Long May She Reign (26 page)

Yeah, right. “And maybe you don't,” Meg said.
Definitely
, she didn't. “I just want to be left alone. Okay?”

Susan raised her hands. “Okay. Fine. My mistake.”

For a second, Meg felt guilty, but then she was just angry and exhausted, so she closed her door and went back over to lie down. And slap a pillow over the telephones. It would probably be best if she didn't speak to anyone else right now—or go near her email, either.

She was half-asleep when there was another knock on the door. She shook herself awake, and limped over to answer it.

Susan tossed her something wrapped in napkins, which Meg automatically caught left-handed. “Good hands,” Susan said, and left without another word.

Meg didn't move for a minute, then opened the napkins to find a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. And Christ, she was pretty hungry.

Pretty ashamed of herself, too.

She put the sandwich on her desk, then went downstairs to knock on Susan's already-ajar door. She and Dirk had rooms right next to each other, which opened onto a large, generally occupied common room—which, at this very moment, had three of the guys from the entry gathered around the television, playing some loud video game with lots of flashing lights.

“Um, thanks,” she said.

Susan, who was stuffing books into an old red knapsack, shrugged. “No problem. Make sure you eat it.”

Meg shifted her position, forgetting that her leg was going to buckle. It promptly did, and she changed back to her right leg. “I, uh—” An apology was due here. “Funny thing, my ears were kind of burning while you were at dinner.”

Susan grinned. “I bet they were.”

Right. “Anyway, I'm sorry,” Meg said. Which, on the whole, she was.

Susan put the knapsack down. “Meg, I know you're having a hard time, but I can't stand around and let you starve yourself, you know?”

Meg checked to make sure the guys were completely occupied by their video game, because she sure as hell didn't want anyone overhearing
that
.

“Go ahead and close the door,” Susan said.

What, like she wanted to have some long stressful talk about Her Problems, or some damn thing? No way. “I'm just tired from physical therapy, that's all,” Meg said. “It isn't any more complicated than that.”

Susan shook her head. “Bullshit.”

Even if all four of her limbs worked properly, it might not be a good idea to smack someone who studied karate.

Tempting as it might be.

Susan frowned, and then walked over to close the door herself.

Swell. Was she being imprisoned now? Time to pull out the fucking panic button, maybe.

“I'm not going to push you, Meg,” Susan said. “Because—well, I don't like it when people do it to me. But if there's anything you feel like talking about, I want you to know that you always can. Anything at all. Any
time
at all.”

What, she was suddenly going to spill her guts to someone she scarcely knew? Yeah, right. “Thanks, but I'm fine,” Meg said. “I'm a little tired, and maybe a little homesick. Nothing too interesting. Just wanted to thank you for the sandwich, that's all.”

Susan looked frustrated, but she nodded.

“Well,” Meg reached back to open the door, “I have a lot of reading to do tonight, so I'd better get moving.” Except, maybe she should smooth the waters, a little. “And even though it's entirely misplaced, I really do appreciate your concern.”

A pleasantry which seemed to make Susan furious, although in a very repressed way, her lips tightening so much that they almost disappeared.

“What?” Meg asked.

Susan shook her head, turning away to sort through a few papers on her desk.

“You don't have to edit around me,” Meg said. “What was it you
felt
like saying?”

Susan's eyes narrowed. “You really want to know?”

On second thought, maybe not—but, Meg nodded.

“I was thinking that she taught you well,” Susan said, “didn't she.”

Nice. Besides, it couldn't be taught; a person was god-damn
born
with it.

Although one thing her mother had, unintentionally, passed along to her was the ability to give someone an “if I didn't think it would bore me beyond description, I would arrange to have you blown off the face of the earth” look. She had almost never seen that look—and had used it herself even more rarely—but that didn't mean that she didn't know how. Maybe she couldn't do karate, or even stand on her own two feet, but that didn't mean that she was
entirely
without resources. “You have a problem with the President?” Meg asked.

