Private 03 - Untouchable (13 page)

Kiran glanced at our audience, then pulled me into the alcove behind the front door and practically shoved me against the wall. "Will you shut up?" she said through her teeth. She glanced back into the house, then very deliberately straightened her back, rolled her shoulders, and looked down her nose at me. "How did you find out about that?"

"One of my friends saw her leave," I said, my pulse racing. "Kiran, what is going on?"

Kiran scratched just above her eyebrow and breathed in. She lifted her head, and when she looked at me again, she was all smiles.

"What's going on is you're paranoid," Kiran said. "No one mentioned Taylor slinking out of here because she did not slink. The only flight she could get back to Indiana was early this morning, so I offered to have one of my mother's drivers come up and take her. We all knew she was leaving early."

"I didn't," I said.

"Well, forgive us if this incredibly pertinent bit of information didn't trickle down," Kiran said sarcastically. "There's been kind of a lot going on lately. Now if you'll excuse me, I don't like to keep Helmut waiting."

"Hang on," I said, stopping her before she could make it to the door. "If you all knew about it, then why did you just freak when you found out I knew about the car?"

Kiran turned to look at me, impatient. "What?"

"You just slingshotted me in here when I said something about the car. Like you didn't want anyone to hear me. If everyone knew she was leaving early, then what's with all the cloak and dagger? " I asked.

"Well, Reed, it's not like I want it advertised that I'm just giving people free rides everywhere," Kiran said smoothly. "Word gets out and everyone in this dorm is going to be all over me for trips to Boston and rides to the airport. Like I really need that kind of stress in my life."

I stared at her. She was good, but I didn't believe her. She knew I didn't believe her. And that's why, two seconds later, without so much as a goodbye, she slammed the door in my face.

To: [email protected] .com From: [email protected] Subject: Are you okay???

Hi Taylor,

I'm writing because you're not picking up your cell and I don't have your home number. I wanted to talk to you last night after your fight with Noelle, but Kiran told me to wait. You seemed really upset and then I didn't get to see you this morning, so I just wanted to make sure you're okay.

Anyway, I saw you leave early this morning and . . . I don't know. I just felt weird about it. Kiran says I'm just being paranoid, but I feel like something's really wrong. I can't help it. I'm worried. So write back if you get a chance and tell me I'm insane.

I hope you're okay.

Love, Reed

THANKSGIVING

That night I checked my e-mail on Natasha's computer about once every five minutes, but Taylor never wrote back. I hoped she was just busy with family stuff and that she wasn't avoiding me too. If she decided to avoid me, then I might never find out what was really going on around this place. That was not an option.

With everyone gone, having fled Easton for the airport or for the posh neighborhoods of various eastern-seaboard cities, Billings House felt eerie and still. No shouts and giggles, no music blaring, no fevered study sessions. It was a completely different place. I walked the carpeted halls, for the first time closely studying the photographs of former Billings Girls--until I started to feel as if their ghosts were watching me. Then, irrationally spooked, I went around and opened all the doors to all the bedrooms until the Billings housemother, Mrs. Lattimer, tracked me down and told me to kindly quit making so much noise. I finally retreated back to my room.

After a little while, I started to relax. Yes, the place was silent as 
a grave, but that also meant that there was no one around to walk into my room and demand something of me. No one to remind me of tragedy. Maybe alone was good. Finally, I settled in to catch up on my reading and actually got some work done. Every time thoughts of Thomas tried to invade, I just concentrated harder on taking notes. I ended up falling asleep with a book open on my lap and didn't turn out the light until my notebook hit the floor and scared me half to death.

On Thursday I slept late, called my brother to wish him luck at the homestead (he was in for the Boston Market feast, though I had no idea why), and talked to my dad as well--making sure he knew that I was perfectly fine and that no one else had gone missing from school. My mother took the phone for three minutes to give me a nonstop diatribe about how it wasn't safe at Easton and I should come home. Not because she was worried about me, but because she didn't want me to have anything I actually wanted. Then my father got back on to talk about my report card and wonder if straight B's and one A were enough to maintain my scholarship (which, by the way, they were). I couldn't get off the line fast enough.

Some time after noon I took a long run around the campus, taking in the deserted walkways and darkened windows. There wasn't a soul in sight. I took the time to admire the beauty that was Easton. Even with bare trees and flowerless beds, the campus was far more elegant than any block of land back home. Every inch of every building evoked tradition and pride, from the beautiful 
stained-glass windows set deep within the stone walls of the chapel to the columns marking the entrance to Easton Library. There was no trace of the modern world here. And without all the Bluetooth phones and PSPs and iPods around, I could almost imagine what it had been like to stroll these paths back when the school was founded. All tweed suits and school ties and leather- bound books. Back when things were simple. The longer I jogged, the more solitary I felt. I might as well have owned the place.

Apparently, even Detective Hauer had gotten Thanksgiving Day off. I kept expecting to see him lurking like I had the morning before, but he was nowhere to be found. I started to wonder if I'd imagined his presence in the fog the previous morning. Maybe I had been half-dreaming. Maybe it hadn't happened at all. And if it hadn't happened, I should stop obsessing about it.

For now, that was a tack I was willing to take.

That afternoon I checked my e-mail again. Still nothing. I shot off another missive to Taylor, telling her she didn't have to talk about anything she might not want to talk about. Telling her I just wanted to know that she was all right. Then I turned off the computer and promised myself I wouldn't check again until the next day.

