Extraordinary

  “No. There are plenty of good schools here in Boston,” said Phoebe. “Why go far?”

  “It’s up to you, of course.” Drew smiled at his daughter and at Mallory before he left.

  Mallory looked up from her laptop, her fingers stilled. “So. Suddenly you want to stay in Boston for college?”

  “It’s just an idea.” Phoebe had made the comment about Boston without really thinking, but now she realized that it was because of Ryland. If he stayed in Boston, she’d want to also.

  “But you used to talk about wanting to go to England,” Mallory said. Her voice made Phoebe squirm; it was accusing and hard. “Last fall, you spent hours and hours looking at Oxford’s website. You were talking about how great it would be to be near your cousins, and that you’d be able to go to London and stuff like that. You were trying to talk me into coming too.”

  “Oh. Well,” said Phoebe weakly. “That was just talk. It doesn’t matter where I go.”

  Mallory snapped her laptop shut and put it aside. “Really? Why doesn’t it? What’s changed?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just going to be an English major. Everybody has good programs in English literature.”

  “That is just so not what you were saying before.”

  “I guess I changed my mind. Can we not talk about it now?”

  Silence fell in the room; heavy, loaded silence. Phoebe thought again about excusing herself.

  “Phoebe?” Mallory’s voice was quieter now, less accusing. But something about it made the flesh on Phoebe’s arms crawl.

  “What?”

  “It’s about my brother.”

  Phoebe’s whole body went on alert. Ryland had told her not to talk to his sister about him—about them. If she did, he would be angry. She didn’t know why that was so very bad, but it was. It was.

  Phoebe leaped to her feet and headed for the bedroom door.

  But almost as if she’d teleported there, Mallory was suddenly in front of Phoebe, slamming the door shut in Phoebe’s face, and then backing up against the door to block it.

  “I have to go,” Phoebe said. Her pulse drummed in her throat. “Excuse me.”

  “You’re not going anywhere until I’ve said what I have to say.”

  Mallory’s face looked like it was carved from ice, and Phoebe knew then, not exactly what was coming, but that it would be terrible. Maybe even worse than Ryland’s anger.

  But she also thought that she deserved it. She straightened her shoulders and met Mallory’s eyes. “All right,” she said evenly. “Go ahead.”

  There was one strange moment in which Mallory said Phoebe’s name. Her name only, and as she said it, a wistful note in her voice seemed at odds with the rage that radiated from her. But in the next second Mallory grabbed Phoebe by both shoulders, and there could be no doubt of her complete wrath. “I know about you and my brother,” Mallory said. “You lying little sneak.”

  Phoebe swallowed. But it was true; she had lied and she had sneaked. “I’m sorry. I—when did you—I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, Mallory, but—but Ryland said—and of course he’s right—it’s private. I thought later—I—he—we would tell you later—”

  “You’re just up to your old tricks, aren’t you, Phoebe?”

  “I—what?”

  “You don’t know yourself at all, do you, Phoebe?” Now Mallory sounded almost casual. She released Phoebe’s shoulders, but stayed close. “You dumped Colette for me. Now you’re dumping me for my brother. You don’t care who you hurt, just so long as you get what you want when you want it. You’re like a bratty toddler. And if you can’t get what you want in a straightforward way, then you try to buy it.”

  Phoebe gasped.

  Mallory continued, “You’ve been treating me like a piece of trash for over two weeks, and now I know why.”

  Phoebe managed to say, “No—I mean, Mallory, I never meant—”

  “Don’t even try to deny it. You’ve been lying to me and avoiding me. And you talk to me in that fake nicey-nice voice, like I’m someone you hardly know. I had to invite myself over tonight. You didn’t ask me.”

  Everything that Mallory had just said was also true. Sort of. Phoebe tried to think of how she could explain. “You’ve got things all twisted—”

  “Twisted? Me? Funny. I’d say you’re the one who’s all twisted.” Mallory’s eyes glittered as she leaned closer. “And you don’t even have the brains to see it for yourself. You have this totally delusional la-la-la picture of who you are. Sweet little Phoebe, helping others! Yeah, right. Twisted is the word for it. It’s really so you can show off. Feed your own little ego.”

