Legacy Page 8

  * * *

  Saturday night, thanks to the Driscoll Alumni Dinner, I was finally forced to come out of hiding, and after the night before, I was more than ready to get away from my computer and my room. With a new e-mail address and a new password all set up, I was confident that I had heard from Cheyenne Martin for the last time. It was time to rejoin the land of the living.

  The Driscoll Dinner was being held at the same posh hotel my friends and I had lunched at the week before. It was Headmaster Cromwell's pet project. At the beginning of the year, when he'd made all the students sign up for a committee, Sabine and I had joined the waitstaff. So I was to spend Saturday night dressed in a black skirt and white tuxedo top, serving hors d'oeuvres to illustrious alums. And if Dash happened to be there, there was no hope of avoiding him. As I circulated the loud, packed Driscoll ballroom with my tray of crab puffs, carefully avoiding silk gowns and wingtip shoes, my heart pitter-pattered uncomfortably. Maybe he'd decided not to come. This was kind of a stodgy event, after all. Surely a Yale freshman had better things to do with his time than schmooze with the elderly set. A kegger or a poetry reading or something must have been calling his name.

  A half hour of grinning and serving and small-talking went by without a glimpse of him, and I finally started to relax. Cocktail hour would be over in thirty minutes. All I had to do was get through this and then I could spend the rest of the night hiding out in the kitchen, maybe even sneak in some pantry smooching with Josh. I was practically home free. And then, as I turned away from a group of pin-striped Wall Street types with booming voices, a hand gripped my upper arm. I almost dropped my tray, but saved it two inches before it could make the clatter heard round the world. It was him. It was him. "Hey. You look sexy in that uniform."

  My lungs filled with air. It wasn't him. It was Josh. "Thanks," I said, hoping he'd attribute my blush to his flattery. He looked adorable in his black tux, a long white tie tucked into his jacket. His curls were, as always, doing their own thing, but their disheveled state only made the whole look all the more perfect. What could be hotter than a scruffy artist all suited up? Josh slid his eyes from side to side and, finding the coast generally clear, leaned in to kiss me. Ah, Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. He smiled teasingly when he pulled away. "I'll be checking on things in the kitchen if you want to pick up where that left off."

  See? We even think the same. We're so perfect for each other. "Noted," I said with a grin. He turned around jauntily. I took a deep breath to calm my skipping heart and turned the other way. Where I found myself face to face with Dash. Okay. He was even more gorgeous than I remembered. Broader. Taller. More chiseled. Completely at home in his perfect tux. His usually warm brown eyes were piercing. His blond hair fell casually over his forehead as he looked me dead in the eye. Smoldering was the only word that came to mind. "Dash," I heard myself say--gasp, really. This guy had almost kissed me last summer. This Adonis of perfection had almost kissed me.

  Dash stared at me for a long moment. Then he glanced past me at, I could only assume, my retreating boyfriend--his friend. His jaw worked, as if he was trying to hold something back. What? What? "We need to talk," he said to me. And he didn't even bother to check whether the coast was clear. He simply took my free hand and led me away.

  JUST FRIENDS

  It took Dash five seconds to find a secluded hallway near the back of the hotel. Clearly he had been here before. I dropped my half- empty tray on a random chair and wiped my palms on my skirt. I was so panicked I thought I might vomit. Or wet myself. Or both. What if Josh had seen us leave the room? What if Noelle had? What if Missy had seen us and told everyone? Which was so something she'd do. I instantly thought of that as-yet-unopened folder on the Billings CD. If Missy decided to wage war, I'd have the ammo to fight back. But why was I thinking about this now? Now, when my fingers were completely enveloped in Dash's warm, strong hand? When Josh was waiting for me in the kitchen.

  He ducked into an alcove, then looked out and double-checked the hallway. "We're alone," he said fervently. I just looked at him. I didn't know what to say. Why had he brought me here? Why the intensity? He 's just going to tell me he's back together with Noelle. That they were, I don't know, apart for a while and now they're back together. Or he' s going to warn me, now that she's back, to not tell her we've been corresponding. As if I needed that particular caveat. "You didn't e-mail me back this week," he said. His eyes were sad. Dare I say desperate?

