Timeless (10 page)

“Hi. Sorry, I don’t think I got your name,” Michele said as the Prepster dragged her toward the door.

“Olivia Livingston. Of
the
Livingston family, of course,” the girl answered with a proud smile.

Michele had never heard of the Livingstons, but she had the instinct not to admit it. “Well, thanks for the lunch invite,” she said instead.

“Oh, it’s not just an invite; it’s a duty,” Olivia said, giving
Michele a dead-serious look. “We old families have to stick together. It’s up to us to lead the new generation of society.”

“Um—what?”

But before Olivia could answer, they had arrived at her table in the posh Berkshire dining room, where three other girls, all of whom looked like they shared Olivia’s sense of style, were seated.

“Here she is!” Olivia said triumphantly to the members of her tribe. “I told you we’d be able to add a Windsor to our club. Okay, Michele, this is Madeline Belmont, Renee Whitney, and Amy Van Alen. You’ll of course recognize their last names.”

None of the names rang a bell for Michele. She sat gingerly in her designated chair. “Hi. So … what is your club exactly?”

Madeline gave Olivia a quick glance, as if to get permission to speak, then explained, “We’re the only students here from families of the New York Four Hundred. Our mission is to take over where Mrs. Astor left off and rule the next generation of society with elegance, and defend against the antics of the nouveau riche—who just make us look bad.” With that, Madeline turned and sniffed in disgust at the sight of a miniskirt-clad girl giving her boyfriend a whole lot of PDA at the next table.

“Uh, I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michele admitted. “The New York Four Hundred?”

Olivia stared at her, clearly astounded by her lack of knowledge on the subject. One of the other girls, Renee, hurriedly explained, “Caroline Astor ruled New York society from the late eighteen hundreds through the turn of the twentieth century, and she’s, like, the
most
famous socialite in American history.
Anyway, she created a list of the four hundred most important people in New York to invite to her balls, because only four hundred people could fit in her ballroom. Genius, right?”

“Totally,” Michele said dryly. No one seemed to notice her sarcasm. Across the dining room, she spotted Caissie sitting with a cute African American guy who Michele figured was the Aaron she had spoken of. For some reason, the two of them looked strangely annoyed by the sight of Michele sitting with this group.

“Anyway, to be a part of the Four Hundred was the most important honor of New York society,” Renee continued. “You got written up in all the papers, and, well, you pretty much ruled. The Four Hundred was made up of the two hundred most prominent families in America, really. And
we
come from them!”

Amy looked darkly at the PDA-happy couple, who were surrounded by a throng of friends. “But nowadays, people don’t recognize our importance and they’re all over the latest trashy new It people.”

“Well, that’s probably because we really didn’t do anything to deserve any attention; our great-great-great-grandparents did,” Michele commented.

“What?”
Renee and Olivia gasped in unison.

“Well, it’s true,” Michele said mildly. “And honestly, I have no desire to rule society or anyone. I just want to make it through the year.”

“Just wait. Your pride will kick in soon,” Amy insisted.

As Olivia started on a tangent about the legendary cachet of being one of the Four Hundred, Michele’s mind drifted off. If
these were her friend options at this school, then she’d have to settle for being a loner. Thoughts of her life with Marion and her friends in California haunted her, but she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force them from her mind. That life was gone now.

Michele would have liked nothing more than to escape her current reality. And that was when Clara Windsor’s diary flashed in her mind. True, the whole thing might have been one insane hallucination … but it could have been real. And if it had been real, maybe it wasn’t as terrifying as she thought. Maybe it was her escape.

That night, Michele had a new dream of the handsome stranger with the striking blue eyes.

She was in his arms at a Windsor Mansion ball. An orchestra played Schubert’s stirring
Serenade
as the two of them danced, waltzing like they were floating on air. She beamed up at him, and he smiled down at her
.

Suddenly, Michele saw the scene from a different perspective. She was no longer in the boy’s arms. He was dancing alone, but as though with an invisible dance partner. He smiled at no one, held an invisible waist. Party guests gawked and murmured uncomfortably
. I don’t exist,
Michele thought in horror
.

Michele woke with a start but didn’t attempt to go back to sleep. Instead, she pulled on her robe and tiptoed down the two flights of stairs until she reached the ballroom. Taking a deep breath, she swung open the door and switched on the lights.

It was like the ghost of the ballroom in her dream—no
guests, orchestra, or glittering gowns and jewels, but undeniably the very same place. Michele suddenly had the eerie sensation that she was not alone. She could hear snatches of sound—a man’s dignified chuckle, a woman’s light giggle, the crinkling of fabric as skirts swished against each other on the dance floor. And then she heard the song that had been haunting her dreams.

In her nightgown and bare feet, Michele started to dance to the music with an invisible partner, the same way the boy in her dream had danced with her. She couldn’t see her handsome stranger, but she felt him smiling down at her, moving with her. As she swayed to the music in her head, Michele once again wondered if she was going crazy … but this time she didn’t care.

