The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (20 page)

But then, of course, there was the little issue of Thomas himself. I had told him I would help him. I had told him I would be there for him. I couldn’t have both him and the Billings Girls—that much had been made perfectly clear. So what was I going to do?

Just to make my solitude more complete, Thomas was MIA for the rest of the day. Normally I would see him in the halls between
classes or lounging in the quad before the bell, but he was nowhere to be found. I checked my cell for messages every five minutes, but there was nothing. Even the sight of the blank screen depressed me, almost as much as the words “Glass-licker’s Phone,” which I hadn’t changed because it had started to feel like a personal joke between me and Noelle. Now it just seemed like a
cruel
joke.

Back at Bradwell after dinner, I kept my phone in my front pocket and listened for the ring of the hall phone, but everything was silent. Even the dorm was quieter than usual, with several of my floor-mates having gone out for dinner with their parents. Most of the families were arriving on Saturday for morning services followed by brunch, but some had come early to whisk their little darlings off to one of the quaint, candlelit restaurants in town. One might think this would make me regret my decision to shut my parents out, but it only made me feel more secure. If anything, we would have been chowing down at the Denny’s on the highway while my mother made her coffee Irish and berated me for thinking I was better than she was.

With a sigh, I pushed myself up from my bed and sat down on the window ledge. Ariana’s room was pitch black. Most of the windows in Billings were. More casualties of parents’ weekend. I pulled out my phone and stared at it, feeling desperate. I needed to talk to someone.

I took a deep breath and decided to start at the bottom. I would call Taylor. She was my best shot at a sympathetic ear. And maybe if she was out with her parents, she would be more inclined to be nice to me.

I was grasping at straws.

I hit speed dial four. Noelle had preprogrammed them for me. She was one. Ariana was two. Kiran, three. Taylor, four.

I held my breath as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Then the voice mail picked up. “Hi! You’ve reached Taylor’s phone! Please leave a message!”

I hung up before the beep. Emboldened, I tried Kiran. Another voice mail. “It’s Kiran,” she said, sounding bored. “If you don’t know what to do at the beep, I can’t help you.”

I hung up. A slight flicker of anger started to grow inside of me. How could they ignore me like this? Had they all made some pact not to pick up if I called? Shaking, I tried Ariana. Her voice mail flicked on instantly. I hung up before the recorded voice had finished uttering its first word and tossed my phone onto Constance’s bed, disgusted—with them, yes, but more so with myself.

Screw this.

I got up, grabbed the phone, and was about to dial Noelle when the door flew open, shooting my heart into my throat. Constance bounced in, all flushed.

“Hey! A bunch of us are gonna watch a DVD. Wanna come?” she asked.

No, I want to wallow.

“Thanks anyway,” I said. “I have some phone calls to make.”

“Come on, Reed. Lorna’s whipped out her entire Reese Witherspoon collection and they’re already starting to fight over what to watch,” Constance rambled.

“I can’t,” I told her. I itched for her to go away. The longer she stayed, the longer she prevented me from calling Noelle. From begging for my life.

“Come on!” Constance wheedled. “It’ll be fun! You can be the deciding vote!”

“I said
no
,” I snapped.

Instantly, I regretted it. Constance looked at me as if I’d just slapped her across the face. I may as well have. All she had done since we had arrived here was be bubbly and kind and solicitous. And all I’d done was ignore her.

“Constance—”

“No. It’s fine,” she said, grabbing a sweater off her bed. “You call your
friends
.”

She turned around and, for the first time since I’d known her, slammed the door.

And there I stood, alone in my room, clinging to my silent phone, listening to the laughter and conversation on the other side of the wall.

At seven a.m. on Saturday I arrived at the end of the walk that led to Ketlar House, coiffed like I had never been coiffed before. I wasn’t sure if Kiran would still be okay with my wearing her clothes, but I had decided to risk it. In order to get through this day, I needed to be someone other than myself. And in this outfit I felt like a different person. Of course, my heart was still pounding nervously. I was about to meet Thomas’s parents, the infamous Lawrence and Trina. How could a girl not be afraid?

