Zane didn’t look very surprised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Bree stared down at her black-and-white-plaid ballet flats. “So,” she said nervously, “are you still going to go?”
Zane let out his breath, and Bree looked up at him in alarm. For the first time, she began to think that maybe something was seriously wrong. Her palms started to sweat. Maybe he hadn’t had fun in the city after all? “I’m not sure yet,” he admitted.
“Did I… did I do something? To make you mad at me?” Bree bit her lip nervously.
“I don’t know.” He turned away from her for a minute and played with a clay pot on the top shelf. He was being an asshole; he knew it. But his mind had latched onto that awful thing Jade had told him in the city—that Bree was making out with another guy—and Maurice’s text message. He had to find out if it was true, and he hoped Bree would forgive him if he was wrong. But he had to know. “Any chance you were making out with another guy? Like… Monday night?”
Bree’s mouth fell open. She could feel her cheeks turn hot when she remembered the stupid pizza boy kiss. “Oh my God…there was this stupid thing that happened.” She stared at her shoes again. “It was an initiation rite for Jade’s society. We all sort of kissed this…”
“Wait a sec.” Zane ran his hands through his hair. “How do you ‘sort of kiss’ someone?” His eyes were blazing. “Either you kiss someone or you don’t.”
“Zane, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Bree’s enormous brown eyes—the ones he’d trusted—brimmed with tears, but Zane was too angry to be moved. “I kissed him, but I didn’t mean to. It was just a…a dumb thing. Like a game…I had to. And I…I didn’t know if we were exactly together yet…”
“You didn’t mean to? Your lips just accidentally found their way onto some dude’s mouth?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this.” Zane picked up an ugly, lopsided bowl and clutched his fingers around it. He had the urge to hurl it against the wall and watch it break into a million pieces. He reached for the doorknob.
“Where are you going?” Bree cried. Her hands were fumbling with a loose thread at the bottom of her light pink sweater.
She looked so sweet and distraught that Zane almost changed his mind. His heart was so full of the feeling that he might be making a huge mistake, ending something that felt this big and this right before it even had a chance to really begin. But then he pictured some asshole’s lips mashed against hers and her kissing back. He opened the door. “I have to get to class. I’m on probation, remember?”
Bree nodded miserably. “But please, you have to understand. Can’t we talk about …”
“I think we should probably not talk for a while.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, hesitated one more time, then walked away.
To: [email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Friday, September 20, 8:09 p.m.
Subject: I'm just vibin' at the Ritz Carlton
My darlings,
Tomorrow evening begins with cocktails at 6 sharp, suite 605, at the Boston Ritz. To feel at home in our elegant surroundings, the dress code is glam glam glam.
Don’t forget a toothbrush and sexy jammies, if you plan on wearing any at all.
Our next victim: he talks about himself a lot, yes, but there’s no one on earth more ready to have a good time than Mr. Maurice Johnson. I expect us all to make out with him at least once throughout the night. Let’s make him earn that “pony” reputation.
Secretly yours,
T
CrystalAlexander: Ohmigod, Maurice? Are you kidding? He’s been around the block so many times he even smells dirty.
JadeCarmichael: Tsk, tsk. You know he’s the sexiest guy left on campus…unless you think Zane would be interested in being the society’s next project??
CrystalAlexander: Don’t even start with me.
MauriceJohnson: What train u taking to Boostoon?
ZaneTaylor: I’m riding up with Corey from Lucius. 2 seater.
MauriceJohnson: Seat this mofo: the girls are gonna give it to me 2nite.
ZaneTaylor: Congrats.
MauriceJohnson: Jealous much?
ZaneTaylor: Dude, could you be any more of a girl?
MauriceJohnson: I could. But then I’d have to go screw myself.
ZaneTaylor: U do that.
31
By six o’clock, presidential suite 605 was party central. The girls had turned the polished mahogany dining room table into the bar, with bottles of wine ordered from room service and several bottles of vodka and tonic water. Enormous trays of foreign cheeses and crackers and other unidentifiable yet elegant hors d’oeuvres crowded the table. Jade’s iPod and SoundDock were perched on an end table near the television cabinet, and the TV was tuned to ATL and muted. Lauren London and T.I. bantered silently across the screen.
