Jet Set (12 page)

I
waited until I heard the last door close. I had done something this morning that I never did (which was beginning to be a trend) and called in sick to tennis practice. Coach Sachs had uttered what I assumed were expletives in German and then promised that the makeup drills that I would be forced to do upon my return would be dire, but his words didn't even faze me. I had no choice. I had to have the dorm to myself so that I could remove the wires from the Diamonds' rooms and erase everything from Sofia's computer—for good, this time. It would be beyond
risky, but I felt like I had no choice. Luckily there was a
crêpe fête
in the boys' dorm this morning, an annual tradition where the boys served the girls breakfast. Everyone would be there. And everyone who wasn't would be either at team practice or music rehearsals. That's just the way it was. So at 10:15, I walked out of my room to make my move.

I gently knocked at Victoria's door, knowing there would be no answer. My heart was beating so furiously I thought it would pop out. I slowly opened the door, looked around stealthily, and then ran over to the bed and extracted the little almost invisible wire that Sofia had placed above it. Quick as a mouse, I was in and out. I closed the door, glanced furtively around, then breathed a sigh of relief. Done. That was easy. God must have been on my side, because Iman's room was just as fast, and after a brief moment in Antigone's where I almost couldn't yank the wire out and thought I was doomed, I was able to extract it and get out of there before I heard a maid strolling down the hall.

Phew. Already I felt better. But now was the hard part. I had to go on Sofia's computer and erase the files. That would not be easy.

I knocked on her door. Silence. I knew she'd be at the
crêpe fête
mining scoops for her magazine. She wouldn't miss a chance to take note of some Irish heiress spilling maple syrup all over herself if she could get paid for reporting it. It was seeping in how dirty and rotten she was.

I hastily made my way over to the computer and turned it on.

It seemed to take eons for it to boot up, but it was probably only seconds. As soon as all the icons came on the screen I leaned in, desperate to find which one held the key to the files of all of the Diamonds prancing around their rooms. I saw a folder titled “Term Paper” and one called “Correspondence” and another “Maths.” Hmm. Suddenly I heard footsteps out in the hall.

I didn't know what the hell to do. I panicked. I hastily jumped into Sofia's closet and waited. God, this was torture! I was so angry at myself. But the footsteps continued on down the hall, so I furtively opened the closet door and glanced out. The coast was clear. I ran over to the computer and started looking at file names. “Dissected Fairy Tales,” “Earth Science I,” “Islands of the World,” “Ethics.” Everything just looked like homework. Where could it be? I kept flipping through until it suddenly dawned on me. Ethics? Sofia would never take an ethics class. She had no ethics! I opened the folder and quickly enough video of Iman's room appeared, followed by those of the other Diamonds. Bingo! I immediately dragged the folder to the Trash and then emptied it, and also searched for any backup files. I hoped that would do the trick.

I turned off the computer, making sure I erased everything that would let her know I had been on it, and was about to leave her room when something on her desk caught my eye. I was stunned; under her copy of
Crime and Punishment
was a folder with my name, Lucy A. Peterson, typed on the side. Inside were all of my records, including my parents' financial statement, my
essay to get into the school, my entire application, even recommendations from former teachers. With her Golden Key membership she'd somehow gotten access to the Records Office and had stolen my file.

Now I was in a quandary. I couldn't leave it. God knows what she would do with it. I was both scared and furious that she was able to get her hands on this. What else did she have in her possession?

My mind was racing, but it suddenly stopped and everything became clear. I knew what I had to do. I had to face her.

Forty-five minutes later, Sofia opened the door. I could see that she was surprised at first, but her astonishment was quickly replaced with anger. She furrowed her brow and practically spat out her words: “What the hell are you doing in my room?”

“I
know you're mad, but we have to work through this,” I said, trying to stay calm and unemotional. That was key in tennis—never let them see you sweat. I was, in fact, soaked, but remained visibly cool.

“You don't know anything! Get out,” she said icily. I remained standing in my spot as if iron bolts held my feet to the carpet.
“Get the hell out!”

“I'm not leaving until we talk this through. I took down the wires I was complicit in installing. If you want to sabotage these
people, that is your problem. But regardless of what they did to me, I don't care anymore. If they're rude and evil, then they'll dig their own graves, but I can't have a hand in taking them down.”

I braced myself, but Sofia one-upped me in coolness. A cold laugh emanated from her red lips. It grew louder and louder, totally rattling me.

