by Kate Brian
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I rolled my shoulders back and wove through the crowd. Sudden pockets of silence followed me all
the way to my box. I thought back to the way the campus had felt after we had all heard about
Thomas's murder last year. How eerie it was, with everyone wondering who among us might be a
murderer. But this felt totally different, because this time everyone had already decided it was me.
So instead of an eerie vibe, there was more of a growing sense of animosity toward me. A focused,
sizzling, unifying hatred--like eventually, these people might organize and decide it was time to
take me down.
Let's just say it did not feel good. My face was giving off as much heat as the summer sun, but I
managed to shake my hair back and concentrate on opening my mailbox's lock. Sooner or later I
would clear my name and these people would all have to apologize for suspecting me. For now it
was get in and get out. That was the plan.
Then someone stepped up to a box a few feet away from mine and I could feel whoever it was
eyeing me tentatively. Against my own will, I glanced over. It was Marc Alberro. My date for the
Billings fundraiser who hadn't spoken to me once since dismissing me that night. He approached
me slowly, letting his dark hair fall over his forehead as if he was trying to hide. My heart fluttered
with nervousness. Not that I cared all that much what Marc Alberro thought of me, but would this
be another public call-out? God, I hoped not.
"Hey, Reed. What's up?" he asked. His tone was conciliatory, which relaxed my tense shoulders a
bit.
"Oh, I think we all know what's up," I replied, glancing at a group of girls who were eyeing me
nearby. "What's up with you? I thought
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you were never going to speak to me again after the fund-raiser."
I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when Marc basically told me to walk away after the
Dash video had been zapped to everyone we knew. He was, after all, a decent guy and a member
of Easton's Purity Club. A guy like that would definitely not be happy about everyone seeing his
date's sloppy hookup with another guy. Another girl's guy, to be exact. I already had two strikes
against me, so why was he talking to me now? Wasn't an alleged murder rap strike three?
"Yeah, well, I've thought about it a lot and... when it comes down to it, it's not really my business
what you did before we met," he said quietly, leaning back against the wall of P.O. boxes. "It's not
even really my business what you've done since."
His words made me feel both chagrined and relieved at the same time. He was telling me he no
longer had any interest in going out with me. Which, while it was a rejection, was kind of a
welcome rejection. With everything else that was going on right then, the last thing I needed was
to navigate the murky waters of a new relationship. Especially one I hadn't been all that into to
begin with. Marc was a nice guy and all--smart, cute, funny--but I had never felt that thing you're
supposed to feel when you like a guy. That "I might die if I don't see him again before the next
class" thing. That thing I always had with Josh.
"So... friends?" I said.
Marc smiled, his whole face lighting up. What? Had he expected me to make a scene? "Friends."
"Cool."
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I smiled, possibly my first real smile of the last two days, and opened my mailbox. Inside was the
same little blue card everyone else had received. I pulled it out and flipped it over.
JOSHUA HOLLIS, KETLAR, SENIOR
"You have to be kidding me," I said aloud. Why didn't they just saddle me with Ivy Slade, too?
"What? Who'd you get?" Marc asked, leaning over.
I turned the card for him to see and he whistled under his breath.
"Someone in Hell Hall has a twisted sense of humor," he said.
I slammed the tiny metal door shut and stuffed the card into the back pocket of my jeans. "I'm
starting to think this entire school has a twisted sense of humor."
Marc glanced at our gaggle of onlookers. I saw Amberly's two sidekicks checking me out, but they
both blushed and looked away the second I caught them, pretending to be absorbed in the new
Barneys catalog. "I know what you mean. Come on."
He grabbed my hand and led me through the crowd, cutting a path so I wouldn't have to be there
any longer than absolutely necessary. As soon as we were back outside in the cool evening air, I
gulped in a deep breath.
"Thanks."
"No problem. I seriously can't believe anyone thinks you would have hurt Cheyenne," Marc said,
shaking his head. "I mean, just because a person makes a sex tape, that doesn't mean they're
capable of murder."
My face flushed crimson. "I didn't make a sex tape. Someone did that
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without me knowing. And by the way, there was no actual sex involved."
"Well, in any case," Marc said as we started across the quad, "I bet there are at least fifty suspects
who make more sense than you do. I mean, the girl was always juggling two or three guys at a
time. Maybe one of them finally snapped. A crime of passion makes a lot more sense than
someone killing for a spot in a dorm."
A warm, tingling rush came over me and I paused. That rush you get when you suddenly realize
that someone has said something important. Maybe something they didn't mean to say.
"Wait a minute. How do you know she was juggling several guys at a time?" I asked.
Marc stopped walking, already a couple of feet ahead of me, but it took a second for him to turn
around. A long second. Every inch of my skin was on fire. This wasn't the first time Marc had
blurted something about Cheyenne that he'd had no real reason for knowing. He had also brought
up the whole Cheyenne-drugging-Josh thing a couple of weeks ago.
"Just something I heard," he replied with a shrug, looking me in the eye. His expression bordered
on defiant.
"Kind of like everyone's now heard I killed Cheyenne," I said pointedly. "How do you know it
wasn't just a rumor?"
