Ambition.

(Private 7).

by Kate Brian.

This one's for all the readers who have e-mailed me with their encouraging words, keen questions, and even keener insight. It's incredible to know that this series has such dedicated and intelligent fans. Keep it coming!.

I sat in the front row of folding chairs in the Great Room of Mitch.e.l.l Hall and stared at the gray, unfeeling faces that hovered over the long table before me. The gray faces that would decide my fate. Our fate. The fate of Billings House. They were all against us. I could feel it, right in the pit of my gut--this torturous sensation like some large rodent was kicking in my stomach, gnawing greedily at my heart and lungs. And as if the vociferous organ-muncher wasn't enough, I was also in pain. Real pain. My lungs were raw from inhaling tons of smoke in the underground tunnel outside Gwendolyn Hall, the remnants of the charred building still billowing plumes into the air at the edge of Eas ton Academy's campus. My face hurt as if it had been repeatedly and mercilessly slapped. My head was being intermittently pierced by an invisible ice pick. My eyes were so dry that every time I blinked, my lids stuck to them for one brief, excruciating moment before popping wide open again. I tried not to close them, but that just made them drier. This was my punishment, my penance for last night. For sneaking out and going to the Legacy instead of staying home with Josh. For downing all those frothy pink drinks. For hooking up with my best friend's boyfriend. For breaking the heart of the guy I loved. The only guy I had ever truly loved. Josh was behind me somewhere in the expectant crowd. The whole school had gathered to hear what would become of Billings. The antic.i.p.ation in the air was so thick I could feel its warmth on my neck. Or maybe that was just Constance Talbot's panicked breathing. Either way, my heart started to pound as Headmaster Cromwell finished listing the grievances against Billings. I had already lost Josh. I couldn't lose Billings. Not now. Billings House was my home. I needed my home. "These infractions are grievous," Headmaster Cromwell said. His white hair was perfectly coiffed, his square jaw as imperious as ever, but under the harsh fluorescents I could see every crag in his face, every wrinkle. He lifted a page of stark white paper and read from it. "Hazing, initiation ceremonies, fighting, ignoring curfew on several oc casions--"

"But that wasn't us. That was all Cheyenne," London Simmons complained under her breath, as if she and most of the rest of my friends hadn't gone right along with all of it. Lon don sat a few seats to my left, next to Vienna Clark, to whom she was always attached at the hip. They wore matching black suits as if they were attending a funeral. Although no decent person would ever show that much cleavage at a funeral.

"Ignoring my strict mandate to remain on campus the night of Sunday, October thirty-first,"

Cromwell continued. "And, most egregious, destruction of school property." He laid the paper down and laced his fingers together on top of it. "Destruction of one of the oldest buildings on this campus," he reiterated, looking me dead in the eye. Me. Of course me. President of Billings. Two days ago, most people in this room would have said that as president of the most sought-after dorm on campus, I was the most blessed of the blessed. Today I was the most loathed of the loathed. It wasn't like I'd pulled a crazy Mrs. Rochester and run through Gwendolyn with a lit torch, cackling as I burned the place to the ground. The fire had been a result of London and Vienna's toking tour of Easton. Someone had left a burning joint behind, and it hadn't been me. But even as my cheeks stung at the unfairness of being singled out, I realized the situation was dire. When our crimes were compiled that way, they sounded really, really awful.

"Like we were the only ones at Gwendolyn," Noelle Lange said under her breath. For all her partying the night before, Noelle looked as perfect as ever in a crisp white shirt and gray wide-leg pants, her long brown hair pulled back in a tortoisesh.e.l.l headband. In jeans and a black cashmere sweater she had given me a few weeks back, I felt troll-like in her presence. I wriggled back in my seat and endeavored to sit up straight. Endeavored to meet Cromwell's cool stare with my own.

"Headmaster Cromwell?" London blurted, standing up in her four-inch heels. "I just want to point out that we weren't the only ones there last night," she said, glancing at Noelle for backup. "I mean, the guys were there too, and--" "I don't believe I opened the floor to com ments, Miss Simmons," Headmaster Cromwell said, leaning so close to his microphone that his voice blasted through the suspended corner speakers like the voice of G.o.d. London let out a yip of surprise and sat right back down. "Now, where was I?" As Cromwell sifted through his papers, Constance leaned in close to my ear from behind. "Whit talked to his grandmoth er, and she said they're going to deal with the other students individually, but since our whole dorm was there, they're viewing it as an overarching house problem and they're going to, quote, 'deal with Billings accordingly.'"

Whit was Walt Whittaker, Constance's older boyfriend, whose grandmother sat on the Eas ton board, which meant she was one of the gray faces judging us. But right then the diminutive old woman looked like she was starting to doze off at the far end of the table. My life was on the line and she was catnapping. Real nice. Meanwhile, Susan Llewelyn, the Billings alumna who sat on the board--the woman who had sent us to the secret pa.s.sage in Gwen dolyn Hall--was nowhere to be found. Her seat at the table was empty. "I am S.N.S.," Portia Ahronian said, rolling her big green eyes. "So not surprised," she clarified. "The Crom has been trying to find a way to get rid of us from D-one. He may be acting all stern and appalled, but you know he's L.O.T.I."

