Untouchable Page 3

  "Because I . . . I'm tired," I told them. "Exhausted, actually. I think I'm just gonna go to bed."

  Noelle gave me a reproachful stare. She wasn't used to hearing the word no.

  "Reed--"

  "You guys have fun," I said flatly, moving forward, crowding them toward the door.

  Rose, London, and Vienna took the hint, jostling their way out. Ariana paused and looked at me with her clear blue eyes.

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  "You really should try to get your mind off things," she said. 'You'll feel better."

  "I already do," I said honestly.

  Not 100 percent. But after venting my emotions and blubbering all over Natasha, I was much improved. For now. But if I thought for one second longer about the idea of partying, the anger was going to come back full force.

  "You're sure?" Noelle said. 'You really don't want to come?"

  "I'm sure." I placed my hand on the door. "Please, Noelle. Just go."

  Ariana and Noelle locked eyes. Never a good sign. I knew I had stepped over a line in their eyes, and for a split second I was reminded of how scared I'd been of them just a couple of weeks ago. Thomas's death had cured me of that, at least temporarily. At that very moment, I couldn't imagine remotely caring what they might do or say to me.

  "Get some sleep," Noelle said finally. "We'll see you later."

  And with that, she closed the door. Nothing more. Maybe Thomas's death had cured them too.

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  DECISION

  Cheerios expand when left to soak in milk for too long. If you gaze blankly at them long enough, you can watch it happen. Also, the curious stares of your peers become less noticeable when you're working on approximately forty-five minutes of sleep in three days. And the cafeteria manager doesn't like it when he finds someone sitting on the cold brick outside the door waiting for him to unlock it.

  Ninety percent out of it and I was still learning things.

  A few uneventful days had passed since Thomas's funeral, and I had still hardly eaten or slept. That is, uneventful aside from the fact that several kids had been taken out of school by their parents. Mostly freshmen. Skittish newbie parents, according to Noelle. "As if this school has never survived a scandal before," she'd said yesterday, as we watched a scarecrow-haired Asian guy being loaded into a Hummer. None of my friends had been spirited away, but it was almost eerie to see the sedans and limos idling in the circle in front of the dorms, the students being

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  escorted with their bags while their parents looked around suspiciously, as if some masked killer was suddenly going to come shrieking out of the shadows. No one had officially said that Thomas's death had been suspicious in nature, but it was clear that was what people wanted to assume. My heart tightened and released as I thought of him. This was all it ever did anymore. I wondered if it was going to affect my long-term health.

  A couple of girls whispered and shot me looks as they walked by, so I turned my head so that my hair would hide my face. The area under my eyes felt full and tight and heavy at all times, like I might either pass out or burst into tears at any second.

  The door to the cafeteria opened and I looked up instinctively, an image of Thomas flashing through my mind's eye. A queasy warmth hit me and I felt so wretchedly stupid I wanted to scream. It wasn't Thomas. It was never going to be Thomas. Figure it out, Reed.

  "Are you all right?"

  Somehow I lifted my eighty-pound head and looked up at Josh. He hovered at the end of the otherwise deserted cafeteria table with a tray full of doughnuts and chocolate milk. Boy took in more sugar before 9 a.m. than most five-year-olds did in a day. You'd think a place as pricey as Easton would make sure all their charges got four squares, but apparently that was not one of the perks the elite were paying for.

  "M'fine," I mumbled. "Just wishing this bowl was a pillow."

  I pushed my tray aside and rested my elbows on the table, taking

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  a long, deep breath to try to crowd out the nausea. Josh sat down across from me and lifted his messenger bag over his head, placing it on the floor. He wore a blue and yellow rugby shirt with a green paint stain on one of the yellow stripes. His curls were product-free today, which meant they stuck out adorably in all directions.

  Adorably. I wanted to flog myself. Thomas was dead. I was not supposed to be noticing that other guys were adorable.

  Under the table, Josh fumbled with his bag. He slapped his hand to his mouth, then took a chug of his chocolate milk to help him swallow.