"Well, let's just say this one I had on good authority," Marc replied with a smirk. "Anyway, I should
be getting to the paper. I have a couple of stories to polish before we put it to bed."
He turned and speed-walked away so fast, I didn't even have time to formulate another question,
let alone a good-bye.
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NEW HOME
I sat at my desk on Tuesday evening, listening to a Katy Rose CD and rereading the same gossip
article about Ivy for the ten millionth time. It didn't matter how many times I Googled her, it was
always the same articles. Mentions of her family's philanthropy, her grandmother's long obituary,
some old piece about Ivy and her horse winning some random juniors competition years ago.
Google wasn't about to explain that photo I had found in Ivy's room. It wasn't about to spit out a
video of Ivy killing Cheyenne. All it was going to do was frustrate me.Giving up for now, I slapped
the laptop closed and turned around to look at my cavelike room. I hadn't put anything away yet. I
think I was hoping that it wasn't real. Or maybe I just wasn't ready to give in. Stashing my clothes
in that sad little dresser and tucking my bags under the creaky old bed would be like admitting
defeat. But that night, as I looked around the dreary, confining space,
I couldn't take it anymore. I
couldn't live in a bare cell, plucking my clothes out of
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suitcases all wrinkled like some kind of vagabond. It was too depressing. It might just send me over
the edge.
Slowly, reluctantly, I pushed myself out of my chair and started to unpack my suitcase. Of course,
right on top was the black cashmere sweater Noelle had given me on her return to Easton this fall.
Just looking at it made my spirits plummet even further. Maybe this was not the best idea.
There was a quick knock at my door.
"Who is it?" I called out.
"Surprise!"
It was Constance and Sabine, and they had come bearing gifts.
"What're you guys doing here?" I asked, still clutching the sweater. I reached over to my CD player
and turned the volume almost all the way down.
"You said your room was depressing, so we brought you some things to cheer the place up!"
Sabine announced, walking in and placing a mini Christmas tree atop my dresser. She unfurled a
bright red woven rug in the center of the floor. It just fit between the bed and the dresser.
"I picked out the posters," Constance said, holding up a cardboard tube. "I remembered you really
liked Turner's seascapes in art history last year, so I ordered you a few prints and had them
shipped overnight."
"Wow. Thanks, you guys. This is incredible," I said, taking the tube from Constance. Tears of
gratitude actually welled in my eyes. They had come at the perfect time. "You didn't have to do
this."
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"Yeah, we did. Look at this place," Constance said, holding out both hands. Her face turned bright
pink under her freckles. "I mean, not that it's bad. It's not. It's cozy, actually. I--"
"It's okay, Constance," I said, tossing the tube on my bed. "It's a hole."
"It's not a hole. In fact, I asked Headmaster Cromwell if I could transfer over here so we could be
roommates again, but you were right. He wouldn't allow it since it's a single," Sabine said,
smoothing out the corners of the rug.
I laughed, touched. "Well, at least you tried."
"Forget moving in here," Constance said, sitting down on my bed, which emitted its signature
creak. She dropped her floral Betsey Johnson messenger bag next to her, spilling some of her
books and notebooks halfway out. "What we really have to do is get you back into Billings."
"I second that," Sabine said, raising her hand. "But how?"
"Well, I was thinking," Constance said, sitting forward. She pulled her long, red braid over her
shoulder and toyed with the piecey end. "You know how everyone who's trying to get into Billings
is giving us gifts? Well, Reed, why don't you give Noelle something? Like a peace offering."
"Yes. It would be like telling her you want to start over from scratch," Sabine agreed, her green
eyes excited.
"I don't know, you guys," I said, perching on the edge of my chair. "Wouldn't that seem kind of
pathetic? And, you know, desperate?"
Constance's face fell into a pout. "I think it would be sweet."
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"Maybe," I said, trying to bolster her. Looking at that face made me feel as if I'd just kicked a
puppy. "I'll think about it."
"Good," Constance said. "Because I really think Noelle would respond to something like that."
Yeah. With a marathon laughing fit.
"We should put these up," Sabine suggested, reaching over for the posters. As she opened the
tube and started unrolling the prints, I glanced at Constance's things and saw a copy of last week's
Easton Chronicle sticking out of her bag. Instantly I thought of Marc and his odd comment earlier.
"Hey, Constance. You knew Marc last year, right?" I asked casually.
"Yeah. We met at the paper. Why?" Constance asked. She sat forward and turned the toes of her
D&G sneakers together.
"Did he and Cheyenne ever hang out?" I asked.
"Not really," she said with a thoughtful frown. "But he did do a piece on her."
"He wrote a story about her?" I asked. That was unexpected.
"Yeah. Remember how we used to do that thing where we profiled a different student each week
on page two?" Constance said. "I always thought it was kind of lame, so I cut it this year. But Marc
wrote the one on Cheyenne."
"Huh. Interesting," I said.
That sort of explained why Marc knew about Cheyenne's love life last year. Although I didn't see
her advertising her sexcapades for a puff piece in the Chronicle. Still, if he'd spent time with her,
he would have observed some things. Like maybe even her receiving texts from
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the mysterious S.O. But that still didn't explain why he had known that Cheyenne had drugged
Josh to get him to hook up with her back in September. I filed all this away to consider again later.