Headmaster Cromwell cleared his throat loudly. "Well, with a list of infractions this long, a vote seems superfluous," Cromwell said. "But the school bylaws dictate that we must vote. So, the directive on the table is this: Shall the board of directors hereby dissolve Billings House and redistribute its members throughout the remaining girls' dormitories? Yay or nay?

All those in favor--" My pulse pounded in my temples, my eyes, my throat. They were going to do it. They were going to take our home away. "This isn't happening," Rose Sakowitz mum bled. "They can't close Billings. I just got in," Lorna Gross whined. Sabine DuLac leaned for ward, grasping the back of my chair. "Do something," she whispered urgently. "Reed, you have to do something." "Wait!" I was on my feet. My voice reverberated off the high ceiling of the Great Room, the largest gathering s.p.a.ce on campus aside from the cafeteria and the chapel. Dead silence enveloped the room as everyone gaped at me. Dead silence as hun dreds of faces blurred before my heavy, hungover eyes.

"Yes, Miss Brennan?" Headmaster Cromwell said, his upper lip curled in distaste. At least he hadn't used his G.o.dlike voice to cut me down too. That was something. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I was going to say next. "This... this isn't fair," I stated, sounding unresolved, even to myself. My querulous words were met with snickers around the room. I hadn't meant to whine, but whine I had. I took a deep breath and tried again. "With all due respect, Head master Cromwell, you haven't given us a chance," I said, trying for a more authoritative tone. I saw a few people sit forward in their seats, intrigued, including towheaded freshman Amberly Carmichael and her friends, who had a vested interest in keeping Billings open. Noelle and I had, after all, promised that they would get in to the house their junior year if they caused a di version so we could sneak off campus the night before, and they had come through. From what I'd heard, they had staged the most convincing and violent catfight in the history of Eas ton, drawing security personnel and Headmaster Cromwell to their dorm, right when we need ed them to.

"Haven't I?" Cromwell sniffed and looked down at his all-important papers. "I believe you and your housemates have had plenty of chances." His dismissive att.i.tude shot right under my skin, and I felt a surge of adrenaline take over. "No, sir, we have not," I replied firmly, earn ing a few surprised murmurs from my peers. They couldn't believe I was standing up to Cromwell like this. Honestly, neither could I, but I kept going. "I'm the first to admit that things at Billings have been pretty terrible this year. But in case you've forgotten, one of our best friends just died. And yeah, okay, maybe we're having a hard time dealing with that right now, but Billings has been an a.s.set to this school in the past and it will be again. You just have to give us a chance to prove it."

My friends in the front two rows all sat up a bit straighter, held their heads a bit higher. A flutter of pride tickled my chest. My speech was working. On them, at least. "And how, exact ly, are you going to do that?" Headmaster Cromwell asked, leaning his weight on his forearms as he eyed me expectantly. Oh. Right. I should have had a "how" ready here. I turned to look at the Billings Girls, widening my eyes in desperation and praying one of them had an answer. Noelle cleared her throat and brought her hand down to her side where she surrept.i.tiously rubbed her fingers together.

Money. Of course. Money talked around here. Louder than just about anything else. But how much money? I knew what a lot of cash was to me--a scholarship student from a lowermiddle-cla.s.s family with one car and two mortgages--but how many zeros did I need to add to impress people who paid for plastic surgery for their dogs and had personal chefs to toast their French bread? "We'll hold a fund-raiser," I announced. "Billings will pledge to raise... one million dollars for Easton." Gasps and whispers filled the room. "If we succeed, Billings stays as is," I continued, on firmer footing now. "If we fail, you can do what you want with us." Cromwell's sharp blue eyes narrowed. He covered his microphone with one hand and turned to whisper to the gentleman next to him. Soon the whole board was playing a game of tele phone, each whispering to the next and on down the line. Finally, their comments made it back to Cromwell and he cleared his throat. I held my breath. Everyone in the room held their breath.

Slowly, Cromwell leaned toward the microphone. It was impossible to read his expression. Possibly because he had only one--annoyed. Please. Please don't take this away from me. Not now. "Make it five million, Miss Brennan," he said with a small but devilish smile, "and you have a deal." "Yes!" someone behind me cheered. The room erupted in conversation and squeaking chairs, but all I could see was that number. Five million. A huge number. An impos sible number. "We can do that, no problem," Vienna said, clapping her hands happily. "Si lence!" Headmaster Cromwell's voice boomed through the speakers once more. He got his si lence. "There is one stipulation," he said, looking at the Billings section. "This five million dol lars must be raised, not gleaned from your trust funds or borrowed from your parents. You must actually raise it, and you must raise it in one month's time. I will also be contacting the Billings alumni and making it clear to them that they are not to help you with the preparations for whatever you conjure up. This fundraiser will be planned by you and paid for by you, and any profit will be fairly earned. Is that understood?"

Suddenly, my friends were no longer cheering. I turned to look at them. They couldn't back out on me now. I'd gotten us a reprieve. I'd taken a stand. Please don't make me look like an idiot now. Portia glanced at the Twin Cities. Vienna whispered something over her shoulder to Shelby Wordsworth. Rose bent in conversation with Tiffany Goulbourne and Astrid Chou. Ev eryone conferred while I stood there and waited. Finally, they all faced forward and Portia nod ded confidently. I faced the board, looked Cromwell in the eye, and smiled. "Done."

