Shadow Hills

by Anastasia Hopcus

  “Hmm.” That didn’t seem particularly helpful.

  “Oh! I do remember Toy saying that she figured out that all the settlers who died had moved here from other parts of Massachusetts, but apparently the people who immigrated straight from England just got sick, then recovered. That’s kind of weird, right?”

  It was definitely weird, but it also didn’t explain anything.

  “I guess the British have a stronger constitution.” I squashed down my empty sandwich wrapping.

  After we were done eating, we headed back outside. Even though classes didn’t start until tomorrow, there were definitely more students milling around the campus. In fact, I’d never seen so many plaid shirts and khaki pants all congregated in one place before. It was kind of freaky.

  Preps weren’t considered cool at my school in L.A., and these people looked like they had come from the country club for the bland.

  “So what now?” Graham broke into my thoughts.

  “You’re the tour guide. Where do you think we should go?”

  “Umm … I could show you the spot in the woods where all the secret parties are held.”

  “Okay.” This was something I wanted to know about.

  “Shit.” Graham shook his head. “I forgot, we need a GPS. I don’t have one.”

  “You need a GPS to find the party spot?” I stared at him incredulously.

  “The woods are huge, and the students purposely make the spot insanely hard to locate so teachers won’t find it.” Graham shrugged. “The longitude and latitude numbers are in my wallet.”

  “I’m kind of a map geek—I have a Garmin handheld back at the dorm.”

  “Okay. To Kresky, then,” he said, and led the way. “So, do you surf?” he asked as we walked.

  “Sometimes. Not like you, though. I’ve never busted a tooth or anything,” I teased.

  “Are your parents going to send your board with the rest of your stuff? ’Cause there’s a great beach that’s only like an hour or so away.”

  “I don’t know if they’ll think about it. I mean, I didn’t mention it, and if my mom is the one packing …” I trailed off. The Xanax they had given my mom to calm her down after the police came had now become a daily staple.

  “Forgetful?”

  “Monumentally.” I nodded. “Sometimes I don’t think she even knows what month it is.” I glanced away from Graham, afraid that if I looked into his eyes he would be able to tell how my family had fallen apart after Athena’s death.

  “Yeah, well. Now you’re here.” Graham stopped in front of the door to my dorm. “And I, for one, am happy about it.”

  I couldn’t think of what to say; I’d never been able to express my emotions in that kind of quick, easy manner. It was something we didn’t do much in my family. Luckily, it didn’t seem as if Graham was waiting for a response. He just held the door open for me, and we stepped into the foyer.

  Which was filled with bags. About fifteen large pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage, to be exact. Not to mention a black leather trunk big enough to fit a dead body in. Okay, today’s hospital trip had definitely put me in a morbid frame of mind.

  “How was I supposed to know that the singles here are the size of my shoe closet?” A slightly southern-accented but still commanding voice came from within the walls of luggage.

  Ms. Moore was standing next to the ginormous trunk, looking like her head was about to explode. “There are dimensions for all the rooms clearly stated on both the Web site and your admissions papers,” she said between gritted teeth.

  I heard a bag zip shut, and the girl stood up. She was thin and toned, with a golden tan—definitely tennis team material. Her height also added to her athletic appearance; she looked to be around five feet nine, which gave her a good three inches on me.

  “Well, that explains why I didn’t know the measurements of the room. My personal assistant filled out all the admissions papers.” The girl opened her whiskey-brown eyes in a wide, innocent manner. “I’d have never imagined that it would be so tiny.”

  “Well, Adriana, that doesn’t change the fact that your room is the size that it is, and there is no way for me to make it bigger.” Ms. Moore’s smile was rigid.

  “In that case, I guess we will just have to get me another room.” Adriana’s soft accent belied the asperity of her words.

  “I’m sorry, but these are the largest singles on campus. Unless you would like me to try and place you with someone in a double.”

  Adriana looked at Ms. Moore as though she had completely lost her already feeble mind.

