Vengeance

by Kate Brian

  Headmaster Hathaway tried to get his breathing under control as he arrived in front of us. He shot the camera a scathing look.

  “Would you mind turning that thing off?”

  Christopher didn’t move.

  “Sorry. He’s under strict orders to only answer to me,” Carolina said with a wide grin. She offered the headmaster her hand. “I’m Carolina Grant of Go Green!, the number-one show on Renovate TV. And you are?”

  “I’m William Hathaway. Headmaster of Easton Academy,” he replied, quickly grasping her hand. “Now what is the meaning of all of this?”

  “Headmaster? Fantastic!” Carolina blurted, clasping her hands. “Then you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. Reed here has asked me to oversee the reconstruction of Billings House, ensuring that it meets all the green standards of the county, but we’re going to do much more than that, aren’t we, Reed?”

  I blinked. Her grin was practically blinding.

  “We’re going to exceed those standards!” Carolina announced, putting her arm around the headmaster’s back.

  Headmaster Hathaway went as stiff as a board. I’d never seen him look so uncomfortable.

  “I thought the project was shelved,” Paige said in a snide tone, looking me up and down. “Isn’t that what you told us, Mr. Hathaway?”

  My fingers curled into fists. Why was she even here? And what was the headmaster doing discussing the status of my project with her? Then, just like that, it hit me. It hit me so hard my brain felt suddenly weightless. Maybe Missy and Paige had sent the plans to the county. They definitely had the motive—they wanted more than anything to keep me from rebuilding Billings my way. But how had they gotten hold of the plans?

  Headmaster Hathaway extricated himself from Carolina’s grasp and scratched just above his eyebrow. “Yes, well, from what I understood, it was going to take months for Miss Brennan’s contractors to acquire the green supplies required to—”

  “Please. Nothing takes months once I get involved!” Carolina said. “I have connections at every major green company in the country. I can have every little thing we need delivered here like that!” she said, snapping her fingers.

  Frown lines creased the headmaster’s forehead. “I appreciate your good intentions, Miss Grant, but the truth of the matter is that it’s not that simple,” he said. “This sort of thing must be voted on by the board of directors. Having a camera crew on campus is a serious privacy issue,” he added, glancing at the camera lens as Christopher zoomed in. He straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. “Each and every one of our students and faculty will need to sign waivers. There are permits to procure . . .”

  With each new objection, my hope deflated further and further until it was nothing but a tiny, wrinkled, airless balloon. I had thought that Headmaster Hathaway had finally come around to being on my side—at least he’d attempted to act disappointed when he’d told me about the county’s restrictions. But now, I had to wonder. Had he been psyched to get that letter from the county? Was he relieved to have a reason to shut me down and blame someone else? I knew he’d never been a fan of Billings—it had been his idea to raze it in the first place—but after I’d donated all that money I thought he’d pretty much jumped on board the Reed train. Apparently not so much.

  As Hathaway continued his point-by-point case, Carolina put on a pensive expression and nodded thoughtfully. She shot me a quick glance, clearly prodding me to say something, and panic welled up inside my chest. What was I supposed to say? They were the adults here. I was just a student. And besides, how was I supposed to know how to deal with privacy waivers and consent forms? Did I look like I’d graduated from law school recently?

  “Of course, of course,” Carolina said, finally realizing I was going to remain mute. She cast a glance over her shoulder at iPad girl. “And when is the next board meeting?”

  “Well . . . this Thursday night,” the headmaster said. “But I’m sure there’s no way you can be prepared in time to—”

  She nodded at her assistant, who tapped her iPad’s screen. “We’ll be there.”

  My jaw dropped slightly. Was she serious? She was still committed after hearing all that?

  Double H stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded as well. For once we were on the same page. “You’ll be there.”

  “Yes. We’ll be there. We’ll present our plans and answer any concerns your board may have,” Carolina said definitively. Then the smile was back on again. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Hathaway!”