NEW FOCUS.

"Reed, seriously, have you ever considered a career as a politician?" Tiffany asked as we emerged from Mitch.e.l.l Hall into the crisp, cold New England air. The sky over Easton Acade my was a shade of blue so bright it looked almost fake, and orange and yellow leaves chased one another across the cobblestone path in front of us. Tiffany wrapped her white coat closer to her tall body and flipped up the collar so that it grazed the smooth ebony skin of her cheeks. How could she look so perfect today, when I felt as if I had been run over repeatedly by a monster truck? "Um, no," I replied.

"Well, maybe you should." Astrid nudged me with her elbow as the wind tossed her short dark hair. She wore a colorful plaid skirt over hot pink tights and purple shoes, her eye make up colors chosen to match her lower half. "That was b.l.o.o.d.y brilliant." "Amazing," Sabine agreed with sheer admiration in her eyes. "Headmaster Cromwell didn't see that coming at all." "Agreed. If you pull this off, you will go down in history as the president who saved Billings," Shelby said. Her leather-gloved fingers moved swiftly over her iPhone's touch pad as she checked for texts. Shelby had a sophisticated air that made her seem like she was in her mid-twenties instead of her late teens. She wore a double-breasted brown tweed coat; her blond hair hung in loose waves around her face; and she held her chin slightly up, as if her photo might be snapped at any moment.

"Yeah, or the last," Missy Thurber put in with a sniff of her wide nostrils. Her comment earned her a whack on the back of her blond head from Portia. "Ow! Was that necessary?"

"Neg the neg," Portia ordered, shoving her hands into the pockets of her cropped fur jacket.

"We need positive thinking from here on out, right, Reed?" "Exactly," I said with a nod. I decid ed right then and there that I was going to be Shelby's version of a Billings president rather than Missy's. From now on, I would focus all my energy on this fund-raiser and on saving Billings.

Besides, it wasn't like I would have much else to do now that Josh had made it clear that we were over. My heart constricted as fuzzy flashes of last night suddenly a.s.saulted my brain. Dash McCafferty's lips on mine. Josh's face when he found us in that private tent. The way he'd practically spat in my face as he told me it was over. How could someone who supposed ly loved me so much look at me that way? And how was my heart ever going to heal when ev ery time I thought about Josh, it broke a little more? "Are you all right?" Noelle asked me.

"You just went all visage blanc."

I blinked and tried to look normal. It wasn't like I could confide in Noelle about what had happened. After all, she and Dash had gotten back together last night, and she had no clue that I'd gotten horizontal with him. Had no idea that this indiscretion was the cause of my breakup with Josh. All I had told her was that Josh had ended it out of nowhere. Big, big lie.

"I'm fine. Just an adrenaline crash," I told her. "Reed!" Amberly shouted, hustling over to me with her two ever-present lackeys at her sides. Her loose blond curls bounced around her an gelic face and she wore a light pink coat with a white-and-pink plaid scarf over white thinwale cords. As matchy-matchy as ever. "We just wanted to let you know that if you need any help with the fund-raiser--anything whatsoever--we're here for you," she said, clasping my arm. "Thanks," I said vaguely. "I'll keep that in mind."

I turned around to search the crowd for Josh. Maybe I'd focus on saving Billings after I talked to him. I had to talk to him. Had to try to explain. Try to make things right. Try... some thing. Most of the student body had divided into klatches that now dotted the lawn around Mitch.e.l.l Hall. Gage Coolidge, Trey Prescott, and some other guys from Ketlar Hall stood about ten feet away, huddled together against the cold, since guys were too cool for outer wear, but Josh wasn't with them. Then, from the corner of my eye, I spotted him. Alone. Head down. Skulking toward the edge of campus. Toward the Jonathan Arthur Montgomery Build ing, which housed the art studios, the Chronicle newspaper office, the literary magazine of fice, practice rooms for the choir and orchestra, and several other venues for artistic pursuits. The J.A.M. Building was one of Josh's two favorite spots on campus, the other being the art cemetery, where we used to rendezvous before he rendezvoused there with Cheyenne. G.o.d, that seemed like ages ago. When Cheyenne was alive, when I had caught her trysting with my boyfriend, when I had almost lost him over her. A lot had happened this year. So much had changed. And it was only the first of November.

"Reed? Where are you going?" Noelle asked me as I turned away from my friends. "We have a lot to do if we're going to make this fundraiser happen." I paused. "I know. I just have something I have to take care of." One step away and a dark blue sweater blocked my path. I looked up. Hovering over me was an unreasonably tall guy with brown eyes and a preppy hair cut that screamed Young Wall Street. Weston Bright. West for short. Ketlar Hall. Senior. Lacrosse captain. My brain recited these things, though why it knew them or cared, I had no idea. "Reed, what you did in there... that was amazing," West said, speaking the first words he'd ever spoken to me. He pushed his hand into the pocket of his gray slacks. His smile was genuine, affable. "How'd you do that? I think if I tried to stand up to Cromwell, I'd keel over drooling."

