City Secrets (16 page)

Heather shrugged. “Whatever. Shocker. I should have expected it. Like he couldn't have taken five minutes to show us around. Or say sorry that we came down here to see where he works.”

Her tone was angry, but there was a wobble to her voice. He'd gotten to her—not that she was going to admit that her feelings were hurt.

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry, okay?” Heather looked at me, and her eyes were slightly pink. “I'm not sorry. Just annoyed that I wasted my time. I
do
have more important things to do, you know, than come to Wall Street and sit around waiting for my dad. And I'm over talking about it.”

I just nodded.

We got in the elevator, and this time it seemed to take forever to get back to the ground floor.

Heather flew out of the elevator the second the doors opened, and I almost had to jog to keep up with her. We walked past security, ignoring the sign-out sheet and the guard. Heather pushed the revolving door so hard, I had to wait for the second space to come around because the one behind her went by too fast.

Just like he said he would be, Paul was waiting in the car. He had the front windows rolled down and was doing a crossword puzzle. He looked up when he heard us approaching the car.

Heather yanked open the car door and actually slid across the backseat. I knew better than to make a joke about her earlier comment about how she didn't “slide.”

Paul started the car and looked back at us. He saw Heather staring out the window, arms crossed.

“Was your dad out?” Paul asked, his tone gentle.

“Nope.”

That was all Heather said.

Paul watched her in the mirror for a second and seemed to realize that something had happened.

“I'll take you home,” he said.

The ride back from Wall Street to Park Avenue was silent.

 13 

HEATHER HAD REGAINED HER COMPOSURE by the time we walked through the door of her apartment. She looked as if nothing had happened a mere half hour ago. But I knew she couldn't be over it so fast. Heather had just put up the I-don't-care-and-I'm-fine wall.

Without being asked, I followed her into her room. I sat cross-legged on her bed and watched as she flicked on the TV and flipped through channels.

“Exploring the city was really fun,” I said, unsure how she'd respond. “Thanks for showing me around.”

Heather nodded, her eyes still on the screen. “Yeah. Cool.”

She stopped on one of my favorite channels, and it was
a rerun of
City Girls
—a show Paige and I had bonded over during my first day at Canterwood.

Heather sat in one of her chairs and drew up her legs as she watched the show. We watched the show for about fifteen minutes before I decided I had to distract her with something.

“I saw on the cover of
US Weekly
that Mira is dating Josh now,” I said. Mira was one of the
City Girls
, who hadn't really had a boyfriend before.

Heather looked at me. “I saw that too. The article said she'd been crushing on him forever and she decided not to wait. She just went for it and asked him out.”

“Hmm . . .” I said, smiling. “Sounds like she made the right choice—just going for it.”

“Definitely,” Heather said. “If she had a feeling that he liked her, why wait for him to ask her?”

“Does this sound like anyone we know . . . ?” I tilted my head suggestively.

Heather stared at me. “No . . . what are you talking about?”

I shrugged. “Oh, I don't know. There's this girl I know who has a crush on a guy. She thinks he likes her too, but he hasn't made a move yet. She talked to him at the Homecoming dance, but didn't pull a Mira.”

Heather's mouth fell open in a clichéd teen-movie way. “Omigod! Are you kidding me?”

“No!” I said. “You should ask Troy out! Then you won't have to wonder if he likes you or not. You'll ask and he'll say yes or no, but I know he'll so say yes.”

Heather shook her head, her blond hair flying. “No way! I'm not asking him out. I like him, but if he wants to go, he has to ask me. Otherwise, forget it.”

My eyes landed on Heather's laptop. It was in sleep mode, the orange light blinking.

“You could e-mail him and say hi. See how break's going . . .” I said. “Or you could text him.”

“And say what?” Heather unfolded her legs and sat up straighter. The glazed-over look was gone from her face. She was definitely distracted from the Father Fail that had occurred earlier.

“Just ‘hi.' Ask him what he's doing. If he's bored at home, or if he's glad to be away from campus. Something casual.”

Heather looked at her BlackBerry on her desk. She tucked her hair behind her ear, still looking at the phone.

“It'd be lame if I just texted him out of nowhere,” Heather said. “I need a
reason
.”

I paused, thinking. “Okay. Um . . . are you guys in any classes together?”

Heather smiled. “English.”

“Did your teacher assign homework over the break?” I asked.