Even though she had just been the recipient of a fleeting, but distinctly wintry and contemptuous stare, Susan didn't seem to be at all phased. “No,” she said evenly. “Not with the President.”

Okay.
That
was blunt. And it would be nice if they genuinely liked each other, but it certainly wasn't
required
. “Well.” Meg opened the door. “I'm sorry if I offended you. It wasn't my intent.”

Susan sighed. “Meg—”

“Excuse me,” Meg said, and headed for the stairwell and back up to the third floor.

*   *   *

SHE HAD ONLY
choked down half of her sandwich, when her father called, and after that, Trudy and Beth did, too. She kept the conversations on the usual optimistic, if fallacious, “everything's just peachy” level. Not that any of them bought it, probably.

There wasn't much to do, so she tried to study, but couldn't concentrate. She was pretty thirsty from the peanut butter, and went out to the bathroom to get some water.

Mary Elizabeth was already in there, washing her face. She saw Meg, nodded briefly, and kept scrubbing away.

Meg drank a full mug of water, and refilled it. “Hi.”

Mary Elizabeth nodded, smoothing on some kind of expensive face cream.

Meg finished off the second mug. “Pretty quiet around here tonight.”

Mary Elizabeth nodded.

Scintillating. She filled the mug a third time, so she would be able to make some instant coffee in her microwave.

“A lot of reporters still around,” Mary Elizabeth said, washing and buffing away.

Okay, she'd had
just
about enough of that. Of everything. Especially since the press had mostly gone away, except for the odd stringer or feature writer here and there, and the ever-insatiable paparazzi, who never failed to pop up at unexpected moments in their endless attempts to capture her in potentially scandalous or newsworthy situations. “It's a death-watch,” Meg said. “They want to make sure they're on the scene, in case I get killed.” She paused—undeniably, for effect.

Mary Elizabeth stared at her.

“Doesn't really make you want to walk around near me,
does it
,” Meg said.

Mary Elizabeth wiped her face with a towel, not noticing that she hadn't washed off all of the cleansing cream yet. “I didn't know that's what they were for,” she said quietly.

“That's what they're for,” Meg said. “Hope you aren't inconvenienced by them.”

As she went back out to the hall, she ran into Juliana, who was bopping down the hall, not a book in hand.

“Hi, Bucko,” she said, chipper as can be. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Trying to piss off the whole entry,” Meg said. “I already got Susan and Mary Elizabeth, and I figured I'd go after you and Tammy next.”

Juliana looked in the direction of Tammy's partially open door, where—judging from the sounds of animated, one-sided conversation, she was on the phone. Or else, she was deeply, irrevocably, psychologically disturbed. Then she looked back at Meg. “Takes a lot to piss
me
off.”

Meg shrugged. “I could probably do it.”
Easily
.

Juliana laughed. “Hey, go for it.” Then she looked more serious. “How'd you manage to bug Susan? She's like, Miss Mellow.”

Miss hot-blooded Irish temper Mellow. “I was rude and arrogant,” Meg said. “Worked like a charm.”

Juliana nodded. “Okay. I can see how that might.” She started to open her door, then paused. “I can't picture Susan mad.”

“She was polite about it,” Meg said.

“Oh.” Juliana nodded. “Well, that's all right, then.”

There was no question but that Juliana operated on a different frequency.

However, if Beth's planet turned out to be full, she might not mind getting a visa to visit Juliana's for a while.

Both planets seemed to be a hell of a lot nicer than the one she lived on.

16

BEFORE SHE EVEN
had time to turn on her microwave—some member of the advance team had left a generous supply of coffee, tea, cocoa and instant soups in a small wicker basket—Juliana came in. Meg was going to snap, “Can't you
knock
?” in an attempt to make her angry, but—well, it was already too late. She must have looked exasperated, though, because Juliana gave her a big shrug.

“In my life, an open door's an invitation,” she said.

Clearly.

Juliana came bouncing the rest of the way into the room and sat down on the bed, making herself right at home by grabbing a pillow to put behind her head and leaning against the wall.