"I don't know," I replied, glancing at Josh's disappearing form. I really didn't know. Consid ering everything I'd been through in the past twenty-four hours, I should have been curled up in a ball somewhere, babbling incoherently.

"Maybe we can get together sometime and you can float some theories," West suggested.

"I wouldn't mind a few tips before my college interviews." I blinked at him. He was asking me out. This unusually tall person and his preppy hair were asking me out. The near corpse of my relationship with Josh was, I hoped, still revivable, and this guy was asking me out. How did he even know Josh and I had broken up? I had only told the Billings Girls. Was Josh spread ing the word? Was he so psyched about his newfound freedom that he was shouting it from rooftops everywhere? "Um, maybe. Can we talk about this later?" "Sure. What's your num ber? I'll text you," West said. He typed in my phone number and gave me a smile before saun tering off.

"Wow, Reed," London said, sidling over to give me a hip-nudge. She looked West's depart ing form up and down like he was a piece of meat and tossed her thick, artificially streaked hair over her shoulder. "Way to bounce back." "Are you kidding me?" I hissed at her. "I just broke up with Josh, I'm not just going to start dating." "Who said anything about dating?" Lon don replied. "Just hook up with the guy. West is an excellent kisser," she said, smiling at him over my shoulder. I glanced back there as well. "Ew," I said, realizing that London knew from experience. "I have to go." There was only one guy I was interested in right now. The one flee ing the scene--my scene--as fast as his squared sneakers would carry him.

TELL ME HOW YOU REALLY FEEL.

As I approached the art studio, I couldn't ever remember feeling so nervous in my life. Not when I'd first arrived at Easton. Not when I had been questioned by the police about Thomas Pearson's murder last year. Not when I thought I was about to be expelled. Maybe on the Billings rooftop last winter when Ariana had been h.e.l.l-bent on throwing me over the side. But that had been more terror than nervousness. A trembling, knee-weakening, life-flashing-be fore-my-eyes kind of terror. This was almost worse. Because there was hope behind these nerves. Hope even though I knew I was about to get crushed. But I couldn't seem to squelch it, even to protect myself.

I pressed my damp palms into my jeans, then grasped the cold door handle and pulled. Perched on a wooden stool, Josh sat with his back curled like a C. So lonely and sad. He didn't look up from his easel. On the canvas was a charcoal profile that looked a lot like mine. He hadn't opened any paints yet. The brushes sat dry and untouched. When he finally turned and saw me there, anger flashed through his blue eyes. "You can't be here," he said.

"Why not? Maybe I've developed an interest in painting." I tried for levity. Bad idea. Josh stood up, nearly knocking his seat over. "No. I mean, you can't really be here. You can't actu ally think we're going to talk about this. That you're going to find some way to explain it that will make me forgive you."

All the oxygen left the room. Tell me how you really feel. "Josh, please--" "No! Reed, no. G.o.d! "He brought his hand to his head and winced. "I can't get the picture of you and Dash out of my mind. Do you have any idea what this is like for me?" "Actually, yeah. I do," I snapped without thinking. The picture of Cheyenne straddling him on the love seat in the Art Cemetery came screeching back in full Technicolor, as did the gut-wrenching horror of how it had felt to watch it all unfold. "But I took you back, remember?" Josh's face screwed up in dis gust. "You took me back because it wasn't me there with her. Because she drugged me. Be cause I didn't know what I was doing."

He had me there. I was drunk last night, but I had known what I was doing. Had flirted with the idea of doing it for months. How could something that had seemed so right and harmless less than eighteen hours ago now be such an obvious mistake? Why hadn't I realized that if I let Dash pull me onto that mattress, if I let him touch me the way he had, that I would be here now--my heart in pieces, Josh's heart in pieces, wishing there was any way in h.e.l.l I could take it all back? What could I say? "Josh, I love you," I attempted. "I--" "Don't," he spat. "Of all things, do not say that."

The venom in his voice stopped me cold. That was all it took. All it took for me to realize that this was a lost cause. That Josh was lost to me. Forever. All I wanted was for him to hug me. To tell me that everything was going to be okay. To be my rock. He had always been that for me. Whenever I screwed up or everything around me seemed to be falling apart, Josh had made it better. But he couldn't make this better, because this time my screwup had hurt him. I had deprived myself of my one true comfort in life, and the realization gouged my heart out.

"Please, just go," he said, his shoulders slumping. "Just leave me alone."

"Fine." My voice, my eyes, my throat, were filled with tears as I took a step back. Away from him. "Fine, I'll go." And I started to. I did. But then, out of nowhere, a terrifying thought oc curred to me. A thought that somehow, in all the emotional wreckage, had never even been a glimmer until now. And it stopped me in my tracks. Cold dread overcame me. Josh was so an gry. So hurt. What if he... I couldn't say it. But I had to. I had to beg for mercy. One last favor. For old time's sake? A lump the size of an orange blocked my windpipe, trying to tell me this was a bad idea. But my fear of what might happen if I didn't speak overcame my conscience.

"Josh, I have to ask you one thing," I said, my voice thick. "What?" He glanced at me.

