Jet Set (13 page)

O
liver walked me all the way back to my dorm, and I floated up the stairs with a giant grin on my face. Suddenly a thought seized me: maybe Oliver liked me. It sounded crazy in theory, but the fact was we always had amazing conversations and it seemed like we both, not just me, sought out each other's company. I mean, I know I had Antony and Oliver had Angelina, but maybe we were meant for each other?

The thought got me through dinner (which I still ate despite the pig-out with Oliver) and homework that night. It was the first
time in days that I didn't stress about Sofia. I had some weird optimism seizing my body. In my fuzzy daydreams, Oliver and I were laughing and giggling, arm in arm, on the streets of London and having “family dinners” with the queen. It could be possible—why not? The question was, what to do about Antony? I'd been spending less and less time with him lately since I'd been holing myself up in my room, avoiding Sofia, and to be honest, I hadn't missed him that much. Hmm.

The next morning started off sensationally. I was thrilled to have aced a pop quiz in my terrorism class, and was even more excited that Angelina Jolie was the guest speaker in our human rights class. She spoke so eloquently of the crimes against humanity in third-world countries that even the boys were in tears. Though maybe they were crying because she was taken by Brad Pitt. Everything was going my way until I got to tennis practice and found Victoria standing in front of my locker. One look at her and it was clear she was irate.

“Did you spread bad rumors about me being anorexic and passing out after parties?” she demanded, steam practically blowing out her ears.

“No,” I answered, shaking my head, though I was sure Sofia was behind this.

“Because I heard from a very reliable source that it was
you
.”

“Victoria, I swear, I didn't. I have a feeling I know who said it, but I don't think it's right to say anything and get into a huge he-said-she-said.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Victoria slapped me across the face.
Hard
. And just as she did, the school physical therapist, Mademoiselle Behar, rounded the corner and saw her do it.

“Victoria!” screamed Mademoiselle Behar.

Victoria seemed surprised to see Mademoiselle Behar, but even more surprised by what she had done. Tears shot to my eyes and I could feel my face stinging. Victoria took a step back.

“How could you do that?” asked Mademoiselle Behar, still aghast.

“I, um…”

For once, Victoria looked scared. It was outlined clearly in every single Van Pelt rule book that violence would not be tolerated and would result in immediate dismissal. It supposedly went back to the day when Idi Amin's son and one of the Fiat heirs got into a giant fistfight that resulted in major lawsuits. Drinking, smoking, and all that other stuff would be judged case by case, but one fight and you were out the door. Zero tolerance.

“It's okay, Mademoiselle Behar, we were just practicing a skit for our terrorism class. Victoria really got into character, but we're all good,” I said, touching my cheek. I tried to smile, but my face was still stinging.

Mademoiselle Behar's eyes narrowed in disbelief. Victoria, still stunned, just stood there, speechless.

“Okay,” said Mademoiselle Behar finally. “But I don't think it's a good idea to be so rough.”

“We won't be next time!” I said fake cheerily.

I waited while Mademoiselle Behar walked away, and I heard the door to the locker room close. Victoria turned and looked at me.

“I don't know why I did that….” she said. “I guess…I don't know. Why did you defend me? You could have had me out on my rump.”

“Look,” I said, “it's insane that you think you can treat me the same way Naomi Campbell treats her maids, but I don't see any reason to get the teachers or administration involved in this.” I didn't want to say “Because I wired your room and I helped get your bracelet into a gossip magazine.” Better not to open up that can of worms. “I think that we should stop being enemies. We're teammates. We don't have to be friends, but we should at least be cordial. No slapping.” I said the last part as an attempt to lighten the mood.

Then we both got quiet for a minute and I could tell she was debating how to move on.

“Wow, you have a giant handprint on your face. I'm terribly sorry,” she finally said.

“It's okay.”

Suddenly Victoria smiled. “You know, you're kind of all right.”

“Thanks,” I said before I walked out to the courts.