  I pressed my hands into the cool wall behind me, grounding myself. "I--" "I was worried something happened to you," he said, taking a step closer to me. "Are you okay?" I had no idea what to make of this. "I'm fine," I said, acutely aware that mere inches separated us. He seemed confused for a moment, but then his face cleared and he blew out a breath. "Good. Okay. Good," he said, cupping the back of his neck with his hand. He turned away from me and tipped his head back as if he was struggling with something, working his neck muscles with his fingers. When he looked at me again, his eyes searched mine. "Reed, there's something you need to know." Suddenly, I felt so disloyal I wanted to die. Just the sound of his deep, confident voice saying my name sent shivers through me. All I wanted was to hear him say my name again and again. How could I feel this way? I loved Josh. I knew I loved Josh. But standing this close to Dash...

  "I know we never say anything like this to each other. I've avoided it up until now. But you should know that Noelle and I are not together." I took a step back. Now all of me pressed into the wall. It was the only way to keep myself upright. He actually liked me. Why else would he tell me this? Why else would he be looking at me with such obvious longing in his eyes? "Does that have any effect on you whatsoever?" he asked. This was it. The moment of truth. What I said right now could define me forever. I was either going to be a loyal, trustworthy girlfriend, or an unfaithful fiend. "No," I said, lifting my chin. My voice cracked, dammit. I cleared it and tried again. "Why should it?" Dash was clearly stunned. Hurt. He drew himself up and looked at me incredulously. "Oh. Okay. My mistake," he said. He turned, but then looked back at me again as if I were an apparition. "I just thought... No. Forget it."

  He turned to go. Something inside of me snapped and I shoved myself away from the wall. I couldn't let him leave. Not yet. Not like this. I hated that I had hurt him. "Dash, wait," I blurted. He stopped but didn't turn around. I could hear him breathing. "We're still friends, right?" I said. Pathetic, I know. But what else could I say? "Friends." He laughed derisively. Then he turned around and backed me right into the wall again. So fast I barely even saw it coming. My heart pounded in my throat as he braced his hands above my head and leaned in toward me. My chest heaved up a down, up and down. My brain went hazy. His lips were inches from mine. Millimeters. I stared into his eyes, lost. No control. No control. No control.

  He loomed even closer. Every last inch of me throbbed. I could practically taste his breath. Dash McCafferty was going to kiss me. Dash McCafferty was going to kiss me. And I was going to let him. He smiled. My heart stopped. "Sure," he whispered, sending chills all through my body. "All we are is friends." He backed up a step, and oxygen whooshed in at me from all angles. "I'll keep telling myself that, if that's what you want me to do," he said solemnly. He backed all the way out of the alcove, never taking his eyes off mine, and was gone.

  PERFECTLY GOOD EXPLANATIONS

  Sunday night, Sabine was in the shower in our adjoining bathroom and I finally felt free to open an e-mail that had been sitting in my inbox all day. An e-mail from Dash. I don't know whether it was the fact that I had seen it there that morning, or whether it was the things he had said to me at the Driscoll, but I hadn't been able to stop thinking about him all day. Knowing that a guy like Dash could like a girl like me was intoxicating. I'll admit it. And as much as I tried to lock him out of my thoughts and conjure up Josh, Dash kept pounding his way back in. It was amazing how thinking about someone could make me feel like the scum of the earth, but totally exhilarated at the same time. What the e-mail
could possibly contain, I had no idea, but I was so nervous as I attempted to open it that my fingers slipped off the mouse from all the sweat. I took a deep breath, wiped my hands on my jeans, and opened the e-mail.