"Why are you so interested in Marc and Cheyenne?" Sabine asked, glancing over her shoulder as
she held up one of the prints to the wall.
"Oh, no reason," I replied. "He just said something earlier that made me think they knew each
other, but I couldn't imagine the two of them hanging out, you know? She'd never have given a
guy like him a second glance."
Sabine laughed. "True. She probably would have walked right over him without even noticing."
She moved the poster to the small area of wall next to the door and held it up with her arms
above her head. "What do we think of this?"
"Looks good to me," I said. I jumped up and grabbed some tape out of my desk drawer. Just as I
slammed it, my entire room filled with the sound of Ivy's high-pitched laughter. A cold chill
skittered down my spine.
"What was that?" Constance asked, wrinkling her nose.
Sabine's arms dropped along with the poster. "Does Pemberly have an evil ghost?" she joked.
"No, just an evil next-door neighbor," I told them, dropping my voice. "Ivy Slade," I said, tipping my
head toward the wall by my bed.
"Ew," Constance said, standing up. "I do not like that girl."
"Join the club," I said quietly.
"She's right next door? What bad luck," Sabine sympathized.
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I glanced at the wall, the hairs on my neck and arms standing on end. Suddenly I couldn't help
wondering whether Ivy could hear what was going on in my room as well as I could hear what was
going on in hers.
Maybe it was time for me to start watching what I was saying around here. Just what I needed--to
feel even more paranoid in my own room. One more reason to get out of here and back to Billings
as quickly as possible. Back to where I belonged.
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* * *
When I walked out the back door of Pemberly the next morning, my gray cashmere scarf pulled up
around my chin, the first thing I saw was a horde of students gathered in the middle of the quad.
And at the center of the crowd were Noelle Lange and Amberly Carmichael.
I slowed my steps, not wanting to appear too interested, but dying to know what was going on. As
I watched, Amberly tossed her blond hair--which she had clearly straightened this morning--and
handed a small white card to Trey. He said something that made her laugh before tucking the card
away in his back pocket. Then I noticed that everyone walking away from the circle was clutching
one of these cards, and those still in the circle seemed to be clamoring for them. What in th
e
world was going on?
Noelle whispered something to Amberly and they both laughed again, the sound echoing merrily
across campus. Watching them made my stomach sink. They looked perfect together, all tucked
into
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their designer coats, puffing clouds of steam into the cold air as they chatted and laughed--like
perfectly matched best friends. Surrounded by people, they were clearly the belles of this ball. It
was almost like watching Noelle and Ariana from afar last year. They looked that close. That
untouchable.
A few weeks ago that had been me. A few weeks ago Noelle and I had been close like that. We had
been the center of Easton together. And now... now I was merely a loser on the outskirts of
Nowheresville. A nothing.
I wondered if Noelle had gotten my e-mail. If she'd read my apology. If I could just get her to talk
to me, maybe I could also get her to forgive me for what I had done with Dash. Then she could
make the Reed-as-murderer rumor go away. Then I could come back to Billings with a clear
conscience and name and everything would go back to normal.
Of course, there was no way to know if she'd read my e-mail unless she decided to come to me.
And right now it looked like I was the furthest thing from her mind.
A group of Billings Girls broke off from the crowd and started toward the cafeteria, clutching their
cards. Missy and Lorna were among them, but so were Astrid and Sabine. I hesitated for a
moment, then realized I could endure the sneers of the former two if it meant I could get info out
of the latter pair. I scurried to catch up.
"Hey, guys," I said, falling into step next to Astrid.
Missy scoffed and rolled her eyes.
"Oh... hey, Reed," Sabine said tentatively.
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"What're those?" I asked, nodding at Astrid's card.
Astrid glanced warily at the others before reluctantly handing over the white square. It was an
invitation for a party thrown by Noelle and Amberly. Scheduled for next Saturday evening.
"I don't get it," I said. Why would Noelle and Amberly be throwing a party together? It didn't gel.
"It's a pre-party for Kiran's birthday extravaganza," Astrid said apologetically. "It's so everyone can
gather on campus before the party buses come round to get us."
My heart curled into a tight ball inside my chest. I had received my invitation to Kiran's birthday
party the week before the fundraiser. The week before the proverbial shit had hit the proverbial
fan. But I hadn't thought about the event for days. Other dramas had shoved it to the back of my
mind. Did my falling-out with Noelle and my ostracism from Billings mean I would no longer be
welcome? Did Kiran even know what had happened? Would she care?
"Everyone's invited. Well, everyone who matters," Missy said snidely, plucking Astrid's invite out
of my hand and giving it back to its rightful owner.
I ignored her comment. "Okay, but why Noelle and Amberly? Why are they throwing it together?"
Astrid and Sabine slowed to a stop, as did Missy and Lorna, who hovered a bit behind them. The
silence dragged on for so long I was starting to get knee-knocking cold.
"Oh, for God's sake, if you don't want to tell her, I will," Missy