  “Mallory—”

  “And your ego desperately needs feeding. You want to know why? It’s because deep down, you’re nothing. And you know it too. All those talks we had about your fantastic mother and your extraordinary family? The ones where I tried to reassure you? But you weren’t really reassured, were you, because you already know the truth. You’ve said it yourself sometimes. You don’t belong in your family. You’re actually so dull, it’s unbelievable. If you weren’t your mother’s daughter, she’d be so completely bored talking to you, she wouldn’t even be able to remember your name. You’ve never had an original thought in your life.”

  It was like being stabbed, Phoebe thought. Mallory’s face so close to hers, her low, mean voice going on and on—stabbed and stabbed and stabbed—

  And she couldn’t even move, as Mallory went on—

  “When I met you, you’d sold your very soul just to belong to Colette’s little group. Don’t deny it. Then you sold it again to be my friend. You begged me, remember? And now you’re doing the very same thing with my brother. Just now, Phoebe?” She mimicked viciously. “Oh, I’m going to be a little English major! I can study anywhere. Right? You’re all set to throw out your own ideas about college because you wonder where your boyfriend might be. It’s true, isn’t it? That’s exactly what was going through your mind, five minutes ago. Isn’t it?”

  Finally Mallory stopped. Finally. But she was still in Phoebe’s face and her question rang in the air, and Phoebe knew the answer.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  She closed her eyes, briefly, against the scorn and disgust that flooded Mallory’s face. When she opened them, Mallory had cocked her head to the side and appeared to be waiting for Phoebe to say more. But Phoebe had nothing else she could say, and it wasn’t only because her mind was empty with shock and hurt and defeat and shame.

  “I’m going to go get your inhaler,” said Mallory crisply. “You’ll be fine after a couple of quick puffs. And by the way, Phoebe? Your asthma is just another one of your selfish, stupid manipulative techniques.” She opened the door and within a few seconds was back again from Phoebe’s room across the hallway, with Phoebe’s inhaler.

  Hand shaking, Phoebe snatched it. She felt Mallory watching her while she worked the mechanism.

  After a few minutes she looked up. She still couldn’t believe that she had heard what she had heard. “Mallory,” she began. “You can’t have meant it—”

  Mallory interrupted. “Yes, I did. I meant every word. You are nobody. You’re an empty name, Phoebe Rothschild. Go and be with my brother if you want. It won’t help you. Nobody can help you.”

  Phoebe lingered for one more moment, looking at her ex-best friend, unable to believe what had just happened. Thinking that surely, surely, Mallory would take it back.

  Though even if she did, Phoebe knew she’d still never forget a word Mallory had said.

  You’re a bratty toddler.

  Never had an original thought in your life.

  Sold your soul to belong to a group, and then to be my friend, and now for a boyfriend.

  Selfish.

  Stupid.

  Manipulative.

  An empty name.

  Mallory held the door. She said pointedly, “Good night, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe stumbled from the room.

  CONVERSATION WITH T
HE FAERIE QUEEN, 9

  “So, the great friendship is over.”

  “My sister was masterly. I thought the girl would never stop crying when she came to me. She said that she now believes that all these years, my sister secretly thought she was an empty little rich girl with no special personal qualities and that she only pretended to value her. Given the high esteem in which the girl previously held my sister’s opinion, she can’t help wondering if it could be true that she is nothing. It reinforces her worst fears and will continue to eat away at her.”

  “It sounds as if the girl will be ready for us very soon.”

  “Soon, but not immediately. My sister was right that the girl is stronger than she looks. More work must be done to destroy her fully.”

  “You sound so hard, Ryland.”

  “Is it not best?”

  “Yes. Of course. It is only that I have had too much time to think these days. Empty time breeds useless regret for what cannot be helped. But let that go. Ryland? It is now time for your sister to return to court.”