“Yeah, we have to read fifty pages of
The Outsiders
and write a five-page paper on it.”

“Did you start yet?” I asked. “I haven't even looked at my homework.”

“Please,” Heather said. “Do you
think
I've done any homework yet?”

“That's your question. Tell him you haven't started yet and ask if he has. If he has, then you can ask him if the homework's hard or something. If he hasn't, then you guys can chat about
not
doing homework.”

Heather nodded, thinking. “You know, I'm shocked right now, Silver.”

“Why?”

“Because you had a good idea for once. I'm shocked. You
might
be smarter than you look.”

“Thanks,” I grumbled. “I think you've said that before. Are you going to text him or e-mail him?”

I jumped off the bed and walked over to Heather's laptop, my hand ready to open it.

“Fiiine!” Heather said. “I'll text him. It's not like I'm afraid to or anything. Whatever. It's just Troy.”

I left her laptop and picked her up phone, handing it to her. Her fingers hovered over the keys for a while before she finally started typing. I sat across from her in the other chair, just waiting to see what she'd write. And I crossed my fingers that Troy would text her back.

“Here, this is what I'm sending?” Heather said. Her statement sounded more like a question. I looked at the screen that she held up to me.

Hey Troy—R u having a good break? Did u start English hmwk yet? I totally didn't—it's so lame. —H

“Perfect,” I said. “That's supercasual and you're asking him questions instead of just saying hi and telling him all about your break. He's totally going to write you back.”

Heather didn't look convinced. “You think?”

“Definitely. Send it.”

Heather stared back at the phone, the send key option highlighted. “You do it.”

She shoved the phone toward me. I stopped myself from laughing. Tough-girl Heather Fox, who acted as if she owned every inch of Canterwood, was insecure about something.

B-O-Y-S.

“No way,” I said. “You wrote it. It's for Troy.
You
send it.”

Heather held the phone in the air for a few more seconds before taking it back in front of her. She took a breath and pressed the button.

“There,” she said. “Omigod, I can't take it back now. I texted Troy.”

Heather tossed the BlackBerry onto her bed as if she couldn't stand holding it for another second.

We looked at each other, then burst into giggles.

“You texted Troy!” I said.

Heather kicked at my chair. “Shut up!” But she couldn't stop laughing. “He probably won't even—”

A chime from her bed cut her off. A red light started blinking on her phone and we both stared at each other.

“It's got to be, like, Julia or Alison,” Heather said, shaking her head. “There's no way he'd write me back that fast.”

“Go check it! It's so Troy.” I motioned for her to get up and gestured toward the phone with a sweep of my arm.

Almost as if she was unsteady on her feet, Heather got out of her chair and picked up the phone off her bed. She pushed a couple of buttons and read. Her face gave away nothing.

“Well?!” I asked. “Say something! Who is it?”

Heather walked over, still with a poker face, and sat down. She held the phone up and grinned.

“It's Troy!” she said.

“Omigod! Told you!” I leaned forward and read his message.

Hey H! Having an awesome break. U? And no way did I start hmrk. It's BREAK. But when we start, if we get stuck or something, we could txt each other or IM. —Troy

Heather and I both started laughing again at the same time and she clutched her phone. I smiled secretly to myself, glad to have distracted Heather with something and curious to see what would happen with Troy.

 14 

IT WAS EARLY THE NEXT MORNING WHEN PAUL dropped us off at Chesterfield. Heather and I had come prepared for a long day of practicing. We'd talked over breakfast about the exercises we wanted to do, and how, since it
was
the middle of the week, we needed a day of serious practice.

Heather checked with Pam to make sure our horses were available, and they were. I was glad to ride Limitless again—he was a great horse, and this way I could focus on my riding instead of getting used to a new horse. Heather and I grabbed our tack and headed for Limitless's and Cora's stalls. Both horses had their heads hanging over the doors, and they looked at us as we approached.

“Hi, boy,” I called to him. The bay's gentle brown
eyes watched me as I put down his tack and reached up to stroke his cheek. I closed my eyes for a second, pretending I was petting Charm. I missed him more every day, and I hoped he didn't think I'd abandoned him.

Charm knows better,
I told myself, opening my eyes and looking at Limitless. I'd gone on break before and Charm had been superaffectionate when I'd gotten back, but he'd never acted as if he thought I'd deserted him.