Untouchable

  "You didn't know," Josh said, quietly.

  I looked at him. He was staring right at me. Somehow, I felt calmer, and I willed him not to look away. If he looked away, I would sink.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Hollis?" the chief snapped.

  "I said she didn't know," Josh said a bit louder. "There was no

  44

  way she could have known that Thomas was going to get hurt. As far as she knew, that was just a breakup note. How was she supposed to know?"

  He glared at the chief. Glared at this man who could potentially end our lives as we knew them. Was he brave or just incredibly stupid? The moment he broke eye contact with me, tears slid silently down my cheeks.

  Control yourself Reed. You can do at least that. Don't let these people see you crumble. I wiped at my face, but the tears still came.

  "Calm down, Mr. Hollis," Chief Sheridan said.

  "I just don't see what you're accomplishing by making a girl cry. Sir," Josh said.

  "Josh. It's okay," I croaked.

  He was going to get us expelled if he kept it up. Or arrested. Or both.

  Chief Sheridan held Josh's gaze for a long moment, then turned his back to us and whispered to the dean. I strained to hear, but all I could pick up were a few stray words.

  "... punishment..."

  ". . . naive . . ."

  ". . . useful. . ."

  Finally, the chief turned to us again. "You may go to class," he said, exhaling through his nose. The dean, meanwhile, turned his chair to the side, away from us. He looked like a deflated blowup toy version of himself.

  Neither Josh nor I moved. It couldn't be that simple.

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  "I appreciate that you tried to do the right thing by coming in here today," the chief said. "It was a little late, but nevertheless, I see no point in charging you with anything. As minors you would get a slap on the wrist, and from the looks on your faces, I believe you've already gotten that."

  Not just on the wrist. Across the face and in the stomach. With brass knuckles.

  "But if you think of anything else--anything at all--you are to come to us immediately. Understood?" he asked, pressing one finger into the desktop.

  "Yes, sir," Josh said, standing.

  "Yes, sir," I echoed, my voice watery.

  "Good," the chief said. "Now get out of here before I change my mind."

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  * * *

  Weeks ago. Could have found him weeks ago. Thomas had been lying dead somewhere for at least a couple of weeks. But where? Where had they found him? The rumors were conflicting. I'd heard he was found in a field behind the public school. Near a stream in the hills. In some random abandoned building. And-- the one that made me shudder the most--in the trunk of a beat-up old car.

  Was I ever going to know the truth?

  "Reed, you should really eat something," Ariana said in her mothering tone.

  I blinked. The cafeteria was so hushed I had zoned out and forgotten where I was. My turkey sandwich on wheat toast stared up at me, untouched. Kiran and Natasha had just settled in across the table. I hadn't even heard them arrive.

  "At least eat the bread," Ariana prodded gently.

  "Eat the meat. You need the protein, not the carbs," Kiran said as she lifted a thick issue of Vogue out of her bag.

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  Natasha looked at me and smiled. Was Kiran ever not thinking about calorie counts? Ariana stared Kiran down while Kiran flipped past the pages and pages of ads at the front of her magazine as if she didn't notice.

  "What? Carbs will just weigh her down. We're trying to get her energy up, right?" Kiran said finally, her green eyes wide. "Thus, protein."

  No one could ever ignore a serious stare from Ariana. I flicked the bread off the top of my sandwich and ate a piece of turkey with my fingers. "Happy?"

  Kiran wrinkled her dainty nose. "I would have preferred a fork, but that's fine."

  Noelle walked over and sat in her usual chair across from Ariana at the end of the table. She let out a frustrated sigh and glared at Taylor as she slipped in behind me and dropped down in the next chair. Taylor's nose was red and her curls were matted and dark. As if they hadn't seen suds in days. She looked tired. Like someone who had spent the entire night staring at her alarm clock, calculating how many hours of sleep she could get if she just passed out right now.

  Wait. That was me.

  "What's up?" Kiran asked, looking from Taylor to Noelle.