  The headmaster clicked his teeth together. Clearly the frustration over not having a comeback was killing him. And I was loving every minute of it. I wanted to turn around and kiss Carolina. Calling her in had been the best idea ever.

  “See you then,” the headmaster muttered finally. He turned and walked away, retracing his steps through the freshly clipped grass toward Hell Hall. I shot Missy and Paige a triumphant look and they both rolled their eyes at me before following Double H. As they stormed off, I could have sworn I heard Missy let out a growling sort of groan. Apparently the frustration was contagious.

  “Well,” Ivy said. “That was fun.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything, Reed? This is your baby,” Carolina asked, grasping my shoulder.

  “I don’t . . . I mean, you seemed to have it under control, so—”

  “Yes, but you’re the one in charge. You’re the face of the project,” Carolina said in a pep-talky way. “If you can’t defend it, no one can. Or should, for that matter. If a leader doesn’t believe in her own cause, what’s the point?”

  I swallowed. It was the quickest plummet of all time from victorious to humiliated, guilty, and unworthy. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Start sticking up for yourself!” Ivy said, jumping on Carolina’s bandwagon.

  Carolina put both hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look her in the eye.

  “Money means power, Reed. You’ve got all the power here. Sure, my fame is going to help speed up the process, but you’re the one who got us this far. You can’t let a little grandstanding like that stop you,” she added, chucking her chin toward the retreating headmaster. “If you do, then you are not your father’s daughter.”

  Just like that, my shoulder muscles coiled. How did she even know who my biological father was? But then . . . maybe she did have a point. My hand fluttered up and touched my locket. Maybe it was time to start accepting, or even embracing, the fact that I had Lange blood in my veins. I’d been through a lot in the past couple of years. I was a seriously strong person, right? I didn’t need Mr. Lange or Noelle to speak for me. I could speak for myself.

  “So, are you in or are you out?” Carolina asked me, releasing me finally and standing up straight.

  I smiled slowly, my own posture lengthening as the sun warmed my face. “I’m in.”

  PEACEFUL PERFECTION

  Later, just as the sun was starting to go down, Josh and I commandeered a couch near the window wall of the solarium, cuddling back against one of the arms with our legs up on the cushions. The large, airy room was jam-packed with students, and we caught more than a few annoyed looks as underclassmen searched for empty seats, but I didn’t care. In a few weeks Josh would be graduating. Each moment like this one was precious. Besides, he was a senior and seniors could pretty much do what they wanted around school these days. A perk of being basically outta there.

  “What was I thinking last night?” Josh said into my hair. “No pizza is good enough to make me miss this.”

  “Yep. Pretty dumb move if you ask me.” I smiled, turning to the side so I could see him better. I felt a pang when I saw the guilt written all over his face. “I’m just kidding. It’s okay. It was just one date. Actually, it wasn’t even a date, it was a hang. You missed one datelike hang. No big.”

  Surprisingly, I realized I actually meant what I was saying. Josh had told me he was sorry so many times over the past twenty-four hours that I was starting to f
eel guilty for being annoyed about it in the first place—not to mention more than a little clingy. Couldn’t the guy go out for food with his friends without me getting all jealous about it? I wasn’t the only one he was leaving behind when he went off to school. Pretty soon the guys he hung out with every day wouldn’t be there. Every time I thought about not seeing Noelle and Ivy every day, it made my spirits sink.

  “One datelike hang too many,” Josh said under his breath.

  He leaned down to kiss me and I looped my arms up and around his neck. We half-lay there like that and kissed and kissed and kissed until I forgot we were in the middle of a crowded room.

  “Yeah! Take it all off!” Gage Coolidge shouted at us.

  Josh and I broke apart and a bunch of people applauded, hooting and hollering and shouting more gross crap—enough to make me blush. I glanced at Josh sheepishly. Oops.

