The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (28 page)

“Take the suede jacket. Every girl needs a little suede,” Ariana said, handing over a box.

“We’ll make a fashionista out of you yet,” Kiran told me, offering a champagne flute.

“Wow. This is incredible, Kiran. Thanks,” I said.

“Well,” she said, stepping in front of me and looking me in the eye. “What are friends for?”

My insides squeezed with guilt and I took a slug of the champagne. Friends, huh? What would she think if she knew that a few minutes ago I had been considering pawing through her stuff? And Noelle’s and Ariana’s and Taylor’s? Would she still call me a friend then? Not likely.

I shook my head and tried to clear the negativity. I hadn’t done it. I hadn’t betrayed them. Not yet anyway. But for the first time, as I looked around at their eager, happy faces, I suddenly realized what I had to lose if I went through with Natasha’s plan. It was this. If I went through with it, these girls would all be gone from this place, gone from my life.

I had this to lose.

All throughout my morning classes, I was in a daze. If my art teacher had called on me during her lecture about French Impressionism, I probably would have muttered an answer like, “The ratio of the height to the hypotenuse.” I had no idea where I was.

To spy or not to spy? That was the question. And when that wasn’t the question, there was always that other infinitesimal issue: When were the police going to come get me? And when they did, was I or was I not going to tell them about Thomas’s note?

I had a few more pressing things on my mind than whether or not Claude Monet could be considered a revolutionary.

When I was finally released from my fourth class of the day, I was the first one out the door. I practically jogged down the hallway, in desperate need of oxygen. I had to clear my head. I had to go somewhere and think. I had no idea what any of my teachers had said all morning long. If I didn’t figure all this out soon, Natasha’s blackmail would be a moot point. I would flunk out before she could get me expelled.

As I shoved open the door of the classroom building and emerged into the sun, I took a nice deep breath of the crisp autumn air. This was what I needed. I would stroll at a leisurely pace across campus to the cafeteria. I would take a second to breathe and regroup. A few minutes of alone time were just what the shrink ordered.

“Hello, Reed.”

Walt Whittaker was leaning up against the stone pillar at the bottom of the stairs. Instantly Natasha’s nasty slide show replayed itself in my brain. Lips, hands, tongues. Ugh. Apparently he had finally decided it was time to talk to me. The boy officially had my nomination for the Worst Timing Award.

“Hi,” I said, walking right by him.

As always, a few gossiping girls were watching me and I was hoping he would be embarrassed in front of them and take the hint. I physically shuddered as I passed him. What should have been a quickly forgotten, detail-fuzzy hookup had now turned into a messy encounter that was permanently burned into my brain.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

With his long legs, he had caught up to me in two simple strides.

I took a deep breath and let it out audibly. Okay. This was not his fault. He wasn’t the one blackmailing me. As far as I knew he didn’t even have a clue that those pictures existed. And it wasn’t as if I could avoid the guy forever.
Might as well get this over with
, I thought. At least it would be one less thing to think about. I stepped off the cobbled path and under the shade of a golden maple.

I tried not to cringe when I looked at him.

“How are you?” Whittaker asked me, his brown eyes full of concern.

“Fine,” I told him. “You?”

“I’m well. Thank you for asking. Listen, about the other night,” he began, causing my insides to squirm. “I wanted to apologize. I was a tad over my limit and I think you may have been as well.” He looked at me for confirmation.

“A tad.”

Understatement of the millennium.

“Well, I think I may have taken advantage,” he said, looking down briefly at his loafers. “And for that I am truly sorry.”

Wow. A guy approximately my own age who was actually a gentleman. My shoulder muscles uncoiled slightly. Clearly I had been right about Whit from the beginning, even though my original judgment had been made in the midst of an alcohol blitz. This was a genuinely nice guy. I couldn’t take Natasha’s evilness out on him.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“No. It’s not. I—”

“Really, Whittaker,” I said. “I was there too. I knew what I was doing.” At least I thought I knew. Until last night, when I found out what it actually looked like. “It’s not all on you.”

