Untouchable

  Finally I heaved a sigh and picked it up.

  "Hey."

  "So it's true. Third time is the charm."

  I smirked.

  "What's up?"

  "I am. For a game of soccer," he said. "The question is, are you?'

  "What?"

  "Look out your window," Josh said.

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  I pushed myself away from Natasha's desk and crossed the room to the window. When I moved the curtain aside, there was Josh, on the path down below, grinning up at me with a soccer ball in the palm of his hand. He was wearing a dark-blue Easton hoodie and sweatpants. I had never seen anything so inviting.

  "So . . . you don't think I'm a psycho?" I asked.

  "No, I don't think you're a psycho," he said. "If anything, I'm the psycho. I think I was a little hyper last night and I ... I didn't mean to be so forward."

  A blush crept over my cheeks.

  "Anyway, let's just forget about it. Can we do that?" he said.

  Ouch. Did that mean he was ashamed of the kiss? That he never wanted it to happen again? Because I, for one, was willing to leave that door open. If we could take it a bit easier, that is.

  "So . . . you want to play soccer," I said.

  "I figure, what better way to get over last night than to let you kick my ass all over the field," Josh said. "Come on, Brennan. Show me what you got."

  His grin, even from a few floors up, was infectious. But even more infectious was the realization that wherever we were headed, everything between us was going to be all right.

  "I'll be right down."

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  ENTANGLED

  Soccer was the perfect elixir. Not just the soccer, actually. The beautiful, clear, day. The view of the campus from the playing field. The cold air in my lungs. The exertion, the sweat, the burning in my legs. And, of course, the trash talking. Trash talking was always therapeutic.

  "Oh! And she steals the ball again!" I shouted at Josh as I kicked the ball away from him, then chased after it. "I thought you were on the soccer team, Hollis. Your footwork is for crap!"

  Josh tripped forward as he raced after me. He was fast, I'd give him that. Somehow he got in front of me and tried to block my path to the goal.

  "I never said I was first string," he said, gasping for breath. "I kind of ride the bench, to be honest. Baseball's more my game."

  "Ah. Well, that explains it. Cardio's not a priority when you're just standing on base all day, huh?" I stopped and put my foot atop the ball. Josh placed his hands on his hips and drew in a few deep breaths.

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  "Why're you stopping? You intimidated?" he asked. Rather, gasped.

  I laughed. "No. Just hoping I don't need the defibrillator."

  "Come on. Let's go," he said, wagging his hands at me weakly. "I'm getting the ball back."

  I raised my eyebrows. "Are you really? Go ahead."

  I crossed my arms over my chest and smirked. Josh looked at me. He looked at the ball. He looked at me again.

  "Are you serious?"

  "Yeah. I dare you to try to take it from me," I told him.

  Josh shrugged and turned away. "Whatever. If you're not even gonna make it hard--"

  Suddenly he whipped around again and kicked out his leg for the ball. My ninjalike reflexes, however, had long since switched on. I simply rolled my foot back, sliding the ball around my legs, where it came to rest at my other side. Josh tried to pull up and switch directions. Instead he tripped himself and slid forward. My eyes widened. His leg swept right toward mine and with a sudden swoop, I was going down, too. So much for those reflexes.

  Suddenly I was lying crooked over Josh's side, face to the ground. We both turned to extricate ourselves, but instead our legs got hopelessly, awkwardly entangled. My heart started to pound.

  "You really do fall a lot, huh?" I said, trying to turn over.

  Josh turned on his side so that he was facing me. His chest was

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  a mere inch from mine. He had a leaf stuck in his curls and a streak of brown and green across his chin.

  "Actually, I did that on purpose," he said.

  Gravity reversed itself as he leaned in to kiss me. Gently. Softly. Reverently. Sweetly. This was a real kiss. It was exciting but also comforting, like sinking into a soft pillow. It was as if we just fit. He touched my face with his fingertips and I rested my cheek on his bicep as I kissed him back. There were no thoughts of guilt or remorse or comparison in my mind. It was just Josh and the cold breeze and the scents of cut grass and fallen leaves. This felt like our real first kiss.

