“Lana is an awesome dancer, too,” Chace adds.
Mrs. Porter lights up.
“Are you in Oyster Bay’s dance program? Ballet or modern?”
I laugh awkwardly.
“No, Chace was just flattering me. I like to dance for fun, that’s all.”
“Oh, isn’t that nice.”
I sense a tinge of disappointment, and my newfound insecurity flares up. What if she wanted someone more accomplished for her son? My own mother’s words echo in my ears: “In the upper echelons of DC society, it’s not enough to simply be beautiful and popular. You’ve got to have something more, Lana.”
Right. So…what is my “something more”?
Our first courses arrive and soon we’re busy digging in, with the Porters making conversation about their holiday plans, Chace’s soccer career, and how his younger brother, Teddy, is doing at his new middle school. I chime in wherever I can, doing all the little things that usually make me the life of the party—displaying my signature wit, smiling like a girl with the world at her feet, pretending I’m having more fun than anyone else. And then a moment arrives where I spot an opportunity to score some points.
“Seriously, though,” I say, while we’re on the subject of Chace’s recent winning game. “As if it’s not impressive enough that he’s a total star on the field, he also happens to be the nicest, humblest guy I’ve ever met. Let me guess—he’s probably never given you a day of trouble in your lives, am I right?”
It’s meant to be a butter-’em-up compliment, of course. The Porters should smile magnanimously, tell me how great it is to see their son with a girl “who clearly gets it.”
But instead, Mrs. Porter drops her fork with a clatter, and the three of them exchange a look.
“We got lucky, I suppose,” Congressman Porter finally says, smiling like the politician he is. But I know politicians, and I can tell he’s hiding something. What could it be? I turn to Chace, but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are focused on the table.
After the moment of awkwardness, Congressman Porter starts in on a series of questions about our teachers and classes, and soon the dinner returns to normal. But in the back of my mind, I can’t stop wondering…what was it about my remark that triggered such a weird reaction?
Chace’s roommate, Ryan, is out on a date of his own, so we find their dorm blissfully empty when we get back from dinner. I’m crossing my fingers for Ryan to score tonight, more for our sakes than for his. After two months of dating, Chace and I are still at a very PG-level of hookups, thanks to the utter lack of privacy here at Oyster Bay. I’m dying to sleep in the same bed, to curl my body into his, to run my lips over every curve.
“Lana?”
Chace repeats my name, looking at me questioningly, and my cheeks heat up. I wonder if he can guess where my mind ran off to.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I was just asking if my parents were what you expected. If they’re like yours.” He sits on the bed and pulls me onto his lap.
“Well…” It’s hard for me to focus with his hands around my waist. “I guess so. Your dad and my mom have the same sort of steeliness about them. Your mom was really sweet.” I pause. “Why did everyone act funny when I said you must have given them no trouble? I was only talking up my man.” I give him a teasing look.
Chace tightens his grip around me.
“Eh, I wasn’t always the best kid.”
I look at him dubiously.
“Well, I can’t imagine you ever being a bad boy. I mean, you actually like Nicole’s classical music. That has to make you a bit square, sorry to say.” I laugh, but Chace doesn’t seem to get the joke.
“Some people are bad by accident,” he says simply. “Or they’re forced into it.”
“Okay, well, now you’ve got me intrigued.” I give him a light poke in the ribs. “Spill.”
A shadow crosses his face, and then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. His expression lightens, and he pulls me down onto the bed with him.
“It was just your run-of-the-mill immature drama, nothing even worth talking about.” His hands move up my back. “I’m much more interested in you right now.”
My thoughts disappear as our lips meet. Everything drops away; nothing matters but the boy in my arms. Who would have thought it was possible to feel this way?
“I like you a lot, Chace Porter,” I whisper between kisses.
He smiles back at me, his gaze genuine.
“I like you for real, Lana Rivera.”
I make it back to my dorm at close to two in the morning, after Ryan’s return forced me and Chace to say a reluctant good night. I tiptoe across the corridor to the girls’ side, mentally rehearsing my excuse in case the dorm warden catches me (“I lost my favorite bracelet and was just retracing my steps!”), but luckily I make it to our room unseen. I’m expecting to find it dark and silent, but Nicole is awake, sitting up in bed staring at a piece of paper. She perks up when she sees me.
“Hi! How did it go? You’re home late, so that must be a good sign.”
I drop my purse and jump onto my bed with a happy sigh.
“It was magical. I mean, being alone with Chace after dinner was. His parents were…okay.”
“Just okay?” Nicole asks.
I shrug.
“A little weird and cagey. I couldn’t tell if they liked me, to be honest.”
“Well, it’s impossible that they didn’t,” Nicole says confidently, and I feel a rush of affection for my unlikely new friend.
“What’s that?” I nod at the paper in her hand.
“Oh.” Nicole’s face floods with emotion. “It’s from the New York Philharmonic. They chose me as violinist for their Contemporary Orchestra Youth Showcase this spring.” She shakes her head in amazement. “They chose me.”
“Oh my God!” I lean across the bed to give her a hug. “Congratulations. You so deserve it.”