Whittaker smiled his thanks. “Still, you are a lady. You deserve to be treated like one.”

Oh, I am
so
not a lady.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to smile.

“So,” he said, then laughed. “Now that the awkward part is over, shall we agree to be . . . friends?”

Friends? Yes. Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Sure,” I said.

“Good. Friends it is,” Whittaker said. Then he caught my hand in his, lifted it, and kissed it lightly.

Right. None of my other friends did that, but okay.

“I have a meeting with the dean now, but I’ll see you at dinner?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“See ya then,” I replied.

As he turned and strolled away, I wondered if he was telling the truth about this friends thing, but I decided not to dwell on it. I had too many other things to dwell on. For now, I’d take the gentleman at his word. And later, if need be, I’d hold him to it.

The more people the police interviewed, the more the Easton Academy rumor mill took on a life of its own. If Leanne’s expulsion had been an eight, then Thomas’s disappearance was a ten-plus. Everywhere I went, everyone was asking everyone else what they knew, what they’d heard—and yet, no one seemed to know anything. It was all very frustrating. The longer we all went without a clue, the more panicked the vibe became, until I felt as if the kinetic energy of the student body might actually cause a nuclear meltdown.

“So, have you heard anything?” Constance asked me, sliding into the seat next to mine in trig class, our last of the day.

“No. You?” I asked.

“I heard they kept Dash McCafferty in there for over an hour,” Constance said breathlessly. “And apparently Taylor Bell came out in tears.”

“What? No,” I said. “Why would Taylor be crying?”

“Who knows?” Constance said. “Maybe she has a secret crush on Thomas or something.”

Taylor? Not possible. Or was it? I had never seen her look twice at Thomas, and that was hard to keep from doing. More likely she had just gotten overwrought by the whole situation. Or someone had just made this whole crying thing up.

I remembered Noelle’s theory and wondered if Thomas really was out there having a big laugh at the drama he was causing. Was that the real reason he hadn’t told anyone where he was going? I wished for the ten millionth time that I could just see him, just ask him what the hell he was thinking. But there was a way. If I could just find out more about this Legacy thing and score an invite, I might have a chance to finally,
finally
track him down.

“Hey, let me ask you a question. Do you know anything about this thing called the Legacy?” I asked.

Constance snorted derisively and sank down in her seat. “Yeah. It’s pretty much all anyone can talk about. Besides you, of course.”

“Right. What is it?” I asked.

“It’s some huge party in the city or something,” Constance said. “It’s all very hush-hush. At least from people like us.”

I blinked. “People like us?” Other than our both being sophomores, Constance and I had pretty much zero in common.

“Non-legacies,” Constance said. “Only people who come from, like, a long line of private-school people are invited. So not people like us.”

Now it was my turn to sink into my seat. So
that
was what those girls had meant when they’d said they’d never see me there. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah. Sucks, huh?” Constance said. “It sounds like it’s gonna be incredible. Missy Thurber said that last year every guy who
went got a platinum Rolex and every girl got a limited-edition Harry Winston necklace. I’d kill for a Harry Winston anything. My mom won’t let me have any good jewelry until I’m eighteen. She thinks I’ll lose it.”

“Bummer,” I said, my hopes of seeing Thomas slipping away before my eyes.

“But, hey, you’re in Billings now, so maybe you’ll get to go anyway.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know. The Billings Girls get everything,” Constance said, like it was so obvious. “You probably get an automatic invite or something.”

I considered this theory for a moment. It wasn’t a bad one, actually. Everyone at Easton knew that the Billings Girls were never left out of anything unless they chose to leave themselves out. Maybe this would be my first chance to exercise my automatic in. And see Thomas. God, I hoped so.

“Omigod! There he is!” Constance said suddenly, grabbing my arm.

My heart completely stopped. I looked out the window. “Thomas?”

“No! Walt Whittaker,” Constance whispered, pulling her desk closer to mine. “I heard he was back from his trip.”