"You're not... I mean... you're not going to tell Noelle, are you? About me and Dash?" I asked. Josh looked at me for a moment, then shook his head and laughed. He laughed so bit terly, I'm not even sure the noise he made could be categorized as a laugh. My heart felt sick. I knew what he thought of me right then and I hated myself. But now that he'd left me, I need ed Noelle more than ever. "No," he said finally, looking at me like I was the crusty sc.u.m that formed on the outer rims of his paint jars. "No, I won't tell your precious Noelle. If that's what you really care about here, then don't worry. Your s.l.u.tty little secret is safe with me." Tears spilled down my face. Coming from Josh--from someone who was normally so kind and level headed and understanding--the words couldn't have stung more. But at least I knew he would keep my secret. He was the most decent, honest guy I knew. However awful his wording was, the promise was just as strong. "Josh--" "Good luck saving Billings," he said with a sneer. His silent message? I hope you fail.

Then he turned his back on me, and I knew it was for good this time. I had to get out of there. Now. I turned and ran for the door, holding one hand over my mouth to keep the sobs in check. As I stumbled into the hallway, I nearly took out Ivy Slade in her white-and-black plaid cape. Perfect. She was so the person I wanted to see right now. Her blue eyes like ice, Ivy shot me a derisive look, then peered past me through the gla.s.s pane in the cla.s.sroom door. Her thin, dark eyebrows arched and she crossed her slim arms over her chest. Her dan gling silver earrings swung, catching on strands of her sleek, black hair. "Trouble in par adise?" she asked. "Just think, if you hadn't crashed my party last night, none of this would have happened."

Her party. As if the Legacy belonged to her. It was an ages-old tradition, and she had tried to claim it as her own, changing the rules and ostracizing all the Easton Academy legacies. Maybe I had crashed it, but I'd only done it because I was trying to help my fellow Easton stu dents get what was rightfully theirs. And, okay, I was also trying to have a little fun. That, of course, had not happened. At least not after the first couple hours of drinking and dancing. Af ter that, it had all gone to h.e.l.l. "Haven't you ever heard that it's inadvisable to have major rela tionship status conversations after chugging several fuzzy navels?" she asked slyly. She was taking pleasure in this, and she wasn't even trying to hide it. "How do you know what I was drinking?" I demanded. "Oh, I make a habit of keeping an eye on party crashers, just in case they decide to cause trouble," Ivy said, tilting her head. "Luckily, you only caused trouble for yourself." She placed a hand on the doork.n.o.b behind her. Josh was in there. She was about to join Josh. My heart skipped a nervous, covetous beat.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" I demanded. "Working on my senior project." She glanced over her shoulder again, smoothing her shiny hair with her long, pale fingers. "I'll be spending a lot of time in the studio this year," she added pointedly. Implication? With Josh. I'll be spending a lot of time in the studio this year with Josh. She was just like Cheyenne with her "seniors stick together" routine. All to spend time with Josh. And just like that, I remem bered. Ivy's room last night. That bizarre collage. The pictures of her and Cheyenne being BFFs on beaches and boats and tennis courts. Ivy and Cheyenne, who were supposed to hate each other. Why had they hidden their friendship from the world? And what else was Ivy hiding?

"Well, I should go. Let you get back to your little fund-raising project," Ivy said. "It's good to have a distraction at a trying time like this, Reed. Doctor Phil would be proud." She gave my shoulder a quick squeeze with faux sympathy, then turned and walked into the room where Josh sat. Her red lips stretched into a mocking grin right before she slammed the heavy door in my face. The tears burst forth all over again. I ran down the hall toward the exit, but before I could get through the door, it was opening. I slammed into someone so hard he was knocked off his feet and his stuff scattered everywhere. Who knew the J.A.M. Building was so heavily trafficked on Monday evenings? "Dammit," I said, automatically crouching to the ground. Tears streaked down my nose, mingling with snot. I wiped my hand across my face, not even sure whether it made a difference. "I'm so sorry." "No. It's my fault," my victim replied, gather ing his bag and notebook. "I never look where I'm going. Hey, are you okay?" I looked in his face for the first time. Light brown skin, dark, floppy hair, concerned brown eyes. Light brown eyes. Odd. Nice.

"M'fine," I mumbled. "Just have to get out of here." "Okay." He stood up, repositioning his stuff as it slid in his hands. "I'm Marcellus Alberro. Marc for short. And you're Reed Brennan."

I looked at him quizzically. Why he felt the need to tell me my name was beyond me. "Yeah."

"I thought it was so cool how you didn't back down from Cromwell," Marc said with a smile. I immediately thought of my encounter with West. d.a.m.n. Was this guy going to use my socalled bravery as a segue to ask me out too?

"I'm gonna do a story about it for the Chronicle, " he told me. "I was actually just on my way up to the offices to do some research and see if they've ever tried to shut down a whole dorm like this before. I'm on the paper," he added needlessly. "In case that wasn't clear." I heard myself laugh, which was a surprise. "Well, good luck with your story, Marc-For-Short," I said, shoving the door open and letting the cold air pour in. All I wanted to do was go back to my dorm and do that curling-up-in-a-ball thing. "Thanks. I'd like to interview you for it, if I could," he blurted. "Now?" I asked. "Now's good. If you can." Couldn't he see what a mess I was? I was in no shape to be interviewed. But still, maybe it was a good idea. Get the press behind us. Some free publicity. Another distraction. "Actually, I--" But Ivy's laughter cut me short. It wafted down the hallway from the studio, through the air vents, along the walls. It was everywhere. And it made the hair on my arms stand on end. Josh had made her laugh. Angry, bitter, brokenhearted Josh was down there right now, making Ivy Slade laugh. "I'm sorry. I have to go," I said Letting the door bang behind me, I tore across the rapidly darkening cam pus, leaving an understandably confused Marc-For-Short Alberro behind.