“Oh, you kill me! You Americans are so damn righteous! How sad. You really think you have to always take the high road in life, such stars in your eyes. Justice! Righteousness! You're pathetic. Get out of my room this instant.”

“Why do you have my file? That is my property. Or the school's, but certainly not yours.”

“Ooooh, what are you going to do, tattle?”

“Maybe.”

“Go ahead! I'll deny everything and say you did it. My tuition is paid in full. In cash. I think this file reveals yours is not. Hence, you would gain the most from these capers and working for
Gab!
magazine. My dad will personally get on the phone and say you were the contact.”

“You wouldn't dare!” I cried. Obviously her father had taught her well; she was a second-generation scumbag.

“Oh yes I would. Just try to mess with me again and you'll regret it.”

She opened the door and gestured for me to exit, which I did, in silence, holding my file, which I planned to put back in the main
office. Not that she hadn't xeroxed everything already, I was sure.

Back in my room I found an email from Friend.

I wrote back:

Seconds later:

Hmm…a kernel of wisdom. I hoped she was right. I hoped it would all go away. I prayed.

A
ntony valiantly fought to retrieve me from my wallowing state.

“I've never heard of anyone studying so much here! Time to live a bit! We also must go shopping for your gown tomorrow.” We were strolling through the campus's rolling country hills, and he took my hand and kissed it.

Gown?
“What are you talking about?”

“For the Winter Ball!”

Of course. The Winter Ball. Even as I roamed zombielike in
my daze I had gleaned a few things about this famous event. The Winter Ball was like a prom, times ten. Supposedly there were even horse-drawn carriages. It was a white-tie extravaganza with an all-night feast.

“It's the last event before we all leave for Christmas and then go to the Gstaad campus,” Antony explained. “It's like a farewell of sorts to this place.”

“Gosh, I feel like we just got here!” I exclaimed.

“Gstaad is lovely. Quite romantic.”

He pulled me in and kissed me. It felt warm and nice, but I was still so closed off.

“Also, I never officially asked you, but…” Antony took my hands in his. “Will you be my date for the Winter Ball?”

“Of course.…” I blushed a bit but still had the lump in my throat from my face-off with Sofia. It's hard to relax when you know someone has made a declaration of war against you.

“So shall we go to Geneva tomorrow for the day so you can buy your dress?” he asked.

Was he kidding?

“Yeah, right,” I said sarcastically. As if I could walk into Chanel and walk out with a five-thousand-dollar gown!

“Oh, why yes, naturally,” said Antony. “You probably wear couture and had it made for you already in Paris.”

“Exactly,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Across the field, I saw Oliver and Maxwell walking back from the tennis courts. They were engaged in conversation, with Oliver
gesticulating with great animation. Suddenly I felt a weird ache and wished it were
me
and not Maxwell talking to him.

With the Winter Ball, the escort was the all-important key. Everyone had to have a date—no one went stag. While it was nice to have Antony ask me, I couldn't help but wonder who Oliver would be taking—not that he would have asked me.

T
he next afternoon at tennis, Coach Sachs ran through the seed list in preparation for the upcoming game. I was still seeded number one and I was thrilled, but I could feel Victoria's hostile eyes burrowing into my back. It didn't help when Maxwell made a big deal of calling me “Number One” in practice instead of his usual “Venus.” The coach further explained that in the spring, when we started the season in earnest, we would have matches every weekend. I'd heard we didn't stay at the schools we played against but in lavish hotels, and we'd be flown on one of
the school's private planes! I'd be away all the time, and I couldn't wait. The thought was getting me through the creepy, nervous time tiptoeing around school.

It was no surprise I liked to wander off campus. Antony had suggested I meet him in the library when I finished tennis practice, but as I walked toward the looming Gothic building, my legs suddenly started moving in a different direction, farther and farther down the stone path to the front gates of Van Pelt, down the windy cobblestone street into Lamoneaux. As I rounded the corner that led to Le Ciel, I could hear the din of happy-hour carousers and could see smoke from the chimney as the November fires warmed the tavern guests.

Inside, my heart began to race as I made my way through the main room while music played and revelers toasted the end of the workday. Finally my eyes found what they were looking for, what my legs had walked themselves here for: Oliver.

“Hey, Lucy,” said Oliver.

He wasn't his usual cheerful self, and for a moment I thought he was less than thrilled to see me.

“Sit down,” he said.