  “Ms. Moore, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t believe my father, the Virginia senator, paid a quarter of a million dollars to upgrade your athletic fields so that I can live in a double.” She said “double” like I would say “rat-infested sewer.” “Besides, I wasn’t implying that I change rooms. I don’t even know how we would arrange that with all the movers already gone.”

  Graham and I exchanged a look.

  “Movers?” he mouthed to me.

  “What I am proposing is that you find me an additional room. For my things.” Adriana gestured at the bags, in case Ms. Moore was unaware of them clogging up the common room and foyer.

  I could tell Ms. Moore was trying hard not to throttle this new girl. After a ten-second pause—probably counting down to calm herself—she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.

  “There is a storage room on each floor. It’s usually reserved for seniors in good standing, but due to your … special situation”—Ms. Moore’s expression was pained—“you can store your bags there until we can find a more permanent solution.”

  Adriana considered this a moment, then nodded her approval. With her problem settled, she looked over at the entrance to the foyer, where Graham and I had been watching in rapt attention.

  “Well, hello there. I’m Adriana.” She gave us a glittering smile. Her perfect teeth were brighter than her white shift dress.

  “This is Phe.” Graham pointed at me with his thumb. “And I’m Graham.”

  “Sorry about all this mess.” She tucked a lock of her straight golden-brown hair behind her ear. “It seems we weren’t adequately prepared for my arrival.”

  Why did I get the feeling that when Adriana said “we” she really meant “the total morons who run this school”?

  “Well, I’ll leave you kids to get acquainted, then. Maybe you can help Adriana put her things up?” Ms. Moore was obviously in a hurry to be out of her presence. “Here’s the key to the storage room.” She dropped it into Adriana’s waiting hand. “It’s the door next to the stairwell, directly across the hall from your room.”

  “Perfect.” Adriana practically purred as she slipped the key into her black Fendi bag.

  Ms. Moore gave us a cursory nod and escaped to her room, closing the door a little harder than was probably necessary.

  “What room are you in?” I had a feeling I already knew the answer, since my room was across from the stairs.

  “One-fourteen,” Adriana answered, confirming my thought.

  “One-sixteen.” I pointed at myself.

  “Well, isn’t that lucky?”

  That, I’m not so sure about yet.

  I smiled, changing the subject. “So you’re from Virginia?”

  “My family has houses all over, but Virginia’s home base during the school year.” Adriana shook her head. “Thank God I’m here now. I can almost bear the small-town thing, but the backwoods camo-crazed hunters are too much to deal with. You know what I mean?”

  I shrugged. Having never been in her position, I couldn’t really say.

  “We better get this stuff cleared out.” Graham motioned to the luggage.

  After we—meaning Graham and I—had finished lugging the bags into the storage space, Adriana, who had been putting stuff away in her room, asked us to help her move the huge trunk. And by help, she of course meant do it for her.

  “Just set it on the throw rug,�
�� Adriana instructed as Graham and I carried the insanely heavy trunk into the room. “Do you guys want to listen to some music?” she asked, without turning away from the iPod speaker system she was setting up.

  “What do you have?” I inquired. Ariel had a saying for when I started switching out the CDs in her car changer: “All hail the music dictator.” I, however, preferred to think of it as having good taste.

  Athena had started me listening to bands like Bad Brains, Buzzcocks, and the Pixies when I was a kid, moving me on to The White Stripes and other more recent stuff as I got older. By the time I hit middle school, discovering new bands had become a contest between us. If only I could tell her about all the music I’d found in the past year; she would love that.

  Adriana pulled the iPod from her purse and handed it to me. The girl had some good music—she had some pretty bad stuff, too, but it was mostly outweighed by the good.

  “Arcade Fire works for me.” I passed it back to Adriana.

  She shot Graham a questioning look, and he held his hands up in surrender.

  “Whatever you two want is fine. I’m just here as eye candy.” He grinned.

