Another Faust (5 page)

“I’ll introduce you to my best friend, Charlotte,” Lucy said almost distractedly, and then she moved on to the main point: wheedling information. “Do you go to Marlowe?”

Bicé nodded again. She didn’t quite remember.

“Are you going to the school play?”

Bicé shrugged. “I guess so. . . .”

“Then you might meet her,” said Lucy. “She wrote it, you know.”

Just then, Victoria came pouncing toward them, both eyes strictly fixed on Lucy.

Bicé blanched. Victoria could always be counted on to say something embarrassing.

“So
you’re
that girl that’s been top of the class for three years?” said Victoria with her arms crossed. When a confused look appeared on Lucy’s face, Victoria added, “There was a list on the Internet.”

Bicé sighed.

“Yeah, so?” Lucy said, almost defensively. Bicé stood by, trying the sushi and not saying a word. Unlike Victoria, Bicé hated conflict, and it wasn’t as if she wanted a new friend all that much. She just wanted to get through the party.

“And what does it take? To be the best at Marlowe,” asked Victoria.

“Just the best GPA, I guess. Same as everywhere else,” said Lucy.

“What’s
your
GPA?”

“What?” Lucy almost choked on her drink.

“Victoria! Don’t start, OK?” Bicé begged. It was hard to remember the last time anyone outside the family had shown any interest in her — and now Vic was wrecking it.

“That’s OK. You don’t have to tell me. I just want to know how it all works,” said Victoria.

“Oh, well, it’s just the standard five-point system. You can get up to five points for advanced classes and up to four points for regular.”

“Right . . . OK, then . . . we know how it works,” said Bicé, hoping Victoria would go away.

“I bet there’re a lot of people with a solid five, then,” said Victoria.

Lucy took another sip of her drink. “Oh, no. It’s not possible to get a five on average. Even people who win the Marlowe Prize never get that high. Everyone has to take a health class and phys. ed., and both of those are only worth four.”

“Tragic . . .” Bicé mumbled.

“Huh,” Victoria said, pretending she found it all to be very much beneath her. “What about college?”

“What
about
college?” Lucy was obviously starting to get annoyed with all the questions.

“At my last school,” said Victoria, “most of the kids went to Harvard, except for the ones that went abroad.”

“Marlowe is the best school in the country,” Lucy said. “The kids go wherever they want.”

“See, Vic? People go wherever . . .” Bicé jumped in. “Lucy, I’m sure Vic appreciates all this help. Now, moving on . . .”

“Hush, Bicé.” Victoria didn’t even bother to look at Bicé as she spoke. She gave Lucy a challenging look. “I bet
I
can get a perfect 5.0.”

“Then I hope you have lupus, because otherwise you’re not getting out of gym,” said Lucy. “And even Michael Jordan wouldn’t get more than 4.0 in gym.”

“At my last school,” said Victoria, “there was this one adviser that you had to know to have any kind of a shot at the best colleges.”

“It’s not like that here,” said Lucy, growing a bit hostile. “Everyone gets a good counselor. They’re assigned. Look, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Excuse you? I don’t care where you go. I was just making conversation,” Victoria said, her arms still crossed.

Victoria was never very good at keeping people in a conversation. She could be sweet when she tried. But when she wanted information, she had a way of making people feel more guarded, violated — and not just because she asked the most prying questions. She didn’t mind if they thought her rude and didn’t answer. It was enough for her just to ask. She kept Lucy talking for five minutes more, and she found out a lot more than Lucy suspected. She found out that Lucy was a very unhappy girl, pushing herself almost as hard as Victoria, not because she wanted to but because her mother, Mrs. Spencer, didn’t think her daughter was worth much without a name-brand résumé. Lucy and Victoria were a lot alike. She found out that Lucy was running for class president and that she was working on a big paper to impress Ms. LeMieux, one of the college counselors at Marlowe — because at Marlowe, it really
was
like that.

Ms. LeMieux had gone to Yale and had been in the Yale admissions office. Everyone thought a letter from her was a ticket into the Ivy League. Ms. LeMieux knew this and used it to her advantage. She was a boastful and unkind woman who showed blatant favoritism and used her students to boost her social position. Most of the students at Marlowe hated her, but everyone pretended they were close to her. For that reason, this unfashionable, unlikable woman’s favor had become a must-have for the overachieving kids at Marlowe.

Victoria knew all this not because Lucy had told her any of it. In fact, Lucy had gone out of her way to hide most of it. But that didn’t matter, because Victoria knew how to cheat. Or that’s what Madame Vileroy called it.
Cheating.
Whenever Lucy would look away or into her drink, wondering how to answer, Victoria would peer deeper, boring into Lucy’s mind for her inner dialogue — one that Victoria could hear just as well as any spoken exchange.

Christian and Valentin were stuffing éclairs in their mouths at a table across the room when a girl in a light green dress and long curly red hair approached. She stood several feet away from them, casually looking away, until Christian and Valentin could do nothing but introduce themselves. Charlotte Hill was never at a loss for boyfriends, but for some reason, she was ignoring them all in favor of meeting the new kids. She was always dramatic like that. Maybe that’s why she was such a good writer at such a young age. After a few minutes, she fell into comfortable conversation with Christian, even though he was the less handsome of the two. Valentin’s debonair quips weren’t making much of an impression on Charlotte, not as much as Christian’s clumsy attempts at humor, which she’d decided after ten minutes was not an act. She kept giggling into her hand and touching his arm as he turned a deeper and deeper shade of crimson and Valentin rolled his eyes for the thousandth time. She seemed to be having a wonderful time, until all of a sudden from behind her, a door flung open as a troupe of waiters walked out with fresh canapés. The door slammed into the small of Charlotte’s back, sending her splaying forward. Just before she fell into the table, Christian caught her in his arms, so that she spilled only a few drops of her drink.