By the time I arrived at the cafeteria that night for the scheduled seven o'clock holiday meal, I felt rejuvenated. I was going to sit down, have a nice dinner, and not think about Thomas, Taylor, Hauer, Rick the townie, or anyone else.

Anyone other than Josh, who was already seated at the end of a 
table in the center of the room. He wore a corduroy jacket over a blue shirt and looked so handsome I felt unworthy. Candles flickered along the length of the table and cornucopia centerpieces sat on beds of autumn leaves. There were a total of three tables set this way, all in the middle of the room. At the first sat Mrs. Lattimer, with a few other faculty members. At the second was a klatch of foreign students. Josh sat at the third, with a few other scholarship students at the far end, their noses buried in books as they ignored one another.

The place smelled amazing. Roasting turkey, gravy, freshly baked bread. I glanced behind me at the buffet line, but it was empty.

"What's going on?" I asked Josh.

I folded the skirt I had "borrowed" from Kiran's Closet of Dreams under me and sat. God bless the person who had opted not to put locks on our doors. Kiran didn't want to tell me the truth? Fine. Then for the next three days, her stuff was my stuff.

"Table service," Josh said. "Guess that's what happens when only twenty people are eating."

"Wow. It's like we're royalty."

Josh leaned across the table and glanced at the next one over. "Actually, I think one of those guys is royalty."

I laughed just as the kitchen doors opened, spilling forth a half dozen cafeteria workers and their trays. Soon platters of sliced turkey, bowls of potatoes, stuffing, and vegetables, and baskets of rolls were laid out in front of us. Already I could tell this was going to be the best Thanksgiving dinner of my life.

"Once you're finished, we bring out the dessert," our server told us with a slight dip of the head. "Apple pie and ice cream."

"Thanks," I replied.

She was already on her way back to the kitchen, but she paused and smiled back at me, as though no one had ever said thanks to her before.

"Ready to feast?" Josh asked.

He was already holding a few slices of turkey over my plate with a huge fork.

"Bird me," I said.

Josh grinned and weighed our plates down with tons of food. Once he had everything he wanted, he dumped a ladleful of gravy over all of it, even the roll. He watched me as I covered only the meat in gravy.

"Wuss," he said.

"I just like it the way I like it."

"So, what're you doing later?" Josh asked. "I don't know about you, but I was bored off my ass today."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Painted a little. Called my parents. Called my brother. Called my aunt's house and defused an argument between Tess and Tori having to do with sleeping arrangements," he said. "They're twins. Thirteen-year-old female twins with opposite personalities. It's no fun."

"What was the argument?" I asked.

"My aunt put them in the bunk room, as always," he said.

"They were fighting over who got to sleep in the bottom bunk. Three years ago they were fighting over who got to sleep in the top bunk. I don't get girls."

"We are a mysterious people," I said.

Josh laughed, his eyes shining in the candlelight.

"You must be a really good big brother," I said. "Most guys wouldn't bother trying."

"Just hoping to save the world from nuclear meltdown," Josh said. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Just my brother, Scott," I said. "He's older."

"What's he like?"

"I have no complaints," I answered.

"And where's he this weekend?"

"Home with the parents," I said. "Actually, if I were looking out for him, I'd be there too. Although he's better off there alone than I would be."

"Volatile situation?" Josh asked.

I froze. How had I let a detail like that slip? I never talked to anyone about my home life. Except Thomas.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," I said, then filled my mouth with potatoes.

Josh watched me for a moment, and I had a feeling he was going to ask me something, but instead he changed the subject.

"So, do you want to hang out after this?" he asked.

I glanced around to see if anyone at the faculty table had heard 
him. They were all too involved in their meals and their hushed conversation.

"I don't know. How would we get past Lattimer?" I asked.

"She does have certain hawklike qualities," Josh said, looking over at her. My dorm mother was cutting her food into tiny morsels and lifting them to her pinched lips with clipped, precise movements. "We can go to my dorm."

"Please. Mr. Cross will totally hear us," I said. "You're the only one in the entire building. He's got nothing to distract him."

"Reed, look at the man. He's about four hundred years old. If he gets enough turkey in him, he'll pass out before he even gets to Ketlar."

I glanced over my shoulder. Mr. Cross lifted a napkin to wipe gravy from his moustache. Then he took a second helping of turkey. Seconds already.

"Looks like we're good to go, then," I said with a smile.

Josh smiled back. "Looks like."

A SOFT PILLOW

"So, wait. You've never broken a bone? Not one?" Josh asked in awe as we approached Ketlar. "How is that possible?"

The air was crisp and cold, and ten thousand stars winked at us from above. I tipped my head back and turned around, feeling heady and drunk, even though there wasn't an ounce of alcohol in my system. I was practically tingling from the novelty of the evening--the campus so deserted and still, the amazing food, laughing nonstop with Josh through dinner with no one watching me. Plus there was the anticipation of what might be to come. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. I didn't want to think about it too hard. That always seemed to ruin things.

"Perfect balance, stunning athleticism, fear of hospitals," I replied. "Why? Have you?"

I put my arms out and turned in a circle, enjoying the feeling of my hair down my back, the feeling of freedom I was experiencing. Savoring every minute of it.

"Are you kidding? I was a menace as a kid. Falling out of trees, 
falling off of bikes, falling down stairs. If it was in my sight, I fell off of it. You should have seen the time I broke my pinky. The bone was completely sticking out the side of my hand. My brother even threw up. It was totally wicked," he rambled nervously. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and shivered, bouncing a little on his toes.

I bit my lip to keep from grinning too hard. I was making him nervous. Clearly, he wanted something to happen here. His manic behavior was giving it all away.