BLACKBALLED.

I had to call Dash. He was, after all, the reason I was such a total mess. I had risked every thing for him, and now that I knew that I had risked and lost, I had to know why. Why had he lured me up to the roof at the Legacy? Why had he begged me to be with him? Why, when he was still in love with Noelle? Why, when all along he was planning on getting back together with her?

Or had he already? Had he gotten back together with her before we had hooked up? The idea sent my pulse into panic-attack mode as I rushed through the dark to Billings. I had to know. After everything that had happened, I deserved some kind of explanation. I knew now that I'd been used, but I was not at all blameless. I needed to know how awful my infraction was when it came to Noelle. Had I simply hooked up with a friend's ex right before they had gotten back together, or had I helped the guy cheat on said friend? There was a big differ ence.

"Reed! Wait up! Hold the door!" someone shouted as I slid my electronic key through the slot next to the inner door to Billings. The outer door was slowly closing as Kiki Rosen man aged to slip through. "Hey. Thanks," she said, breathless. "I lost my key." "You did?" I asked.

"Yeah, over the weekend. Probably somewhere between here and Boston. I gotta go to h.e.l.l Hall tomorrow and get a new one. Such a pain in the a.s.s," she said, tugging the earbuds from her ears. I could hear tinny guitar music and drums blaring through them. She hustled inside and headed straight for the parlor off the Billings lobby, where a few people were hanging out.

"You coming?" she asked over her shoulder as she struggled out of her puffer coat. "Astrid said we were going to talk fund-raiser." "In a minute. I have to do something first," I replied. I sprinted up the stairs before anyone could protest, taking the steps two at a time. My room on the top floor was, mercifully, empty. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I struggled to get my breathing under control as I speed-dialed Dash on my iPhone. I held my breath, unsure of what I was going to say, but certain it was going to be shouted. I had a lot of angry, confused adrenaline to spew. Why not spew it at Dash "You're All I Think About, Reed" McCafferty?

The phone rang once, then clicked over to voice mail. "This is Dash McCafferty. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." So formal, that Dash. I hung up before the beep. I was not in the frame of mind to leave a coherent message. I yanked my laptop off my desk and hit a few keys to bring it to life. My fingers trembled as they hovered over the key board, waiting for my e-mail to boot up. When it did, I typed a simple message. Dash, We need to talk. Call me. -Reed Message sent, I tossed the computer on the foot of my bed and collapsed backward, my legs hooked over the side of my mattress, feet on the floor. Dried tears tightened my cheeks. Josh hated me. Hated me. And Dash had abandoned me. And Noelle was going to kill me when she found out. How had I gotten here? How had everything gotten so screwed up? My head pounded as if my brain were pulsating against my skull and my skull against my skin. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and brought my fingers to my temples. Breathe, Reed. Just breathe. But Josh's disgusted expression kept flitting through my brain and my head pounded harder. My throat was desiccated, and the muscles in my back and neck coiled painfully. I couldn't take it anymore. This wasn't just the drama talking. This was the hangover. The lack of sleep. I had been awake since yesterday morning. Awake and partying and drinking and puking and barely eating a thing. G.o.d, I loathed myself. It was still early. Not even six o'clock. Dinner had yet to be served at the dining hall, but I didn't care. This day had to end. Now. I would take something for the headache and go to bed, and tomor row I would start fresh. Start my life without Josh. Somehow, I would start over. I forced my self up to a seated position, my eye sockets exploding with pain, and reached for my top desk drawer, where I kept a small bottle of Tylenol. As I yanked the drawer open there was a rack et not unlike the sound of a dozen bowling b.a.l.l.s racing down their lanes. Then a slam. The un expected noise scared me half to death, but when I peered into the drawer, my heart all but stopped. Black marbles, dozens of them, had rolled forward from the back of the drawer and slammed into the front. A few latecomers still trickled forth, bouncing around my pens and pen cils to join their friends.

Black marbles. Used in the inner circle for voting people out. For expelling people from Billings. Who had put these in my drawer? Why? Was it just some kind of stupid prank, or was someone sending a message? That they wanted me out? Wanted me gone? I was just starting to hyperventilate when the door to my room opened. I grabbed the Tylenol bottle, then slammed the drawer so hard the framed picture of me and my brother, Scott, fell over on my desktop. Sabine came traipsing in, all excitement, too hyper to realize anything was wrong. "Omigosh! Everyone on campus is talking about how incredible you were," she trilled, dropping her backpack on her bed. She turned to me, her green eyes glowing. Lately Sabine had updated her Caribbean wardrobe to better suit the New England autumn weather, and to day she was wearing a kelly green turtleneck, tartan skirt, and tall brown boots. The preppy look suited her, but she still wore her sh.e.l.l earrings, which dangled almost to her shoulders.