  "Ahem!"

  Josh and I sprang apart. I tried to scramble up but slipped on my heel and fell right back down on my ass. Hard. Standing not twenty yards away were three not-so-happy-looking men. Detective Hauer. Chief Sheridan. Dean Marcus.

  "Perhaps I should have had a stricter schedule for those students whom the school was so kind as to host this weekend," Dean Marcus said. He looked cold. Cold and tired and annoyed and accusatory. Like he blamed us for the fact that he was cold and tired and annoyed.

  "Sorry, sir," Josh said, pushing himself to his feet. He offered me both his hands and yanked me up from the ground. "Heat-of- the-moment thing. Won't happen again."

  "It certainly will not," the dean said, walking toward us. The other two followed. Detective Hauer looked at me as if he was trying

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  not to laugh, and I quickly cleared my throat and looked away. If he thought there was some kind of kinship between us, he was wrong. Especially now that I'd seen him following my friend in the dark for God only knew what reason. Until that was explained, we'd be sharing no amused glances. "I think the two of you should separate yourselves for the rest of the weekend. I'll make sure that both Mrs. Lattimer and Mr. Cross are aware of it," Dean Marcus said.

  "Yes, sir," Josh replied.

  "Yes, sir," I echoed.

  "Mr. Hollis, Chief Sheridan and Detective Hauer would like a word," the dean said.

  "More than a word, actually," the chief amended, sounding stern. "We have quite a bit to talk about."

  Josh lost all color in his face. I stared at him, waiting for him to glance back, to show me that he was as confused as I was. He didn't. His eyes were locked on the chief.

  "Why? Did something happen?" Josh asked. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, Mr. Hollis. Nothing to be alarmed about," Detective Hauer said. "It's just now that your lead fell through we have a few more questions for you. We want to make sure we didn't miss anything."

  "Normal procedure. You understand," the chief stated coolly. "You were the last person to see Thomas Pearson alive, so we're hoping there might be some details you've omitted--"

  "I didn't omit anything," Josh said quickly.

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  All three men stared at him as if he'd just flipped them off. My stomach felt oddly hollow.

  "Or perhaps some details you may have forgotten," Detective Hauer said.

  "Oh. Sure. Right," Josh finally glanced over his shoulder at me, then wiped his palm on his sweats. "I guess I'll. . . see you later."

  "I thought we already discussed that," the dean corrected.

  "I'll see you soon," I told Josh firmly, hoping to convey some kind of solidarity and support in those four meaningless words. Josh was clearly freaked, and I hated that he had to go off with those men alone. It was so unfair that the focus was on him just because he'd been unlucky enough to share a room with Thomas. I wished there was something I could do to help him, protect him. Anything.

  "Yeah. Soon," Josh said with a small smile, and I knew he got my message.

  He kicked the soccer ball back to me as he walked off. The two policemen flanked him, and even though he was quite tall, he looked like a child between them, his head hanging. I glanced at Dean Marcus.

  "I'll escort you back to Billings, Miss Brennan," he said sourly.

  There had been a point in my career at Billings, however brief, when the dean had no idea w
ho I was. What I wouldn't give to reclaim that anonymity.

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  * * *

  Mrs. Lattimer confined me to my room for the rest of the day. She came to get me at lunchtime and walked me over to the cafeteria. Josh was not there. She then walked me back. This was, of course, not necessary--I wasn't about to make a break for Hell Hall and bust in on Josh and the cops--but I kept my mouth shut. Lattimer smiled more during those walks than I had ever seen her smile before. Putting those hawklike qualities to good use made her happy, I suppose.

  Alone in my room, I couldn't sit still. I couldn't stop thinking about Josh. Worrying about him. Wondering what they were asking him. What more could he possibly have to tell them? They had already interviewed him several times. It wasn't Josh's fault they couldn't do their jobs and figure out what had happened to Thomas. It was amazing how I had come to this school to study and better myself and ensure that I would never have to go back to Croton, Pennsylvania, after high school again, and instead I was spending the bulk of my time worrying about guys. Where had I gone wrong?

