by Kate Brian
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“Please, when we come to get you out of class, do not be nervous,” the chief continued. “Understand that we are not treating any of you as suspects. All we care about right now is finding your classmate and returning him to his parents safely.”
So they can browbeat him into submission and ship him off to military school, no doubt.
“There will be no judgments,” he added. “But we will be grateful for any light you can shed on the situation.”
His eyes fell on me as he said this and I sank a bit lower in my seat. Why look at me? Why?
He's not. He's just looking in this general direction. Get a grip.
“I thank you in advance for your cooperation.”
The chief pushed himself away from the podium and leaned down to whisper something to the dean. It was all the pause the student body needed before breaking into full pandemonium.
“Do you think he bailed?”
“Maybe he was kidnapped.”
“I bet that freak Marco knows where he is. You think the police have talked to him yet?”
“Why would they? No one in the administration knows where he got his shit. They're so oblivious.”
Marco? Who the hell is Marco?
I squirmed, trying to ignore all the voices around me. I tried even harder to ignore the implications of what they were saying-- that it seemed that these random girls might actually know more about Thomas than I did.
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“Please. I bet the kid just scored some tainted shit and is lying in a pool of his own vomit somewhere.”
Okay. That was it. Suddenly, all the morbid thoughts I had been trying to keep at bay for the past two days hit my already fragile skull with the force of a freight train. In that moment, the feeble hope that Thomas was fine was all but obliterated. My heart pounded shallowly and, panicked, I leaned forward to press my forehead into the cool back rail of the pew in front of mine. The sour taste in my mouth intensified.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I could sense everyone looking at me. Could feel their curious, intrigued stares.
“Reed. Are you okay? Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?” Constance asked, laying her hand on my back.
“Take her to a shower first,” Missy suggested helpfully.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Kidnapped. Tainted. Vomit.
Where the hell was Thomas? Where the hell had he gone?
40
THE GIRLFRIEND
The whispers followed me out of the pew and all the way back down the aisle after services. I crossed my arms over my stomach and held on tight, trying to keep all the nervousness and fear and total conspicuousness I felt from bursting out of me in all directions. Thomas was missing. Thomas was missing and the police were looking at all of us like we were suspects. And as if that wasn't bad enough, now the entire school was watching me too.
Why couldn't he just come back? If Thomas could just show his face for five seconds on campus, all of this would go away. I just wanted it to go away.
Ariana and Taylor stepped away from the arched doorway to the chapel as I approached and I was relieved to see friendly faces, even if they were the same faces that had dragged me out of bed and into an apron that morning. My grip on my own elbows even loosened a bit.
But then Taylor whispered something quickly to Ariana, cast me an almost skittish look, ducked her head, and speed-walked
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off across the quad. I wondered if she was feeling guilty about what she and her friends had done to me earlier. She had, after all, always displayed a tad more of a conscience than the rest of the Billings Girls.
“But I heard they broke up. . . .”
“I know, but they got back together, like, the day he disappeared. ...”
I glared over my shoulder and two sophomore girls I recognized from class quickly blushed scarlet and hurried away. Ariana fell into step next to me and I was glad to have her there. My gossip buffer.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, feigning nonchalance. Something told me Ariana would appreciate the show of strength. “What's with Taylor?”
“Oh, she's still not feeling well,” Ariana replied.
“Hangover?” I whispered.
“Among other things.” Ariana sighed. “Taylor gets strep every fall and then is sick on and off all the way through the winter until spring finally springs again. She spends half her time studying in the infirmary. Better get used to it.” She stared off after Taylor's retreating form. “Weak constitution on that girl,” she said almost wistfully. “It's a shame.”
“Oh.” I stared at the ground. Being sick and infirmary-bound seemed like a fine option to me just then. Maybe I should get Taylor to breathe on me, I thought.
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'You okay?" Ariana asked me.
“I guess,” I replied.
Even though I wasn't. Even though my body, heart, and soul all ached with a vengeance. Even though I felt as if I could break apart from frustration and confusion. Why couldn't Thomas just call me? Or Josh? Or anyone? Why was he doing this to us?
Was it because the whispers were right? Had something horrible actually happened to him? A chill raced down my back and I squirmed, moving my shoulders around, trying to shake it. Ariana watched every move I made as if each one held the key to my soul.
“So. What are you going to tell them?” Ariana asked, her piercing blue eyes full of pointed concern.
“Who?”
“The police,” Ariana said in a low voice.
I paused. “What do you mean?”
Ariana turned and stepped so close to me I could have counted the pores on her nose if she'd had any. Her skin was as perfect as porcelain.
Porcelain. Toilets. Bile. Ugh.