Crystal, wearing a red empire-waist dress, freshly purchased from one of those tiny, overpriced upstairs boutiques on Newbury Street, had collapsed miserably into a suede armchair. The suite itself was stunning—the kind of hotel room that would have impressed even Crystal’s picky mother—but Crystal couldn’t enjoy it. She missed Naomi, who was probably smoking cigarettes with that traitor Bree right now and giggling about how they got out of coming to this silly party in Boston. Grrr. The thought of Bree—and Bree with Zane, her Zane—made her reach for her glass of chardonnay.
“It’s almost time!” Sage Francis announced in a lilting, wine-tinged voice. If she was half drunk already, she’d be passed out on the floor by the time things really heated up, Crystal thought bitterly. Sage eagerly approached the connecting door to suite 606, which Jade had insisted stay closed until exactly six.
A deep, booming knock came from the other side of the door. Sage jumped back, and the girls giggled.
“Go ahead,” Jade agreed. “It’s time.” All the girls wore dresses except Jade, who had poured herself into a snug-fitting black satin pantsuit. The tuxedo jacket was sleek and low-cut, and there was no room for anything underneath it. “Don’t forget who’s next on our list, ladies.”
“I bet he’s the first one through the door.” Celine Colista adjusted the fresh flowers in one of the half dozen vases scattered around the room and glared resentfully at Jade’s outfit. She looked boring and traditional in her slinky black cocktail dress.
“Ladies, ladies, everywhere!” Maurice Johnson boomed as he sauntered into the room, wearing a red silk smoking jacket and looking like a black Hugh Hefner. “That’s what I like to see.” He proceeded to make his rounds of the room, giving everyone a tasteful peck on the cheek and a chance to feel his silky jacket.
“Told you.” Celine nudged Benny Cunningham in the waist.
“Don’t you look debonair,” Jade teased as Maurice leaned over Crystal and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek.
“Or sleazy.”
Crystal almost jumped at the sound of the familiar, drawling voice. Zane had walked into the room, wearing a white T-shirt and the pair of cuffed gray trousers that he only wore when he had to look dressy. A black fedora was perched crookedly on his head. Her heart started to beat faster. Since they’d kicked Bree and Naomi out of Café Society, Crystal had assumed Zane would stay behind with Bree this weekend. She pretended to be angry with him, but God, all she wanted was to have him kiss her again like he used to.
Maurice draped his arm around Zane’s lean shoulders and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “Don’t be jealous, bro. There’s plenty of love to go around.” Maurice grabbed Zane’s fedora and plunked it down on Jade’s head.
So why was Zane here and not snuggling up with Bree in one of the empty dorm rooms? Was there trouble in paradise already? Crystal was sudde
nly much more interested in the party. She decided to refill her drink.
“Surprised to see you here.” Crystal set her wineglass down on the mahogany table as Zane poured himself a stiff vodka tonic.
“Why’s that?” Zane popped a lime slice into his drink and took a long swig.
“You know.” Crystal paused suggestively and waited until he turned to look at her before continuing. “Thought you were on probation.”
“Oh.” Zane scratched behind his left ear, something he always did when he didn’t want to talk about something. Crystal had to force herself to calm down. Just because he looked distracted didn’t necessarily mean things were over with Bree. “Whatever. Now that Dalton’s out of there, I don’t really have to watch my back.”
But still…if he liked her that much, wouldn’t he be with her right now and not two hundred miles away, in a hotel room full of beautifully dressed, drunken girls?
Crystal moved a little closer to him. “Funny how that happened, isn’t it? I mean, Dalton just suddenly resigns one day.” Crystal flicked her hair over her shoulder, trying to give Zane a good view of her long neck, which used to be one of his favorite parts of her.
Zane smiled down on her, and she felt like she had just swallowed some hot chocolate spiked with rum, the way it warmed her body up from the inside. “I know nothing.” He raised his eyebrows mysteriously.