“Thanks,” said Charlotte with a laugh, and then, since they were already so close, gave him a little kiss on the cheek. Christian was fifteen and handsome, but he had never been this close to a girl before. Something inside him gave a lurch, and for a second, he didn’t know what to do next — and then it was too late. Charlotte’s body suddenly went limp in Christian’s arms. Like a rag doll, she collapsed to the ground. The music stopped. Everyone turned to see a stunned Christian standing over an unconscious Charlotte — and Valentin, chuckling nearby.

“Way to sweep her off her feet,” said Valentin as a group of women came rushing up to help Charlotte.

Christian was appalled at himself. “I didn’t mean to . . . she just . . . I was nervous and —”

“You put her in a coma,” said Valentin, not minding as people pushed past him to make a crowd. Christian had gotten so tense with Charlotte in his arms that for a second, he lost control. He had never done that before, lost control of his gift. A gift — that’s what Vileroy called it, because Christian was the most gifted of thieves. With the smallest touch, Christian could
steal
whatever he needed from anyone. He could take anything, and no one would know. Christian felt a rush of energy.
Charlotte’s
energy.

Mrs. Wirth made her way through the crowd. “I think she hit her head,” she shouted. “The door must have hit her head.”

“Help me!” said Christian, gritting his teeth at Valentin. “Just shut up and help.”

“You seem to be doing a fine job,” said Valentin.

Meanwhile, next to them, ladies were kneeling beside Charlotte, fanning her face. A man was frantically calling an ambulance on his phone.

“Just fix this, Val,” said Christian.

“But then you won’t remember that enchanted moment.”

“Do it.”

“Fine,” said Valentin, “but you owe me. Not that you’ll remember.” He closed his eyes and slipped a hand into his pocket. From Christian’s perspective, Valentin’s face froze, a quick nothingness fell over him, a blink, then he was standing again with Charlotte prattling on about her last short story. Christian blinked a few times. He remembered nothing. No one remembered anything. The crowd had never rushed over. Charlotte had never collapsed in Christian’s arms. The waiters had never slammed open the door. Valentin opened his eyes and smiled. Only he remembered.

To Charlotte and Christian, it was no more than a hiccup. Valentin was saying something, and then his speech jumped and he continued on. He quoted something from literature, and when Charlotte looked impressed he added, “It’s a fa-famous quote.” Just like that. He landed in the middle of his own sentence. Nothing unusual. Just a boy with a speech impediment. Valentin’s speech had skipped several times in this conversation. His face had twitched, like someone with Tourette’s syndrome. Usually, it happened just before he said something funny or witty or flirtatious. Just before he delivered his best lines.
It must be nerves,
thought Charlotte, her attention turning from Christian to Valentin.

Valentin listened to Charlotte talk about her play for a while, the one that would be held at Marlowe the day after Christmas. “Basically, it’s an ancient conspiracy story that Christopher Marlowe — that’s our school namesake — actually faked his own death and wrote under the assumed name ‘William Shakespeare,’” she said, her eyes widening. “And there’re a few musical numbers . . .”

But before Charlotte could finish her description, Valentin reached over and grabbed her hand. He pulled her away from Christian, just as the door swung open and the army of waiters filed out.

“Thanks,” Charlotte said, sidling closer to Valentin to let another waiter pass.

“My pleasure.” He winked at her. Charlotte pecked
Valentin
on the cheek this time.

“Nice save,” said Christian. He went back to the éclairs, hardly realizing what Valentin had done or that for a split second Charlotte had seemed to be someone he might like.

“Having fun?” said Madame Vileroy, suddenly appearing over Victoria’s shoulder as she watched Bicé surprise Lucy by getting them some off-menu treats with her perfect Japanese requests to the sushi chef.

“That Lucy girl is a liar.” Victoria sneered, remembering all the things Lucy hadn’t said.

“We should introduce her to Valentin,” said Madame Vileroy.

“There’s a counselor that plays favorites.”

“Oh? Is Lucy her favorite?”

“Not for long.”

“Why, Victoria, my dear, didn’t you know that cheaters never prosper?”

Victoria looked amused. She pulled aside a waiter holding a tray of crab puffs to whisper in his ear.

“You!” Victoria said to the waiter. “Do you know who Mrs. Spencer is?”

“No, miss,” said the waiter.

“She’s that crow in the peacock dress.”

The waiter looked uncomfortable, not knowing what to say.

“I’ll give you” — Victoria looked him in the eyes, listening to the excited numbers in his head, assessing his price — “a hundred dollars if you go over there and introduce yourself as Ethan — from the Devonshire Club.” She put the bills in his breast pocket without waiting for him to accept.

As the waiter nodded and walked away, Victoria said to Madame Vileroy, “Ethan’s the guy Lucy dated last year. Spencer never saw him in person, but Lucy told her that he was a trust-fund baby. And now she’ll think he’s really a waiter. That should make for” — Victoria looked at her watch — “a good five minutes of entertainment.”

Madame Vileroy gave a soft laugh.

Victoria turned and walked back toward Lucy and Bicé, to revel in what Lucy didn’t know was coming. Madame Vileroy kept pace, holding her position just over Victoria’s shoulder. Victoria approached Lucy and spoke without waiting for either girl to turn around.