  "What's up is I'm sick of the morgue vibe already," Noelle said, flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder. "Wallowing is good for nothing," she said pointedly, looking at me and Taylor. "Unless you enjoy getting your frown lines Botoxed."

  48

  "Noelle, they just buried Thomas last weekend," I said, the back of my throat tight.

  "I know, okay? I was there," Noelle said. "But look at everyone. This is not healthy. If this keeps up, we're talking terminal downward spiral."

  Just then the doors to the cafeteria slammed open and every single person in the room jumped. Dash McCafferty walked in, his blond hair flopping and eyes bright with what looked like excitement. Behind him were Josh and Gage Coolidge, who strolled along with a cocky expression on, as always, like he was working some invisible runway. Walt Whittaker brought up the rear, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, wearing a thick wool coat that came down past his knees.

  Dash paused at the end of the table. All eyes in the room were on him. Freshmen, sophomores, professors stared. It was as if the king had finally arrived after we had all traveled miles to see him speak.

  "It's official, my friends," Dash announced, spreading his arms wide. "We are throwing a party."

  Instantly a murmur rushed across the room, like a ripple rushing outward and splashing against the far walls before making its way back again. Two seconds later, the caf was alive with chatter.

  "Now that's more like it," Noelle said, brightening considerably.

  "Aparty?" Taylor squeaked.

  "For what?" Natasha asked.

  49

  "For Thomas," Gage said. "To, you know, honor his memory and shit."

  "Very eloquent, Gage," Whit scolded.

  "Excuse me, Master Webster," Gage said, putting on a stuffy New England accent. He placed his hand flat on his chest and raised his nose. "I intended not to offend."

  Whit blushed and Gage cackled, grabbing a carrot stick from Ariana's plate and crunching into it. Josh, meanwhile, slid in behind me and sat down on Taylor's other side. He didn't look as psyched about the announcement as his friends were.

  "Do you really think that's appropriate? " Natasha said, looking meaningfully at me. I loved it when someone else said what I was thinking so that I didn't have to. Natasha had another level of depth that the rest of my friends didn't seem to possess, an ability to imagine what it might be like if the person she loved had been found dead off campus. How that might feel. I suspected that Noelle had not bothered to try to empathize with me by imagining Dash six feet under. Doing that would be too unpleasant for the Golden Goddess of Easton.

  "Ah, the moral center speaks," Noelle announced. She folded her hands under her chin and looked at Natasha, enraptured. "Do tell us, Mrs. Bush. What is our repression of the day?"

  The guys all laughed. Natasha's eyes narrowed into thin slits of hatred. "I'm just saying that maybe not everyone at this school will see death as a reason to party."

  "Well, then, they're assbags," Gage said.

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  "We already got permission from the dean," Dash told us, rubbing his hands together, as if that put an end to Natasha's argument. "We're going to do it the night before Thanksgiving break and make it totally cheesy and cool. Like some kind of Midwest prom or something."

  "That's hilarious," Gage said, cracking up.

  "Thomas would have loved that," Ariana said.

  I looked at her. She had always hated Thomas. Had been the first to warn me away from him. How would she know what he would or wouldn't have loved?
/>
  "Think we could smuggle in some strippers?" Gage asked. "Now that Thomas would have loved."

  My body heat peaked, and I noticed everyone glancing at me to note my reaction. I tried not to have one.

  "Coolidge, you are so crass," Natasha said.

  "Crenshaw, why don't you and Whittaker get together and spawn already?" Gage suggested. "You could pop out the first mixed-race Republican in America."

  Whit scoffed. Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Know what I like most about you, Coolidge?" Natasha said. "You're so ignorant, you think it's something to be proud of."

  'You know you love me," Gage replied.

  "Enough already. Can we get back to the party now?" Dash said.

  "I think it's exactly what we need," Noelle said.

  "Exactly," Dash agreed. "Get everyone out of this freakin'

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  morbid state. It's really bringing me the hell down. And personally, I don't think Pearson would appreciate it."

  "He was always up for a good party," Kiran said with a thoughtful frown.