"Your fund-raiser is the hot topic of the day. Do you have any ideas yet?" "No. Not yet," I said shakily.

I popped the top off the Tylenol bottle with my thumb and let it fall to the floor. The two white pills lodged for a second in my dry throat, but I managed to choke them down. "Do you want some water or something?" Sabine asked. "M'fine," I mumbled. I kicked off my sneakers and tipped to the side so I could free my covers from under my b.u.t.t without actually standing up. "You're going to bed?" Sabine asked, her face falling. "But everyone's waiting for you downstairs to talk about the fund-raiser." "Tomorrow," I told her, clicking off my desk light. I lay down fully clothed and pulled the covers up over my head, turning my back on her crestfallen face--on my desk and everything it contained. All I wanted was to go to sleep and put the past two days behind me. Suddenly, I felt her weight at the foot of my bed. I looked up to find Sabine sitting near my feet, looking at me with concern in the dim light coming through the window.

"Is it Josh? Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. "Not now," I replied. "Because I know it's hard, having your heart broken," she said sympathetically. "Who broke your heart?" I mut tered. There was the tiniest light of curiosity deep inside of me. Sabine had never mentioned any exes before. "Me? Oh, no one. I've never had a real boyfriend," she told me, looking down at her hands. "But I helped my sister through a horrible breakup. She said she would never have survived it if it wasn't for me. So maybe I can help you, too." I managed a tight smile for her benefit. "Maybe. Just not tonight, okay? Right now all I want to do is sleep."

"Okay," Sabine said finally. "I'll go tell them." "Thanks." Sabine slipped out and closed the door with a quiet click. Part of me felt guilty for bailing on my friends, but it was just one night. I could think about all of this tomorrow--about the fund-raiser and the black marbles and Dash and Noelle and Josh and Ivy and everything else. Right now, I craved only the sweet release of sleep.

HUNTER BRADEN.

The black marbles were still there in the morning. I had hoped to find when I woke up that they were just one of the many sick, swirling dreams I had all night long, but when I opened the drawer, there they were. Not a figment of my subconscious, but real. Unwilling to dwell on the circ.u.mstances of how they had gotten there, I gathered them all up, shoved them into a lone sock that had lost its partner, and deposited the whole thing in the back of my bottom dresser drawer. After all, I might need them at the end of the year when we voted on new members for the house. If, of course, the house lasted that long. It didn't matter how the black marbles had wound up in my possession--who might have put them in my desk. It didn't. Today was a new day. A new start. I had to focus. There was no time to dwell. No time to freak myself out. I showered, downed some more Tylenol to take the edge off my stubbornly clinging headache, and dressed up for my first day as Single Reed. In-Charge Reed. A Reed with a Purpose. Black skirt, black boots, light blue V-neck sweater. I was going to show the world that my breakup wasn't getting to me--even though ev ery time I thought about it, I felt like collapsing into a heap on the floor. At breakfast, I strolled over to my usual table with Constance, Sabine, and Kiki in tow and waited for them to settle in among the rest of the Billings Girls. Then I placed my tray at the end of the table and forced a bright smile. "Everyone, I have an idea." Silence fell. Kiki took the earbuds out of her ears. I noticed for the first time that her bangs were no longer pink. Instead, her blond hair was streaked with royal blue.

"Do tell," Noelle said, looking up at me as she tore off a chunk of her bagel. "We should hold the fund-raiser in New York," I announced. The Billings Girls murmured in excitement and tired eyes brightened all around our two tables. My heart fluttered with pride. "Most of the Easton alumni live there or close by, so why not bring the party to the money?" I suggested.

"Absolument!" Sabine exclaimed. "I have always wanted to visit New York!" "It's perfect,"

Tiffany chimed in. "And we should definitely do it before Thanksgiving," I added as I took my seat across from Noelle. "Before everyone starts jetting off on their holiday vacations."

"Reed, you are so brill," Portia said with a smile. "But that's less than three weeks," Missy, or Miss Negative, put in from behind me. All I wanted to do was turn around and yank on her braid, but it was way too kindergarten. "We can pull it off," Noelle told her. "My mom and I or ganized my dad's fiftieth in less than a week. We always forget his birthday until the last minute," she added, rolling her eyes. "And he's such a baby if he doesn't get his party."

I smirked. I had never met Noelle's parents, but I imagined her father as a Daddy War bucks type, all bl.u.s.ter and bravado. So somehow, thinking of him getting pouty over a party amused me. "Reed Brennan," a silky male voice said at my side. I looked up into the stunning blue eyes of Hunter Braden, the number one most sought after guy on the Easton campus. Every single girl at my table minus Noelle blushed at the very sight of him. His tousled blond hair, chiseled cheekbones, and rumpled-prep style had been splashed over all of New York's favorite rags at the end of last year when he'd briefly dated a certain hotel magnate's daugh ter and disappeared with her for several days to some remote island I had never heard of. Ev er since, all the gossip on campus had been about whom he'd date next. "Hunter," I replied as coolly as possible, even though I could feel my face overheating. Even my broken heart was not immune to his gorgeousness and charm. He was wearing a wrinkled Ralph Lauren oxford in light blue, with a yellow and navy striped tie casually loosened around his neck--and pulling the look off like n.o.body's business. Two books were hooked in his fingers at his side. No one had ever seen Hunter with anything so prosaic as a book bag.