P
ractice went well. It was weird, a whole different vibe, and I could tell everyone picked up on it. Victoria didn't make any of her usual bitchy remarks, and it was like a domino effect because Maxwell didn't make any of his usual rude and inappropriate comments. Angelina and Oliver seemed surprised that the frost was melting, and I could tell that everyone was genuinely relieved. We were all in much better moods. And afterward, Victoria and I walked down the hill, and we even started
bonding
. We made fun of the coach—and since she had a German accent
she could do a dead-on impersonation. It was kind of fun.

But the next day, when I was getting ready for afternoon practice (since there was a game coming up, Coach had upped the practices to two a day,) there was a knock on my door and Victoria, Antigone, and Iman were on the threshold.

“What's up, guys?” I asked nervously. I could tell they were not happy.

“Can we have a word with you, please?” asked Iman, barging in.

“Sure.”

I stared at each girl. Only Victoria looked a little ill at ease.

“What's up?” I asked again, putting my hand on my desk chair as if to brace myself.

“Sofia told us that the reason you guys are not bosom buddies anymore is because you were stealing from her and everyone,” said Antigone, her slight Greek accent drawing out the word
bosom
to be like
booooosom
.

“That's a lie,” I said, my face getting red.

“Is it?” asked Iman, folding her arms.

“I have never stolen. Ever. Feel free to search my room,” I said, waving my arm around.

“We will,” said Iman.

Suddenly I realized something and I felt like I would faint. I knew it. Of course they would find stuff, but it would be stuff that Sofia had
planted
there. In fact, now that I thought about it, I remembered that last night when I had gotten back I noticed my sweatshirt was on the chair, when I knew I had thrown it on the
floor in my haste to get to the shower.

“Guys, I swear, anything you find in here Sofia put there herself. I would never steal,” I said.

“We just have to make sure,” said Victoria softly.

“Of course,” I said gallantly. I was trying to put on my honest face. It sucks when you are telling the truth and you want everyone to know it, and then it looks like you are trying too hard and not telling the truth. Like when I go through U.S. Customs and they ask me if I have anything illegal or am bringing in any weapons and I am totally not, but I start thinking, Maybe I am. Maybe someone slipped drugs into my suitcase. Then I get all panicky and sweaty.

Iman immediately set about opening every single drawer in my desk and my bureau. Victoria stood behind her, and I could tell she was conflicted about whether or not she should partake. Antigone started to look under my bed.

“It's okay, guys, I have nothing to hide,” I said, whipping open my closet doors so that they could see everything I owned.

“Where're the rest of your clothes?” Victoria asked, horrified.

“That's all I have.”

“No way!” said Iman, putting her hand up to her mouth to suppress a laugh. “Pathetic!”

Iman got back to work, opening drawer after drawer.

“Come on, Iman, enough,” said Victoria finally.

“Not so fast,” said Iman. She turned around and held up a pair of ruby earrings. “You bloody thief! My father gave these to me!”

“Iman—,” I began.

“I was looking for them everywhere! I couldn't find them yesterday!” said Iman, literally kissing her earrings.

“How could you?” asked Victoria, truly disappointed.

“Iman, I swear to you that before this minute I never laid eyes on them. It's clear that Sofia put them there.”

“As if,” said Antigone.

A calm suddenly seized me. “Iman, when did you last have those earrings? Can we go through the timeline?”

“I wore them yesterday morning, and then I took them off when I went to fencing practice. When I got back in the afternoon they were gone!” she said. “You are so busted.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, buying time. “Yesterday afternoon? Okay, I have an alibi! I was at the pub in Lamoneaux.”

“Lamoneaux? Ew! It's all townies there,” said Victoria in disgust.

“Do you really want us to believe you were there?” asked Iman.

“I was, I swear!”

“I don't know,” said Antigone, staring at Iman doubtfully. But who in their world would admit they had been in Lamoneaux? I
had
to be telling the truth in their eyes.

“She'll probably pay off some drunk local to confirm her story,” said Iman. “People, please! It's a lie! She's a liar!”

