“Is this about Josh?” Ivy said, turning off the water. “Because whatever happened between the two of you, I had nothing to do with it. Gage and I are back together, so you can just stop thinking everyone wants what you’ve got.”
“Oh, really? Gage is your new boyfriend now? Not Tattoo Guy?” I demanded, my chest heaving.
Ivy’s eyes narrowed. “What are you, spying on me now?”
“Who needs to spy? You’re the one parading that freak show around campus all the time!”
Ivy took a deep breath and jutted her bottom teeth out for a second, as if she was steeling herself. “Okay, first of all, KC is not a freak show. He’s one of my best friends from home and he’s been hanging around here because his dad is on a permanent bender and he needs me,” she snapped. “And secondly, where do you get off walking around here like the entire world revolves around you? Like you can say anything to anyone and then act like everything’s fine? Well, guess what, Reed? It’s not fine. You can’t just suddenly start treating me like shit and then expect me to be your friend again the next day.”
My nostrils flared. “I haven’t been treating you like—”
“Yes,” she said with a bitter laugh. “You have. Avoiding me? Shooting me looks? Refusing my lip gloss like I have herpes or something? And now this?” She whipped her toiletry kit down off the shelf, where it slammed against the sink with a loud clatter. “You didn’t even tell me you were thin
king about breaking up with Josh. You didn’t even talk to me about it, and I thought we were supposed to be best friends.”
I blinked. For the first time since she’d walked through the door, I started doubting whether she even knew Noelle was really missing.
“Ivy, you don’t under—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it,” she said, lifting her free hand. “I’m done, Reed. Don’t talk to me again until you’ve had your inner bitch surgically removed.”
Then she turned around and stormed out, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
“Hey, Reed. How’s the extra-credit project going?”
I blinked a few times, slowly pulling myself out of my deep, dark daze. Tiffany, Portia, and Rose all hovered around my marble-topped table in the solarium, toting steaming coffees and yummy-smelling scones. Slowly, I looked down at my laptop. There was nothing on the screen in front of me other than a lonely, blinking cursor.
“Um, not good,” I said.
Portia pulled out a chair and placed her plate down. “How NG are we talking? VNG or BNG?”
My brow knit. Sometimes, talking to Portia was like trying to decode a secret spy message from the CIA.
“Um, BNG?” I said. “That’s beyond not good, right?”
“What can we do to help?” Tiffany asked, taking the chair across from Portia. Rose sat down across from me, her diminutive frame pretty much disappearing behind my laptop screen.
“Oh, you guys don’t have to—”
“It’s due tomorrow, isn’t it?” Rose asked, sitting up straight so I could at least see her blue eyes over the monitor.
“Yeah,” I said miserably. Where had the last week gone? Oh yeah. It had flown by with me running around at the beck-and-call of some crazed lunatic who didn’t even feel the need to reward me for my efforts by telling me how to save my friend.
“Then let us help,” Tiffany said. “History’s Portia’s best subject.”
“Aside from finance,” Portia said, lifting her chin.
“It’s true. Mr. Barber worships her,” Rose put in, taking a sip of her coffee. “Remember that presentation you did on the influence of first ladies on international policy? I thought he was going to drop down on one knee and propose to you right there.”
“Okay, ew,” Portia said with a shudder.
“Girl’s holding out for a bona fide prince, remember?” Tiffany said, her eyes sparkling as she lifted her coffee mug to her lips.
“Preferably a western European one,” Portia confirmed. She shrugged out of her fur-lined jacket and rested her elbows on the table, her gold necklaces glinting in the light from overhead. “But Rose is right. I am the only person in the history of Easton Academy ever to earn an A-plus from the Barber.”
I frowned, duly impressed.
“Come on, Reed. No one could be expected to concentrate on extra credit at a time like this,” Tiffany said, referring to my breakup with Josh, of course, not to Noelle’s suspended fate. “Just tell us what you need and we’ll do it. Delegate.”