Shadow Hills (7 page)

“Arcade Fire works for me.” I passed it back to Adriana.

She shot Graham a questioning look, and he held his hands up in surrender.

“Whatever you two want is fine. I’m just here as eye candy.” He grinned.

A moment later the first strains of “Neighborhood #1” came on, and Adriana closed her door. I figured this was probably not allowed with a guy in the room, but she didn’t seem to be much of a rules person.

Adriana walked over to the trunk and dropped into a squat. The trunk was on two-inch-high legs, and after a moment of feeling around under it, Adriana unrolled a black electrical cord
from the base and plugged it into the outlet on the wall.

Turning back to us, she gave a triumphant smile, the gold flecks in her irises catching the subtle highlights in her hair.

“What is that thing?” Graham asked.

“Come over here and I’ll show you.” Adriana lifted the lid of the trunk. Graham and I peered inside to find an unbelievable array of … sweaters. Incredibly expensive, perfectly pressed, in every color of the rainbow. They were folded and placed in a black velvet-lined organizer.

Wow, talk about anticlimactic. And why the hell did the trunk weigh so much? What were these sweaters made out of, lead?
Adriana
was
a senator’s daughter, but I seriously doubted her clothing was bulletproof.

“Let me guess.” Graham tapped his index finger against his chin, in an exaggerated thinker’s pose. “It’s a dehumidifier for your cashmere?”

Adriana reached into the trunk and pulled out the organizer, revealing at least twenty bottles—all filled with different liquors.

I didn’t need a conduct book to know that this was
definitely
against the rules.

“It’s a bottle cooler.” Adriana was obviously pleased by our astonishment. “Bob Penwick Pub Gear did our family bar for next to nothing. My dad was Bob’s favorite quarterback for the Washington Redskins.”

Ah, an athlete and a senator—Adriana’s dad was the über-American
.

“And as a going-away present Dad commissioned a custom
cooler for me. It’s identical to a professional one. Except, you know … miniature.”

I looked back down at the behemoth trunk.
This was not what I called miniature
.

“How did you talk your dad into that?” My parents let me have a glass of wine now and then, but there was no way they’d ever do this.

“My dad was raised in Texas—it’s more a colossal brewery than a state. He couldn’t care less about underage drinking.” Adriana pulled three glasses out of a box labeled
FRAGILE
. “How about a cocktail? I don’t have ice, though.”

“I’ll grab some from the common-room freezer,” I offered.

I pulled the door closed as quietly as I could. All I needed was for Ms. Moore to catch me drinking before school had even started.
That would be a fun phone call to my parents
.

When I returned to Adriana’s room, she and Graham were sitting on the floor. I sat down across from them, reclining against the closed door.

“Thanks.” Adriana dropped a few ice cubes in each glass. “What do you want?”

“Grey Goose and Sprite?” I shrugged.

She poured a hefty shot followed by a splash of Sprite then handed the cup to me. After Adriana filled her own glass she lifted it up in the air.

“A toast. To doing anything we want and never getting caught.”

“That I can toast to,” Graham agreed.

“It’s got my vote.” I clinked my glass against theirs.

“So are you both new, too?” Adriana asked.

“Been here since I was a freshman,” Graham answered.

“I arrived yesterday from L.A.”

“Really?” Adriana’s eyes lit up. “I love, love,
love
L.A. The sun, the beaches, the boutiques—I could just
die.”

I laughed and took another sip of my drink. Adriana had put in a bit more alcohol than I was used to, but I did enjoy the way the vodka warmed my stomach.

“Yeah. I’m definitely going to miss L.A., but this place seems cool.”

“Devenish has got to be better than my old school in Virginia. It was ridiculously strict.” Adriana refilled my glass before I was even finished.

“You seem like you’ll be able to keep the administration in check.” Graham smiled. “I think Ms. Moore, for one, is going to stay out of your way.”

“I have that effect on some people.” Adriana reached into her purse and extracted a pack of cigarettes.

“Smoke?” She pulled three out.

I shook my head no. When I was twelve, I’d smoked five of my sister’s Camels to impress her and then lost any cred I’d earned by throwing up my dinner. The taste of cigarettes and regurgitated pâté had really stuck with me.