  Reed, It was good to see you last night. Hope the rest of your weekend goes well. Dash Okay. What the hell did that mean? Had I really waited all day to be alone to read that crap? Maybe it was some sort of dig at my "just friends" thing. Maybe he was showing me how very well he could play along. Was he mocking me? I was just reading it over again, as if there could be any hidden meaning in so few words, when the door to my room opened behind me. I slapped the laptop closed without even thinking about it. Thank God I did. Noelle was on top of me in less than two seconds. "Secret pen pal?" she asked wryly, eyeing the computer. I retasted the turkey club I'd had for lunch right about then. "What? No. Why? I-"

  The door opened again and this time it was Portia. She was sucking on a huge iced coffee and looked wired enough to power the whole dorm. "Check your e-mail! I just forwarded you something!" The last thing I wanted to do was open my computer. But Noelle was temporarily distracted by Portia's manic state, so I quickly popped it open and deleted Dash's message. Way too close for my comfort. At the top of my inbox was a forwarded message from Portia titled "FW: LEGACY LIVES!" "What's this?" "Open the attachment!" Portia demanded, taking a drag on her oversize purple straw. Her pupils were like pinpoints. I clicked the attachment. An Adobe file opened on my screen. A scanned-in image of what looked like a very expensive, hand-lettered invitation. An invitation to the Legacy. October 31st. Location TBD. Entry tokens to follow.

  "One of my friends at Dalton sent it to me. They all got them in the mail yesterday," Portia informed us, wide-eyed. "Is it some kind of hoax, or is it not canceled? And how come we didn't get any?" "I told you guys someone would throw it," Noelle said, casually checking her hair in the mirror above my dresser. She lifted it back from her face and sucked in her already perfect cheeks, checking herself out from side to side. "I'm sure our invites will come tomorrow." "You think? Oh my God. Thank God!" Portia trilled. "Senior year without the Legacy would have sucked." I smiled for them, but inside I couldn't help feeling stepped on. So much for the Billings Masquerade idea. Everyone was obviously going to want to go to the Legacy. Where I couldn't, in fact, go at all. What kind of Billings president couldn't even get into the biggest party of the year? The lame kind, I supposed. "Hey! That's a nice shot of you and Cheyenne!" Portia practically shouted.

  My heart constricted. I turned around to follow her gaze and had to close my computer lid to see what she was pointing at. There, pinned to the mostly bare bulletin board behind my desk, was the picture of me and Cheyenne from Vienna's Sweet Seventeen. The very picture that was supposed to be hidden in the bottom of my bottom desk drawer in the back of a sophomore English book. "Omigod," I said, pushing back from my desk and standing up. "How the hell did that get there?" Not a soul had been around when I'd hidden it over a week ago. How had it ended up on my bulletin board? "Reed, chill," Noelle said. "What's the problem? "I didn't put that there," I told her, shaking. "I stashed it in the bottom of my desk. I don't understand--" Sabine walked out of the bathroom, removing a thick white towel from her hair. She took one look at me and her face creased with concern. "Reed? What's wrong?"

  "That picture. Do you know how it got there? " I asked her. Sabine squinted at my desk. "It's been there, no?" I looked at the photo wildly. Had it been? Had I pinned it there and simply forgotten? Was I totally losing my mind? "No!" I said, shaking my head adamantly. "I hid it. I--" "Reed, stop," Noelle demanded. "This is not a big deal. The cleaning service was here this morning. They probably found it and thought you lost it or something. They probably thought they were being helpful." "You think?" I asked, my hand over my heart. "I know. My stuff is always moved around after they've been here. Just be grateful they didn't steal anything." Noelle reached over and yanked out the pin, removing the photo, which she quickly shoved right back into the bottom drawer. "See? All better." As soon as the photo was gone, my heart rate started to return to normal again. Noelle was right. It was a perfectly good explanation. I wasn't insane. I wasn't. There were perfectly good explanations for all the strange things that had been happening to me lately. I was just glad there were people around to tell me what those explanations were.

  * * *

  On Monday afternoon between classes, the solarium was buzzing with the news about the Legacy. Half the student body had jammed the campus post office after lunch, and nothing. The mail had been delivered, but there wasn't a single Legacy invite among all the catalogs and college applications and postcards from exotic locales. Everyone knew someone from another school who had received one. It seemed clear that Easton's legacies were, for some reason, being snubbed. And these people were not accustomed to being snubbed. As I wove through the crowded, sun- streaked room, packed with people sipping their mochaccinos and foaming lattes, I caught snippets of indignant conversations. "Barton got them on Friday. Friday! And that's right up the road--" "Dalton shouldn't even be invited. I mean, day schools? Please. Next they're gonna extend it to those crunchy satellite places with, like, no grades." "If we don't get invited, I'm gonna sue. I swear."

