Ambition Page 9

her pocket. The wind almost made off with it, but she managed to keep it clutched in her gloves. "But if Hunter Braden is boring, I

  don't really know who's going to satisfy you," she added under her breath. "Who's next?" Constance asked, trying to see over Lon-

  don's shoulder as we walked.

  "Dominic Infante. Portia's pick," London replied. "Actually, I think I'm going to ask out Marc Alberro," I told them. "You are?"

  Constance's face lit up. "Who?" London blurted, looking confused. "Number fifteen," Vienna informed her, pointing. "Reed, come on.

  He's, like, a scholarship student." Noelle snorted a laugh at the faux pas. I stopped in my tracks just outside the door to the dining hall

  and they all stopped as well. I stared down the blank-faced Twin Cities until they remembered who they were talking to--another

  scholarship student. "Oh! Right!" Vienna said finally, blushing. "But this is different. I mean, he's a Dreck." Dreck was the not-so-

  positive nickname the Billings Girls had for residents of Drake Hall, the upperclassman dorm where the "unsavory" boys lived.

  "Plus he's president of the Purity Club," London said with a shudder, sticking her tongue out like she'd just swallowed a bug. "Eas-

  ton has a Purity Club?" I asked, shocked. "Oh, it's, like, really small," Vienna clarified. Interesting. I couldn't imagine anyone at this

  particularly horny school wanting to remain pure, let alone advertise the fact. Marc Alberro was looking better and better. A smart,

  funny, cute boy with no delusions of grandeur who was not out for sex? Count me in. "I'm asking him out," I said, whipping open the

  door and striding into the warm, hustle-bustle of the dining hall. "Yay!" Constance cheered. The Twin Cities protested under their

  breath, but I pretended not to hear. I'd done it their way. Now it was time to try it my way. I unbuttoned my coat as I walked over to

  the Billings tables, feeling confident in my decision. Feeling, in fact, better than I had in days. But the feeling was short-lived.

  Halfway across the cafeteria I noticed people whispering. Eyeing me warily. Glancing away quickly when I looked in their direction.

  An eerie sense of deja vu settled in around my shoulders. The vibe in the room was way too familiar. It felt exactly like it had after

  Thomas's body had been found.

  I gulped for air. Cheyenne. Had Easton somehow found out about the murder investigation? "What's up with the morgue vibe?"

  Noelle asked, flinging her coat over the back of her chair. The Billings Girls who were already seated with their meals-- Sabine, Tiff,

  Rose, Kiki, Astrid, and others--all exchanged nervous looks. Like there was something they didn't want to tell us. Then Amberly

  Carmichael scurried over with her two sentries in tow. She grabbed my forearm with one hand and Noelle's with the other. "You guys,

  I just want you to know, I don't believe a word of it," she said, her eyes wide and earnest.

  "A word of what?" I asked, removing her hand from my arm. At that moment Missy arrived, dropped her tray on the next table,

  and turned around, her arms crossed under her sizable chest. "You guys should know that everyone's talking about how you conspired

  to murder Cheyenne," she said bluntly, looking at me and Noelle. I grabbed onto the back of the nearest chair to steady myself.

  "What?" Noelle blurted, loud enough that most of the conversation in the airy room screeched to a halt. "Like I said. Not a word,"

  Amberly repeated. Like it was so important to us that she trusted us. Please. My life was flashing before my eyes over here. "No one

  believes a word of it, right, girls? It's crazy talk," Tiffany said, looking around the table. Everyone murmured their agreement. "I don't

  understand. How did this whole thing get started?" Noelle asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Everyone at the Billings tables looked around at everyone else. Again, no one wanted to answer. Finally Missy stepped closer to us

  and lowered her voice. There's a rumor going around that the police questioned someone from school last night," she said. "That

  they're going to reinvestigate Cheyenne's death." What? How could anyone know that? "Now everyone's saying that you got Reed to

  off Cheyenne so that there would be a vacancy in Billings," Missy added. Noelle scoffed. "Total fiction. Honestly. Who comes up

  with this crap?" "Exactly," Portia added as all our friends nodded and murmured their agreement.

