by Kate Brian
Taking a deep breath, I faced the crowd. I had prepared a short speech, which I had practiced for anyone who would listen, and I had thought I was ready for this, but at that moment my head felt somehow heavy and light all at once. A slight breeze tickled the back of my neck and sent a foreboding skitter down my spine. I glanced over my shoulder quickly, feeling as if someone was watching me from behind. Across the yawning hole of the foundation, Larry Genovese stood with a dozen other workers, all clad in safety vests and hard hats, ready for their cue. As I scanned their faces, I saw a shock of blond hair as someone in a dark jacket ducked behind one of the trailers. My breath caught, but the creeper didn’t appear again, and I was left wondering if I’d imagined it.
“Reed,” Carolina said through her teeth. “Are you okay?”
I took another breath and nodded. Don’t let whoever broke into your room get you all paranoid. Don’t let them ruin this moment, I told myself as I faced forward again. Don’t let them have the power.
“As many of you know, my background is different from most of the student population of Easton,” I began. “I came here last year as a scholarship student, unsure of where I’d fit in, clueless as to what it meant to attend a private school. I remember staring out my window that first night, feeling so homesick it scared me. A huge part of me wanted to flee. I wanted to go back to Pennsylvania and the world I knew. And I might have done that, if it wasn’t for the friends I found at Billings.”
I looked down at Noelle and she gave me a closed-lipped, encouraging smile.
“That’s not to say we didn’t have our bumps at first, as we tried to get to know each other, as I began to understand their world, but before long I came to think of Billings as my true home, my housemates as my sisters. I began to realize what an honor it is to be a part of a grand tradition like Billings, and I was heartbroken when that tradition was taken away.”
I paused for a moment as cameras clicked and a few people in the crowd murmured. Suddenly I recalled with perfect clarity how it felt that day when Noelle and I had come back to campus to find Billings flattened. The confusion, the devastation, the hopelessness. It was all I could do to keep from glancing over at Headmaster Hathaway accusatorily.
“But now I have a second chance. We all have a second chance. To make Billings what it should be. To make it what we all know it can be. A place where young women can live and work together, share ideas, share their dreams and goals, and foster a sense of support as they make their way out into the world.”
Someone shouted and there was another round of applause from the alumnae dotted throughout the crowd.
“So now, it gives me great pleasure to invite Billings alum Carolina Grant and Headmaster Hathaway to help me cut the ribbon and officially get this project under way.”
The various members of the press clamored for a better angle as Carolina, Mr. Hathaway, and I walked over to the shiny red ribbon tied between two orange cones at the top of the construction site. Mr. Hathaway’s assistant handed us a huge pair of scissors, which Carolina and I both held onto. Then Mr. Hathaway pulled the ribbon taut for us so we could cut it. I looked up to smile for the cameras before doing the deed, and my eyes fell on Sawyer and Graham, who were standing right next to a klatch of Billings Girls, including Constance, Kiki, Astrid, Lorna, and Amberly. Sawyer had a grim smile on his face, but Graham looked like he was considering tackling me right into the gaping foundation hole behind me.
I gulped.
“Let’s do this,” Carolina whispered.
The slice of the scissors sounded like a steak knife being dragged across a sharpener. And then it was over and cheers filled the air. When I looked up again, both Sawyer and Graham were gone.
Mr. Hathaway shook my hand. On the far side of the foundation, a cement truck backed up, its barrel tipping toward the hole to release the wet cement for the basement. A crowd of well-wishers gathered around me, clasping my fingers, giving me hugs and air-kisses, posing for photos.
“Miss Brennan! Miss Brennan! If I could get a quick quote—”
“I was promised an interview—”
“If we could get all three of you over here for a picture—”
Everything was a blur of faces and microphones and smiles and kisses. And then, suddenly, a loud, crunching, creaking wail filled the air. Someone screamed. There were startled and panicked shouts, and before I knew what was happening, everyone around me was shoving me toward the edge of the deep hole.
