The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (115 page)

Not a soul had been around when I’d hidden it over a week ago. How had it ended up on my bulletin board?

“Reed, chill,” Noelle said. “What’s the problem?

“I didn’t put that there,” I told her, shaking. “I stashed it in the bottom of my desk. I don’t understand—”

Sabine walked out of the bathroom, removing a thick white towel from her hair. She took one look at me and her face creased with concern. “Reed? What’s wrong?”

“That picture. Do you know how it got there?” I asked her.

Sabine squinted at my desk. “It’s been there, no?”

I looked at the photo wildly. Had it been? Had I pinned it there and simply forgotten? Was I totally losing my mind?

“No!” I said, shaking my head adamantly. “I hid it. I—”

“Reed, stop,” Noelle demanded. “This is not a big deal. The cleaning service was here this morning. They probably found it and thought you lost it or something. They probably thought they were being helpful.”

“You think?” I asked, my hand over my heart.

“I know. My stuff is always moved around after they’ve been here. Just be grateful they didn’t steal anything.” Noelle reached over and yanked out the pin, removing the photo, which she quickly shoved right back into the bottom drawer. “See? All better.”

As soon as the photo was gone, my heart rate started to return to normal again. Noelle was right. It was a perfectly good explanation. I wasn’t insane. I wasn’t.

There were perfectly good explanations for all the strange things that had been happening to me lately.

I was just glad there were people around to tell me what those explanations were.

On Monday afternoon between classes, the solarium was buzzing with the news about the Legacy. Half the student body had jammed the campus post office after lunch, and nothing. The mail had been delivered, but there wasn’t a single Legacy invite among all the catalogs and college applications and postcards from exotic locales. Everyone knew someone from another school who had received one. It seemed clear that Easton’s legacies were, for some reason, being snubbed. And these people were not accustomed to being snubbed. As I wove through the crowded, sun-streaked room, packed with people sipping their mochaccinos and foaming lattes, I caught snippets of indignant conversations.

“Barton got them on Friday. Friday! And that’s right up the road—”

“Dalton shouldn’t even be invited. I mean, day schools? Please. Next they’re gonna extend it to those crunchy satellite places with, like, no grades.”

“If we don’t get invited, I’m gonna sue. I swear.”

I joined the back of the line at the Coffee Carma counter and Noelle slipped in behind me. “We’re about to have a Million Moron March on our hands.”

I laughed and glanced around. “The coffee can’t be helping. I think you can get a buzz just by breathing the air in here.”

“Please. This student body has built up enough tolerance to put all the rejects at Promises, Wonderland, and Betty Ford to shame,” Noelle joked. “A little caffeine is not going to affect them.”

As Noelle looked over her shoulder, her expression darkened. My classmate Diana Waters and a group of girls from Pemberly stood a few feet away, whispering and staring at Noelle.

“Problem?” Noelle asked.

Diana blanched. “Um, no. No problem. We were just . . .” She looked down quickly. “Nice boots.”

“They’re Balenciaga,” Noelle replied, giving them a cursory look. “And if you don’t walk away right now, you’ll find out what they look like up your ass.”

Because I liked Diana, I hid my laugh behind my hand as she and her friends quickly found a table at the back of the room.

“That keeps happening,” Noelle said, looking bored as she surveyed the menu behind the counter. “Like no one’s ever threatened their way back in here before.”

We both knew that wasn’t why they were staring. They were staring because of what she and the others had done to Thomas. If Noelle had been intimidating last year, her presence was now morbidly fascinating, even scary. She was practically a walking urban legend.

Noelle and I ordered our coffees, and I paid for both with my Carma Card. When we turned around, Gage was bearing down on us.

“Okay. What the hell is going on?” he demanded. His hair was flattened, highlighted with blond streaks, and cut short. He had day-old stubble all over his chin. Plus he was wearing an L.A. Galaxy soccer jersey, even though he didn’t play soccer.

“The Beckham makeover, huh? How original,” Noelle commented.

“Right. Because you’re so above trends,” Gage replied with a sneer. “For your information, while I was in the city this weekend I saw ten of these bogus Legacy invitations with my own eyes. These things are for real and we don’t have any.”