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  Just to compound my feelings of loneliness and confusion, Taylor still had not e-mailed me back. The more I checked my e-mail, the more disheartened I became. It looked like I was going to have to wait until she returned on Sunday night to talk to her, but I still wasn't quite ready to give up. I wrote another quick plea and sent it into the ether. Maybe she would message me to quit stalking her. At least it would be something.

  Between the Josh situation and the Taylor disappearance, I was driving myself crazy with questions that couldn't possibly be answered, so I decided to force myself to study. Once I cracked open my books and got started. I was absorbed again. I had a lot to catch up on, and with each item I ticked off my list, I felt a distinct sense of accomplishment. What better way to keep my mind off Josh's troubles than to concentrate on thwarting my academic demise? It was definitely better than pacing the floor.

  The sun started to go down early--as it did these days--and I flicked on my desk light. When my cell phone rang, it nearly startled all the major organs right out of me. I was surprised to see Noelle's name on the caller ID.

  "Hello?" I said, pushing away from my desk.

  "Hey, Reed. How's Siberia?"

  "Fine," I said with a smirk. "How's New York?"

  "It's New York," she said. "I spent half the day at Bergdorf's watching my mother try on slacks."

  "How very glamorous," I said.

  "At least I got a new purse out of the deal."

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  Like she needed one. She had about five hundred already, stuffed in every crevice of her room.

  "So how's Thanksgiving at the caf? It's hard to believe anything actually goes on when we're not there."

  I blinked, surprised. Was she really just calling me to chat? About me, of all things? She must have been really bored. Still, I was touched that she'd chosen to call me instead of. . . well, anyone else. I stood up and walked over to my bed, then settled back against the pillows for what might turn into my first-ever pointless phone conversation with a girlfriend. Yet another random way in which becoming a Billings Girl seemed to be paying off.

  Maybe if I kept her on the phone long enough--got her guard down--I could ask her about Taylor. Find out what they had fought about, and whether or not Noelle had actually known Taylor was leaving early.

  "It wasn't bad, actually, but today kind of sucked," I told her.

  "Why? What happened?"

  "The police dragged Josh off for more questioning," I replied. "They made it sound like they were back to square one with the investigation."

  "And they think Josh knows something?" Noelle asked, sounding suddenly very alert.

  "I don't know, maybe. They think he might have forgotten to tell them something that might help," I said, my heart turning over. "Actually, they sort of implied that they thought he might have purposely not told them something."

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  Silence. I expected a scoff or a laugh or some kind of reaction. All I got was silence.

  "Noelle?"

  "So what happened?" she asked.

  "I have no idea. I haven't seen him all day," I replied. "God, what if they've had him holed up all day questioning him?"

  "You seem more than a little concerned," Noelle said, suddenly sly.

  I blushed and was happy she wasn't in the room to see it. Part of me would have loved to dish with a girlfriend about my new crush. But I already knew from my experience with Constance that this whole thing might not go over well. I didn't want to risk any negative feedback. Not when I still shivered every time I thought of our kiss.

  "There's really nothing else to think about around here," I told her flatly. "I just hope he's okay."

  "Don't worry. He'll be fine," Noelle said.

  "Yeah, but--"

  "Believe me. If anyone can handle an inquiry, it's Josh Hollis," Noelle said.

  I froze. "What does that mean?"

  Another beat of silence.

  "Nothing. It's just Josh. You know Josh. He's the most mature person at Easton," Noelle said quickly. "He's more mature than most of the professors."

  She wanted me to laugh, I could tell, but I couldn't. I couldn't shake the feeling she had meant something by her comment.

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  "Noelle--"

  "Hang on." She covered the phone with her hand and I heard her shouting something, but it was muffled. Then, a moment later, she was back. "I've gotta go, Reed. We're late for drinks before the opera. It's kind of a family tradition. But I'll see you on Sunday."

  "Wait a second."

  "Don't read so much into every little thing, Reed. I was just talking," Noelle said in that patronizing tone that always made me feel like I was five. "You'll see Josh at dinner and everything will be fine."