“Omigod.” Carolina gasped next to me. “No!”
And then, the crash. I stood on my toes to see what was going on, just in time to watch the cement truck fall backward into the foundation. The huge vehicle flipped over onto its back, landing on its still twisting barrel with a sickening and seemingly never-ending crunch of metal. On the far side of the foundation, workers scrambled down ladders, trying to get to the driver. It all happened so fast, yet I saw every last moment of it in crystal-clear slow motion. Horrifying slow motion.
“Get him out of there!” Headmaster Hathaway shouted.
Carolina screamed as the door of the cab opened and the driver dangled from the opening. If he fell the wrong way he’d be sucked under the turning cement barrel and crushed. Some brave workers edged close to the vehicle and stood under the open door. An odd, strangled screech escaped from my throat as the dangling man fell into their arms and was quickly dragged away. A few people started to applaud, but all I wanted to do was collapse. The cement truck continued to churn, gurgling fresh cement in massive globs all over the basement, its gears grinding as it dug a hole for itself in the dirt.
“Miss Brennan! Miss Brennan! What do you have to say about this accident?”
I turned around and at least ten microphones and recorders were shoved in my face. Whoever wasn’t on me was on Carolina, and with each passing moment of our stunned silence the shouted questions grew more absurd.
“Did you have the proper permits?”
“Is that man certified to work with that kind of machinery?”
“How do you feel about endangering the lives of your fellow students?”
“What do you say to rumors that this site is cursed?”
Headmaster Hathaway’s strong hand came down on my shoulder.
“Don’t say a word,” he hissed in my ear. “We have no comment at this time!” he shouted loudly.
Then he took my arm and dragged me out of there as fast as possible, barreling over whoever he needed to flatten on the way. I was grateful to him for sparing me, but even so, I knew he had another agenda in mind too—to keep me from blurting anything too tarnishing to the press. Apparently it would be a little while before Easton started to benefit from all that positive publicity I’d promised him.
CRAZY
“What did your crew chief say about the accident?” Ivy asked, pushing her dark hair over her shoulder as she leaned forward over the wide library table that afternoon. “How long is it going to set you back?”
We were trying to squeeze in some studying before tonight’s cocktail party at Mitchell Hall, where I was sure to be answering tons of similar questions. The very idea made me feel exhausted.
“Yeah. How serious was it?” Kiki asked, popping a green Tic Tac into her mouth.
“They’re going to work all night to try to clean up the mess and keep things on track,” I said, trying not to let my stress come through. “Workers are already bailing out excess cement and smoothing out what they can, and they’re bringing in some kind of huge crane to remove the truck.”
“Thank God the driver wasn’t hurt,” Constance whispered, biting her lip. “That was so scary.”
“I know,” I replied, the heavy rocks in my gut rearranging themselves hastily. If someone had been seriously hurt today, I’d never be able to forgive myself.
“So how did it happen?” Tiffany asked. She’d been scrolling through her photos on her camera, but placed it down in the center of the table now. “Did something go wrong with the truck?”
“That’s the thing,” I said, my throat dry. “Both Larry and the driver said they checked everything out half an hour before the pouring. The truck was practically brand new and everything was in working order.”
Ivy eyed me in a discerning way, then sat back in her chair. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”
“Aren’t we all?” Astrid asked from the far end of the table, her dark eyes serious.
“What?” Constance asked blankly. “What are we all thinking?”
“That this wasn’t an accident,” Astrid, Ivy, and I said in unison.
“Oh, come on,” Constance said. She dropped her forehead down onto her folded arms and whimpered. “Someone else is out to get us?”
“No, not us. Just the building,” I assured her, though I wasn’t completely certain. “Someone doesn’t want Billings to be rebuilt. Today’s ‘accident’ could have been their way of telling us to stop.”
“Normally I’d say you’re being paranoid, but around here . . .” Ivy trailed off and raised her eyebrows.