It was a gorgeous, crisp, clear autumn morning. All around me guys greeted their parents with handshakes and hugs before leading them off to morning services. I scanned the area for Thomas, but didn’t see him. I did, however, spot his parents. They couldn’t have been more obvious if their foreheads had been stamped “Pearson.” His father stood at the far side of the walk, the cuff of his pristine gray suit riding up each time he checked his Movado. He was the spitting image of Thomas with just a bit more weight and height, and a few wrinkles around the eyes. Thomas’s mother sat perched
on a stone bench behind him, her face pinched and her dyed red hair pulled back in a chignon. She wore a pinstriped suit and perfect leather heels that matched her perfect leather bag. She looked, in a word, bored.

Thomas was clearly late. I could have killed him for putting me in this awkward situation. I had never been good at introducing myself to people, especially adults. For a few moments, I waited for them to spot me. After all, they knew that I was coming. Thomas must have described me to them. Wasn’t it the adult’s responsibility to approach the kid?

But the longer I waited, the more the area emptied out and soon I felt so conspicuous I couldn’t take it anymore. Thinking of Kiran’s easy sophistication, of Noelle’s self-assuredness, I plastered a smile across my face and turned to Thomas’s dad. Hey, I could still emulate them, even if they hated me.

“Hi! You must be Mr. Pearson,” I said, stepping toward him.

He looked me up and down, his brows drawing together. Behind him, his wife rose on unsteady feet. “Yes. And you are?”

“I’m Reed Brennan.”

No flicker of recognition. Not even a blink. My underarms prickled with heat.

“Thomas’s . . .”

The word caught in my throat. I found that with the infamous Pearsons staring me down, I couldn’t choke it out.

“Thomas’s what, dear?” Trina said, catching her husband’s arm in her grip.

“Thomas’s . . . friend,” I said finally.
I want out of here. Now.
“He didn’t . . . I thought he told you I would be having brunch with you.”

His father sighed. “No, he didn’t. But then, that’s Thomas. I’m not at all surprised.”

I couldn’t believe this. Thomas had told them all about me. I was the first girlfriend he wanted them to meet. They were excited to meet me. More lies. I stared at the door of Ketlar, willing Thomas to emerge. If he was in there, playing sick, leaving me alone to deal with these people who didn’t even know I existed, then he was the biggest coward ever to roam the earth.

But he wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t. Not after everything. Not after his confession and apology. Something had to be wrong.

I whipped my cell phone out and speed-dialed Thomas. I smiled at his parents, then turned away. It went directly to voice mail and I snapped the phone shut. For the first time, I wished I had the number to his other phone. Anything to get hold of him.

“Where
is
Thomas, dear?” his mother asked, running her eyes over me. I tucked my phone away.

“I don’t know. He must be running late,” I said. I racked my brain for some kind of excuse. “He . . . uh . . . has this big paper due and I know he stayed up late last night working on it.”

“Thomas? Up late studying? That’s rich,” his father said.

My face burned. I was no good at this. I could barely handle my own parents. At that moment, the chapel bells rang out, signaling the start of morning services. I looked around. The entire quad was deserted.

The tone of the bell reverberated through my bones as I looked up to the high eaves of Ketlar House. I hadn’t talked to Thomas in almost twenty-four hours. Hadn’t even
seen
him since his visit yesterday morning. Somehow I knew that Thomas wasn’t inside those walls, looking out. I knew it in my soul.

“That’s it. I’m going in there and dragging him out if I have to,” Mr. Pearson said.

I wanted to protest. To say that I’d go. But he had already stormed like a bull halfway up the walk. Mrs. Pearson sighed grandly and I shot her an apologetic smile, which she completely ignored. The longer we stood there alone, the faster my heart pounded. Something was wrong here. Something was very, very wrong.

I half hoped Mr. Pearson would walk out holding Thomas by the scruff of his neck, still wearing his boxers or pajama pants or whatever the hell a guy like him slept in. But seconds later, when Mr. Pearson emerged, he was red with rage and completely alone.

Thomas was gone.