  "Everyone's just jealous of you guys. That's why they want to tear you down," Vienna said sagely. "It's always lonely at the top,"

  Shelby agreed. "Too true," Noelle said. She looked around the room, taking in the silence and the stares. "Well, this is unacceptable."

  She stepped out into the center of the aisle and shook her head incredulously. "So, you all think Reed and I pulled off a murderous

  coup at Billings, huh? Do you even hear how ridiculous that sounds?" she announced in a loud voice. "Who would kill someone for a

  spot in a dorm? Even if it is Billings? Are you guys that hard up for scandal that you're going to believe something like that? I thought

  that only smart people were admitted to Easton."

  There was laughter all around. Her announcement had the desired effect. People went back to their food, and I even caught a few of

  them rolling their eyes like it really was ridiculous. Rumor squelched, just like that. Damn, this girl had power. I wondered if everyone

  would have believed me if I had said the same thing, but now I'd never get the chance to find out. "See? I told you," Amberly said to

  her cohorts before ushering them away. "You do have to admit, the timing was a tad suspect," Missy said casually. "Cheyenne dies

  and you show up the following week. And after everything that happened last year, people around here think you guys are capable of

  pretty much anything. You can't really blame them for being suspicious." "You're going to want to stop talking now," Noelle snapped.

  Missy did, and took her seat at the next table. She tried and failed to hide a smile behind a cough. The girl was loving every minute of

  this.

  "So who was this mysterious person? Who did the police bring in for questioning?" Sabine wondered aloud, her expression con-

  cerned as I slowly unbuttoned my coat. "Please. It probably didn't even happen," I said, forcing a laugh. "Someone probably made the

  whole thing up from start to finish." I glanced up at Noelle as I said this, figuring she'd chuckle and agree with me, but instead her

  eyes were flat as she stared back at me. My heart all but stopped. She knew. She knew it had been me. She knew I was lying. How did

  she do that? "Yeah. Probably," Noelle said calmly. I glanced around at the rest of my friends, feeling suddenly nervous and snagged,

  but I could tell that Noelle was the one person at the Billings tables who saw through me. The only one who understood that I knew

  more than I was letting on. And sooner or later, she was going to want to know the truth.

  CONTROL

  How much could one person handle before totally losing it? This was a question, among many others, that started to plague me af-

  ter the scene in the dining hall. Not only had I just broken up with my boyfriend, but now he was quite possibly smooching some girl

  who was a liar with a criminal record and who just generally gave me the creeps. I was hiding the fact that the cause of our breakup

  was me hooking up with my best friend's boyfriend--though I still didn't know if he was her boyfriend at the time. Meanwhile, some-

  one was planting a dead girl's stuff in my room for sport, and said dead girl might or might not have been murdered. Oh, yeah, and

  soon the ultra-exclusive dorm of which I was president might be closed down--a travesty for which I would be blamed
for all eternity.

  Yeah. That wasn't too much to deal with. And I also had classes and calls home to my parents and a rivalry between Sabine and

  Noelle and my friends forcing me to date random boys. Public school was starting to look not so bad.

  Monday morning I decided that the best thing to do would be to focus on the stuff that I could actually control. Stuff like the

  fundraiser. So after lunch I went directly to the Crom's office. His assistant, Ms. Lewis, was on the phone when I walked in, looking

  harried. I waited quietly in front of her desk, thinking of our bizarrely intimate encounters last year, back when she used to be Ms.

  Lewis-Hanneman. Before her husband had found out she was having an affair with Thomas Pearson's brother Blake. I had been the

  one person she had confessed everything to. The only person she had managed to trust. It was so strange to think of it now.

  Finally she hung up the phone and sighed. She pushed her hornrimmed glasses up on her nose and smoothed her blond hair back

  toward her bun, then pulled her chair closer to her desk. "What can I do for you, Miss Brennan?" "I was hoping to see the headmas-

  ter," I said. She glanced at her phone. One red light was blinking. "He's on his line right now. I can leave him a message." "I have a

  few minutes. I can wait," I told her. "Super," she replied sarcastically. The phone rang again and she quickly answered it. As soon as

  she hung up, she typed a few words into her computer and yanked a file out of a drawer. She seemed irritated and busy, but while I

  was there, I did have some business with her as well. "Ms. Lewis?" I said tentatively. "Yes?"