“I mean, you're Thomas's girlfriend. They're definitely going to ask you a lot of questions,” Ariana said. “You'd better know what you're going to say before you go in there.”
My throat went dry. For a moment I felt like I was completely outside my body. She could not mean what I thought she meant. A cool breeze lifted her white-blond hair and caused her scarf to dance. Behind her some guy shouted at another. Ariana didn't move or flinch or blink.
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“Ariana ... I don't know where Thomas is,” I said finally.
Ariana stared into my eyes, searching. Searching so thoroughly that heat started to prickle all over my body. So thoroughly that I found myself wondering if I did have something to hide.
The moment I thought that, Ariana smiled.
“Okay,” she said finally.
“What?”
“Nothing. But if you do want to talk before you go in there, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Slowly, Ariana backed away. “I'd better get to class.”
She lifted one shoulder and gave me a small, knowing glance before turning and strolling off. Left alone again, I couldn't help but notice all the stares. Whenever my eyes fell on someone else, they quickly looked away. Whenever I got near anyone, they instantly stopped talking. Was this what it was going to be like for me now? Everyone talking about me all the time and watching my every move? I had known from the moment I arrived at Easton that I didn't just want to disappear among the nobodies, but I had never wanted this.
I checked my watch as I headed across the quad. Ten minute
s left before class. I needed a friendly ear. Someone who could calm me down and remind me why I was here. I dropped onto the nearest bench, pulled out my cell, and dialed my brother, who was miles upon miles away at Penn State. He picked up on the fifth ring.
“Hello?”
“Scott? It's Reed. Did I wake you up?”
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“No! No! I don't have a class for another three hours, but hey, I'm wide awake,” he said.
I smirked. A group of girls was watching me from a few feet away so I stared back at them until they were shamed into looking away.
“How's everything there?” I asked.
“Fine. How's everything at Eat Me Academy?” he asked.
“Ha ha. So glad I got all the intelligence in the family.”
“At least I got the stunning good looks,” he said. “So what's wrong?”
“Something has to be wrong? ”
“In this family, yes,” he said.
I blew out a sigh. “It's gotten really weird around here,” I told him. “This . . . well, this guy has gone missing and the cops are all over the place now. They're gonna interview everyone.”
“Missing? Like kidnapped or something?” Scott asked.
“I don't know,” I said, swallowing hard.
“Do you know this guy?” he asked.
“Kind of.” Like in the biblical sense. “He's a friend.”
“Wow. That sucks. But I'm sure he'll show up,” he said. “I bet people disappear from that place all the time, then turn up on exotic cruise ships or something.”
I laughed.
“What? Isn't that what rich people do? I remember Felicia saying something about some dude inviting the entire senior class to his palatial estate in Turks and Caicos or something.”
Felicia. Right. My older brother's older and cooler girlfriend.
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How had I forgotten that Scott knew someone who had gone here? She was the whole reason I had looked into Easton in the first place. She had spent her junior and senior years here at Easton before graduating and heading off to Dartmouth. Which meant, of course, that she knew everything about this place.
“Hey, speaking of Felicia,” I said, settling in, “did she ever mention anything to you about the Legacy?”
“The Legacy? No. Doesn't sound familiar. What is it?”
“Some party, I think. I don't know. Everyone's talking about it, though.”
“So why don't you ask someone about it?” Scott asked.
“I don't want to look like a loser,” I told him. It was a relief to actually say it. A relief to talk to someone I could be honest with.
“Too late,” he joked.
'You're funny," I told him flatly.
“Whatever. Look, I better go. I'm annoying Todd,” he said. I imagined my brother's roommate groaning and pulling a pillow over his head. “But listen, you should call Dad later.”
Instantly, guilt twisted at my heart. I hadn't called my father in days.
“Why? So he can make me feel guilty without even trying?”
“I got news for you. I've been taking psych. Apparently we get to feel guilty for the rest of our lives. Might as well get used to it.”
I sighed. “Fine. I'll call him.”
“He misses you. So does Mom, in her own sick and twisted way,” Scott said.
Suddenly all I wanted to do was get off the phone. But he'd
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done his job. He'd reminded me full force of why I was here--of who I was running away from.
“Whatever. Go back to sleep,” I told him, getting up. “I'll talk to you later.”
“Later,” he said.
And the line went dead.
I sighed and turned my steps toward class, ignoring the murmurs that followed my path. Better get used to those, too. Better get used to a lot of things.
47
MEAN GIRLS
“So, what are you wearing to the Legacy this year?”
