A sudden chill raced down my back and I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing but twinkling lights along the stone walks, and trees swaying in the breeze. But I was still freaked. I tugged my sweater closer to my body and ran the last few steps, ducking through the door. Once inside, I felt foolish and shook my head. I decided not to think about phantom spies and instead focus on the new issue at hand: an entire weekend feeling like a totally awkward outsider amongst one of America's oldest, most elite families. Taking a deep breath, I mounted the steps to my room and resigned myself to my fate. It was just one day. I could get through it. For Josh.
* * *
Friday night, the alumni descended on the Easton campus like locusts. They were everywhere. Taking group photos in front of dorms, chatting in the center of the cafeteria, checking out our newly opened Coffee Carma. Any student whose parents or siblings were not among the visiting, or those who just didn't feel like kissing ass, hid out in their dorms. I was one of the hermits. I knew that as the new president of Billings I should have been out there networking, but I couldn't bring myself to leave my room. Not when there was the possibility of bumping into Dash. He had never told me whether he planned to attend. And after a blissful week with Josh, talking, holding hands, and sneaking in more hot-and-heavy make-out sessions wherever and whenever we could, I was more resolved than ever to cut Dash out of my life. The fact that Noelle and I were hanging out every day helped make the decision even easier. I'd read the few e-mails Dash had sent me that week, but I hadn't replied. There hadn't been any more mushy stuff, thank God, and I liked to think I had imagined the whole thing. It made it that much easier to put it behind me.
But there was something else. Something that had proven much more difficult to leave in the past. All week I had tried not to think about Cheyenne's e-mail. Had tried to put it out of my mind. I had even set her e-mail address as spam so that if the e-mail had been set to repeat send, it would go directly into my computer's recycle bin. Every time I thought about it, I told myself that it was over. That as long as I didn't check that recycle bin, I'd never have to see that e-mail again. But now it was Friday night and I had to know. Had to know if I had imagined the whole thing. Or if it had been some random glitch. Or if Cheyenne had really been evil enough to make sure I received her message of blame from beyond the grave every week. Nervous with dread, I sat up late in bed, pretending to study under the warm glow of my book light. I said good night to Sabine and she, as always, passed out quickly. As soon as I heard her breathing regulate, my heart skipped a beat. The moment had arrived I shoved my covers aside and quietly placed my history book on the floor. My computer was on sleep mode, so it popped right to life when I opened it. My fingers trembled as I reached for the mouse, and I told myself to chill. There wouldn't be anything there. It had been a glitch. That was the most obvious explanation.
First, I checked my inbox. Nothing. My heartbeat slowed slightly. I glanced at the recycle bin. I had to check it. Of course I did. If I didn't check it, I would never really know who Cheyenne had been. What she had intended for me. Whether she had really, truly, meant what she had written. Meant it so much she never wanted me to forget it.
I held my breath and clic
ked open the recycle bin. The gasp that escaped me was loud enough to wake the dead. Even to wake Sabine. "Reed?" she asked blearily, sitting up. She pushed her thick black hair out of her face. "What is it?" I couldn't answer. Couldn't tear my eyes from the list of previously unseen e-mails. SENDER: Cheyenne Martin SENDER: Cheyenne Martin SENDER.- Cheyenne Martin SENDER: Cheyenne Martin SENDER: Cheyenne Martin SENDER: Cheyenne Martin It went on forever. For pages. I clicked and scrolled, clicked and scrolled. For three days the e-mail had been coming to me every hour. Every. Hour. And three days was all my recycle bin could hold. It would automatically delete anything beyond that. Had the e-mail actually been coming all week long? "Reed? You're scaring me. What's wrong?" Sabine was getting up now. Crossing the room. Panicked, I somehow found the "delete all" button with my mouse and clicked. The file was empty when she arrived.
"Are you all right?" Sabine asked me. She laid her hand on my shoulder, and I jumped up as if scorched. Startled, Sabine took a step back. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just... don't feel very well," I managed to say.
Then I tore by her for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Gripping the sides of the cold white sink with both hands, I heaved for breath. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. "Reed?" Sabine asked from the other side of the door. I flipped on the cold water full blast. "I'll be right out!" After several splashes to the face, I was feeling calmer. More rational. Obviously, it was a computer glitch. Obviously. But if it was, why would it start out sending the e-mail once a week and then randomly switch to once every hour? "It doesn't matter how it happened--it just did," I muttered to my reflection. "Now all you have to do is figure out a way to work the problem." Thinking proactively calmed my pulse to an almost normal rate. I was in control. I could fix this. I turned off the water and stared at the mirror. Stared into my own eyes. Tomorrow I would change my e-mail address. That would put an end to this insanity. Once and for all.
* * *
Saturday night, thanks to the Driscoll Alumni Dinner, I was finally forced to come out of hiding, and after the night before, I was more than ready to get away from my computer and my room. With a new e-mail address and a new password all set up, I was confident that I had heard from Cheyenne Martin for the last time. It was time to rejoin the land of the living.