“Who?” Constance asked, raising her face only slightly, so that her nose rested on her hand and her mouth was still hidden. “Who would do this?”
“Yes, can you please just tell us who so we can have Portia sic the Armenian mafia on their asses?” Tiffany joked.
Everyone laughed uncomfortably. Missy and Paige, I wanted to say. But I knew they’d balk. Tiffany had been friendly with Paige back when she’d been a student here, and some of the other girls would still be friends with Missy if she’d let them. With no real proof, I didn’t want to call them out. At least not yet.
“I would if I could, but I have no idea,” I semi-lied.
A loud slam sounded on the other side of the library, and a couple of chairs scraped against marble.
“Get out of my face!” a familiar voice shouted.
“Was that Josh?” Ivy asked me, her dark eyes wide.
I jumped out of my chair as everyone else in the library turned to look. Josh was in the far corner at his favorite study carrel and Graham was standing next to him, his fists clenched. Josh turned and stormed away from Graham, striding right past our table with his canvas messenger bag bouncing against his hip. I opened my mouth to say something, but he was so focused and furious he didn’t even see me. He got to the front door and shoved it open with the heel of his hand, disappearing out into the dark.
“What. The hell. Was that?” Kiki asked.
And then everyone in our immediate vicinity looked at me. I watched, my pulse thrumming in my ears, as Graham disappeared up the stairs to the English literature section.
“I don’t know,” I said, dropping my pencil on the table. “But I’m going to find out.”
I hurried away from our table, half speed-walking, half jogging for the stairs. As I neared the middle step, I got the eerie, spine-tingling feeling that someone was watching me and I slowed my pace, glancing quickly over my shoulder. At least ten people looked away. Who was I kidding? Everyone was watching me this time.
By the time I got to the top of the stairs, I was out of breath, both from exertion and nerves. What was I doing following a guy who had done nothing but glare at me and piss off my boyfriend for the past few weeks? But I couldn’t take it anymore. Down in St. Barths when we had first met, I had really liked Graham. He’d been so down-to-earth and funny and friendly. And I’d thought he’d liked me too. What had made him change so drastically in just a few short months?
I heard some books being slammed around somewhere to my right, and started searching. I found Graham in the third row and crossed my arms over my chest. He saw me from the corner of his eye and scoffed.
“What?” he blurted.
“Like you don’t know,” I whispered, walking toward him. “Graham, what the hell is going on with you lately?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. He pushed over a book at the end of a shelf, dominoing all the others over in the process. Lifting his shoulders, he turned his palms toward me and moved to the next section. “I just can’t stand that guy.”
“Josh,” I said. “You can’t stand Josh.”
“Bingo!” he said, his eyes lighting up with sarcasm.
“Graham, this makes no sense,” I said, leaning back against the shelf as he shoved some hardcover books back and forth into one another. “You guys used to be friends.”
“He doesn’t understand the concept,” he snapped.
“I know he had a history with your sister—”
Graham snorted and turned away from me, crossing to the other side of the aisle.
“But what are you going to do? Walk around being pissed at every guy she ever dated? Everyone who upset her in her life?” I asked.
One of the librarians walked past slowly, shooting us a silencing glare. Graham stopped messing with the books and finally turned to face me.
“You just don’t get it, do you?” he said, shoving his hands under his arms, bunching up his striped cotton sweater in the process. “That guy is not stable, Reed.”
My face burned, offended. “I know he’s manic-depressive,” I informed him. “That’s old news. And as long as he takes his meds, he’s fine.”
“Yeah. You keep telling yourself that,” Graham said sarcastically. He reached out and picked at a sticker on one of the shelves, an old label reading BRA–BRE.
My heart slammed against my rib cage and all of a sudden I was back in Mitchell Hall on the night Josh had been arrested on suspicion of Thomas’s murder. He’d been so scared, so manic, so not himself. He’d gone off his medication without consulting his doctor, and he’d been acting odd for such a long time I had even started to suspect him myself. Was this why he’d been acting all shifty and forgetful lately? Had he gone off his meds again?