  She didn't look up as she flipped through some papers in the file. "I was wondering if you could do me a small favor," I said. "In all

  my spare time?" she said. I laughed quickly for her benefit. "If you get a minute, I mean. I need a list of all the Easton alumni under

  the age of sixty-five along with their addresses and e-mails." Ms. Lewis stopped what she was doing and looked up at me like I'd just

  asked her to put an end to world hunger. "Come on," I wheedled. "For old times' sake?" Her glossy lips twisted into a semblance of a

  smile. "Fine." She grabbed a pen and started to make a note on a Post-it, but there was no ink left. "Nothing is easy today," she said,

  flinging the pen down and yanking open another drawer. A lockbox slammed forward as she did so. It was labeled--in old, chipped

  paint--dorm keys. Suddenly a lump rose from my chest area into my throat. "You have keys to all the dorms?" I asked, my blood run-

  ning cold. Ms. Lewis quickly slammed the drawer. "Yes. I have to have them so I can make copies when you oh-so-responsible stu-

  dents lose them. Like your friend Kiki did last week."

  She gestured at a gray machine atop a filing cabinet behind her. A maker of keys. "And that's where you keep them? In an unlocked

  drawer in your desk?" She clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes. "The lockbox is locked," she said impatiently. "Hence the term

  lockbox. " As she quickly made a note to put together the list I'd asked for, my mind started to roam free. Keys to all the dorms. Right

  here where anyone could get to them. It wouldn't be that hard, if someone was determined. Dash and I had, after all, broken into this

  very office last year to use Ms. Lewis's computer. Whoever was messing with me could have easily broken in and stolen the Billings

  key. Could even have made a copy if they figured out how to work that machine. Anyone could have the key to Billings. Anyone.

  "He's off the phone," Ms. Lewis announced, getting up. I cleared my throat and attempted to, at the same time, clear my brain. I

  had to focus now. Cromwell. The passes. I could deal with this new discovery later. Ms. Lewis straightened her skirt and strode over

  to the double door that connected her office to the headmaster's. "Reed Brennan to see you, Headmaster," she said as she opened the

  door. "What can I do for you, Miss Brennan?" Cromwell asked, not even bothering to look up from the newspaper laid out on his siz-

  able desk. Ms. Lewis left the two of us alone and I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. His office was blazing hot, as always, thanks

  to a roaring fire in the ancient fireplace on the far side of the room. The windows were all shut tight, and there was little if any air to

  be had. How could the man possibly work like this? Had he only recently escaped from hell?

  "I'm here to request off-campus passes for this weekend for myself and four fellow students," I told him, hoping that maintaining a

  formal tone would somehow impress him. I tugged at the collar of my sweater in an attempt to get some air to my skin. It didn't work.

  "We want to go to New York to finalize plans for our fund-raiser."

  "Miss Lange has already applied for, and secured, four passes for this trip," he said, languidly turning the page. I hesitated. Noelle

  had already been here? When? And why would she apply for only four when we had already discussed the fact that we needed five?

  She was trying to keep Sabine out. Of course she was. How could she have gone behind my back and-- "Was there anything else?"

  Cromwell asked, still reading. Okay, focus. Sabine and Noelle were not the issue right now. "Yes, sir, I'd like one more pass," I said

  firmly. Headmaster Cromwell took a deep breath. He looked at his glowing computer screen and hit a few buttons. "Miss Lange has

  secured passes for you, Miss Simmons, Miss Clarke, and herself. Why, might I ask, are the four of you not enough? Are you in need

  of someone to carry your bags? " He looked at me for the first time, a wry smile on his tight lips.

  "No, sir," I said patiently. "But we'd like to bring Sabine DuLac with us." "And why should I let Miss DuLac accompany you?" he

  asked. "Because she--" Okay. "She wants to see New York" wasn't going to fly here. There had to be a plausible reason for Sabine to

  be in on this trip. Cromwell raised his eyebrows at my hesitation and I noticed the huge globe on its pedestal behind his desk.