“Did anyone else see you there?” asked Victoria finally.

“Yes.”

“Who?” said the Diamonds in unison.

I didn't want to tell them. If I did, everyone would know our special place, our special secret. I would ruin Lamoneaux for Oliver and myself. It might become
trendy
because he went there. Popular. Could I?

“I really don't want to say.…”

“You have to,” said Antigone sternly.

I felt like I was selling my soul to the devil.

“Who was with you?” asked Victoria. I felt like her voice was echoing in my head.

“Yes, tell us,” said Iman.

I had no choice. “Oliver,” I said as softly as I could. As soon as I said it, I felt as if I had given up the biggest secret of my life. But I had no choice.
Forgive me, Oliver!

T
he trio blew out of my room, on an Oliver manhunt for alibi verification, presumably. I knew he would be in his dorm, getting ready for tennis practice, where I was due shortly. Antigone and Iman seemed enraged, but I knew I'd connected with Victoria and established at least a modicum of trust.

A half hour later, when I arrived at tennis practice, Oliver strolled over with a huge grin on his face. “Didn't take you for the cat burglar type, Luce,” he teased. “Don't worry, I told them you were too busy clogging your arteries to nab Iman's earrings.”

I was relieved he clearly knew the whole escapade was a total fabrication. “Ugh, can you believe this? It's a long story, but—”

“It's not that long,” he said. “It's one word actually:
Sofia
.”

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I surmised. The first few weeks of school I noticed you with her a lot. There's something about her I can't quite put my finger on, but it's dishonest.” He had her number, and he didn't even know about the magazine connection or my apprenticeship in tabloid trash. “You, on the other hand, just seem…good to me, Lucy. I don't know, I didn't see you two together.”

He drifted off in thought. I was about to ask him what was going through his head when Coach Sachs interrupted.

“Hey! Oliver, court two, volleys. And you, Lucy, I need to see nonstop serves.”

Just as I walked over to my side of the court, Victoria rushed in from the ladies' locker room.

“You're late. Get to work!” shouted Coach sternly.

“I was here. I just had to use the bathroom—,” she began, but Coach stopped her and pointed to a spot across the net.

Victoria nodded and came up next to me where I was practicing. She gave me a sideways look, as if she were still assessing everything that went down.

“Oliver confirmed,” she said finally, throwing her ball in the air before smashing it across the court.

“I know,” I said.

“Quit your gabbing!” yelled Coach from across the net. “It's
not teatime, it's practice.”

We obeyed and hit our serves. I watched Angelina across the way and wondered if she had heard everything that was going on and if so, what she thought. She seemed like the type who wouldn't really care. Although maybe she did; I didn't know. She was definitely a tough nut to crack.

After Coach called an end to practice, Victoria and Angelina wandered down to the dorms, and I decided to stay and hit, outlasting the boys and even the daylight. As the sun's rays turned to pink and orange, goose bumps rose on my skin and I knew it was time to head back.

When I walked off the court, Antony was there waiting for me. Seeing his big blue eyes made me feel very guilty about my feelings for Oliver.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked, wounded.

“No, not at all,” I said, trying to seem casual. “I just have been so crazed with stuff—”

“Well, we're still going to Winter Ball together, right?”

“Yes, of course….” I felt awful. I repeated in my head the mantra:
Go for the guy who likes you, go for the guy who likes you….

“I just feel like you've been MIA lately,” Antony said.

“No no no no,” I protested. “I just have been, you know, stressed.”

“Okay, then. Well, I have to go work, but why don't we have dinner tomorrow?”

“Sure, sounds great.”

“You know, Lucy,” he said, taking my hands, “I can't stop thinking about you.” Sigh. He was so romantic I couldn't help getting caught up.

“Me too,” I said. “I've missed you.”

As he walked away, my cheese-dunking with Oliver seemed like a faraway daydream—Oliver was a friend, yes, but I knew he could never be mine, so I had to stop fantasizing and live in reality. And Antony was it.