  “I think we’re making people sick,” Josh said with a smirk. “Or possibly turning them on.”

  “Either way, not my problem,” I said, even though my skin was on fire.

  I leaned back into the crook of his arm again and sighed happily. This was definitely the most perfect moment of my week so far. I was not going to think about Billings or Thursday’s board meeting or what the future might hold for me and Josh. I wasn’t even going to think about MT, about whom Josh was still in the dark. I wanted to tell him, but after the awesome meeting with Carolina that afternoon, the last thing I wanted was a lecture about how I shouldn’t trust anonymous texters. I’d get around to telling him eventually. Just . . . not tonight.

  Tonight I was just going to sit here and think about this. About us. About how his arm was warm on top of mine, how I could hear his heartbeat through his polo shirt, how he smelled of evergreen soap and paint and cherry lollipop.

  Lazily, happily, my eyes scanned the room full of students, none of whom could possibly have any clue what it felt like to be as content as I was at that very moment. Some of them gazed at us dreamily, others were oblivious to my existence, and some, like Gage, were still mocking us from afar. But I didn’t care. Everything was utterly peaceful and perfect.

  Until suddenly, abruptly, my eyes fell on Graham Hathaway.

  He stood diagonally across the room, alone, and he was staring right at me. Glaring, really. His hands were tucked under the lapels of his suede jacket and he had dark circles under his eyes, as if he either hadn’t slept in days or had suddenly discovered hard drugs. He held my gaze and kept right on glowering until my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest.

  But what the hell was his problem?

  Then Missy and Paige walked over to him from the Coffee Carma counter, and Missy handed him a coffee. All the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Paige was still on campus. And now the gruesome twosome from lunch yesterday had morphed into a gruesome threesome.

  “What’s she doing here?” Josh asked, following my gaze.

  “Who knows,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’m starting to think she has no life.”

  Graham chatted with the two girls happily as they sipped their drinks. Just like that he was back to being smiling, jovial Graham. He pointed to a table being vacated by a klatch of teachers, and the three of them made a beeline for the coveted seats. I watched them for a while as my pulse began to cool, wondering if I’d just imagined it. Wondering if he’d look my way again.

  But he never did. And before long I found myself thinking I’d somehow imagined the whole thing.

  THE TIDE

  Headmaster Hathaway was starting to squirm. Clearly I’d been right about him not wanting Billings rebuilt after all, because as soon as things started to sort of swing my way at the board meeting, he’d begun clearing his throat at odd intervals and he kept shifting his weight in his chair, making it squeak and squeal.

  Oh well, I thought, feeling betrayed as I watched him tap his pen against the long table behind which he and the rest of the board members sat. Sucks to be you.

  When we’d first arrived, my hopes had not been high. Probably because the first people I’d seen upon entering the Great Room at Mitchell Hall were Missy, Paige, and her twin brother, Daniel, who appeared to have gathered an anti-rebuilding contingent near the front row. Plus, even though most of the student body was present, gathered behind me in chairs and along the walls of the room, neither Josh nor Noelle was there. Josh had told me he’d be stuck at the library finishing a paper, and I hadn’t exactly expected Noelle to come, but it would have been a nice surprise. Still, I wasn’t about to let their absence distract me. I had a mission to accomplish here, with or without them. Over the past hour, not only had Carolina and I managed to answer each and every one of Mr. Hathaway’s objections, but we had already started to turn the crowd to our side. I credited Carolina’s charm and my seemingly bottomless bank account for the change in tide.

  Of course, now Hathaway had brought out the big guns. Speaking at the podium was Mr. Thatcher Phillips, a representative from the county development committee, who had come armed with a laundry list of complaints he had just finished reading aloud. He reminded me of the creepy guy who played Mr. Potter in It’s a Wonderful Life, a movie I saw at least part of every Christmas season. He just had this air about him like his main goal in life was to suck any and all joy out of it.

