Private 04 - Confessions (5 page)

"Wallace and Claire really give new meaning to the phrase 'Ho, ho, ho.'"

Huh. Apparently Noelle's life was not, in fact, perfect outside of Easton. That was the first I'd heard of it. But it didn't seem like she cared much, or at all. "Don't you guys sort of miss out on the decorations and the music and everything?" I asked, deciding to change the subject. The Christmas season was the only time of the year my hometown could actually pass as pretty, with all the lights and trees and wreaths decorating the strip malls and town buildings. I almost liked it this time of year. Not that I was looking forward to returning. Inside the Brennan home it was always dreary, no matter what was going on outside.

"Who needs strings of lights when you can have string bikinis? Kiran replied. "And trust me, a mai-tai is much more festive than eggnog," Noelle added. "I'm with Reed," Ariana announced, putting a chill right through me. "For me, there's nothing like a cozy fire and a big fir tree and being surrounded by people who love you." "Afire? In Atlanta?" Kiran asked. "It can get pretty cold there," Ariana said, her blue eyes--usually so piercing--alive with light. "I love this time of year." "Well, I honestly don't care where I go as long as I get the hell out of here," Kiran said as we reached the front door of Billings. "This place is de-pressing." We walked inside. The first things that hit me were the scents of cinnamon, mulberry, and freshly baked cookies. The next was the incredible, musky warmth. We all paused and then quickly shoved ourselves through the inner door.

"Whoa," I said, nearly tripping over a faux-fur rug that had not been there that morning. In fact, there were a lot of things that hadn't been there that morning: the huge Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with white lights, red ribbons, and gold ornaments. The fir garland, peppered with acorns and red flowers, strung from the fireplace, the banister, and every doorway. The dozens and dozens of red and white poinsettias. The hundreds of tapered candles in crystal stems. The huge logs alight in the fireplace. And the three waiters in tuxedos, passing champagne, eggnog, hors d'oeuvres, and cookies on silver platters. The Nutcracker Suite was being played by a string quartet made up of Easton students, and all the Billings Girls were dressed up in velvet and cashmere and pearls, circulating around the room with the boys of Ketlar, who had donned business casual for the occasion.

It was a Hallmark card come to life. "What the hell?" Noelle blurted, ripping off her hat and scarf. Rose Sakowitz strolled by, her curly red hair back in a black headband to match her slim, sleeveless dress. I grabbed her skinny wrist, and she nearly spilled her mug of hot chocolate all over the new rug. "You can just say, 'Hey, you,' Reed. You don't have to grab me," she said good-naturedly. "Sorry. I think I'm in shock. What is all this?" I asked. "Ask Cheyenne," Rose replied with a grin. "She's been working on it for days. I think she's petitioning to be the next Martha Stewart." "Where the hell did she get all this stuff?" Noelle asked. "The Internet," Rose said proudly. "She ordered it all then, spent half the afternoon decorating. Plus she paid some of the staff from the cafeteria to stay late and wait, since she wasn't allowed to hire an outside caterer to come on campus. Genius, isn't it?"

I was inclined to agree. Already the aromatherapy was working its wonders on my coiled shoulder muscles. Noelle, however, was practically spitting fire. Cheyenne had pitched this idea the other day, and Noelle had shot it down, but Cheyenne had gone ahead with it anyway. In the Billings universe, that was heresy. "Isn't this incredible?" London trilled, bounding over. Her huge breasts were all but popping out of her red sweater, and she wore a Santa hat at a jaunty angle atop her thick, wavy hair. "We couldn't go out, so Cheyenne brought Christmas in!" "God, how lame," Kiran said, even as she grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter.

Noelle had heard enough. She flung her coat over the back of one of the couches that had been moved to the lobby from the parlor and stormed into the next room. Of course, Kiran, Ariana, Rose, and I had to follow. The parlor was decorated much like the lobby, and White Christmas was playing on the big-screen TV. Dash stepped away from the wall to greet Noelle, but she blew right by him and zeroed in on Cheyenne. She stood near the wall with a tall guy from Ketlar named Trey, her diamond studs sparkling in the candlelight. She wore a white turtleneck, a plaid skirt, and a black velvet headband just like Rose's. Girl could have stepped right out of a Burberry ad. "Cheyenne--" "Noelle!" Cheyenne said with a big smile.

"What do you think?"