Josh stepped up behind Gage and leaned over to give me a kiss. “If they’re bogus, how can they also be real?” Josh questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up, man. I’m not in the mood,” Gage snapped.

“Sorry,” Josh said, trying not to laugh. Which made me laugh.

“Oh, I’m really glad this is so funny to you,” Gage said derisively. “But if Easton has been blackballed by the Legacy, we’re over. We’re gonna be shut out of everything. We may as well just go enroll at some public school and call it a day. We have to find out what the hell is going on.”

Both Gage and Noelle looked at me expectantly. I realized with a start that they were waiting for me to say something. That they were expecting
me
to find out what the hell was going on. Noelle Lange and Gage Coolidge. Looking to me.

And then I remembered. I was president of Billings. In theory, the most connected girl at Easton. I thought of all the info I had back in
my room. All those powerful people I could contact. Somewhere in there, there had to be an answer.

“Don’t worry,” I told them, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline. “Whatever it is, I’ll figure it out.”

Noelle nodded approvingly and Gage seemed pacified by my promise. Josh reached out and laced his fingers though mine. A flutter of pride welled up inside me. Once again I felt very Noelle Lange, but this time Noelle Lange was standing right there.

Very weird. But also very, very cool.

I had Dash’s cell phone number from over the summer at the Vineyard. He’d given it to both me and Natasha so we could make plans to go sailing. I’d never used it. Instead, Natasha had called him and set it all up. We’d gone out on her dad’s boat one afternoon, and Dash had brought two of his ridiculously gorgeous male cousins and a case of beer along. All very innocent. Until the following night at the restaurant where I’d worked, when we’d shared that almost kiss . . .

Anyway, I had never used it. Until now.

I needed more information. That was my excuse. And aside from Natasha—who I knew had a Monday night class at Dartmouth—Dash was the only Easton alumni I was still in contact with. Well, and Whittaker. I supposed I could have gotten Constance to call Whittaker.

But whatever. It was just a quick question and good-bye. I hit the send button and crossed my legs on my bed, holding my breath as it rang. He answered right away.

“Hi.”

His tone was intimate. Relieved. Maybe he didn’t know it was me.

“Hey. It’s me, Reed,” I said.

He chuckled. “I know. There’s this amazing new thing called caller ID.”

I laughed, relaxing slightly. After his cold e-mail, this was a promising reception.

“This is a pleasant surprise. How are you?” he asked. Again husky. Intimate. I was blushing. I glanced at my desk. At the framed picture of me and Josh, and cleared my throat.

“I’m fine. Actually, I was calling because I have a question,” I told him. all business.

“I’m listening,” he replied. I heard female voices in the background and someone giggled. Suddenly my eyes burned. “Hang on. Let me go out in the hall,” he said.

As I waited I realized my fists were clenched and I relaxed my fingers. I was not jealous. I could not be jealous.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I’m alone now.”

“Having a party?” I asked.

“Something like that. Our sailing team won the Hood Trophy yesterday and we’re still kind of celebrating. It’s kind of a big deal around here,” he said lightly.

“Oh. That’s great. Congrats,” I said, even though I had no idea what a Hood Trophy was. But if they were celebrating, then where were all the guys from his team? Unless they had very effeminate voices, they weren’t present. “I heard you were the only freshman on the team,”
I said, ignoring the jealous questions that were itching my tongue. “That’s incredible.”

“Thanks. So what’s up?” he asked.

I was dying to know why he hadn’t told me about the team—whether he was just being modest or whether I wasn’t important enough to share such things with, but I couldn’t do that without sounding like a petulant loser. A petulant loser who was
not
okay with being just friends.

“Reed?”

Right. Focus, Reed. He’s not your boyfriend, and you have a job to do.
I took a deep breath.

“It’s about the Legacy. Have you heard what’s going on?” I asked.

“Something about it being canceled, then not being canceled. . . .”

“Yeah, well, now every school on the East Coast has gotten invites except for Easton,” I told him. I gave myself major props for staying on point.

“That’s odd,” Dash said.