  "What was that?" I asked.

  "Vitamins," Josh said. "One a day keeps the doctor away."

  "You are a parent's wet dream," I told him.

  "Tell that to my parents," he deadpanned.

  I smiled. It was nice that he could make me smile even in my current state of semi-consciousness.

  Josh lowered his body toward the table a bit, in confab mode. I leaned in as well. "So, I've thought about it, and I've decided to go to the cops like Noelle said," he whispered.

  He bit into a powdered-sugar doughnut and powdered sugar sprayed everywhere. I looked at him and wondered if I was dreaming. Did he really just tell me that he was going to rat out Thomas and then take a big old bite of doughnut? I couldn't even swallow one spoonful of cereal this morning and he seemed, well, fine. In fact, for the past few days, Josh had been keeping it together better

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  than anyone else I knew, which made little to no sense. Thomas had been his roommate. His friend. And I hadn't even seen him cry once. But what did I know? Maybe he went back to his room and blubbered in private all night long. It wouldn't have been the first time someone around Easton kept a secret. I was starting to wonder if secrets were a prerequisite for admittance.

  "You really think that's necessary?" I asked.

  "Noelle was right," Josh said, chewing. "That guy she was talking about? Rick? He was Thomas's local supplier and he's a total wackjob. I would bet money he had something to do with this."

  I took a deep breath, straightened my back for a second, then slumped again. "I don't know, Josh. Do we really want Thomas's parents to know all this stuff? I know he was into some scary crap, but he was trying to change. Did he tell you he was on his way to rehab the night he left?"

  Josh blurted a laugh and took a sip of milk, smiling in mirth. I felt very hot all over.

  "What?" I said.

  Josh blinked at me and then his face fell. "Oh. You're serious," he said.

  "Yes, I'm serious," I said, beyond offended.

  Josh put his milk down and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Reed, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Thomas was the last person who was ever going to rehab. He was so wasted the last night he was here you could have wrung him out and served shots."

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  The cafeteria had just become a Gravitron, whirling and tilting and heading for the sky. There was no way to focus, so I closed my eyes.

  "What?" I said, my mouth dry.

  "I came back from the library and he was on the phone screaming at Rick, so gone he couldn't even stand up straight," Josh whispered. "That's why I think Noelle might be right. Thomas was pretty livid, and I bet he said some stuff he wouldn't have said if he wasn't such a mess. I didn't think much of it at the time, because those two were always at each other's throats over something, but maybe this time he really pissed Rick off somehow."

  I pressed the heel of my hand into my forehead, trying to make sense of all of this. Thomas was drunk? But he had been so sincere about quitting. And he'd left me that note. He was going to some holistic treatment center. He was getting help.

  Had that all been a lie?

  "This doesn't make any sense," I said aloud.

  "What?" Josh asked.

  Wait a minute, wait a minute. Why would he have left me that note if he wasn't actually planning on leaving? I would have been kind of suspicious if I had found the note that night and then seen him on campus the next day. So he must have been planning
on going somewhere. But where?

  "Maybe it was just a last hurrah," I suggested. "Maybe he wanted to get drunk one last time before going to rehab?"

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  It sounded totally pathetic even as I said it. So pathetic that Josh actually had pity in his eyes.

  "Reed, what makes you so sure that Thomas was going to rehab?" he asked gently.

  The double doors opened and sunlight poured in. Noelle, Ariana, Taylor, and Kiran strode through and headed straight for the breakfast line. I didn't want them to hear any of this and start speculating. We had to talk fast.

  "He left me a note," I confessed quickly. "I found it in one of my books. He said he was going to a treatment center and not to try to find him. He said he was leaving that night."

  Josh stared at me for a long moment. Slowly, he shook his head. "Leave it to Pearson. I bet the last words out of his mouth were a lie."

  A thump of dread warmed my insides. "What do you mean?"

  Josh looked at me as if he'd just realized who he was talking to. "Nothing. Forget it," he said.