“Graham?”

“No, thanks. Gotta keep up my surfer’s lungs.”

“Wow. You two are definitely from California.” Adriana opened the window and took a seat on the ledge.

I smiled at her wry, deadpan tone. I was growing to like this girl. Sure, she was a prima donna, but she also seemed like fun.

“So we still have another six hours before curfew. Any plans?” A lavender cord of smoke escaped from between Adriana’s lips.

“I need to go meet my new roomie. Make sure he’s not some uptight chess club president.” Graham glanced at his cell. “He’s probably gonna get here soon, so I think I’ll call it quits after this drink.”

“What about you?” Adriana nodded in my direction.

“My stuff doesn’t get here until Monday, so I’m free from any unpacking duties. Of course, I also don’t have any fresh clothes.” I glanced down at my tank top, which had magically acquired a streak of mud and some mustardlike yellow stain.

“So borrow something of mine.” Adriana absentmindedly flicked her thumb against the Marlboro’s filter, raining ash onto the ledge. “Then we can go into town and go shopping.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I smiled. “Though I don’t suspect Shadow Hills has much in the way of great little boutiques.”

“I’m sure we can find something.” She turned to Graham. “How far is it into town?”

“I’m not sure exactly—five miles?”

“I suppose I’ll have to call the limo company and get them to send my driver back.” Adriana stubbed out her cigarette and sat back down next to us, leaving the window open to air out the room. “He couldn’t have possibly made it all the way back to Boston yet.”

“You could use my Buick,” Graham offered. “I’m not sure if—”

Adriana cut him off with a laugh, laying her hand on his arm. “Sweetie. I don’t do Buicks. But thanks for the offer; you’re very kind.” She swigged the rest of her drink as Graham and I came to the dregs of ours.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you two tomorrow, then.” Graham stood. “You’re a wonderful host, Adriana.” He gave us a wink and left.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower before we go into town,” I said.

“That’s fine.” Adriana waved me away. “It’ll probably take them that long to get the car back here.”

I grabbed my towel and toiletries bag out of my room, then headed for the bathroom. There were more girls wandering the halls now, some nervous and obviously new, others in pairs gossiping about their summers.

As I waited for the water in the shower to heat up, I checked on the reddish mark on my hip again. There was now another half moon line facing to the left. Except for the small gaps between them, the three crescents formed a perfect circle. A disturbing sensation crawled up my back like hundreds of tiny spider legs. What was causing these marks? They didn’t hurt, so it was unlikely that they were from an insect bite. I’d certainly never had anything like this crop up on my body in L.A.—maybe it had something to do with my being in Shadow Hills.

After I got out of the shower, I checked my jeans before putting them back on, but I couldn’t find anything that could be irritating the skin on my hip.

When I walked back into Adriana’s room, she was going
through her clothes—pulling stuff out of her closet, shaking her head, and shoving them back in. “What color are your eyes?” she inquired over her shoulder.

“Green.” I sat down on her bed. I was curious to see her clothing collection for myself, but I didn’t want to seem nosy.

“Blond hair, green eyes.” Adriana tapped a French-manicured fingernail against her dainty mouth. “Now what size are you?” She seemed to be asking herself more than me. “You’re petite—probably about five five …”

“Five six,” I cut in. That inch pulled me out of the short category.

Adriana continued talking to herself as if she hadn’t heard me. I was beginning to feel very much like an oversize Barbie doll. “And you’re slender, but not skeletal. A four, maybe?” She turned to me.

“Are you wanting an actual answer?” I asked, in mock-surprise.

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “You
are
going to be the one wearing it.”

“I was starting to wonder,” I deadpanned. “I’m anywhere from a two to a six, depending.”

“Try this.” Adriana held up the chosen item—a soft jersey dress in a vivid golden color.

“Are you sure that won’t make my hair look brassy?” I really didn’t do yellow.

“Of course not.” Adriana waved this worry away. “I know what I’m doing.”

The dress had kimono sleeves and was body hugging from the waist down to my knees.

“You don’t look quite as good in it as I do. But you’re still hot.” Adriana spun me around to look in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of her door.

She was right about the mustard shade. It subtly brought out the pale golden tones in my ashy-blonde hair. However, my fair complexion needed some blush.