For the briefest second I wonder what it might be like to be her, to be the very best at something and have your future all mapped out. But then, of course, I wouldn’t get to be me. And I wouldn’t be the girl Chace likes.
“We should celebrate,” I tell Nicole. “Before we leave for winter break tomorrow, let’s go to that dessert-only place. You, me, and Chace.”
Nicole’s cheeks redden.
“Oh, you guys probably don’t want me tagging along on your date.”
“No, you dork, we’re going to be celebrating you!”
“Well, if you’re sure. That’s nice of you.” She smiles, but I notice a cloud behind her eyes.
“What is it? Why aren’t you freaking out with excitement right now?” I ask.
She smiles sheepishly.
“I am freaking out, I just…” She sighs. “Brianne and I practiced so hard for the audition together. I guess I always pictured it happening for the two of us.”
“Ah. So she didn’t get in.”
Nicole nods, biting her lip.
“She left me a voice mail in tears. Apparently her cello spot went to some guy from LaGuardia. I haven’t called her back….I don’t know how to tell her I got in.”
“You just have to rip off the Band-Aid and do it,” I advise her. “It’s like when the guy Kara was into asked me out last year. It sucked having to tell her, but she got over it.”
“Yeah, it’s just that Brianne is really intense about things. Everyone in the Virtuoso Program kind of is,” Nicole says. “And she’s having such a rough year so far, what with the breakup with JJ and all.”
“Okay, Nicole. You know I love you, but enough about Brianne.” I flop dramatically on the bed, and she laughs. “We have way more exciting things to talk about.”
“You’re right,” she says. “I’m just being overly sensitive about it. Tell me more about your date.”
I smile into my pillow and begin recapping the entire electrifying night.
It’s all your fault.
I can’t sleep, my mind ticking a mil
lion miles a minute as I stare at the text message from Lana. She sent it hours ago, right after Officer Ladge and Detective Kimble left my room carting a bag full of my personal belongings with them. My iPhone confirms what I already know—that this is the first real contact I’ve had from Lana in five months. I thought she deleted my number, erased every trace of me from her life. I guess I was wrong.
The message just above this one, all the way back to May 26, bears three telling words. Go. To. Hell. But the previous texts from Lana Rivera might have been written by a different person altogether.
Hey girl, everyone’s coming to our room for The Bachelor tonight, XOXO!
This is a text from May 10, while the messages farther up in the chat window are sprinkled with emojis, inside jokes, and plans to meet here or go there. Scrolling through the texts is like picking at a bloody scab, feeling the pain all over again of a friendship lost. It seems impossible that these two girls no longer speak, that “XOXO” so quickly devolved into “Go to hell.” But maybe she is right—that it is all my fault.
I type, delete, and re-type my reply, unable to find the right words. Finally I settle on the most banal possible response.
What do you mean?
So far she hasn’t replied, but I already know her answer. “If you hadn’t gotten involved with Chace, he would still be alive.” I can’t tell if the voice in my head whispering these words belongs to Lana or me. But either way, somehow I know it’s the truth.
I throw the covers off me and swing my legs over the bed. There’s no hope of sleep tonight. My room, once the only place where I felt safe at Oyster Bay, is contaminated now, infected by Officer Ladge and Detective Kimble’s presence. It doesn’t even feel like mine anymore, not with the journals missing from my desk and photos stripped off my wall.
I glance at my bedside alarm clock, which reads 2:30 a.m. If there’s ever going to be a safe time for me to escape my room and breathe the outdoor air without getting harassed, it’s now.
After changing out of my pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, I grab a flashlight from under the bed and slip into a pair of flats. I’m not sure where I’m going—only that I need to get out of here.
—
Sneaking out in the middle of the night is a run-of-the-mill thrill for most Oyster Bay girls, something that lost its fear factor once they realized they could actually get away with it. But tonight is my first time breaking the rules, and my heart is hammering so loudly in my chest, I’m half convinced it’ll give me away. I can just see the triumphant expressions on Detective Kimble and Officer Ladge’s faces if they catch me running through the grounds, searching for a hideaway. “Now do you have anything you’d like to tell us?” I imagine Kimble saying smugly, with that suspicious look in her eyes. The thought is nearly enough to send me tiptoeing back up to my room but I press forward instead, following the marble staircase down to the lobby of the Dorm Wing. But on the second landing, I hear a low, frenzied din of voices coming from the Dining Hall—and my stomach jolts. I’m not the only one awake.
I wager a quick debate in my mind. Do I dare stay and find out what sort of clandestine meeting is taking place in the middle of the night? Or should I make a beeline back to my room before I get caught? The latter is clearly the wiser choice—but then I hear a cool female voice say, “My concern is for Lana, of course.” And I find myself inching forward, switching off the flashlight so I can blend into the dark, feeling my way along the walls until I reach the closed door to the dining hall.
A man inside mumbles something too quiet for me to hear, even as I press my ear against the door. And then a familiar voice cuts through the others. It’s Headmaster Higgins.
“What do you expect me to do?” she asks.
