Beware That Girl (15 page)

The interesting takeaway was that Mark almost ignored Kate through the whole thing. So much so that Draper seemed compelled to make up for it. She kept fussing with Kate, putting her front and center. “Kate is the chair and our Waverly Scholar, after all. And just
look
at the child.” Halston seemed to agree. Olivia didn’t mind the focus on Kate, so long as Mark wasn’t the one doing the focusing.

“Ladies, ladies, I need Mark in this shot too.” Then Halston paused for an eternity, working out the scenario in his head. “Okay, off the top, Mark will be down and center under the basketball hoop. Wait.” He frowned, looked unhappy, paced, looked at Mark, checked the gym, looked at the girls. “I’ve got it! Ms. Draper, darling, we need lots of identifiable pieces of sporting equipment.”

Draper started heading for the storage room.

“I want a basketball, volleyball, soccer ball, the hockey thing the girls use. Do you girls play cricket? I want a baseball bat, rackets, uh…”

“We have an equestrian program affiliated with Central Park,” offered Serena, who was in said equestrian program.

“Perfect!” gushed Halston. “Bring me a riding helmet and that stick you beat the horse with.”

Serena took off for the crop and helmet like her life depended on it. She’d been like that all night. Desperate to please.

The rest of the Wonders raced to help Draper raid the equipment room. Couldn’t have Serena looking like she was the only one who cared about Mark’s photo shoot.

“Genius,” Mark said, slapping Halston on the back when they returned with the gear. “You showcase the athletic riches of the school in one fun and campy shot.”

Halston fairly cooed. “Exactly. Now, girls, pick up a sports item in each hand and put one foot on a ball. Mark, honey, you kneel with one knee down. Girls, arrange yourselves around him. And don’t let me catch anyone posing hard.”

“Come on, ladies,” Mark groaned as he knelt. “Make the old guy look good.”

Well…you can just imagine.

It took almost an hour of posing and rearranging before Halston felt he got the one picture that was more perfect than the dozens of others before. You could fire up a small country with the electricity generated during those shots. Even with Draper there, the girls got increasingly giggly, flirty, suggestive.

Not Kate, though, and certainly not Olivia. Olivia held herself way back. It was a gamble, but she was willing to bet that with a man like Mark, she had to make him come to her.

It was almost eleven p.m. before they were finally dismissed. The other girls scrambled to the dressing room. Olivia stayed back and surveyed the scene. It looked like a sports store had exploded in the gym. Draper was helping Halston with the photo equipment while they chatted about her vision for the slide loop at the Winterfest Gala. Mark was in the equipment room. Olivia paused, picked up a bat and a hockey stick, and headed over.

“Olivia. Hey, thanks, but you don’t have to do this.” He turned to her and, without the distraction of the others,
saw
her. “You know, I was hoping that we might have a meeting before break on the gala proceedings. These are your people, so to speak. I’ve really appreciated your input so far. So how about a coffee next week?”

Bingo.

“Oh, I’d love that!” Was that too eager? She was startled by the emotions coursing through her.

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll look forward to it.”

And then Kate was by her side. “Time to go, amigo. Great shoot, Mr. Redkin.” Olivia knew he hated being called
Mr.
Redkin.

Kate took Olivia’s arm and dragged her through the door. When they were on the street, Kate lit into her out of the blue.

“What the hell, Olivia? What’s going on? What is he looking forward to?”

“A coffee meeting,” Olivia said, bristling. “What? Are you my mother? He’s only taking an interest.”

“I’ll say! That man—” She stopped herself. “That
man
is a player of biblical proportions. We know about Draper and maybe other staff, and—”

“Kate, I don’t want to marry him, I just want to…” No, Olivia would not venture there. Mark stirred things. She couldn’t explain, couldn’t trust Kate, not yet. “I just want a taste. It’s like I told you—only men from now on, no boys need apply.”

“Olivia, look, I have this real queasy feeling about him, about this, about whatever he’s playing. Don’t—”

“Don’t?
Don’t!
How dare you!” It was as if Olivia had been shot through with a hot spike. “Really, Ms.
Chair
of the Waverly Wonders?” They were in front of the condo building. “And do you know what they call that feeling, Kate O’Brien? Jealously! You’re jealous! Mark barely looked at you the whole night. And you just can’t handle not being in the spotlight for a single solitary second, can you? Get something straight, Kate. Never, ever forget that I’m not part of
your
parade.
You’re
part of mine!”

Olivia spotted Aftab craning his neck, looking at them through the glass door, puzzled. Whoa, whoa!
Exhale, girl.
Where did that come from? Even though she hadn’t moved, Olivia sensed Kate shrinking from her. And that
felt
wrong. It was a misfire. She knew for sure that Kate was in her corner, and she was pretty sure the girl wasn’t seething with jealousy either. It seemed that this brand-new feelings thing was still a bit wobbly.

“Uh, I’m…look, sorry, Kate.” She took in a good deep breath. “That was way out of line.” She reached for her friend. “I’m a little PMS-y lately, and I tend to erupt out of the blue. So far, only Anka has had to endure me.” She was pleased with herself for pulling that one out of thin air.

Kate nodded but didn’t say anything. She still looked a bit rattled.

“Don’t worry,” Olivia assured her. “I’m the one running this show with Mark, and I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve been sort of out of it, and it’s like I’m just beginning to feel human. Mark makes me feel human, and that’s a kick. But I know what I’m doing and I’m so
not
going to lose my head, promise.”

“Yeah, of course.” Kate finally hugged back. “If you’ve got it locked down. As long as you’re sure.”