"I think it looks like Rudolph threw up in here," Noelle replied. Cheyenne's smile faltered, but only for a moment. "Well, everyone has their own taste, I suppose." "Let's skip the pleasantries, Rachael Ray. What the hell do you think you're doing planning this behind my back?" Noelle demanded. Trey took a step closer to Cheyenne. Brave guy. Most would have backed away. "I didn't realize that every little thing we did in the dorm had to be approved by you," Cheyenne said tersely. "I mean, I know you like to throw your weight around, but there's no president of Billings, is there? Not officially." I thought Noelle was going to rupture something. Kiran chuckled under her breath. "And besides, I knew you thought it was a bad idea, and I also knew that everyone else would enjoy it. And look," Cheyenne continued, lifting her hands. "They do." "That's because they're drunk," Noelle said flatly.

"If you say so," Cheyenne replied. Dear Lord. Was that condescension? Did this girl have some kind of preppy death wish? "Now can I please get back to my date?" Cheyenne turned toward Trey, but Noelle didn't move. Her eyes narrowed as she worked something out. Then she slowly smiled, and I felt pity for Cheyenne. "I thought you were dating Ennis Thatcher from Barton School," Noelle said finally. Cheyenne's shimmery lips slowly twisted into a smirk. "Well, I couldn't exactly invite him, considering the restrictions, could I?

Besides, unlike you, Noelle, I'm not ball-and-chained to my man. I do what I like." "I'm not ball-and-chained to anyone," Noelle fumed. As if on cue, Dash stepped up behind her and slipped his arm around her waist. "Hey, babe," he said, clearly already buzzed on champagne. Otherwise he never would have used the word "babe." Noelle slapped his hand away.

Cheyenne all but laughed. "My mistake." "So are you not at all concerned that Ennis might find out about this?" Kiran asked Cheyenne, finishing off her champagne. She eyed Trey up and down. "Not that I question your taste." "Why? It's not like anyone here is going to tell him," Cheyenne said blithely, lifting one shoulder. "Billings Girls protect their own, right?" The girl wasn't fazed. Frustrated, Noelle turned around and headed back toward the lobby. "This party is a joke," she said under her breath. "Come on, Dash. Let's go up to my room." Dash, even with everything that was going on, didn't have to be told twice. He dropped his glass on a bookshelf and went after his girl. "Where'd you get that hot chocolate?" I asked Rose. She smiled. "It's in the other room. There are even mini marshmallows." I love mini marshmallows," I told her. "Let's go.'

Ariana and Kiran looked baffled as Rose and I left them behind, but I didn't even care. Maybe they all thought this was lame, but to me, it was heaven. In the lobby I filled a red mug with steaming cocoa and covered the top with a generous heap of marshmallows. Then I grabbed a few sugar cookies and joined Natasha over by the fire. Rose settled in next to me and I let the chocolatey goodness warm me from the inside out. For the first time in days I felt semi-relaxed, and I was going to enjoy it for as long as humanly possible. When Cheyenne strolled through the room a few minutes later, I reached up and touched her hand. She looked down at me, surprised. Not that I could blame her--ever since she'd crushed her blush beads into her rug and made me clean it up during my hazing stage, there had been no love lost between the two of us. But as of tonight I was seeing Cheyenne in a whole different light.

"Thanks for this," I said. Cheyenne smiled kindly, and I felt that in that moment, any leftover animosity between us was erased. "You're welcome."

The next day the clouds and rain were gone, leaving a crisp blue sky in their wake. First thing in the morning I got out of bed, taking my comforter with me to guard against the cold, and padded over to Natasha's desk. She snored lightly in her bed as I powered up her computer. My fingers trembled both with anticipation and from the chill as I logged on to my e-mail. He had to have responded by now. He just had to. I logged on. My breath caught.

There was one new message. I clicked to my inbox. The message was from my brother. I groaned and opened it.

To: [email protected]

From: Subject: Whaddup, loser? And other burning questions. Hey. So. I'm not gonna be able to make the drive out with Dad to pick you up. I have a final that last day. Bastards. Sorry. Really wanted to get a firsthand look at Eat Me Academy. How are things there? Any more normal? Hope you're hanging in. Know you are. You're tough like that. All right. Enough with the mush. Call me later, loser. Scott

I sighed and typed a response.

