My heart flooded with relief as she lifted her head. She was alive. Thank God!
“Come on! We have to get you out of—”
My words died in my throat. Wait. Noelle looked perfectly fine. She looked gorgeous, in fact. There was no cut on her cheek as there had been in the video I’d been sent. Her dark hair was glossy and freshly blown out. Her makeup had been carefully applied. She wore a dark pink silk top beneath a black cashmere cardigan, and when she removed her hands from behind her back and laid them in her lap, I saw that her fingernails were even manicured.
“Hi, Reed,” she said with a smile.
My empty, panicked stomach contracted so fast I thought I might implode. I stood up, my still frozen kneecaps creaking, and took a step back. As I did, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. There were entry doors all around the circular room, and a dozen women stepped into view, each wearing a flowing black robe, and carrying a dark purple candle. Instantly, memories of Billings House rituals past flitted through my mind. The sisters in black, the neophytes in white. The candles, the circle, the vows. Bile rose up into the back of my throat. I felt so faint, I had to reach out and touch the protective railing around the telescope. It was ice cold beneath my already chilled fingers.
“This was a setup,” I heard myself say as my eyes fluttered closed. “You did this.” I opened my eyes again and focused on Noelle. On my friend. The girl I had been terrified for—had ruined my life for. The girl who was slowly, gracefully, healthfully rising from her chair. “You did this to me,” I said, ignoring the women who had closed into a tight circle around us. They didn’t matter. Whatever they were doing there, I couldn’t have cared less. This was between me and Noelle. Me and my best friend. Me and the one friend other than Josh whom I trusted more than anyone else on the planet.
Strike that. The friend I used to trust more than anyone else on the planet. Noelle had completely screwed with my mind and my heart. Not to mention my boyfriend, my schoolwork, my criminal record, and my entire life. She was responsible for all of it.
“You set me up just like you did sophomore year,” I said, feeling exactly like I had in the moment I’d heard that stealing that test for Ariana was a joke, that all the crap I’d found in Kiran and Taylor’s room, in Noelle and Ariana’s, had been planted there for me. This is the way I felt upon learning that everything my friendships were based on had been a test.
I felt like an idiot all over again. A naive, dupable dunce. Like Noelle and everyone else in the world was laughing at me.
“You don’t understand, Reed,” Noelle said, taking a step toward me. Her eyes shone with some kind of emotion, though whether it was amusement or pride I couldn’t tell. “We had to do this to be sure. We had to know that you could handle it. We needed you to prove you are who we thought you were.”
“Oh yeah? And who do you think I am?” I spat.
Noelle smiled. “My sister.”
There was a mushy lump of disgust growing exponentially in my throat. I wanted to throw it up on her Gucci boots. Wanted to reach over and tear her hair out. Wanted to somehow make her feel like a giant pile of fetid dog crap—exactly how she was making me feel.
“Your sister? Are you insane?” I shouted. “I am so sick of this shit! This is how you treat people you supposedly love?”
I spotted a red leather bag behind Noelle’s chair, which I recognized as one of hers, and stormed past her. Dropping to my knees, I dug through her stuff and yanked out her phone.
“Reed, what’re you doing?” she asked.
“I’m getting the hell out of here.”
I scrolled through her contacts until I found Sawyer’s number, then hit dial. The phone started ringing in my ear as I stood up and walked toward the circle of middle-aged and elderly women who had surrounded me—sisters. The two ladies in front of me didn’t budge, one older, white-haired, and straight-backed, the other forty-ish, slightly pudgy, and soft-looking. They both stared at me with amused and almost wondrous expressions. So I took one of their candles and threw it on the ground in the center of the circle. Noelle jumped back. The flame hit the carpet mere inches from her feet.
Everyone gasped and the crowd parted, just as Sawyer picked up the phone. I shoved through to the other side, heading for the stairs and the door beyond.
“Hello?” He sounded groggy, like I’d woken him up. “Noelle? Is that you? Is everything okay?”
“It’s not Noelle, Sawyer, it’s Reed,” I said. “I’m so sorry for waking you up.”
“Reed?” He was fully awake now. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“No, not really,” I said, gunning for the door. I could hear the commotion behind me as the women attempted to put out the fire. Noelle shouted my name, but I didn’t turn around. “I’m at an observatory somewhere in Soldier Woods. Can you Google map it and come get me?”
“Of course.” I could hear the sounds of rustling sheets, of him grabbing clothes and getting dressed. “But how did you get—”
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain all of it when you get here,” I said, shoving through the door at the bottom of the steps and into the warm hallway. “I’ll find whatever road it’s on and start walking down the hill. Just keep an eye out for me.”
“Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Sawyer said.
“Thanks, Sawyer. You’re saving my life,” I told him. “Again.”
Then I hung up the phone, just as the door opened and slammed behind me.
“Reed! You can’t go!” Noelle shouted. “You don’t understand what’s going on.” I turned around, the fury inside of me so fierce that it took all of my strength, my control, my energy, to keep from screaming at the top of my lungs.