“Michele! What in the world are you doing here?”

Michele jerked awake to find that she was lying on the cold ballroom floor, morning light streaming in through the glass doors. Annaleigh stood frozen in the doorway.

“I—I must have been sleepwalking. I did that sometimes in California,” Michele fibbed, stiffly pulling herself up off the floor.

“I got worried when you didn’t come down to breakfast today and you weren’t in your room,” Annaleigh fretted, leading Michele out of the ballroom. “I’ll have the cook put your breakfast in a lunch bag for you to eat on the way. You’d better hurry and get ready if you want to make it to school on time.”

“Thanks, Annaleigh. Sorry to have worried you.”

Annaleigh looked at her uneasily. “Sleepwalking in a big house like this seems pretty dangerous. Let me make an appointment for you with the Windsors’ doctor—she could have some suggestions to help you sleep normally.”

“No, I’m fine,” Michele interrupted hurriedly. “It’s nothing. It hardly ever happens, seriously.”

“Okay,” Annaleigh said, sounding unconvinced. “As long as it doesn’t continue.”

“It won’t,” Michele assured her. “I’ll go get ready.”

Upstairs in her room, Michele dressed at a breakneck speed, but her mind was in a dreamy fog the whole time. She could still see his eyes in her mind, could still feel the electrifying touch of his hand on hers—whoever he was. The music echoed in her head, and she hummed under her breath as she splashed some cold water on her face in the bathroom. As she looked up into the mirror, she could have sworn she saw a sparkle of blue … his eyes watching her.

A
s soon as she got home from school that afternoon, Michele raced up to her room and seized the diary. But before opening it to Clara’s next entry, she glanced in the mirror at her school clothes. She didn’t want to shock Clara again by wearing another “abominable” outfit. Maybe it would help put her at ease if Michele dressed a little more … vintage.

She quickly searched until she found what she had worn to a wedding the year before: an iridescent blue chiffon floor-length dress, with three-quarter lace sleeves. She styled her hair in a bun and couldn’t help giggling at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like an old-fashioned ballerina. But she would probably fit into 1910 much better in this getup.

Michele scribbled a note to leave on her bed, in case she didn’t return in time for dinner.
Going to study group and then dinner with some people from school. Not sure how late I’ll be out. See you soon
. She crossed her fingers that her grandparents and Annaleigh wouldn’t question her alibi. As she reached for the skeleton key on her bureau, her mind flashed back to her recurring dream. On impulse, she opened her jewelry box and rifled through it until she found a plain gold chain. She attached the key to the chain and clasped the new makeshift necklace around her neck. Michele turned to look in the mirror and shivered—it was just like gazing at the reflection from her dream. Her hand rested on the key, and she suddenly felt that she must never take it off.

Michele returned to the diary, her fingers trembling with anticipation as she flipped to the second entry, dated 10/25/10. She figured she would try to repeat the October 10 phenomenon by bringing the key to the old diary entry.
What if it doesn’t work this time?
Michele worried. But no sooner had she thought that than the dizzying journey back in time had begun again, with the roller-coaster plunge downward and the room changing before her eyes at the speed of light—only the whole process was much quicker this time. And then Michele landed once again with a thud on the bedroom floor, arriving to the sight of a very pretty red-haired girl slipping on a pair of white suede gloves. The girl’s face broke into a delighted smile at the sight of Michele.

“Clara?” Michele’s jaw dropped. “You look so …”

“Different? I know.” Clara laughed ruefully. “The day after I arrived, I was scrubbed to perfection, my hair dressed in a
pompadour, and my face doused in powders. And now this.” She smoothed the skirt of her bead-trimmed pale green silk princess-style dress, which matched her eyes. “Society ladies and debutantes have to wear dresses like this simply to go out shopping. I still can’t fathom being one of them.”

Clara suddenly took in Michele’s appearance, and she said in a tone of utter surprise, “Why, you look quite pretty yourself! Though I cannot imagine why you don’t wear gloves. Would you like to borrow some of mine?”

Michele laughed. “No thanks, I’m good. Besides, you seem to be the only person who can see me, remember?”

Clara nodded and then clasped Michele’s hand excitedly. “I am so happy you’re back—my very own friendly ghost! After you vanished like that, I was afraid I had imagined you. And you picked just the day to return—Mr. and Mrs. Windsor are hosting a Halloween masquerade ball! It’s my debut in society, so I couldn’t be more nervous.”

Michele’s chest suddenly tightened with grief as she remembered the Halloween costume party she and her friends had been planning and the costumes her mom would have designed, all that she would have had if only …

“Are you all right?” Clara asked, clearly noticing Michele’s expression.

Michele refocused on Clara and slowly nodded. Remembering the date of the diary entry, she asked, “Is today October twenty-fifth?”