Graham watched me closely, almost like he could tell what I was thinking. I lifted my chin in defiance.
“I don’t have to listen to this,” I told him. “I know Josh. I know he’s a good person.”
“Oh my God, Reed! Can you just think about it for five seconds?” he blurted, stepping closer to me. “His roommate at our old school killed himself. Then my sister, his girlfriend, killed herself. Do you really think that’s a coincidence?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “I do.”
Graham shook his head slightly, looking me in the eye as if he felt sorry for me. “I like you, Reed. I really do. And my brother . . . he’s, like, beyond in love with you.”
I felt a warm and prickly sensation around my heart and averted my eyes. I knew how Sawyer felt about me, but that didn’t mean I was comfortable with his brother saying it aloud.
“And it just makes me sick that you would choose a liar and a psycho like Josh Hollis over a good, honest guy like Sawyer.”
My jaw dropped.
“Is that what this is all about?” I demanded. “Are you trying to play matchmaker here? Because you’ve picked a sick and twisted way to do it.”
Graham blinked, then backed away. It was almost as if my words had just woken him up from some kind of crazy dream.
“No,” he said, knocking his fists together as he stepped backward. “No. It’s just . . . we just don’t want you to end up like our sister, that’s all. I’d hate to see that happen to you, Reed. I really would.”
I swallowed hard, my heart lodged somewhere between my breastplate and my voice box. Why did that sound more like a threat than an expression of concern? And what the hell did he mean by calling Josh a liar, anyway? I knew about Josh’s medical history, his meds, his therapy.
“Just think about it, okay?” Graham implored as he reached the end of the stacks. “That’s all I ask.”
And with one last, pitying look, he was gone.
LIMB FROM LIMB
“That accident was just horrifying, Reed. Just horrifying,” Janice Winthrop said, gesturing around with her mimosa. “I just hope you can find some way to reverse this bad PR, because otherwise . . .”
; She let her thoughts trail off, raising her penciled-in eyebrows as she sipped her drink. I glanced around the crowded party room at Isabella’s, the pretty restaurant I’d commissioned for the Billings Sunday brunch, just hoping that someone, anyone, would save me from this awful conversation.
“Well, I’ve been assured by my team that everything is already back on track,” I told her, forcing a confident smile. “Personally, I think that when a project can bounce right back after an accident like that, it can only create good PR.”
Janice frowned thoughtfully as she eyed me up and down. “I have to admire your pluck.” Then she patted me on the arm with an icy hand. “Good luck, my dear. And do let me know if there’s anything I can do,” she said, then walked over to join a group of old friends near the buffet.
All around the sunlit room, Billings alums chatted with Easton faculty and students as they noshed on croissants and fruit. My friends circulated the room in small groups, talking up the former Billings Girls, punctuating their conversations with charming smiles and polite laughter. Everyone was doing their job, but all I wanted to do was go home and crawl back into bed. Left alone for the first time all morning, I decided to take advantage of the temporary freedom and made a beeline for the bathroom for a breather.
But once inside the gleaming, porcelain bathroom, I found myself staring into the mirror. Who was I kidding? A moment alone just meant a moment to obsess. All I could think about last night and this morning was Graham’s rant. Specifically the part where he’d called Josh a liar. What did he mean by that? Did he mean that Josh knew something more about his roommate’s and Jen Hathaway’s deaths? Or did it mean that he’d gone off his meds and not told me?
Or maybe . . . maybe Josh was the one sabotaging the Billings project. Maybe Graham had somehow found out about it and was trying to warn me. But then why not just come out and say it? Besides, I just couldn’t picture it. I couldn’t picture Josh going behind my back. And I definitely couldn’t picture him jeopardizing that worker’s life yesterday. Unless he had gone off his meds and was having a seriously bad reaction—an uncontrollable reaction. Which would mean he was lying to me about two huge things.