  "Please. You just want another excuse to get drunk," Noelle joked.

  "What do you think, Reed?" Ariana asked me.

  I have to say, part of me was touched that any of these people considered anything to be my call. But I supposed that was what happened when you were the girlfriend of the person who had infamously, mysteriously, died. To these people I was practically a widow.

  Unfortunately, I found myself unable to process anything. This, like everything else that came my way these days, was just too much for me to handle. What would everyone think? How could I possibly handle a celebration? Could this really be up to me?

  Everyone was staring at me. Desperate, I glanced at Josh. "What do you say? Are you ready to party?"

  He shrugged. "Might not be the worst idea. If it helps people, you know, move on."

  He held my gaze for a moment and I knew he wasn't just thinking about "people." He was thinking about me. He wanted me to move on. With him? A skitter of excitement traced its way through the lumps of pain, guilt, and fear in my chest. And, just like that, I had something else I couldn't wrap my brain around.

  "I think it's a great idea," I said, forcing a smile. "You guys are right. All this drama isn't very Thomas. Or . . . wasn't."

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  "Good. Then it's a go," Dash said, pulling a chair up from another table to sit at the head of ours. "And who knows? Maybe by then they'll catch the bastard who did this and we'll really have something to celebrate."

  Taylor snorted, and by the time I turned to look at her, tears were already streaming down her face.

  "God, Taylor," Noelle said. "Pop a Prozac and get over it already. Like Hollis said, it's time to move on."

  Taylor winced at Noelle's words and my heart went out to her. I reached out to pat her back, but she jumped up before I could touch her.

  "I have to go to the nurse," she said.

  She fumbled to get her bag strap off the back of her chair and knocked it over in the process, causing a huge clatter in the otherwise silent room. Everyone once again looked at us, and Taylor was mortified. She ducked her head and ran, her now ever- present tissue covering her nose.

  "What is her deal lately?" Natasha asked.

  Noelle, Ariana, and Kiran all exchanged a look. Like they knew something we didn't--which they usually did. Then they turned their attention back to their food. I sat back in my chair, recalling something Constance had said about Taylor a few weeks back when Thomas had first gone missing. The police had been routinely interviewing all the students, and Constance had told me that that Taylor had come out of her meeting in tears. It had seemed odd, so Constance had speculated that maybe Taylor had a crush on Thomas.

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  The thought, at the time, had made me laugh, because I had chalked the whole Taylor-in-tears thing up to a rumor. But now I wasn't so sure. Considering the way Taylor had been acting since the funeral, it certainly seemed possible that Thomas had meant more to her than I had thought.

  On Halloween night, the Billings Girls had assured me there would no longer be any secrets between us. Apparently, they were already taking liberties with that promise.

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  MURDERED

  Early the following week, I was sat across from Noelle in the library, pretending to read The Grapes of Wrath. I had read it back in eighth grade during my English teacher's spring reading challenge (which I had won by a landslide), so I technically didn't need to be reading it again. I really should have been studying for my French exam or doing my biology lab, but since I was unable to concentrate on anything for more than five seconds at a time, I figured I'd go with something I had already read. Under the table, my leg jumped up and down as if it were trying to free itself from my torso.

  If I didn't flunk out of this place before Christmas, it would be a miracle.

  The library was deathly silent aside from the occasional sound of a book spine cracking or a pencil scratching against paper. Back home, our library was full of giggles and whispers and table-hockey games. It was a place for kids to waste their study hall periods gossiping and being generally stupid. At Easton the

  55

  library was a place to work. When I'd first arrived, this phenomenon had inflated me with a kind of intellectual pride. I was at an actual institution of serious learning. I was a scholar. Today, the silence threatened to kill me. It made it far too easy for my brain to wander to other things.

  "I'm going to grab a bottle of water," Noelle said, pulling out her Gucci wallet. "You want anything?"

  They didn't have fountains here at Easton. Just Evian vending machines.

  "No, thanks," I said.