  "Josh-"

  "It's just..." He crumpled a napkin and squeezed it in his fist, just for the sake of crumpling and squeezing. "I just don't think that Thomas ever fully appreciated what he had when he had you, that's all."

  Whoa. My mouth fell open slightly and I snapped it closed. Josh stared at me intently. No averted eyes, no quick change of subject. He really meant what he had just said. I was both flattered

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  and completely thrown. He'd just implied that Thomas had lied to me nonstop . . . and complimented me in the same breath.

  "Reed, you have to show that note to the police," Josh said.

  "How do you know I haven't?" I asked.

  "Have you?"

  "No," I admitted miserably.

  "It's evidence," Josh said. "It might be the last thing Thomas ever wrote. They need to see it."

  My stomach felt acidic and warm. I had been dreading this moment for weeks, but Josh was right. When he put it that simply, it seemed obvious. Besides, I had only kept the note a secret to protect Thomas from his parents hunting him down. Now that was no longer an issue.

  "You're right," I said, determined. "I'll go right after morning services."

  Just thinking about it made me feel monumentally better. I was nervous to let the police know I had hidden something from them, but I couldn't wait to be free of it. Thomas had lied to me. Who knew how often or about what? It was no longer my responsibility to protect him. It was about time I got this whole thing over with, once and for all.

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  THE RIGHT THING TO DO

  It wasn't until we were walking up the steps to Hell Hall that I realized what I was doing. The second I did, I tripped on the top stair and had to grab Josh's arm to prevent my knee from cracking on the slate.

  "Careful!" Josh said, helping me up.

  Our faces almost touched as I fought for balance. Our skin was so close that his body heat warmed my cheek. My heart was already pounding from nervousness. Now it pounded twice as fast. Josh looked at me and his grip on my arm tightened for a split second before he released me.

  "I can't do this," I told him, stepping back. As if that might slow my pulse. I didn't need this. Not on top of everything else. What, exactly, was my capacity for confusing emotions? How much could I handle before a vital organ actually imploded?

  "What do you mean?" Josh asked, his brow creasing. "I thought we decided--"

  "I know what we decided," I said through my teeth. I could

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  smell the burning nylon as Thomas's note tried to sear its way out of my backpack.

  Mr. Cross ascended the steps. He was the Ketlar House monitor and had been Thomas's advanced biology professor. Like all the other faculty members, he had an office in Hull Hall. ("Hell Hall" was the students' nickname for the ancient brick building in which most of the adults on campus spent the bulk of their time.) I pulled Josh aside, averting my gaze with a blush, to let the man pass. Still, my pulse raced at Josh's nearness.

  I will not be attracted to Josh. I will not be attracted to Josh. Josh's dead roommate is my dead boyfriend. I will not go there.

  Cross shot us a disapproving look under his clipped white eyebrows but kept moving. I didn't speak again until the heavy door had slammed behind him.

  "But isn't this, like, withholding evidence?" I asked Josh under my breath. My earlier righteous bravado was gone, replaced, miraculously, by logic. "I could get in serious trouble here. I mean, before I was just protecting my boyfriend who was alive and rehabbing. Now it's like ... what? Aiding and abetting or something?"

  Obviously, I had spent too much time watching those bad cop shows. Damn you, Dick Wolf.

  Josh stood up straight as this sank in. A cold breeze tousled his hair, and a thick gray cloud moved in front of the sun. I pulled my coat closer to me. Dozens of dry brown leaves chased one another

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  across the stone path down below. Suddenly I really didn't want to be here. I turned to go.

  "Wait. Reed, wait," Josh said, grabbing my arm lightly.

  My foot hovered in the air over the next step and my stomach went weightless, like I was on a roller coaster that had just taken a dip.

  "What?" I said over my shoulder.

  "We have to show it to them. This is about finding out what happened to Thomas," Josh said earnestly. "It's about telling the truth. Finally."