The Driscoll Dinner was being held at the same posh hotel my friends and I had lunched at the week before. It was Headmaster Cromwell's pet project. At the beginning of the year, when he'd made all the students sign up for a committee, Sabine and I had joined the waitstaff. So I was to spend Saturday night dressed in a black skirt and white tuxedo top, serving hors d'oeuvres to illustrious alums. And if Dash happened to be there, there was no hope of avoiding him. As I circulated the loud, packed Driscoll ballroom with my tray of crab puffs, carefully avoiding silk gowns and wingtip shoes, my heart pitter-pattered uncomfortably. Maybe he'd decided not to come. This was kind of a stodgy event, after all. Surely a Yale freshman had better things to do with his time than schmooze with the elderly set. A kegger or a poetry reading or something must have been calling his name.
A half hour of grinning and serving and small-talking went by without a glimpse of him, and I finally started to relax. Cocktail hour would be over in thirty minutes. All I had to do was get through this and then I could spend the rest of the night hiding out in the kitchen, maybe even sneak in some pantry smooching with Josh. I was practically home free. And then, as I turned away from a group of pin-striped Wall Street types with booming voices, a hand gripped my upper arm. I almost dropped my tray, but saved it two inches before it could make the clatter heard round the world. It was him. It was him. "Hey. You look sexy in that uniform."
My lungs filled with air. It wasn't him. It was Josh. "Thanks," I said, hoping he'd attribute my blush to his flattery. He looked adorable in his black tux, a long white tie tucked into his jacket. His curls were, as always, doing their own thing, but their disheveled state only made the whole look all the more perfect. What could be hotter than a scruffy artist all suited up? Josh slid his eyes from side to side and, finding the coast generally clear, leaned in to kiss me. Ah, Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. He smiled teasingly when he pulled away. "I'll be checking on things in the kitchen if you want to pick up where that left off."
See? We even think the same. We're so perfect for each other. "Noted," I said with a grin. He turned around jauntily. I took a deep breath to calm my skipping heart and turned the other way. Where I found myself face to face with Dash. Okay. He was even more gorgeous than I remembered. Broader. Taller. More chiseled. Completely at home in his perfect tux. His usually warm brown eyes were piercing. His blond hair fell casually over his forehead as he looked me dead in the eye. Smoldering was the only word that came to mind. "Dash," I heard myself say--gasp, really. This guy had almost kissed me last summer. This Adonis of perfection had almost kissed me.
Dash stared at me for a long moment. Then he glanced past me at, I could only assume, my retreating boyfriend--his friend. His jaw worked, as if he was trying to hold something back. What? What? "We need to talk," he said to me. And he didn't even bother to check whether the coast was clear. He simply took my free hand and led me away.
JUST FRIENDS
It took Dash five seconds to find a secluded hallway near the back of the hotel. Clearly he had been here before. I dropped my half- empty tray on a random chair and wiped my palms on my skirt. I was so panicked I thought I might vomit. Or wet myself. Or both. What if Josh had seen us leave the room? What if Noelle had? What if Missy had seen us and told everyone? Which was so something she'd do. I instantly thought of that as-yet-unopened folder on the Billings CD. If Missy decided to wage war, I'd have the ammo to fight back. But why was I thinking about this now? Now, when my fingers were completely enveloped in Dash's warm, strong hand? When Josh was waiting for me in the kitchen.
He ducked into an alcove, then looked out and double-checked the hallway. "We're alone," he said fervently. I just looked at him. I didn't know what to say. Why had he brought me here? Why the intensity? He 's just going to tell me he's back together with Noelle. That they were, I don't know, apart for a while and now they're back together. Or he' s going to warn me, now that she's back, to not tell her we've been corresponding. As if I needed that particular caveat. "You didn't e-mail me back this week," he said. His eyes were sad. Dare I say desperate?
I pressed my hands into the cool wall behind me, grounding myself. "I--" "I was worried something happened to you," he said, taking a step closer to me. "Are you okay?" I had no idea what to make of this. "I'm fine," I said, acutely aware that mere inches separated us. He seemed confused for a moment, but then his face cleared and he blew out a breath. "Good. Okay. Good," he said, cupping the back of his neck with his hand. He turned away from me and tipped his head back as if he was struggling with something, working his neck muscles with his fingers. When he looked at me again, his eyes searched mine. "Reed, there's something you need to know." Suddenly, I felt so disloyal I wanted to die. Just the sound of his deep, confident voice saying my name sent shivers through me. All I wanted was to hear him say my name again and again. How could I feel this way? I loved Josh. I knew I loved Josh. But standing this close to Dash...
"I know we never say anything like this to each other. I've avoided it up until now. But you should know that Noelle and I are not together." I took a step back. Now all of me pressed into the wall. It was the only way to keep myself upright. He actually liked me. Why else would he tell me this? Why else would he be looking at me with such obvious longing in his eyes? "Does that have any effect on you whatsoever?" he asked. This was it. The moment of truth. What I said right now could define me forever. I was either going to be a loyal, trustworthy girlfriend, or an unfaithful fiend. "No," I said, lifting my chin. My voice cracked, dammit. I cleared it and tried again. "Why should it?" Dash was clearly stunned. Hurt. He drew himself up and looked at me incredulously. "Oh. Okay. My mistake," he said. He turned, but then looked back at me again as if I were an apparition. "I just thought... No. Forget it."