Sure? Of course she was sure. Olivia knew that she could handle this—all of it.
This
was thrilling. He wanted her. She had Kate, and she would have Mark too. Olivia Sumner had waited a long time for exactly this.

Bring it on.

I’d felt safe for a bit. Was that it? Was that the beginning? Safe makes you stupid. I never indulge in
safe.
Yet I blew off Olivia’s little outburst, didn’t turn it over and examine its entrails. I got distracted. I let Thanksgiving get to me.

Mr. Sumner was stuck halfway across the world in the Hong Kong office. Olivia played John Coltrane all day long in his honor. I got in a cab and picked up our preordered, ready-made feast from Dean & DeLuca, or the “Thanksgiving Special for Rich Losers,” as Olivia called it.

We didn’t allow Anka to lift a finger.

We set the table in the formal dining room. Mr. Sumner had sent a spectacular horn of plenty floral arrangement that took up almost a third of the table. I lined the rest with every single candlestick the Sumners owned and lit them all. We got out the Waterford Crystal, the Royal Crown Derby and the polished silver. We decanted seven containers of garlic-roasted fingerling potatoes, a wild mushroom salad, bacon-infused brussels sprouts, whipped sweet potatoes, lemon asparagus, a surprise dessert and a camera-ready, oyster-stuffed seventeen-pound turkey.

For the three of us.

It was ridiculous and pathetic and the best Thanksgiving I’d ever had.

But the glow wore off fast. On Monday I woke up knowing that I couldn’t ignore the unease anymore. Ever since that stupid photo shoot, something had shifted. Olivia was sweet all weekend long, but more detached and preoccupied than usual. Dark stuff was gathering and I had to arm myself accordingly, but against what? Something. I felt like a bystander at an accident that hadn’t happened yet.

—

Mrs. Colson’s desk was covered with my research material, my laptop, my notebook and the library’s rather pedestrian books on mental health, but I was waiting for something more substantial, the DSM-5. Kruger, Draper and Rolph, the head of the Upper School, were locked in Ms. Goodlace’s office, probably discussing how to handle the inevitable blowback when winter-term reports were sent out next week. They finally emerged just before five p.m.

Dr. Kruger winked at me as she glided past my desk and into her office. She was wearing a dress, a nice fitted job, maybe Diane von Furstenberg. For the first month of school, Kruger had only worn pants. Now nothing but dresses. I smelled wardrobe overhaul. I smelled a lot.

“There you go, Kate.” She plunked down the reference book, the nutbar bible, the
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.
“Anytime you want it, just ask. But it can’t leave the office.”

“Sure, thanks! I’ll always work at one of the secretaries’ desks when I use it. Right now, I’ll just skim, get the feel of it, use it for inspiration, you know?”

“Good plan.” Kruger walked back to her office for her coat. Excellent, she was leaving. They all appeared to be leaving. “There’s probably still staff around, but don’t stay later than five thirty, okay? I don’t want you here by yourself at all hours. Just leave the DSM-5 on the desk.” And then—damn!—she locked her office. She was about fifty-fifty on doing that. We called out our “see you in the mornings.” It had taken forever, but I was finally alone with the book in all its purple-covered glory. Just Googling various disorders hadn’t been cutting it for me. I needed a starting point. With the book, I could begin to figure out what was up with Olivia. I thumbed through the index. Okay, let’s start with major depressive disorders. I ran my finger down some diagnostic criteria. Hmm.

Depressed mood most of the day?
No, not really. No. Well, maybe, kind of. But no, I was pretty sure, that was a no. Olivia wasn’t deeply down or anything, as far as I could tell.
Significant weight loss?
Nope. The girl ate, and she was no more weight-obsessed than your average weight-obsessed high school senior.
Insomnia?
Everyone always has insomnia on the “are you crazy” lists. No on that one too.
Psychomotor agitation?
Whatever that means, no.

This didn’t seem to be the right category at all. Sure, Olivia was detached or kind of flat at times. She hid it well, but I could tell when she was “working” her expressions and responses. She didn’t do it with me so much, but out there in the world, Olivia Sumner had to make an effort. Wait a minute. There was something called “Specifiers for Depressive Disorders: With Melancholic Features,” and that included something like a blunted reaction to things. I frowned at the rest of the list. Maybe, maybe not. Things fit, but not quite.

The book was a tough and confusing read. I changed tactics, flipping to the glossary, which listed things like “Depersonalization,” which talked about feeling all detached and being numb to stuff.

Maybe, kind of, but I needed more. There wasn’t a handy “see
Acting weird,
page 140.” So I flipped around glancing at stuff. Everything caught my eye. I lingered at borderline personality disorder. That was a scary one. It focused on feelings of abandonment, and there was the loss of her mom and her dad always being away. But none of the other criteria fit as far as I could tell.

I hadn’t even noticed him coming in.

“Where have you gone, little girl?” It was Mark.

I had to admit it, the room warmed up when he smiled. Quite a trick.

“Nowhere.” I shut the book and started to pack up. “Just trying to sort out my themes for the exit thesis.”

“Stay, please.” He tapped the desk. “I’ll be in my office. I know you need staff around.”

Was I relieved or scared? What was it about this guy? “Oh, thanks, but it’s past five thirty and I’m…”
What, exactly?
“Late.” First rule of Liars’ Club—keep it simple. “But thanks, though.” I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door.

“Next time, then. I’ll always be here when you need me, Kate. Remember that.”

Did I hesitate? Did he see?

“And, Kate?” he called after me. “Do tell Olivia that I’m very much looking forward to our coffee meeting on Thursday.” I felt his smile on my back.

It was official. I was scared.