  “So you see, Miss Grant, Miss Brennan, all of these plans will need to be revised, which will surely mean weeks of additional work for your architect,” he said haughtily, folding up his list and tucking it into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket. He pushed his bifocals up on his bulbous nose and folded his hands over his ample belly. “I’m afraid that means a delay to the start of the project of at least two months.”

  Behind the long table on the dais, Mr. Hathaway smiled into his hand. Is it wrong that I kind of wanted to smack him? What no one seemed to understand was that two months was not an option. In two days the entire Billings community was going to be descending on Easton, expecting to see some ribbon cutting. There was no way this weekend was going by without me wielding a giant pair of scissors.

  “Actually, we have the revised plans right here,” I said, pushing my chair back and standing. Mr. Hathaway sat up straight as Carolina handed me a hard blueprint carrier, which I brought up to the podium. “In both paper and digital format.”

  Mr. Phillips’s waddle quivered and he appeared, for a moment, flummoxed. “Yes, well, we’ll still need to review these and the process could take—”

  “I’m willing to pay the admittedly exorbitant fee to rush the documents through,” I said, smiling even though my heart was pounding nervously.

  You’re a Lange, I told myself. You know you are. Make them believe it.

  “And since your very own staff architect oversaw the drawing up of these plans yesterday, I can’t imagine there will be any objections to our starting the project this weekend, as scheduled, with his good-faith approval.”

  I turned and smiled at the county’s architect, Jack Lagos, who sat just behind Carolina. He was handsome in an older, rugged kind of way, with his frayed jacket and chin scruff. Carolina had called him on Tuesday evening and he, like almost everyone else she met, had been unable to resist her enthusiasm. The two of them had worked with her design team all day on Wednesday, through the night, and most of today.

  “Of . . . of course,” Mr. Phillips said. “If you’re willing to pay the fee and if Mr. Lagos approves . . .”

  “I do, sir,” Jack said, pushing himself halfway to standing. “You’re not going to find any fault with those plans, I assure you.”

  “All . . . all right, then.” Mr. Phillips cleared his throat. “Then I have nothing further.”

  As he turned back toward the dais, holding the blueprint roll, he looked at Mr. Hathaway and shrugged helplessly. I returned to our table as Carolina rose from her own chair. She surreptitiously gave me a very low high-five, then tugged on the lapels of her white linen jacket, which she wore over crisp jeans and a yellow T-
shirt. It was amazing how she managed to look businesslike, casual, and pretty all at the same time.

  “Esteemed members of the board, we have now competently answered each of your concerns, from the problem of privacy to the safety of the site to disruption of classes to the county’s admirable green initiatives,” she said firmly. “But if I might add one last point of interest?”

  Mrs. Whittaker, my friend Walt Whittaker’s grandmother, leaned forward in her seat, folding her gnarled fingers together atop the table. “Go ahead, Miss Grant.”

  Carolina paced out from behind our table, looking much like a chic lawyer from some procedural crime drama. “It’s no secret to any of us in the Easton community that our school has had some . . . setbacks over the past two years.”

  There was much squirming and squeaking of chairs at this reference to our school’s serious run of bad luck, but no one said a word.

  “Time and again we’ve seen our good name splashed in the headlines and dragged through the mud,” Carolina continued, pacing before the board. “Some of the things that have been written and said about this place are, unfortunately, true, but many of them are not. This has unfairly tarnished our image in the private school community, not to mention the world at large.”

  At this point she turned dramatically to face the board. “I submit that the Go Green! experience will go a long way toward reversing this negative publicity trend and putting Easton back on the map as a progressive, forward-thinking, community-driven school where the faculty and staff care not only about the students, but about the environment as well.”

  A few of the board members began to murmur with interest and the crowd rippled with excited whispers.

  “Just think about it,” I put in, standing again. “Front-page photos, not of crime scenes, but of students pitching in together to rebuild something that was lost.”