  Epiphany. "Because Sabine will bring in a lot of international donations," I improvised. "Her family has friends and acquaintances all

  over the globe. She would be a true asset to the planning committee." I clasped my sweaty hands together behind my back and prayed

  my lie would do the trick. Money talked. And international money was still money. "Fine," Cromwell said finally. "Five passes it is.

  You can come and pick them up on Friday afternoon." Yes! "Thank you, sir. You won't regret this," I said. "I do hope this project of

  yours is a success," he said with so little sincerity he was practically transparent. "And we very much appreciate your support," I

  replied sarcastically. Then I turned and walked out of his oven like office before my tone had a chance to sink in, and he had a chance

  to change his mind.

  MOOD SWING

  It was unbelievable, the lengths Noelle would go to in order to get what she wanted. I knew she didn't like Sabine, but did she hate

  her so much she couldn't deal with her for one lousy weekend? That seemed so petty. And so beneath Noelle. Couldn't she let me have

  just one little thing? Couldn't she keep herself from trying to control every aspect of life in Billings? Well, Noelle clearly didn't realize

  who she was dealing with. I loved the girl, but she had to get used to the fact that she wasn't the only person living in Billings. Things

  couldn't always be the way she wanted them to be. She had been gone all spring and part of the fall. Did she really think that in all that

  time, nothing would have changed? There was already someone at Easton working against me with all this Cheyenne crap--which

  made my knees jellify every time I thought about it. I
didn't need my best friend working against me too. I shoved through the front

  door of Hell Hall and jogged down the steps, feeling triumphant and clear for the first time as the cold air hit my face. I was going to

  have a talk with Noelle. She couldn't go behind my back and change things up on me. I was president of Billings. She was just going

  to have to get used to it. I was so focused as I strode across the rapidly darkening campus, I barely noticed Marc sitting on one of the

  benches in the quad until I was right on top of him. "Reed, hi," he said, looking up from his French book. "Marc! Hey," I said, paus-

  ing. The wind tossed my hair in front of my face and I tossed it back with a smile. I hadn't seen Marc since I had made the decision to

  bump him up from number fifteen to number three on the F.Y.R. list. Now I felt as if he'd been placed in my path at the perfect mo-

  ment. Not only was I high on adrenaline, but I was in definite need of a distraction.

  "I'm just studying for a French test," he said. Pointing out the obvious again. "That's good," I replied. "What're you up to?" he

  asked, standing. He was a couple of inches shorter than me, but still beyond cute with his dark hair and light eyes. He wore a gray

  wool coat with toggle buttons over a burgundy sweater and jeans. Unlike the Ketlar boys, he was not too cool to realize it was freezing

  out and that he could do something about it. "Have you thought more about the interview? Because I'd really love to get your thoughts

  on--" "Actually, yeah. Let's do that. Let's set up a time to do the interview," I replied, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder

  and tucking my hands underneath my arms to ward off the cold. "How's Wednesday afternoon? Soccer's over, so I'm free." Marc

  whipped out a BlackBerry to check his schedule, all business like. His brows knit as he checked it over. "Wednesday should work. Do

  you want to--" "I'll meet you at Coffee Carma at four," I told him, feeling very in charge. "Four it is," he replied. "Good. It's a date," I

  said. Marc blushed and grinned. It was a nice grin. Real. Not at all smug. "It's a date," he repeated. "See you then!" I turned and

  walked determinedly toward Billings. I'd dealt with Cromwell and the New York trip, I'd made my next F.Y.R. move. So far, so good.

  I was taking charge of my life. But as the dorm loomed before me, I started to feel a bit short of breath. Almost dizzy. Almost like I

  didn't want to go inside.

  What if there was something new and unexplained in my room? A few days had gone by since the discovery of Cheyenne's cloth-

  ing, but rather than making me feel safer, the passing time was making me more paranoid. Who was planting that stuff ? What would

  they do next? And when? When would I open another door or drawer and find some other Cheyenne-related artifact that would knock

  the wind out of me all over again? All my Noelle-inspired adrenaline started to wane and my steps slowed. I didn't want to go in there.

  Didn't want to know what was waiting for me. Billings, the only place that had felt like home in the past year and a half, had changed.

  All because one of my schoolmates had a very sick, cruel sense of humor. Why would someone want to do this to me? Did I really