. That's the last thing I need.
At the bottom of the staircase I was about to turn toward the bathrooms when I saw him. Josh himself. He had just walked in
through the front door and now stood, his curls glistening with rain, directly across from me. The length of the lobby separated us, the
low glass cases displaying Easton artifacts acting as a barrier. But we might as well have been face-to-face. For a long second neither
of us moved. Time stopped. How could you? How could you hook up with someone just days after we broke up? Did I mean nothing
to you? You hooked up with Dash before we broke up, Josh's voice replied in my mind. And don't even try the "I thought you dumped
me " line. Even if I had, what you did was still horrible. Silent conversation over, Josh turned and walked toward the circulation desk,
which was hidden from my view by the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I forced myself to make a left and walk to the bathroom alcove,
but before I went inside, I glanced down an aisle between the stacks. Glanced at the tall oak desk. Josh stood there with Ivy, her head
tipped sideways against his arm in a comfortable way, as if they had been dating for years.
That was it. That was all I needed to see. From here on in, Josh Hollis was nothing to me. I would date every drop-dead-gorgeous
guy at this school if that was what it took to get over him, and he would just have to watch it happen. From now on, Reed Brennan
was on a mission. Forget the bathroom. I turned on my heel and walked determinedly back upstairs to Jason. Back to my date. Back to
my new life.
PRESIDENTIAL
"You do realize we're not going to New York until next weekend," I said to Sabine on Friday night. Her bed was covered with
clothing, sorted by skirts, tops, pants, sweaters, and miscellaneous accessories, and she was systematically removing everything from
her closet to add to the piles. "I know. I just want to make sure there's nothing else I need," Sabine replied, studying a long-sleeved
azure dress. "If Maman is to send something from home, I have to tell her tomorrow or it won't get here in time." Sabine wanted to
look stylish for our trip to the city. Which I understood. It was the cool capital of the world. But I had enough trouble looking of-the-
moment at Easton. Trying to do the same in New York would probably make my head explode.
She took the last few things out of her closet and closed the door with a bang, which forced the door of my closet to pull back an
inch. My heart caught in my throat. I hadn't been in my closet since yesterday morning, which meant that today I had worn the same
jeans and shoes as I had yesterday. So far, my fashionista friends either had not noticed or had refrained from saying
anything, but that
wouldn't last long. Tomorrow I'd have to venture into my wardrobe again, but for now, I got up and closed the door without so much
as a peek inside. I didn't want to think about those clothes. Didn't want to think about what they meant. Avoidance was key to sanity.
"Everybody decent?" Noelle asked, striding right into our room without waiting for the answer. She dropped down on the edge of my
bed, leaning back on her hands and kicking her legs out, crossing them at the ankle. She was wearing camel-colored suede ankle boots
with little silver buckles across the backs. Here was a girl who hadn't worn the same shoes twice since she'd arrived on campus a
month ago. "So, the good news is, Dash is going to be in the city next week too," Noelle announced.
My heart leapt through my back into my bra strap, then slingshot its way through my body into my ribs. Dash was going to be
there. Dash still existed. I'd been starting to wonder, considering he had yet to respond to my e-mail. I guess talking to his current girl-
friend was more important than explaining himself to the girl he'd totally led on. For some reason, the thought of Noelle and Dash
whispering sweet nothings to each other over the phone as if he and I had never happened made my fists clench.
It wasn't that I wanted Dash. Not anymore. Especially not now that he had sat on my message for so long and hadn't bothered to call
or write back. I had been enthralled by him, sure. I could admit that to myself. But that was all. And all before I realized exactly how
much Josh meant to me. As for the pinch of anger, it was just that once again Noelle had won. She always, always won. "The bad
news is he wants me to have dinner with Charles and Fiona," she said, rolling her eyes. "I would never force him to have a meal with
Wallace and Claire. Mostly because my mother would probably come on to him after three glasses of pinot, but still. Ugh. Now I'm
going to have to be all... polite." "I'm confused. Who are Charles and Fiona?" Sabine asked, neatly folding a cream-colored sweater.
"Dash's parents," Noelle said in a snotty tone, as if Sabine should have known that from birth. "The McCaffertys? " She watched
Sabine with narrowed eyes as Sabine picked up another sweater and refolded it neatly. "What's up, Frenchie? Are you dropping out?
Hopping a Cessna back to island paradise ? "
Sabine blushed at Noelle's obviously hopeful tone. "No. She's deciding what to bring to New York next weekend," I told Noelle,
crossing over to my desk. I picked up my phone to check for messages, but there was nothing. Not from Josh. Not from Dash. "Sabine
is coming with us." Noelle laughed as she pushed herself up from the bed, lifting her heavy hair over her shoulder. "Uh, no." Sabine
shot me an alarmed glance. "Uh, yeah," I replied, matching Noelle's tone. Noelle looked at me, incredulous. "Reed, it's going to be
hard enough to get Cromwell to give us four passes. There's just no way." My blood started to boil in my veins. Why did Noelle al-
ways have to be so bossy? Couldn't she let me make one decision without trying to override it?
"If we can get him to give us four, we can get him to give us five," I said coolly but firmly. "I invited Sabine, and she's coming."