  It still threw me a bit that she was going to get her own stuff now instead of ordering me to go. That she was actually asking what she could do for me. I should have taken advantage of it--and would have--if stuff like that had even been a remote priority anymore. It didn't seem like it ever would be again.

  Noelle turned and sauntered off toward the bathroom alcove, where the machines hummed away. As soon as she was gone, I heard feet pounding on the carpeted floor and looked up. Everyone, in fact, looked up. Lorna Gross came bumbling into view and raced right over to a tableful of sophomores off to my left. Her frizzy hair was triangular, and a few strands stuck to the sheen of sweat on her face. She whispered something breathlessly, spitting all over her friends' books.

  Suddenly, everyone was looking at me. Constance, Missy, Diana Waters. Kiki Rosen popped the earbuds out of her ears and turned off her iPod. I felt as if a huge tidal wave were hovering

  56

  behind me and everyone was just watching it, waiting for it to plunge down on me and sweep me away.

  "What?" I said loudly.

  Constance looked at the others, then braced her hand on the back of her chair as she reluctantly got up. She walked over and sat down next to me, leaning in so that no one might overhear. I gripped my book in both hands until the pads of my fingertips hurt.

  "Reed, they arrested someone," Constance said calmly, soothingly. "Some guy from town named Rick DeLea or something?"

  My throat constricted. My heart constricted. My lower stomach tightened into a knot. Suddenly, Constance felt very far away. Everything and everyone seemed to shrink into the background, and all there was in the world was this:

  Thomas had been murdered. Thomas had been murdered.

  So Noelle had been right. So that townie dealer scum that she and Josh had known about, but whom I had never heard of, had killed him.

  So ... so ... so .. .

  "They're saying he was Thomas's middleman or something?" Constance said, her brow coming together and rearranging her freckles.

  I nodded mutely. There was no way I could speak.

  Missy Thurber got up and strode over to us, Lorna at her side. "Well, well. Guess you won't be milking the tragic heroine thing much longer."

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  "Shut up, Missy," Constance said, then lo
oked shocked at herself.

  "What? I'm just saying. Thomas Pearson wasn't the innocent victim of some twisted anti-prep-school crime. He was just murdered in the middle of a drug deal gone awry. Like some common criminal." Missy leaned into the table and looked me in the eye. "I think that knocks you down a few pegs."

  I hardly heard a thing she said. All I could hear, all I could see, was one word: murdered. The word I had been avoiding for days. Murdered.

  Thomas Pearson was murdered.

  Hot. No air. I needed air. I squirmed, pulling the turtleneck on my sweater away from my prickling skin.

  "They said they found drug paraphernalia and a wad of cash near the body," Missy continued. "Guess somebody had an issue with their dealer."

  Someone moved in behind me. Lorna took an uncertain step backward. Missy's face lost all its mirth. She stood up straight.

  Noelle placed her water and wallet on the table in front of me, leaned forward past my shoulder, and squinted at Missy. She tilted her head deliberately to one side, then the other, as if trying to see something better. No one moved. No one dared say a word.

  "Huh," Noelle said.

  "What? " Missy blurted tremulously.

  Noelle frowned and rounded her shoulders. "I always wondered if you could actually see through those cavernous nostrils to China,

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  but everything's pretty much obscured by the forest of nasal hair."

  Someone snorted. Missy's hand flew up to cover her nose.

  "It's Missy Thurber, right?" Noelle said. "Your mother and sister were in Billings?"

  Missy was a marble-white statue of her former self.

  "Well, thanks, Missy. You just inspired me to abolish that archaic little Billings rule about automatic admission for legacies," Noelle said. "Have fun in Dayton House next year. I hear they've just about cleaned up that nasty rat problem."

  Missy's mouth hung open so wide I could have stuffed my fist into it. She let out a strangled noise as she turned on her heel and ran away, fingers still covering her nose. Lorna scurried after her, seeing her own shot at Billings-by-association go up in smoke. It would have been a perfect moment, if those images of Thomas lying dead and bloody with bags of pills and powder all around him would have just stopped assaulting me.