“So.” Adriana looked down at my old Vans lying on her floor. “What are we going to do about shoes? Because those look tiny.”

“Not tiny,” I defended my undersize feet. “I wear a seven.”

“Yeah, well, I wear a nine, and you are not wearing my dress with
those shoes.”
She looked at them distastefully.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea!” I ignored her disparaging inflection. “Moccasins.”

“I think you’re a little late on that idea, honey. The Indians thought of moccasins a few hundred years ago.”

“No. I mean I have some. And did you just say
Indians?”
I raised an eyebrow.

“We can’t all be from California,” Adriana said by way of an answer. “I mean, let’s consider the name of the Washington football team my dad played on.”

“Point taken.” I nodded and headed next door to my room.

I grabbed the black ankle-boot moccasins out of my backpack and slipped them on. They were simple, with one row of fringe running vertically down the side where they tied closed.

“Wow.” Adriana looked at me in surprise when I came back. “That’s actually really cute. Obviously not something someone like me would wear.” She snorted at this notion. “But perfect for an L.A. native. Funky.”

A muffled ring came from Adriana’s purse, and she pulled out her iPhone. “Hello?” A pause. “We’ll be out in a bit.”

We walked outside to the waiting limo. It wasn’t one of those embarrassingly long things, but inside it was plush, and the ride was smooth and quiet.

“This is it,” I told the driver when we reached town. He pulled into a parking space and opened the back door for us.

“They might have clothes.” I pointed at a store called Sarah’s Boutique.

“We’ll try there first, then.” As we stepped inside, Adriana glanced around the dark, dingy shop with disdain. “What is all this pilgrim crap?” she muttered, luckily not loud enough for the ancient woman behind the counter to hear.

The gift shop was filled with folksy old-fashioned items. Hanging on the walls were blue and white tiles depicting ships at sea and framed squares of needlepoint with quaint sayings and intricately embroidered flowers. At the back of the narrow shop stood an antique dresser, the drawers pulled out to showcase the clothing inside.

Adriana was already picking through it, holding stuff up in disgust and putting it back. Everything was so conservative that it bordered on Amish: ankle-length, high-necked dresses; white blouses with peter pan collars; and polyester floral print jumpers. As rude as Adriana was being, I had to admit I almost gagged at the sight of the jumpers. Thankfully, the old lady was oblivious to our derision and offered us a friendly wave as we stepped back outside.

“Hulghhh.”
Adriana shuddered. “I’ve seen some scary stuff in my lifetime, including my fifty-year-old uncle in stretchy bike
shorts, but that”—she pointed at the offending store—“was truly horrific.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Adriana’s death glare prompted me to explain my logic. “You know, get the worst over with. Nothing can be as bad as that, et cetera.”

“God, I
hope
nothing else is as bad as that, or I might have a nervous breakdown.”

“Let’s try to avoid that, shall we?” As I linked my arm through Adriana’s, I noticed my silver Tiffany’s ID bracelet was missing.

Alarm rose up in me like a wave. The bracelet had originally been Athena’s, and I had always thought it was beautiful. She wore it every day for a year, but then a few weeks before her accident, she’d told me that she was tired of it and I could have it if I wanted. The bracelet was engraved with the infinity symbol, and I’d worn it almost every day since. It reminded me of Athena—that a part of her was always with me.

“My bracelet must have fallen off inside. I need to find it.”

“Go right ahead; I’ll be out here trying to recover from the polyester attack.”

As I searched through the store, I heard a strange, erratic thumping behind me. I turned. The haggard old lady was making her way over to me.

Her pace was halting, and the sound of her cane striking the floor was oddly menacing. I stood frozen to the spot, unable to look away. One of the woman’s legs was shriveled and dragging behind her. Trying not to stare at it, I focused on the woman’s skeletal face. When my eyes met hers, her mouth fell open, and she covered it with a weathered hand.

“Rebekah!” she breathed in awe.

“What?”

“You’re Rebekah Sampson,” she told me.

“No.” I turned back to the dresser and started going through the next drawer more quickly. The name seemed familiar somehow and the look in the woman’s eyes was inexplicably frightening to me.