“I’m just glad you’re here.” Crystal placed her hand on Zane’s bare forearm, and she felt the tingles surging from her fingertips.
Zane stared at her hand. “What are you doing?”
“What?” Crystal snatched her hand away and Zane stalked out to the balcony, where Corey and Benny were smoking.
Crystal felt a hand on her waist. “You look like a goddess.” She whirled around, her hair flying into Amir’s eyes. He didn’t seem to mind. In his pinstripe pants and black French-cuffed button-down, he looked exactly like he always did—sophisticated, attractive, and completely boring. “Like Aphrodite. The goddess of love.”
“Uh, thanks.” Crystal looked up as someone changed the music to dance tunes. She poured herself another glass of wine.
“Whenever you want a break from this, we can go back to the room I booked. For us.”
“Amir.” Crystal rubbed her hands across her face, threatening to mess up her makeup. But God, what was Amir’s deal? Did he really think she was going to leave the party to go back to his empty room and snuggle? Ever since she’d kissed him last week, he was acting like they were back together. She glanced around for Zane. “We’re at a party. Act like it.”
“Can you blame me for wanting to be alone with you? You look so gorgeous. I just want to…be near you.”
Okay, that was sweet. Crystal felt a teeny bit better, but not enough to leave with him. “Can’t blame you for trying.” She patted his face. “But stop.”
“You guys look like an old married couple.” Donovan St. Girard came up and drooped an arm around each of them. He puckered his lips at Crystal. “Got any lovin’ for me?”
“Baby…” Amir started.
Baby? “I am not your baby, Amir Phillips.” She waved her wineglass at him. “I am nobody’s baby, all right?” She glared at him, suddenly furious that the only one who loved her was boring, predictable Amir. She’d show him. She was anything but boring.
32
“Doesn’t it seem so mellow without Jade and Crystal around? I can feel my blood pressure lowering as I speak.” Naomi stretched out her long legs across the arm of the couch in Dumbarton’s upstairs lounge. With all the girls in Café Society out for the night, the whole dorm felt quieter. On her lap was a plastic bowl filled with buttered microwave popcorn, freshly popped and slightly burned.
Bree opened one of the dormer windows and waved out some of the burnt popcorn smoke. “I know what you mean.” She breathed in the cold night air, letting it sting her lungs. “The two of them—they sort of make me forget how much I like it here.”
“Yeah. Just tonight, walking across the quad and looking up and seeing all those stars…I mean, the sky doesn’t look like that in New Jersey.” Naomi pulled the bottle of Stoli from her red leather bag. It was already half empty. She poured some more into her mug of cranberry juice. “Need a refill?”
“Thanks.” Bree handed over her mug. Naomi was from New Jersey? She’d gotten the impression that she was from East Hampton or Nova Scotia or something. “I really love it here. It makes me feel so—I don’t know—wholesome.” It sounded moronic, but it was true. Bridgeport, with its groomed athletic fields and state-of-the-art libraries and art studios, its blue-blood student population with their perfect patrician noses and cashmere sweater vests, was strangely like some sort of earthly paradise. And while she’d felt a little awkward at times, something told her she belonged here.
Naomi grinned. “Yeah, it’s probably all the drinking and weed and sex going on that gives you that impression.” She pulled a strand of bright red hair in front of her eyes and expertly scanned it for split ends. “But I know what you mean. I love it too.” Her eyes clouded over a little. “Think how perfect it would be if Jade hadn’t come back.”
Bree didn’t even want to let herself think about that. Yes, it would be heavenly if Jade could just evaporate into thin air, if she’d run off with some rich international businessman she met in the halls of the Ritz-Bradley. “It feels like she’s out to get us both.”
“Probably because she is.” Naomi sat up and set the bowl of popcorn on the table. “But you know, fuck her. Fuck all those other girls. What are they doing right now? Getting shitfaced. Maurice’s probably running around buck-naked, trying to grope everyone.”