  “If you can manage without her, I ask that this not occur yet. My sister is still useful in taking care of the woman and I have not the energy for that myself. I need all that I have to manage the girl and complete what my sister has begun.”

  chapter 18

  Ryland had rented an apartment, a little studio in a brick building about five miles away from Phoebe’s school. A week after the horrible scene with Mallory, Phoebe went to meet him there.

  It was after school on the last day before spring break. Phoebe had been feeling so sad and depressed about Mallory. Mallory’s bedroom across the hall from hers, with Mallory’s stuff still in there, was a constant reminder. Phoebe had taken to keeping its door shut.

  The end of their friendship was now a second secret to be kept from her parents. She knew at some point it would have to be confessed, but it was too enormous and painful to tell them right away. She would also have to come up with a lie about what exactly had happened, because she couldn’t imagine telling her parents what Mallory had said to her. Even if she omitted the information about Ryland, she hated the thought of repeating to her parents what Mallory had said about her.

  She had run to Ryland, though. That very night, she had called him and told him what had happened, and they had met the next day at Natalie’s. She’d cried buckets, sitting across the table from him, and he had been amazing. She needn’t have worried that he would take Mallory’s side. He had said too that Mallory had always had a hard, mean streak, even when she was little, and that the only surprising thing was that Phoebe hadn’t seen it before. “She has a very jealous personality,” Ryland said. “It’s one of the reasons I thought we shouldn’t tell her about us. You’ll be lucky now if she doesn’t make a scene about it at school. You’d never be able to cope with something like that.”

  Phoebe hadn’t even thought of that possibility. Ryland was just so smart and considerate and insightful. She was so lucky to have him.

  She hoped he would eventually tell Mallory he loved Phoebe, though. Then Mallory would realize that a relationship took two people; that Phoebe actually hadn’t chased Ryland the way she—for the first time she was ashamed of it—the way she had chased Mallory. Or had she chased Ryland in the exact same way? She wondered. She’d called him and invited him to meet her that first time. She had thought she was being honest and up-front. Also, it had really been to talk with Ryland about the garden—the weird, imaginary garden—

  She winced away from examining the sequence of events too closely. She pushed the emotions, the doubts, and the confusion down and away and out of sight.

  Bottom line: She hoped Ryland would tell Mallory that he found Phoebe to be smart and lovely and incredibly special. She hoped it would hurt Mallory to her core to discover that her brother and her friend had truly fallen in love. She hoped it would make Mallory feel even half as isolated and betrayed as Phoebe felt now. Even if Mallory did make a big scene at school—which was something Phoebe actually couldn’t imagine her doing, but Ryland said he knew his sister better than she did—it would be worth it to Phoebe, if she was really loved.

  Phoebe found Ryland’s new apartment building in West Newton easily, but then had the thought that she needed to buy him a house-warming gift. The only shop nearby was a supermarket, though, and ten minutes later, she was still wandering its aisles. They had a flower shop, but the flowers all looked a little sad and wilted and picked-over. A cake? Too birthday. She thought longingly of the extravagant, perfect presents she could have gotten if she’d had the brains to think of this earlier—and then she remembered one of Mallory’s comments about Phoebe trying to “buy” what she wanted. Finally she grabbed some chocolate-dipped cookies. In the end, by the time Phoebe actually rang Ryland’s bell, she was three-quarters of an hour late.

  He buzzed her in immediately and she felt her heart start pounding. Three flights of stairs and then she stood, finally, before Ryland’s door.

  This was the first time they would really be alone together, safely private. Suddenly, Phoebe realized that she was nervous. This was why she’d gone to the grocery store and wasted so much time there.

  Oh.

  She knocked once, tentatively. Twice. Then a third time. He was there—he had buzzed her in. Was he angry that she was late? Phoebe felt strange and illicit, standing in the hallway of an apartment building, more dressed up than she usually was, knocking on the door of a place she’d never been before, nobody knowing where she was or what she was about to do. It was exciting. But . . .