His scruffy hair, crystal blue eyes, and perfect face had a weathered, almost melancholy aura.

“I never thought I'd say this to you, especially since I'm the social train wreck here, but are you okay?” I ventured.

“Yeah, sure, I suppose,” he said, but then he continued. “Life is just sometimes bollocks, you know?”

“True,” I said. “What sort of bollocks are we talking about today?”

“Oh, just my father. He…” Oliver paused. “He's angry that I'm seeded third in tennis.”

“Well, it's all subject to change,” I said reassuringly. “And it's not like you need to be the best tennis player to pay for college.”

Oliver gave me a curious look.

“You know, my dad rides me about ranking in tennis, but it's because it's my golden ticket. I need to get a scholarship to get into college,” I said, not really believing I was revealing all this to Oliver.

“Yeah, I guess I am very lucky that way.”

“I didn't mean to undermine your feelings. But you should just do your best out there—which you do—and then try not to worry as much about your father.”

“It's all I can do, right?” He shrugged and took a swig of his cider.

It seemed a crime that Oliver could be so upset! No one was nicer, sweeter, or more…handsome. “Oliver, this is so not major. Does your father know the more important things, like that everyone wants to be friends with you, to
be
you? And that you're so nice to everyone even though you more than anyone would have the right to be snobby?”

Oliver raised his eyes in amusement. “Tell me how you really feel, Lucy,” he said, and finally smiled.

“It's true, though. Sometimes people have to be told the
obvious. You're a great guy. Don't let your father's disappointment about something so petty freak you out.”

“You're right,” he said, staring at me intently.

Suddenly I felt as if I had said too much. But I was glad that I had.

“I know one thing that might make you feel better, though it's just a Band-Aid. A Band-Aid with lots of calories?”

He smiled. “I like how you think, Lucy.” He flagged down the proprietress. “Dominique, how about some of your incredible fondue,
s'il vous plaît
?”

“
Absolument
, Oliver!” she said, batting her eyelashes.

Now that Oliver seemed to be in a better mood, and since I was feeling more comfortable, I decided to bring up something that had been bothering me.

“Now that you know I think you're a fine fellow, I do want to ask you something, but please tell me if I'm being too nosy or offensive,” I began.

“Uh-oh,” he said.

“No, don't worry. It's…The only reason I ask is because it just doesn't seem
you
. You're not the type.…” I said, stalling and stumbling for words.

“What is it, already?” he asked with a smile.

“I, um, saw a picture of you in a magazine at a soccer—er, I mean football—game, and it said you had caused a riot or something. I know it's not my place. I just thought it totally didn't sound like you and I wondered what happened.”

Oliver grimaced and I instantly wished I hadn't brought it up.

“Sorry, none of my beeswax,” I said hastily, taking a sip of my drink.

“No, it's…it's okay,” he said haltingly. “That was just a very embarrassing moment. I really hate when I lose my temper. And I never want to do anything to humiliate my family,” he said, brow furrowed.

“Okay…,” I said meekly, trying to think of a way to change the topic.

“No, I'm glad you asked, because it really made me seem like a spoiled little wanker, and I'm not like that at all,” he said, finally smiling.

“Yeah, I know! That's why I brought it up.”

“There were two blokes and they just kept egging us on, saying crude things, taunting us. I lost my cool when they threw a cup of soda at my younger sister. I know I shouldn't have, but animal instincts, I suppose….”

How heroic! It was the answer I wanted, the answer I secretly knew I would get. Oliver had been chivalrous, a knight in shining armor protecting his little sis. It was so romantic.

“Gosh, that's horrible. People can be so evil.”

“I know,” he said, putting his hands on the table. “But, anyway, I overreacted. I should have just walked away. But I duly paid the piper and I'm glad it's behind me.”

“Don't you wish you could tell your side of the story?” I asked.

“Sometimes you just need to put things behind you.”

There was a pause while Oliver looked off into the distance. I watched him, embarrassed that I had said anything.

“Sorry I brought it up.”

“No, Lucy, I'm glad you did. It's important to me that you know that I'm not that type of bloke. I try to be a good guy.”

He smiled and all I can say is what they say in romance novels: we shared a moment. Moments later the waitress brought over our fondue and we focused on dipping baguettes and crisp vegetables into Dominique's iron cauldron of bubbling cheese. It was, in a word, heaven. Oliver looked up from his cheese explosion and smiled at me, and I felt like everything was okay. This place truly was magical.