“So, I know you wouldn’t be getting one anyway—”

“Ouch.” He laughed.

“But have any of your alumni friends gotten them?” I asked.

“Now that you mention it, no one’s brought it up,” Dash replied. “Usually the guys plan a whole weekend around the thing—even for us unsavories who don’t merit an actual invite to the party—and I haven’t heard a thing. Not even from Whit, who as you know, lives for this stuff.”

Just then the door opened and my heart hit my throat. It was only
Sabine, who smiled at me as she crossed the room, but I still felt as if I’d just been snagged.

“Do you want me to make some calls? Find out for sure?” Dash was saying.

“No, actually. That’s okay. I have a plan,” I lied, wanting to get off the phone as soon as possible now that I had an audience.

“Reed, listen, about Saturday—”

“Actually, I can’t talk about it right now,” I said quickly, as Sabine shot me a quizzical glance. “I’ll talk to you later. And thanks.”

“Wait! I—”

I ended the call and turned the phone off for good measure, tossing it on my bed as I stood.

“What’s up?” I asked Sabine, shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “How was your lab?”

“Fine. It was a lab,” she said with a laugh. “Why so red? Were you talking with Josh?” she said teasingly.

The lump of guilt in my throat was barely swallowable. “No. Just . . . my brother,” I said dismissively.

It was beyond obvious that she didn’t believe me, but she simply finished unpacking her books onto her desk and turned to me. “So, Missy was just telling me about this Legacy thing. These people sure are big on their exclusivity.”

“That’s an understatement,” I replied, leaning back against my desk.

“It’s so annoying. All they can talk about is getting their invitations. It’s like they’re not even thinking about your party anymore,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“My party?” I asked.

“The Billings Masquerade! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten as well! It was your idea. And a good one, I thought, with the whole fund-raiser thing,” she said.

“Oh, well, yeah. But the Legacy means a lot to everyone. I get it,” I said, averting my eyes. I picked up a pen from my desk and toyed with it. “Besides, I still plan to set up the scholarship fund in Cheyenne’s name. We can start with money from the Billings alumni fund and then ask for donations.”

“So you’re just going to give up,” Sabine said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, stung by her unusually judgmental tone.

“I mean, you should go down there and tell those girls that instead of moping, they should be planning the masquerade. The one they were so excited about,” Sabine said, stepping toward me. “You’re the president. This was your thing. And now they’re ignoring it.”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. “Sabine, the Billings Masquerade . . . it was a good idea, but it’s not the Legacy. You don’t understand what this party means to these people. It’s, like, a point of honor. They have to go.”

“So that’s it. You just back down,” Sabine sniffed.

“I’m not backing down. I’m going to help them get into the Legacy,” I told her. “Give the people what they want, right?”

“I don’t get you. Why are you going to help them get into this thing you can’t even go to and help them dismiss your party and your authority in the process?” she asked. “Doesn’t that offend you?”

“Okay, when did you become Miss Revolutionary?” I joked, trying to lighten the sudden and extreme tension.

Sabine turned away from me and shook her head. “I’m just trying to help you,” she said. “You’re the president of Billings. I just wish you would start acting like it.”

I felt as if I’d just been slapped across the face. “Well, I think I
am
acting like it. I’m going to get Easton into the Legacy. For Billings, for Easton—”

“For Noelle,” she said bitterly.

Ah. So there was the real truth. Noelle. She had a problem with Noelle.

“I’m not doing this for her,” I said.

At least not
just
for her.

Sabine gazed at me for a long moment, looking hurt and betrayed. “Whatever you say.” She turned around and picked up a book from her desk. She picked at its spine, then hugged it to her chest. “Hey, maybe we can do something together that night—the two of us. Since neither one of us will be able to go,” she suggested hopefully.

I wasn’t feeling all that buddy-buddy toward her after all the criticism, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. So I said, “Yeah. Maybe.”

But inside I was actually hoping I would find a way to finagle an invite to the Legacy. The very idea of missing out, of having to listen to everyone around me gab about how amazing it was and relate the minor details of everything I’d missed, made me cringe. I was president of Billings. There had to be a way.