  I recalled a conversation Josh and I had with Walt Whittaker last week in the cafeteria. One in which Whit had accused Josh of being a hypocrite for not turning Thomas into the board of trustees for his illegal activities ages ago. Something in Josh's eyes told me that conversation had really affected him. Maybe even more so, now that Thomas was gone. Now that Noelle, too, had suggested it was the right thing to do.

  The girl really did have power.

  "Besides, what can they do to you?" Josh said. "You're a minor and you were just scared and confused and all that. It's not like they're gonna throw you in jail for keeping a love note or whatever."

  His certainty somehow took the edge off my fear. "Fine," I said. I strode past him and opened the door before I could lose my newfound resolve. "But if I do end up behind bars, it's your job to get me out."

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  "Done and done," Josh said. Firmly. Like he really did intend to be my rescuer one day.

  I walked ahead of him down the long, echoing hallway. Unbelievable. I was potentially walking to my doom, and definitely going to turn in my lying, deceased boyfriend . . . and then I did the most inappropriate, appalling thing possible.

  I smiled.

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  * * *

  "Is that all you two have to say?" Dean Marcus asked, glaring at us from across his wide desk.

  Isn't that enough?

  The dean was definitely old, but since Thomas had gone missing, the police had invaded our campus, and parents had started yanking their kids and their tuition, he seemed to have aged ten years. His wrinkles were deeper, the gray at his temples had spread, and his brown eyes seemed to swim sourly in their sockets. The note from Thomas was laid out flat on his leather blotter, the only piece of paper on his otherwise impeccably organized desk. In the corner, the tall, imposing Chief Sheridan whispered intently with his shorter, kinder counterpart, Detective Hauer. After muttering a few expletives toward the beginning of our stories, they had been conferencing on and off throughout the rest of the meeting.

  "We're very sorry we didn't come in sooner, sir," Josh said, sounding much more composed than I felt. "We just always hoped Thomas would be coming back--"

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  "And when he did, you were going to allow him to continue with his illegal activities," the dean said, his voice rising as the redness of his face deepened to near burgundy. "You were going to allow him to continue disgracing this institution."

  I sank lower in my leather chair. I was going to get thrown out of Easton. I could feel it. I was never goin
g to touch the ivy around the entrance to Billings again. Never find out if I could actually pass Mr. Barber's history class. Never sit with Noelle and Ariana and Kiran and Taylor and sip wine and eat expensive chocolates and laugh. Never see New York from windows high above Park Avenue again. What had I been thinking, coming here? How could I have forgotten how much there was to lose?

  Croton, Pennsylvania, here I come! I wondered if that handwritten Help Wanted sign was still hanging in the window of the Rite Aid.

  "But that's not even the worst of it, Mr. Hollis," Dean Marcus continued, his indignation so strong he was starting to tremble. "If you had come to us with this information earlier we might have found Mr. Pearson weeks ago. You don't--"

  My heart completely stopped beating.

  "Dean," the chief said in a warning tone.

  The dean went white under his age spots as he realized his slipup. He looked at the chief uncertainly.

  Weeks ago? Weeks?

  "Is that true?" I heard myself say, my voice sounding very meek. "Has Thomas been dead for that long?"

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  "I'm sorry, Miss Brennan, but we're not at liberty to divulge that information while our investigation continues," Chief Sheridan said firmly, stepping up to the desk.

  Dean Marcus sat back in his chair, deflated. The chief's tone was reprimanding. Clearly, the dean had been relishing his position as man in charge of this meeting, and by speaking a few words too many he had just lost it. It seemed there was an authority higher than our school's number-one authority figure.

  "But Dean Marcus is right. You should have told us these things during our first meetings," the chief continued, staring us down. "I know you thought you were protecting your friend, but by impeding our investigation you've done the exact opposite."

  What little breakfast I'd managed to choke down was slowly rising up from my stomach. Was he right? Could I actually have prevented Thomas's death by coming forward? How could this be happening?

  Tears came to my eyes, and I stared straight ahead at the green glass lamp on the dean's desk, watching it blur. I couldn't take this. I couldn't. I felt like my chest was filling up with something I couldn't define. Something that would surely drown me.