  I joined the back of the line at the Coffee Carma counter and Noelle slipped in behind me. "We're about to have a Million Moron March on our hands." I laughed and glanced around. "The coffee can't be helping. I think you can get a buzz just by breathing the air in here." "Please. This student body has built up enough tolerance to put all the rejects at Promises, Wonderland, and Betty Ford to shame," Noelle joked. "A little caffeine is not going to affect them." As Noelle looked over her shoulder, her expression darkened. My classmate Diana Waters and a group of girls from Pemberly stood a few feet away, whispering and staring at Noelle. "Problem?" Noelle asked. Diana blanched. "Um, no. No problem. We were just..." She looked down quickly. "Nice boots." "They're Balenciaga," Noelle replied, giving them a cursory look. "And if you don't walk away right now, you'll find out what they look like up your ass." Because I liked Diana, I hid my laugh behind my hand as she and her friends quickly found a table at the back of the room.

  "That keeps happening," Noelle said, looking bored as she surveyed the menu behind the counter. "Like no one's ever threatened their way back in here before." We both knew that wasn't why they were staring. They were staring because of what she and the others had done to Thomas. If Noelle had been intimidating last year, her presence was now morbidly fascinating, even scary. She was practically a walking urban legend. Noelle and I ordered our coffees, and I paid for both with my Carma Card. When we turned around, Gage was bearing down on us. "Okay. What the hell is going on? " he demanded. His hair was flattened, highlighted with blond streaks, and cut short. He had day-old stubble all over his chin. Plus he was wearing an L.A. Galaxy soccer jersey, even though he didn't play soccer. "The Beckham makeover, huh? How original," Noelle commented.

  "Right. Because you're so above trends,"Gage replied with a sneer. "For your information, while I was in the city this weekend I saw ten of these bogus Legacy invitations with my own eyes. These things are for real and we don't have any." Josh stepped up behind Gage and leaned over to give me a kiss. "If they're bogus, how can they also be real?" Josh questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Shut up, man. I'm not in the mood," Gage snapped. "Sorry," Josh said, trying not to laugh. Which made me laugh. "Oh, I'm really glad this is so funny to you," Gage said derisively. "But if Easton has been blackballed by the Legacy, we're over. We're gonna be shut out of everything. We may as well just go enroll at some public school and call it a day. We have to find out what the hell is going on." Both Gage and Noelle looked at me expectantly. I realized with a start that they were waiting for me to say something. That they were expecting me to find out what the hell was going on. Noelle Lange and Gage Coolidge. Looking to me.

  And then I remembered. I was president of Billings. In theory, the most connected girl at Easton. I thought of all the info I had ba
ck in my room. All those powerful people I could contact. Somewhere in there, there had to be an answer. "Don't worry," I told them, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline. "Whatever it is, I'll figure it out." Noelle nodded approvingly and Gage seemed pacified by my promise. Josh reached out and laced his fingers through mine. A flutter of pride welled up inside me. Once again I felt very Noelle Lange, but this time Noelle Lange was standing right there. Very weird. But also very, very cool.

  REVOLUTIONARY

  I had Dash's cell phone number from over the summer at the Vineyard. He'd given it to both me and Natasha so we could make plans to go sailing. I'd never used it. Instead, Natasha had called him and set it all up. We'd gone out on her dad's boat one afternoon, and Dash had brought two of his ridiculously gorgeous male cousins and a case of beer along. All very innocent. Until the following night at the restaurant where I'd worked, when we'd shared that almost kiss... Anyway, I had never used it. Until now. I needed more information. That was my excuse. And aside from Natasha--who I knew had a Monday night class at Dartmouth--Dash was the only Easton alumni I was still in contact with. Well, and Whittaker. I supposed I could have gotten Constance to call Whittaker. But whatever. It was just a quick question and good-bye. I hit the send button and crossed my legs on my bed, holding my breath as it rang. He answered right away.