  I sighed. She was rushing and I knew I wasn't going to get anything else out of her. "I hope so."

  "I have to go," Noelle said. "Later."

  Then the line went dead.

  My books sat on my desk, ready and waiting, but suddenly the very idea of getting up from my bed exhausted me. I hunkered down and decided to wait there until Lattimer sprang me for my next meal. Wait there and obsess.

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  * * *

  Noelle was right about one thing: I did see Josh at dinner. He walked in half an hour later than everyone else, with Mr. Cross, and he looked like roadkill. His skin was waxy, his face was drawn, and his curls were in desperate need of a hot-oil treatment.

  Yes, that was the first thing I thought when I saw him. Apparently, pilfering things from Kiran's room was causing her worldview to rub off on me.

  But in the next second, I felt an overwhelming, almost suffocating anger. That this was happening. That they were keeping us away from each other. That Josh was being put through hell. That nothing could just be normal.

  I sat up straight and Josh glanced at me from the corner of his eye. In that one look, there was more anger and fear than I could even comprehend. He said a few words to Cross, they argued, and then Cross finally sighed and pressed his lips together in a disapproving manner. Then he nodded. Josh walked away from him so fast it was like he'd been pushed.

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  "Hey," I said, standing up as he approached.

  I felt extremely conspicuous. My face was red. I could feel it trying to burn itself free. All I wanted to do was hug him, but every pair of eyes in the room was on us. Like we were suddenly the black sheep of the student body.

  "Hey."

  Dean Marcus glared at us as Mr. Cross came over and leaned toward his ear. My heart pounded with anger and trepidation. I focused on the anger and stared back at the dean.

  Just try me.

  He looked away.

  Josh slumped into the chair across from mine and put his head in his hands. I deflated from my own exertion and sat down.

  "Are you all right?" I whispered.

  "No. Not really," Josh said. He dropped his arm down on the tabl
e and his watch smacked against the surface, making me jump. Up close, his eyes looked bloodshot and his pupils were huge. "They've been on my ass all day. They just keep making me go over that night over and over and over again, like they're waiting for me to crack or something."

  "They don't think you had anything to do with it, do they?" I asked.

  My heart was beating behind my eyes. They couldn't think that. It wasn't possible. Josh was the nicest, kindest, most decent person in this pit of egotistical, overprivileged psychosis they called Easton. If Hauer and Sheridan thought he had anything to do with

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  Thomas's death, they should seriously consider a change in profession, to something that required no intuition or insight into the human mind.

  "No. I don't think so. I don't know." Josh pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. I'd never seen him like this. "It's like they think that since I didn't tell them Thomas was dealing, there must be something else I didn't tell them. They just keep pressing and pressing and pressing." He said the last word through his teeth, gnashing them together so hard I thought they would shatter. He put his hands down again and I reached for one, holding his fingers in mine.

  "That doesn't make any sense. Everyone in the student body knew Thomas was dealing and no one told on him," I said. Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but it was close to true. And I tend to exaggerate when I'm seething. "They should suspect every last one of us of lying now."

  Josh blew out a sigh. "True. But they don't. They just suspect me."

  I wanted to do something, but I had no idea what. I wanted to say something, but I had no clue what would help. I felt like I was being torn apart.

  This was the definition of unfair. Josh was a good person. He was a good person who cared about his friends and tried to do the right thing, and here he was, upset and tortured and scared. And why? Because he had tried to protect the wrong friend. He had tried to protect a lying, scheming drug dealer.

  "They have to stop," I heard myself say. "Sooner or later, they

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  have to realize you don't know anything and they have to stop."

  Josh crossed his arms on the table and lowered his chin to rest on them. With his fingertips, he grasped at the ends of his sweatshirt sleeves, pulling them up toward his palms and gathering himself in, like a little kid hiding from the cold. He looked so small. So scared. We stared at one another for a long moment, and I felt like I could hear our hearts pounding out a frantic rhythm together--an angry, confused, frantic rhythm.