He turned to go. Something inside of me snapped and I shoved myself away from the wall. I couldn't let him leave. Not yet. Not like this. I hated that I had hurt him. "Dash, wait," I blurted. He stopped but didn't turn around. I could hear him breathing. "We're still friends, right?" I said. Pathetic, I know. But what else could I say? "Friends." He laughed derisively. Then he turned around and backed me right into the wall again. So fast I barely even saw it coming. My heart pounded in my throat as he braced his hands above my head and leaned in toward me. My chest heaved up a down, up and down. My brain went hazy. His lips were inches from mine. Millimeters. I stared into his eyes, lost. No control. No control. No control.
He loomed even closer. Every last inch of me throbbed. I could practically taste his breath. Dash McCafferty was going to kiss me. Dash McCafferty was going to kiss me. And I was going to let him. He smiled. My heart stopped. "Sure," he whispered, sending chills all through my body. "All we are is friends." He backed up a step, and oxygen whooshed in at me from all angles. "I'll keep telling myself that, if that's what you want me to do," he said solemnly. He backed all the way out of the alcove, never taking his eyes off mine, and was gone.
PERFECTLY GOOD EXPLANATIONS
Sunday night, Sabine was in the shower in our adjoining bathroom and I finally felt free to open an e-mail that had been sitting in my inbox all day. An e-mail from Dash. I don't know whether it was the fact that I had seen it there that morning, or whether it was the things he had said to me at the Driscoll, but I hadn't been able to stop thinking about him all day. Knowing that a guy like Dash could like a girl like me was intoxicating. I'll admit it. And as much as I tried to lock him out of my thoughts and conjure up Josh, Dash kept pounding his way back in. It was amazing how thinking about someone could make me feel like the scum of the earth, but totally exhilarated at the same time. What the e-mail
could possibly contain, I had no idea, but I was so nervous as I attempted to open it that my fingers slipped off the mouse from all the sweat. I took a deep breath, wiped my hands on my jeans, and opened the e-mail.
Reed, It was good to see you last night. Hope the rest of your weekend goes well. Dash Okay. What the hell did that mean? Had I really waited all day to be alone to read that crap? Maybe it was some sort of dig at my "just friends" thing. Maybe he was showing me how very well he could play along. Was he mocking me? I was just reading it over again, as if there could be any hidden meaning in so few words, when the door to my room opened behind me. I slapped the laptop closed without even thinking about it. Thank God I did. Noelle was on top of me in less than two seconds. "Secret pen pal?" she asked wryly, eyeing the computer. I retasted the turkey club I'd had for lunch right about then. "What? No. Why? I-"
The door opened again and this time it was Portia. She was sucking on a huge iced coffee and looked wired enough to power the whole dorm. "Check your e-mail! I just forwarded you something!" The last thing I wanted to do was open my computer. But Noelle was temporarily distracted by Portia's manic state, so I quickly popped it open and deleted Dash's message. Way too close for my comfort. At the top of my inbox was a forwarded message from Portia titled "FW: LEGACY LIVES!" "What's this?" "Open the attachment!" Portia demanded, taking a drag on her oversize purple straw. Her pupils were like pinpoints. I clicked the attachment. An Adobe file opened on my screen. A scanned-in image of what looked like a very expensive, hand-lettered invitation. An invitation to the Legacy. October 31st. Location TBD. Entry tokens to follow.
"One of my friends at Dalton sent it to me. They all got them in the mail yesterday," Portia informed us, wide-eyed. "Is it some kind of hoax, or is it not canceled? And how come we didn't get any?" "I told you guys someone would throw it," Noelle said, casually checking her hair in the mirror above my dresser. She lifted it back from her face and sucked in her already perfect cheeks, checking herself out from side to side. "I'm sure our invites will come tomorrow." "You think? Oh my God. Thank God!" Portia trilled. "Senior year without the Legacy would have sucked." I smiled for them, but inside I couldn't help feeling stepped on. So much for the Billings Masquerade idea. Everyone was obviously going to want to go to the Legacy. Where I couldn't, in fact, go at all. What kind of Billings president couldn't even get into the biggest party of the year? The lame kind, I supposed. "Hey! That's a nice shot of you and Cheyenne!" Portia practically shouted.
My heart constricted. I turned around to follow her gaze and had to close my computer lid to see what she was pointing at. There, pinned to the mostly bare bulletin board behind my desk, was the picture of me and Cheyenne from Vienna's Sweet Seventeen. The very picture that was supposed to be hidden in the bottom of my bottom desk drawer in the back of a sophomore English book. "Omigod," I said, pushing back from my desk and standing up. "How the hell did that get there?" Not a soul had been around when I'd hidden it over a week ago. How had it ended up on my bulletin board? "Reed, chill," Noelle said. "What's the problem? "I didn't put that there," I told her, shaking. "I stashed it in the bottom of my desk. I don't understand--" Sabine walked out of the bathroom, removing a thick white towel from her hair. She took one look at me and her face creased with concern. "Reed? What's wrong?"