“I understand one thing, Noelle,” I said, getting right in her face. “Since I’ve met you, you’ve done nothing but preach to me about friendship and sisterhood. But you have no idea what either one of those things means.”
Then I lifted her phone in front of her and flung it at the cement floor as hard as I possibly could. I shoved through the door at the far end of the hall, out into the bright, cold sunshine, leaving her behind—for good.
“I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,” my mom said as I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder and attempted to zip up my Croton High School duffel bag.
I’d just taken the longest shower of my life, standing under the warm spray until the feeling came back into every one of my toes and the scrape on my cheek stopped stinging. It had been just long enough to charge my phone to the point where I could make this call–the call asking my parents if they could get me excused from school for a few days so I could come home.
“There’s just a lot going on here and I feel like I need to get away to deal with it,” I told her. The zipper finally unsnagged and let out a satisfying zip to punctuate my point. “I think I need some time alone to figure out … I don’t know … why I’m really here, I guess.”
“You’re not thinking of quitting school?” my mother said, alarmed.
I sat down on my bed and sighed, closing my eyes. “Not quitting school. Just maybe … quitting Easton.” It was hard to even get the words out. Quitting was not usually part of my repertoire. I looked down at the maroon and gold duffel bag. “Maybe I should go back to Croton High.”
“Reed, honey. Just think about all the opportunities you’d be passing up,” my mother said.
“I know, Mom,” I said through my teeth. “But just think about all the crazy I’d be passing up too.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I could hear her quietly breathing, could practically hear her thinking. “I just don’t know—”
“Neither do I,” I said as patiently as I could. “That’s why I’m coming home just to think about it.”
“Reed, there are some things you should probably—”
“Mom, can we please just talk about this when I get there?” I asked, pushing myself up to standing again. “I have to get out
of here soon if I’m going to make my flight.”
When I’d returned to my room, my bag—the one the supposed cops had taken from me—and my laptop had been waiting for me on my bed. Those three goons, who must have been hired by Noelle to play their little parts in the charade, had brought my stuff back to my room. After letting another crushing wave of anger pass through me, I’d grabbed my wallet, retrieved my ATM card, and booked a one-way ticket to Pittsburgh. Turned out it was a lot cheaper than the roundtrip airfare to Paris I’d priced early last week. I hadn’t even had to empty out my bank account to buy it.
“Okay, hon. That’s probably better anyway. We can talk it all out face-to-face,” she said.
Yee-haw. I couldn’t wait. Suddenly I found myself hoping the flight was forced to circle the airport a couple dozen times before landing. I could use the extra alone time.
“I’ll call the headmaster, and your dad can fax a signed excuse note from his office,” she added. “And I’ll call your brother and tell him to drive home for dinner tonight.”
Scott. It would be so good to see him. It would be good to even get a noogie from him. At least I knew that he was one person who would never betray me, one person who actually knew what it meant to be a good friend.
“Okay. Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you guys soon.”
We hung up and I took a deep breath, glancing around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. My laptop would be coming with me, but right now it was still open on my desk. My Easton Academy e-mail account was open on the screen. I glanced at the clock. To get my mom off the phone I’d kind of exaggerated about how little time I had before I had to leave.
I pulled the chair out gingerly, my body still recovering from its night in the woods, and sat down. A few of the e-mails were easy deletes–rehashings of lunchtime conversations from friends, a lengthy discussion about whether Lorna should date a sophomore. Then I saw a message from Portia and my heart lurched. Tiffany, Rose, and Portia had to be wondering what the hell had happened to me last night. I’d left them in the solarium doing my homework for me, promising I’d be right back, and then never returned. I quickly sent a message to the three of them, apologizing and saying a family emergency had sprung up and I’d be away for a few days. Then I sent a quick note to Mr. Barber, explaining the same and basically begging for leniency—just in case I did decide to come back here.
Back in my inbox, there was a week-old message from Ivy. Another surge of guilt constricted my lungs. I couldn’t believe I’d thought she’d kidnapped Noelle. I closed my eyes for a second and rested my head in my hands as I remembered, in vivid detail, the insane accusations I had spouted at her that night in the bathroom. She probably hated me, and with good cause.
Taking a deep breath, I opened a new message and started to type.
Dear Ivy,
I’m so sorry about the way I’ve treated you, especially that night in the bathroom. I can only say that I was under a ton of stress, and didn’t really know what I was saying. I know it’s no excuse, and I won’t blame you if you never want to speak to me again. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry.
Love,
Reed
I read it over once and, too tired to quibble with myself over grammar or eloquence, hit send.
Five minutes later I was still sitting there, contemplating a ten-minute catnap, but decided I was too wrecked to even get up the energy to drop into bed, when there was a knock on my door.
My head whipped around and I stared at it. Was it Noelle, come to try to explain again? Could it possibly be Ivy? Maybe she’d already received and read the e-mail. I got up slowly, my heart pounding, and opened the door.
It was Josh. Who should have been in poli sci right about then.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My fingers gripped the doorknob for dear life, knowing that if I removed them, I’d probably fall right over at his feet.