“Comfortable?” Meg asked.

Juliana nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” She picked up the open philosophy book—Kant—and started flipping pages.

“Help yourself to the quilt, if you get chilly,” Meg said.

Juliana laughed, and dropped the book. “You're a bitch on wheels, you know that?”

Jesus, even
Beth
didn't go that far.

“Don't get me wrong,” Juliana said. “It can be a good quality. I mean, you're not at all like I expected you to be.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Meg said, and stuck her mug in the microwave.

“I mean, acerbic?” Juliana shook her head. “Who would've figured? I thought you were going to be all noble, and—boring. Like living with a princess or something.”

“Feel free to
think
of me as a princess,” Meg said. “If it helps you.”

Juliana laughed again. “Weird sense of humor, too. I thought you'd be no fun. Like, way too dignified and stuff. But, this is much better.”

Speaking of weird, Juliana took first prize in
that
contest. “Well, gosh,” Meg said, and then thought of something. “Did you call me ‘Bucko,' before?”

“Yeah,” Juliana said. “I thought you needed a nickname.”

And she chose Bucko? Great.

“I'll have to think it over,” Juliana said. “Maybe I can do better.”

Hard not to.

“Are you going to offer me some of whatever you're having?” Juliana asked. “A specialty coffee, maybe?”

Apparently so. Meg handed her the little wicker basket.

Juliana, indeed, selected a tin of specialty coffee. “I'll get my mug.”

“Do that,” Meg said. “Hurry.”

Juliana grinned. “I have Oreos, I'll bring them, too.” She left, returning almost immediately with the cookies and a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream. “Now, we can sit and talk.”

Didn't sound like she had much choice in the matter. Her cup was a Red Sox mug Neal had given her for her birthday once; Juliana's was blue, with “Wild Thing” splashed across it in red.

“Mark seems very nice,” Meg said, as the water heated.

Juliana nodded. “I think being pre-med is a waste of time, but I like him a lot. Seen anyone you like yet?”

“Well—” No. Even though, tediously, guys sidled—or swaggered—up to her constantly, in the dining hall and library and so forth, to try their luck. Meg frowned. “I haven't really looked.” In
months
.

“Simon'll probably ask you out, but you can say no,” Juliana said.

It was always good to have permission. Meg took the mugs out of the microwave one at a time, using her right elbow to close it again.

Juliana stopped pouring liqueur into her coffee long enough to reconsider that. “Unless, of course, you want to go. Then, you should say yes.”

“Well,” Meg took an Oreo, “that's good advice. Thank you.”

Without asking, Juliana leaned over and poured a shot of Irish Cream into Meg's mug, too. “The thing about Simon is, he'll always be nice. Not be a jerk to you.”

“I get sick of that,” Meg said, forgetting that she should just speak in her usual vague, noncontroversial generalities. “I don't like it when they let me push them around.”

Juliana frowned. “You and Simon should probably just be friends, then.”

Damn, and the invitations had already gone out to be engraved.

“Are the upperclassmen all over you?” Juliana asked. “I bet they are.”

“Only the sycophants,” Meg said, without thinking.

“Whoa.” Juliana stopped crunching her cookie. “Does that mean me, too?”

Hmmm. “No,” Meg said. “You probably would have been friendly to me regardless.”

“Not if you were boring. Then—no way in hell.” Juliana picked up another Oreo, looked at it, put it back, then picked it up again. “Although I was trying to decide if you were a royal bitch, or just shy.”

“I'm shy,” Meg said.

Juliana shook her head. “Nope, you're a big faker. People might
think
you're shy, but it'd be more you not being friendly.”

“Would you be friendly, if you were me?” Meg asked stiffly.

Juliana shrugged, twisting her Oreo apart. “I don't know.”

“I mean, Jesus Christ,” Meg said. “I can barely function, and you want me to be charming? Jesus.” She slugged down some of the liqueur-enhanced coffee. “I just—look, this isn't something I talk about, okay?”