“Make a statement saying what a devoted girlfriend Lana Rivera was, and what a model student and citizen she still is,” comes a voice that I now recognize as belonging to Lana’s mother. “Tell the press that she is in no way a suspect.”
My heart leaps into my throat. Lana…a suspect?
“That’s the police’s call to make, not mine,” I hear the headmaster say stiffly. “I don’t doubt that Miss Rivera had nothing to do with it, but I’m not convinced of your theories surrounding Miss Morgan, either. And clearly the police are just as skeptical, or they would have brought her into custody.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” Mrs. Rivera says smoothly. “I understand she’s under investigation.”
The sound of my name, mixed in with all the ugliness spoken behind these closed doors, is like a punch to the gut. I cover my mouth with my palm, biting back a cry. She’s setting me up, then. Lana and her mother are trying to make me look like the culprit—but for what? Revenge for loving Chace? Still, it makes no sense that Chace’s parents would entertain any of this, much less in a shady, under-the-table meeting.
As if hearing my thoughts, another woman speaks up. This must be Chace’s mother.
“It’s not right,” she says, her voice shaking with rage. “My son died, and not even forty-eight hours later the two of you are making this about politics and appearances? It’s repulsive.”
A chair pushes back with an angry screech, and I plant myself against the wall, terrified that she’s about to storm out and discover me eavesdropping. But then the man speaks.
“I hate this just as much as you do, but we have no choice. We have to protect ourselves. We have to protect Teddy.” After a pause, he says, “Please, sweetheart.”
Protect themselves? From what? Haven’t they already lost what matters most?
My head is spinning, and it seems the narrow hallway is growing ever tighter, making it a challenge to breathe. The dark engulfs me like quicksand and I feel myself sinking into it, falling into the words and plans of the adults plotting in the next room. Until I’m shaken out of my trance by the sound of whistling coming from the other end of the hall.
It’s our song, once again. Only this time, I can’t let the sound of him slip away. I follow its echo blindly, all thoughts of Chace’s parents and Lana’s cold mother slipping from my mind.
“However long I stay, I will always love you.”
I whisper the lyrics like an incantation as I chase the sound that seems to be one step ahead of me. I wind my way through corridors and run down the stairs, following the whistling until I’m throwing open the doors of the dorm wing and standing outside in the quad, shivering underneath the night sky.
At first, all I see is the ordinary Oyster Bay landscape of Gothic campus buildings and vast lawns, darkened by night’s paintbrush. But then the whistling starts up again—and a figure floats past me, his feet skimming just above the ground.
“Chace!” I try to scream. But no sound comes out. In my shock, I’m only capable of mouthing his name.
I whip around wildly, my eyes searching for him—or whatever it was I saw. And then I glimpse a luminescent shadow standing on the front steps of Joyce Hall. I watch, my whole body prickling in astonishment, as the shadow fills with color, forming the image of the boy I loved. The boy I love.
It takes my body a few moments to recover and remember how to move. But when it does, I run faster than I ever have before, sprinting toward him even as my hateful mind taunts me, telling me I’m imagining things, that of course this can’t be real.
“Chace.”
This time, I manage to speak. I’m standing before him now, separated by only two steps, waiting for him to turn around. And then he does, and I sink to my knees.
I must be dreaming, but I don’t care. All I know is that I’m looking up into those blue-gray eyes, which are alight with emotion as they gaze down at me. His mouth opens to speak, and I reach out my hand to touch his cheek. He immediately shakes his head, sadness darkening his features. I draw my hand back, somehow understanding that I can’t touch him anymore.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he says. His voice sounds different, muffled, as though he’s already far away. “I should go, but I can’t—I can??
?t leave you. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”
“Come back,” I plead, my throat thick with tears. “Please. Don’t leave me again.”
“Even letting you see me is breaking the rules,” he whispers. “But I had to.”
“I don’t understand any of this.” My voice breaks and I move closer, until there’s only a sliver of charged space between us. “What happened to you, Chace? How did this happen?”
He looks away, turning his face up to the moon.
“Do you remember how we—we fell in love?”
“Of course I do. I remember every detail.”
“The answer is in those days.” He turns back to meet my gaze, jarring me with his determined expression. “I’m trying to remember the last moments before everything went black, but that’s all that keeps coming to me. You and me. Last spring. The answer is there.”
My insides turn cold.
“What? Do you mean it’s my fault that you’re…?”
“No, I mean something happened when we were together that we need to remember.” He closes his eyes, as if in pain. “It’s just so hard for me to remember things now.”
I ache to wrap my arms around him, but I’m afraid to. Afraid my hands will brush against emptiness instead of flesh and bone, proving that this is nothing more than a vision.
“Was it—was it Lana?” I ask. It seems crazy, but her mother’s words are still ringing in my ears. If she was worried about her own daughter, then maybe there’s something to it.
“I don’t think so,” Chace says. “Lana might be responsible for a lot, but she’s not a killer.”
I release the breath I’ve been holding. I didn’t want to believe it, either. But then…who?
Suddenly, Chace’s skin takes on an otherworldly glow. He stares at his palms, panicked.