  A moment later the first strains of “Neighborhood #1” came on, and Adriana closed her door. I figured this was probably not allowed with a guy in the room, but she didn’t seem to be much of a rules person.

  Adriana walked over to the trunk and dropped into a squat. The trunk was on two-inch-high legs, and after a moment of feeling around under it, Adriana unrolled a black electrical cord from the base and plugged it into the outlet on the wall.

  Turning back to us, she gave a triumphant smile, the gold flecks in her irises catching the subtle highlights in her hair.

  “What is that thing?” Graham asked.

  “Come over here and I’ll show you.” Adriana lifted the lid of the trunk. Graham and I peered inside to find an unbelievable array of … sweaters. Incredibly expensive, perfectly pressed, in every color of the rainbow. They were folded and placed in a black velvet-lined organizer.

  Wow, talk about anticlimactic. And why the hell did the trunk weigh so much? What were these sweaters made out of, lead? Adriana was a senator’s daughter, but I seriously doubted her clothing was bulletproof.

  “Let me guess.” Graham tapped his index finger against his chin, in an exaggerated thinker’s pose. “It’s a dehumidifier for your cashmere?”

  Adriana reached into the trunk and pulled out the organizer, revealing at least twenty bottles—all filled with different liquors.

  I didn’t need a conduct book to know that this was definitely against the rules.

  “It’s a bottle cooler.” Adriana was obviously pleased by our astonishment. “Bob Penwick Pub Gear did our family bar for next to nothing. My dad was Bob’s favorite quarterback for the Washington Redskins.”

  Ah, an athlete and a senator—Adriana’s dad was the über-American.

  “And as a going-away present Dad commissioned a custom cooler for me. It’s identical to a professional one. Except, you know … miniature.”

  I looked back down at the behemoth trunk. This was not what I called miniature.

  “How did you talk your dad into that?” My parents let me have a glass of wine now and then, but there was no way they’d ever do this.

  “My dad was raised in Texas—it’s more a colossal brewery than a state. He couldn’t care less about underage drinking.” Adriana pulled three glasses out of a box labeled FRAGILE. “How about a cocktail? I don’t have ice, though.”

  “I’ll grab some from the common-room freezer,” I offered.

  I pulled the door closed as quietly as I could. All I needed was for Ms. Moore to catch me drinking before school had even started. That would be a fun phone call to my parents.

  When I returned to Adriana’s room, she and Graham were sitting on the floor. I sat down across from them, reclining against the closed door.

  “Thanks.” Adriana dropped a few ice cubes in each glass. “What do you want?”

  “Grey Goose and Sprite?” I shrugged.

  She poured a hefty shot followed by a splash of Sprite then handed the cup to me. After Adriana filled her own glass she lifted it up in the air.

  “A toast. To doing anything we want and never getting caught.”

  “That I can toast to,” Graham agreed.

  “It’s got my vote.” I clinked my glass against theirs.

  “So are you both new, too?” Adriana asked.

  “Been here since I was a freshman,” Graham answered.

  “I arrived yesterday from L.A.”

  “Really?” Adriana’s eyes lit up. “I love, love, love L.A. The sun, the beaches, the boutiques—I could just die.”

  I laughed and took another sip of my drink. Adriana had put in a bit more alcohol than I was used to, but I did enjoy the way the vodka warmed my stomach.

  “Yeah. I’m definitely going to miss L.A., but this place seems cool.”

  “Devenish has got to be better than my old school in Virginia. It was ridiculously strict.” Adriana refilled my glass before I was even finished.

  “You seem like you’ll be able to keep the administration in check.” Graham smiled. “I think Ms. Moore, for one, is going to stay out of your way.”

  “I have that effect on some people.” Adriana reached into her purse and extracted a pack of cigarettes.

  “Smoke?” She pulled three out.

  I shook my head no. When I was twelve, I’d smoked five of my sister’s Camels to impress her and then lost any cred I’d earned by throwing up my dinner. The taste of cigarettes and regurgitated pâté had really stuck with me.