Bree cringed at that unpleasant image. Suddenly she was completely relieved she wasn’t there in Boston, with Jade and Crystal and the other girls. She was happy to be here, eating popcorn with Naomi and gossiping. If only Zane weren’t in Boston. If only Zane weren’t furious with her. “I miss Zane.”
Naomi popped open the tab of a Diet Coke. “I know. I miss Corey too.” Ever since that day in the cemetery, she’d been thinking about him a lot. She wondered if he was seeing anyone at St. Lucius yet—he hadn’t mentioned any other girls, but it was hard to believe that he could stay single for very long. He was the star of their football team and was sexy in a slightly goofy, natural way that endeared him to all members of the opposite sex. An image of him in his Ralph Lauren boxers came to her, and she could almost feel her hand running along his sculpted stomach muscles. Mmmm. “Maybe I shouldn’t have broken up with him.”
“Really?” Bree liked the idea of Naomi with a boyfriend, who wasn’t a teacher, and Corey was fine. “He sounds really sweet when you talk about him.”
Naomi groaned and took a handful of popcorn. “He is really sweet. I don’t know what I was thinking—the whole Eric thing was fucked up.” Naomi popped a piece of singed popcorn into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I guess it made me feel special to have someone like Eric take an interest in someone like me. He’s practically, you know, a Rockefeller…”
“What’s that supposed to mean, someone like you? Of course he was interested in you.” It was hard for Bree to imagine someone as gorgeous as Naomi, and as smart and funny, having any self-esteem problems. They were reserved for people like herself!
Naomi sighed and took a long swig from her mug before leaning her head back on the couch. “Yeah, well, if you knew my whole story, you might not think that.”
Bree’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? You didn’t, like, murder someone, did you?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that I, sort of, have this totally embarrassing family.” Naomi pulled a strand of her hair in front of her eyes again and stared at it, like she was trying to avoid looking at Bree. “And I can’t help it—I’m just, you know, ashamed of it. But somehow I was able to talk to Eric about it, and he made me feel like it was no big deal at all. He almost seemed to like me even more because
of it.”
“Well, maybe I should have told you about my father earlier because that would totally have made you feel better.” Bree sank onto the couch next to Naomi and placed her feet on the low, glass-topped coffee table. Not the brightest idea for a dorm—Bree could easily imagine herself tripping over it after a few more drinks. “He once showed up for this awards ceremony at my school wearing a T-shirt under his blazer because all of his button-downs were wrinkled. Not so bad, you say? Maybe even kind of cool? Well, he wore a tie with it. With his IMPEACH OBAMA T-shirt.” Bree hung her head but had to giggle at the memory. “Parents came up to me afterward and actually asked if my father was homeless. Seriously. Beat that.”
Naomi almost snorted with laughter. “I’m so sorry.” She had to take deep breaths to keep her composure. “All right, well, at my eighth-grade graduation, my father actually handed out his business cards with coupons for ten percent off any collagen injections or nose jobs—to my friends. And my mother? She wore a pair of zebra-print boots she’d had especially made for her in Brazil, and everyone could totally see her thong.” She could imagine the splash those boots would make at Bridgeport, where all the moms wore Ralph Lauren, Chanel, and Gucci.
“But parents are totally supposed to be embarrassing, right? Otherwise they wouldn’t be parents,” Bree said logically.
“I guess…I just feel funny, being this sort of tacky riche Jersey girl, here among all these old-money debutantes like Jade and Crystal and Benny, you know?”
Suddenly, after getting the words out, Naomi felt ten thousand pounds lighter. It was like she’d felt after telling Eric: relief. So, maybe it wasn’t Eric who had made her feel that way at all—maybe it was herself? Naomi swung her legs onto Bree’s lap, her mind going back to Corey. “You know, when I talked to Corey, it was like he wasn’t even angry with me. Just sorry I’d been hurt.”
“Why don’t you call him?” Bree suggested. “Maybe it would help if you could just hear the sound of his voice?” Something about vodka made her sentimental—it was like when she was PMSing, and if she even thought about something nostalgic, her eyes would tear up. But with vodka, her feelings weren’t always sad, just intense. Like right now, thinking of Zane, she could almost conjure up the smell of him.
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