  But she could also just leave. Part of her wanted to.

  No! She straightened her shoulders and stayed where she was. She lifted her hand to knock again.

  The door swung open and there he was. Ryland.

  He seemed even taller than Phoebe remembered, and more handsome. He didn’t say anything, merely nodded and stood back so that Phoebe could enter. His face was unreadable—not welcoming, not anything, almost empty—and, seeing it, Phoebe understood that she had expected an expression of happiness at seeing her. A kiss. An embrace. Something that would enfold her and reassure her and drown the anxiety inside her.

  “Hi. I’m late. Sorry.” She held out the cookies. “I realized I should bring something. So. Um. I got this.”

  “Thank you,” Ryland said. At least he was looking at her. He took the cookies, but didn’t so much as brush her hand in the process. He closed the door, but still made no move toward Phoebe. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, and Ryland looked down at her shoes and said, as if he were a stranger, “Those look painful.”

  She had hoped he would think the deep blue three-inch heels were sexy, with their lacy ties that wrapped in a crisscross pattern around her ankles. At school today, Colette Williams-White, queen of high-fashion shoes, had even paused to gush at Phoebe about them, seemingly quite sincere.

  “I like these shoes,” Phoebe said. Her voice quavered.

  “You don’t really have the legs for them. Take them off.” Ryland turned his back on Phoebe, but threw over his shoulder, “Come in the kitchen. We can have tea.”

  Phoebe was still wincing inside over the legs comment as she bent clumsily to undo the tiny, tricky laces of her shoes. Tea? That didn’t sound very romantic.

  What was going on? Had Mallory said something directly to Ryland about Phoebe, something ugly and bad? Did he no longer want her? With her shoes finally off, she straightened and looked around, trying to take her mind off the feeling of being pushed coolly away.

  The apartment was a single room, with a kitchen area at one end that was separated from the rest of the space by a counter with high wooden stools. A desk sat in the middle of the floor, with a laptop computer open on it and an office chair behind it. The rest of the furniture was sparse; a couple of straight chairs, a bookcase, a futon sofa, a rag rug in shades of green and yellow and white, a lamp.

  It wasn’t exactly a love nest, not with the desk dominating the space. Co
vertly, Phoebe smoothed her hair. Then she put her shoes by the door, along with her backpack, and padded in her stocking feet on the wooden floor to the kitchen counter. She’d reached it just as the kettle began to steam.

  “Is Earl Grey tea all right with you?” Ryland still had his back to her, and seemed quite busy with the tea bags. “And you don’t actually need the cookies, do you? They’re high calorie.”

  “Okay,” said Phoebe feebly. “I mean, that’s fine. I mean, yes. All right.”

  “How was school today?”

  Phoebe clambered up onto one of the stools. “Fine. I guess.” Her legs dangled; there was no crossbar on the stool on which she could hook her feet. It was true what he had said; she didn’t have long, elegant legs. And she did need to lose weight. And—

  “How was your day?” she said. Then, rebelliously, she replied for him: “Fine.” It came out in the most sarcastic tone that had ever emerged from her throat when talking to him. She was shocked at herself. And then defiant.

  At least it made him turn and look at her. Then, and at last, he smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes.

  Phoebe’s last defense, the sarcasm, drained out of her completely. “What’s wrong?” she blurted.

  Ryland put a cup of tea down in front of her, and then moved to bring the second stool around to the other side of the counter. “Don’t be stupid, Phoebe,” he said gently as he sat down across from her. “What do you think is wrong?”

  “I don’t know! You’re acting like you don’t even know me. And also—” She made a motion with her hand toward the rest of the apartment. “This doesn’t look like you’re planning to live here.”

  “I’ll be here sometimes,” Ryland said. “But as far as my mother and sister know, it’s just my office. Think for a minute, Phoebe. It wouldn’t be fair to Mallory if I moved out. She’s very comforted by knowing I’m living with our mother too, and that she’s not alone. You don’t have an issue with that, I’m sure. After all, you and I talked about it.”