Instantly, every single part of me drooped. Nice tease. I turned around and sure enough, standing in the hallway outside the classroom talking to our trig teacher, was none other than Whit
himself. The Twin Cities, London and Vienna, hovered nearby, clutching their books, clearly waiting for him to finish his conversation. Apparently, whatever London was planning on using Whit for, the campaign had begun.

“You know him?” I asked.

“
Know
him? Our parents are totally old friends,” Constance said, still gripping my arm. “They’re the ones who actually suggested I apply here. Omigod, look at him. He is
so
hot.”

Internal alarm. I sat up a bit straighter. “What?”

“Wow. He’s
totally
lost weight,” Constance said, all starry-eyed. “He must be working out.”

Lost
weight? Really? Huh. What had he been tipping the scales at before? Three bills?

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Do you . . .
like
him?” I asked.

Constance ripped her gaze away from Whit for the first time and looked at me. She might as well have been one of those blissed-out fans in the front row at some pop concert.

“I’ve had a crush on him since I was about ten,” she said. “Of course, he barely even knows I exist, but I—”

“What about Clint?” I asked. She did, after all, have a boyfriend back in New York.

Constance scoffed. “Omigod, if Walt Whittaker showed any interest in me at all, I would dump Clint like that.” She added a finger snap to show just how quickly.

“Wow. I had no idea,” I said, sliding down in my seat again.

I could hardly believe that a guy like Whit could inspire such
ardor in a girl, but it just went to show there was someone for everyone. And it turned out that Constance’s someone just happened to be the same someone who had stuck his tongue down my throat just a couple of nights ago.

“Oh, no one does. I keep it completely on the DL,” Constance said, then gasped. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Just like I won’t be telling you about a certain illicit encounter with a certain someone in the woods Sunday night.

Just what I needed. More secrets from more people. Pretty soon it was going to get tough keeping them all straight.

Another night passed. Then another. There was no word of Thomas. Every hour of every day was occupied with either chores, class, or avoiding Natasha, which wasn’t easy, considering we shared a room. I hadn’t searched Noelle’s room or anyone else’s. Hadn’t so much as opened a drawer. The longer Natasha went without mentioning it, the more I hoped she might just forget about it.

A girl could dream.

Still, all the work and worry and stealth maneuvering to avoid her took their toll. I couldn’t sleep, could hardly eat, and was still waiting for the police to come talk to me. By the end of the week, I felt like a shadow of my former self.

On Friday at lunch I placed my overloaded tray at the end of the Billings table and handed out the food I had been told to procure. Then I dropped down into one of two empty seats and pulled out my trig text with a sigh. I had a quiz that afternoon. I couldn’t even remember what chapter it was supposed to cover.

Listlessly, I flipped through the pages, noticing my raw, irritated fingertips, red from cleaning products and chapped from too much washing. My knuckles were cracked as well and there were little nicks and cuts all over my hands. I was truly becoming a hard laborer.

A shadow fell over my book just as I decided on a chapter to read through. Or more likely, one sentence to read through over and over and over again without absorbing a thing. Someone cleared his throat. Finally I looked up.

Whit hovered over me, his hands behind his back, a mischievous smile on his face. He wore a green sweater with a tiny hound’s-tooth pattern that on him looked like way too many hound’s teeth.

“Hello, Reed,” he said, near giddy.

“Hi . . . ?”

I looked around at the others. A few of them watched with interest. London, who sat at the next table just behind Noelle, seemed especially intrigued. She actually stopped grooming and turned around.

“What’s up?” I said.

“I have something for you,” Whit told me. “Nothing big. Don’t worry. I just . . . I saw them and I thought of you.”

Big gulp.

“Them?” I said.

Whittaker produced a small box from behind his back. It was gray and shiny and had gold lettering. I stared at it.

Whatever was in that box, I had a feeling it was not “just friends” appropriate. In fact, no random gift on a random day would be “just friends” appropriate. This was not good.

I glanced around. A few people at adjacent tables were starting to take notice. London glared at me with obvious envy and Vienna looked, in a word, stunned. I glimpsed Constance just entering the lunch line at the back of the room. Apparently she hadn’t seen.