  “Graham?”

  “No, thanks. Gotta keep up my surfer’s lungs.”

  “Wow. You two are definitely from California.” Adriana opened the window and took a seat on the ledge.

  I smiled at her wry, deadpan tone. I was growing to like this girl. Sure, she was a prima donna, but she also seemed like fun.

  “So we still have another six hours before curfew. Any plans?” A lavender cord of smoke escaped from between Adriana’s lips.

  “I need to go meet my new roomie. Make sure he’s not some uptight chess club president.” Graham glanced at his cell. “He’s probably gonna get here soon, so I think I’ll call it quits after this drink.”

  “What about you?” Adriana nodded in my direction.

  “My stuff doesn’t get here until Monday, so I’m free from any unpacking duties. Of course, I also don’t have any fresh clothes.” I glanced down at my tank top, which had magically acquired a streak of mud and some mustardlike yellow stain.

  “So borrow something of mine.” Adriana absentmindedly flicked her thumb against the Marlboro’s filter, raining ash onto the ledge. “Then we can go into town and go shopping.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I smiled. “Though I don’t suspect Shadow Hills has much in the way of great little boutiques.”

  “I’m sure we can find something.” She turned to Graham. “How far is it into town?”

  “I’m not sure exactly—five miles?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to call the limo company and get them to send my driver back.” Adriana stubbed out her cigarette and sat back down next to us, leaving the window open to air out the room. “He couldn’t have possibly made it all the way back to Boston yet.”

  “You could use my Buick,” Graham offered. “I’m not sure if—”

  Adriana cut him off with a laugh, laying her hand on his arm. “Sweetie. I don’t do Buicks. But thanks for the offer; you’re very kind.” She swigged the rest of her drink as Graham and I came to the dregs of ours.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you two tomorrow, then.” Graham stood. “You’re a wonderful host, Adriana.” He gave us a wink and left.

  “I’m gonna take a quick shower before we go into town,” I said.

  “That’s fine.” Adriana waved me away. “It’ll probably take them that long to get the car back here.”

  I grabbed my towe
l and toiletries bag out of my room, then headed for the bathroom. There were more girls wandering the halls now, some nervous and obviously new, others in pairs gossiping about their summers.

  As I waited for the water in the shower to heat up, I checked on the reddish mark on my hip again. There was now another half moon line facing to the left. Except for the small gaps between them, the three crescents formed a perfect circle. A disturbing sensation crawled up my back like hundreds of tiny spider legs. What was causing these marks? They didn’t hurt, so it was unlikely that they were from an insect bite. I’d certainly never had anything like this crop up on my body in L.A.—maybe it had something to do with my being in Shadow Hills.

  After I got out of the shower, I checked my jeans before putting them back on, but I couldn’t find anything that could be irritating the skin on my hip.

  When I walked back into Adriana’s room, she was going through her clothes—pulling stuff out of her closet, shaking her head, and shoving them back in. “What color are your eyes?” she inquired over her shoulder.

  “Green.” I sat down on her bed. I was curious to see her clothing collection for myself, but I didn’t want to seem nosy.

  “Blond hair, green eyes.” Adriana tapped a French-manicured fingernail against her dainty mouth. “Now what size are you?” She seemed to be asking herself more than me. “You’re petite—probably about five five …”

  “Five six,” I cut in. That inch pulled me out of the short category.

  Adriana continued talking to herself as if she hadn’t heard me. I was beginning to feel very much like an oversize Barbie doll. “And you’re slender, but not skeletal. A four, maybe?” She turned to me.

  “Are you wanting an actual answer?” I asked, in mock-surprise.

  “Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “You are going to be the one wearing it.”

  “I was starting to wonder,” I deadpanned. “I’m anywhere from a two to a six, depending.”

  “Try this.” Adriana held up the chosen item—a soft jersey dress in a vivid golden color.