During morning services, I sat in chilled silence with Constance and her parents—a very large man with a very large head, and a diminutive woman whom he totally overshadowed. Constance hadn’t spoken to me all morning and had vacated the room to go meet her parents before I had even showered. But when I sat down next to her after chapel, she had taken in my outfit and given me an impressed glance. I took this as a good sign. Maybe the damage I had done last night was not irreversible.

While Mr. Talbot continuously leaned over to his daughter and asked questions about the service—at full volume—I spent half the time craning my neck around to see if Thomas had arrived yet. His parents stood in the back of the auditorium, looking sour and grim. Every now and then when I turned, I caught his mother staring me down. As if I was somehow responsible for her son’s slight. Each time I caught her eye I blanched and told myself not to look again. But I couldn’t stop. I kept looking until the dean’s final address.

Thomas never arrived.

When services were over, I dodged through the crowd, trying to catch up with Josh, but the wall of families closed in on me and I lost sight of him and his parents. Soon I found myself walking back to Bradwell alone, contemplating my next move. I had already tried every one of Thomas’s phone numbers a dozen times. What else could I do? Break into his room and toss it for clues? Where had he gone? And why hadn’t he told me he was going?

When I walked into Bradwell, I saw Constance and her parents waiting for the elevator. The last thing I wanted was to ride up in that claustrophobic space with a larger-than-life man and his could-be-mad-at-me daughter. It might send me over the edge. I turned around and shoved my way into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. Maybe Thomas had left a note on my door. Or maybe he was even hanging out in my room.

A girl could hope.

I arrived at our door, all sweaty and out of breath, at the same exact moment as Constance. She was alone.
Thank God.

“Where are your parents?” I asked, heaving.

“Waiting in the common room,” she said. “What’s going on? Are you all right? We all saw Thomas’s parents at services. Did something happen to him?”

Hell if I know.
But apparently my proximity to the newest gossip had erased her memory of last night’s slight.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” I lied.

I pushed open the door to our room and we both stopped in our tracks. My entire half of the room was bare. No books, no posters, no sheets, no pillows, no soccer ball. Nothing.

“What the . . . ?” Constance said.

“Oh, my God,” I blurted under my breath. I felt the room start to spin. “Oh, my God.”

“Okay, calm down,” Constance said, though she sounded anything but calm herself. We stared around at the bare bed, the desk that had been swept clean, the closet with its big empty space near the end. It was all gone. Like I had never even been there. “There has to be a reasonable explanation for this.”

“Like what?” I asked.

I felt like I was having a heart attack. First Thomas, now this. How much could one girl handle in one morning?

Constance looked at me and bit her lip. “Your grades have been better, right?”

For a second everything clouded over. “You think they kicked me
out
?”

“No! I don’t know!” Constance said desperately. “I just . . . where’s all your stuff?”

“I have to go,” I said, walking toward the door on shaky legs. I felt like I was in a dream. “I have to go find . . . someone.”

Naylor, maybe. The dean? Who the hell did people go to when all their things disappeared from their room?
Had
they kicked me out?

And then it hit me. The Billings Girls. Natasha’s accusation. Her insinuation that somehow Noelle had been responsible for Leanne. Had they gotten me expelled somehow? Would they really go that far just because I had forgiven Thomas?
Could
they really go that far?

A huge knot formed in my stomach. I was going to be sick.
My life at Easton was over. My hopes, my dreams, my future. Everything. Gone.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Constance asked.

“No. Stay with your parents,” I said, somehow finding lucid thoughts. “I’ll . . . I’ll be back.”

I hope.

I staggered down the hall and rushed down the stairs on weakened knees, nearly upending myself at least three times. Outside, the sun blinded me and I paused for a second, disoriented. Where was I going? I had to talk to someone, but who? How could I possibly fix this?

Just then, my cell phone rang, scaring the life right out of me. My hands quaking, I fumbled the tiny phone out of my pocket and checked the caller ID. Restricted number. I hit the talk button, having no clue who it was or even who I wanted it to be.

“Hello?”

“What’re you doing out there all by yourself, glass-licker?”