To: [email protected]

From: Subject: You're a jackass. And other lame responses. Want to know how things are here? I can't wait to get home. What does that tell you? ÐReed As soon as I sent it, I checked my inbox again. As if Blake would be up at 6 a.m. typing notes to his dead brother's girlfriend. Nothing. I bit my tongue and went back to bed to lie there and stare at the ceiling. At seven I got up, checked my e-mail again, cursed under my breath, and took a shower. For the rest of the day I was a sweaty mess. That's what happens when you spend the ten minutes in between each class sprinting to the library to check your e-mail, finding nothing, and then sprinting back again. With each fruitless venture I grew more and more frustrated, both at Blake for not replying, and at myself for continuing to believe that he would. Finally, on my last try between my final class and dinner, I sent him another e-mail. I had to retype several of the words over and over again, my hands were shaking so badly.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Your conscience

Dear Blake, How do you live with yourself, knowing that an innocent person is sitting in jail and all you have to do is pick up the phone to fix it? Now I understand why Thomas hated you so much. Regards, Reed

I regretted it the moment I hit "send." Telling someone off like that was probably not the best way to coerce them into cooperating. But there was nothing I could do about it now. The message was out there. I just had to hope it pissed Blake off enough for him to call me and scream at me. Then at least I'd have a shot at talking-to him.

The next day there was still nothing from Blake. Not even a "screw you" text message. I considered going back to talk to Ms. Lewis-Hanneman, but I had no idea what I could say to

make her talk. Blake seemed like the more viable option. He had nothing to lose by divulging that he'd been on campus. No one would care if he was having an affair with a staff member. He wouldn't get in trouble. And he had everything to gain. Even if he and Thomas did dislike each other, they were still brothers. Wouldn't Blake want the real killer to be found? Someone had to get through to him, and clearly it was not going to be me. Who did I know who knew Blake? Who might actually be able to get him on the phone and talk some sense into him?

As soon as I had this thought, the answer was blatantly clear. I found Dash studying for his advanced chemistry exam in the library. Unfortunately, he was not alone. Gage was with him, snapping his gum and listening to his iPod as he studied the physique of some Swedish model in the latest issue of Maxim.

Cheyenne's boy toy, Trey Prescott, was there as well, scribbling notes onto index cards. This was going to be interesting. I'd never talked to Dash on my own before. I stepped up to their table and cleared my throat. Dash and Trey looked up. "Hey," I said. "What's up?"

Dash asked. "Could I. . . uh . . . talk to you?" I asked, looking uncertainly at Gage. He still hadn't noticed me. Thank goodness for those deafening earbuds.

Dash was clearly intrigued. He pushed away from the table. "Sure." As he stood, Gage did look up. He popped the buds from his ears. "What's going on?" "Nothing, man. Just stay,"

Dash said. Like Gage was a dog. Gage looked irritated for a moment but sighed and put his buds back in. Good boy. "Over here," Dash told me. He touched my back and steered me to the alcove with the Evian and candy vending machines. The fluorescent light overhead flickered as we leaned against opposite walls of the small doorway. Even with my tall and athletic build, Dash dwarfed me. His broad shoulders pulled the sleeves of his blue sweater taut, and he had to be at least six foot four.

"What's wrong? Is it Josh?" Dash whispered. "No. Well, sort of." I took a deep breath and looked into Dash's guileless eyes. I hoped I was doing the right thing. I thought that I was. I plowed ahead. "It turns out he has an alibi." Dash's face lit up and he stood straight. "He does! That's great!" "Yeah, but neither of the people who saw him that night will come forward," I told him. "Who are they?" Dash asked. "Blake Pearson and Ms. Lewis-Hanneman." Dash reached both hands up and held them over his mouth as though he were praying. "You've got to be kidding me. They're still at it?"

"Apparently. But she's lying about it, and he won't return my e-mails," I told him. "They were in Mitchell Hall that night, and Josh went there. He hangs out in the art cemetery sometimes when Thomas gets . . . got. . . you know ..." "Wasted," Dash said, clenching his jaw. "Yeah." I looked away. I could hear a few girls whispering nearby but couldn't tell if they were getting closer. "So you've tried to get in touch with Blake?" Dash asked.

"Yeah, but nothing." "Asshole." Dash crossed his arms over his chest, and his perfect brows knitted as he paced to the vending machines and back again. "Okay, I think I know a

way we can get Blake's ass up here so we can talk to him in person." "You do? How?" I asked, my heart starting to pound. "We have to use Lewis-Hanneman. Blake would do anything for that woman," he told me. "Although I don't know why. She always seemed like a frigid bitch to me."