“Ouch.” He winced and reached out to touch my chin with his fingertips, turning my face to the side to see my scratch. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m … whatever,” I said, my brain all foggy. “What’re you doing here?”
“This,” he said. And then he kissed me.
That was when my knees actually did buckle. Josh held me up with both arms and kept kissing me, backing me a few steps into the room and kicking the door closed with his foot. My exhaustion forgotten, all I could do was kiss him back. I had thought I was never going to touch his lips again and now that I was, I couldn’t imagine stopping.
He was the first to pull away. His lips were completely swollen, his eyes glassy.
“What are you—”
“I thought about it and I realized … it made no sense, you breaking up with me,” he said, looping his arms around my waist. “I mean, we’d fought a little about Ivy and yeah, I’d seen you with Sawyer and talking to that Upton dude, and it was a little annoying, but then I realized … I trust you. And you trust me. So the whole thing made no sense. And then it hit me.”
“The kidnappers,” I said, the word like acid on my tongue.
“The kidnappers,” he replied with a smile. “They told you to do it, didn’t they? I was assignment number four.”
I nodded. It was all I could muster. How was I going to tell him that there were no kidnappers? That it was all just a game constructed by Noelle? He already loathed her. If I told him the truth he would go ballistic. He’d want to kill her.
But then … did I even care? Did I want to be friends with her anymore?
“So, Sawyer told Graham who told Gage who told Trey that he picked you up in the middle of Soldier Woods this morning,” Josh said. “What happened? Did you find Noelle?” he asked, leaning back a bit to look into my face. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “She is.”
“Thank God,” Josh said, hugging me tightly.
“Why? You thought she wouldn’t be?” I asked. Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all, it now seemed kind of impossible to me that I’d ever thought the whole thing was for real.
“Well, this is Easton,” Josh said with a sad smirk. “So where is she? What happened?”
I swallowed hard and took a step away from him. “She’s … with her family,” I said, my tongue curling at the vile taste my words brought into my mouth. “They actually found her, in the end. It’s kind of a long story.”
His brow knit in confusion, but when I stepped into him again and rested my good cheek against his wool coat, he simply wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my shoulder.
“I’m glad it all worked out okay,” he said.
“Me too.”
“So … what do we do now?” he asked. “It’s already second period.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “Can we just stay here for a while? Exactly like this?”
“Absolutely,” Josh said.
Then he adjusted his arms to hold me a little tighter and I sighed contentedly. He was here. He was back. He was mine.
And I didn’t want to ever let him go.
Sun streamed through my windows on Wednesday morning, so bright my eyes stung when I opened them after a long, deep sleep. I groaned and turned my head to face the wall, wondering why I had pulled the blinds up the day before. Right in front of me was the poster of Sydney Crosby, the greatest hockey player currently on the ice, which I’d hung on my dark blue wall during the couple of weeks I’d been home last summer. It still hadn’t flattened out completely and the paper shone like it was brand-new, even though it had been up for almost six months.
I guess that’s what happens when the blinds are drawn and a room goes unlived in for so very long. I propped myself up on my side and concentrated for a moment, trying to figure out how many days, exactly, I had been home over the past year or so. Last summer I’d spent most of my time on Martha’s Vineyard with Natasha Crenshaw and her family, only pit-stopping here quickly before school
started. I’d been home for Thanksgiving, but not at all over Christmas, choosing instead to go to St. Barths with Noelle and her family, and then meeting my parents in New York for a few days before going back to Connecticut.
All told, I’d probably slept in this bed no more than seventeen times in the past year. Sadness filled my chest at the thought. Was it really so bad, being home? What was I running away from? And what the hell had I been running to all this time?
There was a light knock on my door and my dad stuck his head in my room. He’d taken the day off to hang out with me, which was just like him. Scott and I always came first.
“Oh, good,” he said. “You’re up. I made pancakes.”
“Then I’m definitely up,” I said. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and shoved them into my well-worn plaid slippers, then grabbed a Steelers sweatshirt out of my drawer and yanked it on. No point in trying to look fashionable for breakfast with the fam. Actually, this outfit would probably win best-dressed at Croton High anyway.
I padded into the kitchen, the strong scents of coffee and frying bacon leading my way. Scott was already sitting in his usual chair at the chipped Formica table, sipping coffee from a Hershey Park mug and scrolling through texts on his phone.
“Nice hair,” he said, looking up. “They let you walk around that fancy school of yours like that?”
“Nice face,” I replied. “The biology department at Penn State offered to study you yet?”
We grinned at each other. It was good to be home.
“OJ, anyone?” my mom asked, emerging from behind the open door of the fridge. I actually did a double take as I sat down at the table. My mom was already showered and dressed, her light brown hair grazing her shoulders in a perfectly chic cut. She was wearing low-rise jeans and a turtleneck and looked relaxed and happy. And beautiful. For so long she had been sick and depressed and self-medicated, some days never even managing to get out of bed, that I was still stunned to see her healthy and awake.