"I want to take you out," he said with an almost irresistible smile. "This weekend." Some one behind me literally gasped. Noelle's eyes widened across the table. I was so stunned I couldn't even speak. Then Vienna kicked my shin so hard I saw stars. d.a.m.n pointed-toe boots. "Um." Ow. "That's really nice, but... can I let you know later?" I feared the pain Vienna might inflict upon me if I gave him an outright no. Besides, it never hurts to play hard-to-get, right? Hunter appeared confused. Most likely no one had ever done anything but blurt an em phatic yes to one of his offers. "Excuse me?" he said. "Well, it's just..." I just broke up with the love of my life. I wasn't sure I was ready to start dating. Especially not someone like Hunter Braden. Somehow I knew the experience of going out with him would be overwhelming even if I wasn't on the rebound.

"I have so much to do right now with the fund-raiser and everything.... I just have to... check my schedule," I rambled. "Thanks for asking, though." I could feel the poisonous looks of every one of my friends boring into my skin from all angles. How dare I put off Hunter Braden? Hunter, however, simply smiled. "You check that schedule of yours." He took a cou ple steps backward and spread his arms out at his sides as if to give me a good look at what I'd be missing if I said no. "You know where to find me." He turned on his heel and strode off toward the Ketlar tables, the eyes of every non-geriatric female in the room trained on him. Vi enna pulled back and kicked me again, right in the same spot.

"Vienna! Ow!" I said through my teeth, rubbing my leg. "Do I have to start wearing my shin guards to breakfast?" "What the h.e.l.l was that?" London demanded, tossing her fork down with a clatter. "What? Guys, I told you. I am not ready to go out with anyone right now," I said.

"Hunter Braden is not 'anyone,'" Portia hissed, leaning across the table. "Hunter Braden is..."

She turned her palms up and searched the skylights in the high ceiling as if G.o.d might pro vide a word worthy enough to describe him. "He's Hunter Braden." "Exactly," Vienna said. "Be sides, Reed, the best way to get over a breakup is to A, get back on the horse and B, make it a super-hot horse so that C, the last horse gets very, very jealous." "And there is no horse hot ter than Hunter," Tiffany put in from a few seats down. Wow. Even levelheaded Tiff was be hind this. Did no one understand what it was like to lose the love of your life?

"I appreciate the concern, you guys, as disturbing as the horse metaphor is," I said, spear ing a strawberry with my fork. "But I'd rather focus on saving Billings. You do realize that if we don't figure out how to raise five million dollars in the next month, life as we know it is history. We're talking no more Billings, no more Friday night movies and mojitos, no more Fat Phoebe parties, no more Billings alumni-funded outings... nothing. We'll be living in, like, Pemberly or something."

My friends all exchanged serious glances and I knew that I had, at least for the moment, gotten their attention. For the rest of the period, we discussed ideas for the fund-raiser and I forced myself not to look over at the Ketlar table. Not to look at Josh or at Hunter Braden. I can't say I wasn't intrigued by Hunter's proposal. He was practically a celebrity. But he wasn't Josh. I didn't want anyone who wasn't Josh. I was still clinging to the hope that Josh might wake up one morning and forgive me. Might realize that I was beyond drunk that night and that technically I couldn't be held responsible for my actions. Just like I hadn't held him respon sible for his actions with Cheyenne, because he had been drugged. Yes, I had fantasized about being with Dash before it had happened, but Josh didn't know that. Therefore, he could not hold it against me. He could, however, hold a date with Hunter Braden against me. As we moved on to the chapel for morning services, I grabbed Rose and pulled her aside just out side the cafeteria doors. We hung back until all our housemates had strolled on, caught up in their own conversations.

"Everything okay, Reed?" she asked, ducking her head slightly so that her red curls fell for ward over her cheeks. Rose was one of the more discreet girls in Billings and I knew she was intimately aware of how everything worked. At the moment she was the only person I felt com fortable asking what I had to ask. What I had been wanting to ask all through breakfast. "Just a random question," I said under my breath. "You know all that stuff we used for the inner-cir cle ritual--the lantern and the... the marbles and everything?" "Yeah?" Rose looked surprised.

"Where do we keep all that stuff?" I asked. "Is it in the bas.e.m.e.nt somewhere, or..."

Rose blinked. "Actually, I think Cheyenne had all that stuff in her room. c.r.a.p, I never even thought of that. It must have gotten boxed up and sent home with her parents." Not all of it. I swallowed against my suddenly dry throat. Cheyenne had the black marbles? Cheyenne?

Then how the h.e.l.l had they gotten into my desk drawer over the weekend? Cheyenne's par ents had carted away her things weeks ago. Unless someone had lifted them before then. Had someone been planning to do this all along? And if so, who? "I guess we'll have to re place all of that before the end of the year," Rose mused with a shrug, not knowing that the in fo she had imparted was causing me to have major heart palpitations. "Great. Where are we supposed to find a lantern like that?" "Not a clue," I replied. Although maybe it would just ap pear in my room somewhere.