I paused on my way out of the campus bookstore, clutching the box of pens I had just purchased. It seemed that when the entire campus wasn't talking about me it was talking about the Legacy. Maybe it wouldn't be too hard to find out about it on my own. “I don't know. I was thinking the black Chanel.” Sitting on a bench just a few feet away were two girls I recognized from Bradwell--two glossy-haired, skinny chicks whose cell phones were permanently attached to their ears. Even as they spoke, one of them held her phone to her ear, the mouthpiece away from her mouth, while the other one texted on her own sleek number. I dropped to the ground and pretended to tie my shoe.
“Didn't you wear that to, like, your mother's wedding last year?” the blonder girl asked the less blond girl. “Yeah. So?”
“So? You were photographed!” Blonder said. “You cannot wear a dress in which you were already photographed to the Legacy. It is just not done.”
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Less Blond nodded thoughtfully. “You're right. What was I thinking?”
Then Blonder's slate eyes fell on me. “Uh, excuse me? Do we amuse?”
“Sorry,” I replied, standing. “What exactly is the Legacy?”
The two girls exchanged an incredulous look. “No place we'll ever see you,” Less Blond said, dialing her phone. “Even if you are in Billings.”
“Dana! You're so bad!” Blonder said, shoving Less Blond's arm.
My face turned pink. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means,” Less Blond said, “don't act like just because Billings took you in you're somehow better than the rest of us. We all know where you came from, scholarship girl.”
“Don't worry, somebody might take pity on you and bring you to the Legacy. You know, since your boyfriend's all MIA.”
I swallowed back the huge lump that had formed in my throat. Would it be wrong to actually beat these girls down? I'd never actually gotten into a fist fight before, but with all the psychotic emotions roiling around inside my chest, they had picked the wrong time to mess with me. The thought of jumping Less Blond actually crossed my incoherent mind. I could even hear the exact pitch of her surprised screech, see her cell phone flying into the air and cracking on the stone path. It was not an unamusing visual.
I stood up straight, not entirely sure what I was going to do. They both looked up at me. I could tell Blonder was about to say
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something even snarkier, but then both of them blanched. Had I just sprung horns or something?
“I have to go,” Blonder said.
It wasn't until they had both gotten up and scurried off that I felt a presence behind me. Somehow I wasn't surprised when I turned around and saw Noelle just coming to a stop.
“Oh. Did I scare off your little friends?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Apparently,” I said. “Thanks for that.”
“Anytime,” she told me. “Girls have to learn their place.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my heart still pounding.
“I mean they don't get to mess with you, Glass-licker,” she said, slinging her arm over my shoulder. “That's my job.”
I actually managed a laugh.
“So. How are you holding up?” Noelle asked. 'You must be so sick of all this Pearson crap already."
My heart turned over, as it did at every mention of Thomas. “Aren't you worried about him at all?” I asked.
Noelle slipped away from me and looked me in the eye. As always, she was nearly impossible to read. “Reed, Thomas
Pearson has a way of always landing on his feet.”
“If you say so,” I replied.
“You cannot listen to what all the little idiots with no lives around here are saying,” she said adamantly. "Look at Dash and Gage. They've known Pearson their entire lives and they're not worried. Why? Because they know him. And they
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know that he's out there somewhere having a big fat laugh at our expense."
I smirked sadly at the thought. 'You think?"
“I know,” Noelle replied, hooking her arm through mine. “Stop worrying about him. Because sooner or later he's going to show up here like it's one big joke and then you are going to be so pissed you wasted your time.”
I took a deep breath and let her words sink in. Thomas was fine. All his friends--the people who knew him best--believed he was fine. They even believed he was going to show up at that Legacy thing all ready to party. Who was I to doubt their certainty?
“So. Ready for a little kick-ass soccer practice?” Noelle asked. “I promise I won't lay you out today. Wait. Actually, I don't.”
I laughed as we headed off toward Billings to change. A little kick-ass soccer practice was exactly what I needed.
“What were you crazy kids talking about anyway?” Noelle asked. “Looked serious.”
For a split second I considered asking her about the Legacy. But I wasn't yet desperate enough to remind Noelle that I knew so little about the inner workings of this place. I'd just have to keep trying to find out on my own.
“Oh, you know, the latest in Vera Wang,” I said blithely as we turned up the path to Billings.
Noelle laughed for a long time. “That's what I like about you, Reed,” she said between gasps for air. “Sometimes you really slay me.”
51
DEAR REED
“Ugh! I just cannot take this sweater one more second,” London Simmons said, pulling a creamy white cashmere sweater over her head and tossing it at her silver garbage can. Her dark brown hair grazed her bare back, falling into perfect waves.
“London! You cannot just throw away cashmere,” her roommate, Vienna Clark, replied.