The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (110 page)

“It’s too expensive,” I told Portia, checking my reflection from the side.

“BFD. Besides, ‘expensive’ is a relative term,” Portia said with a sniff.

Ew.

“I wasn’t expecting to buy anything. I only tried it on for fun.”

“Isn’t that what this day is supposed to be all about? Fun?” Tiffany asked, leaning back in the large dressing room to snap my picture. She was wearing a silver minidress with a halter collar. Her appearance would have caused accidents on any major freeway in America. “Let the girl buy it for you. She has money coming out of her—”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” Portia demanded, throwing up a hand. “Like I really need the visual of money coming out any of my orifices. Why do people think that’s amusing?”

She forcibly turned me to the side and undid the zipper. “Take it off. We’re putting it on the card. What’s another six bills gonna matter anyway? Look at my pile.”

I looked. Sweaters, skirts, scarves, dresses. The pile was the size of a VW Bug.

“Well, maybe. But if I’m going to get it, I’m going to get the green one,” I said.

“Uh, no. Green is my color,” Portia said.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Green. It’s my signature color,” she replied, blithely fluffing her hair in the mirror. She did, come to think of it, wear a lot of green. “I’m only buying it if it’s the red.”

Tiffany and I looked at each other and laughed. “Guess the fairy godmother gets to pick out the clothes,” Tiffany joked, earning a
scathing look from Portia, which she ignored. “But you should get it anyway, Reed. Red is a good color for you. It’s a power color.”

A power color. Huh. I looked at my reflection again. It did sort of highlight my brown hair and still semitanned skin. If red was a power color, maybe I should get used to wearing it. That was the whole point of being at Easton, after all. To break out of the Croton, Pennsylvania, rut and live life the way these girls lived it. Live life as someone who was going somewhere. Someone who got noticed.

“Come on, Reed. Decision time,” Portia said, flicking out her American Express Black and holding it up between two fingers. “This offer expires in five . . . four . . . three . . . two—”

“Okay! Okay, I’ll take it,” I said. “But I owe you one.”

I stepped out of the dress and added it to Portia’s pile on the bench, then pulled my jeans and sweater back on.

Portia smirked. “Great. Can’t wait to see how you pay me back.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a dig or not—or maybe a threat, considering all the not-so-pleasant things I’d had to do for the Billings Girls in the past—but I didn’t get a chance to ask. London and Vienna chose that moment to barrel into our room all flushed with excitement, their arms full of clothes.

“What’re you guys getting?” London asked, eyeing Portia’s armful.

“Just a few things,” Portia said. “It’s really too bad about the Legacy. They have some gorge gowns in that back room.”

“I know. God. Halloween is going to be such a downer this year,” London pouted. “I’m totally wearing my gown anyway. I’ll wear it to class if I have to.”

Just like that, an idea hit me like a smack to the head. An idea so obvious I was shocked it hadn’t occurred to anyone before now. The perfect way to give the Billings Girls what they wanted, but to do it in a totally unshallow, socially acceptable way. “What if we had our own masquerade party?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Portia asked.

“I mean, if the Legacy isn’t going to happen, maybe Billings should throw its own masquerade ball,” I said. “It would just be Easton students, but it would be something to do. And someplace to wear your gowns.”

“Interesting,” Tiffany murmured, her bottom lip protruding.

“Wait a minute. I thought you were all ‘how can we party when Cheyenne SFU,’” Portia said, unburdening herself of her clothing pile again. “What’s with the one-eighty?”

“Well, I was thinking we could do it as a fund-raiser in Cheyenne’s name,” I suggested. “We can establish a scholarship in her honor and sell tickets to the ball. All the proceeds could go into the scholarship fund.”

“The Cheyenne Martin Scholarship Fund!” Vienne cheered, bouncing up and down as she clapped her hands.

“Oooh. I like that idea!” Tiffany said.

“Like it? It’s effing brill,” Portia said. “And now I can go try on gowns!”

Portia gave me a double air-kiss before twirling out of the room. Tiffany patted me on the back and London and Vienna whipped me up in a three-way hug.

“Reed, you are totally my savior!” Vienna said.

“Best idea ever,” London agreed.

They all ran out of the room on Portia’s heels, knocking on dressing room doors and spreading the news to the other girls. I was left behind to revel in my moment of glory. It
was
a good idea. And it felt good to be doing something in Cheyenne’s name. Something she never would have expected me to do. Like maybe I was proving her wrong about me somehow.

“Reed! I just heard about the fund-raiser! What an incredible thought! Her parents are going to freak!” Constance rambled, bounding into my room with Sabine on her heels.

“Definitely. It’s absolutely perfect,” Sabine added.

“Yeah, go you,” Missy grumbled as she walked by. “Like no one’s ever created a scholarship fund before.”

I rolled my eyes and ignored her, choosing to bask in the glow of praise. I just hoped that my new red dress would be special enough for the party. But then, I was the one throwing it, wasn’t I? For once I was going to be able to set the standard. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and smiled. I really felt like a whole new Reed.

The restaurant at the Driscoll Hotel was all old-world elegance. Gleaming oak tables, gold fleur-de-lis wallpaper, gleaming crystal stemware, white linen napkins, sun-streaked windows overlooking a beautiful pond where actual swans cut sleek lines across the smooth surface. It was the type of place that would have made a girl in jeans and boots feel out of place . . . if she hadn’t been surrounded by fourteen of the most impeccably dressed and groomed girls on the East Coast.

The atmosphere at the table was convivial as we all chatted over finger sandwiches and iced tea. My Billings Masquerade idea had upped everyone’s moods considerably, and all anyone could talk about was where it should be held, who should be invited, and who might need to be paid off to keep the liquor flowing and the authorities at bay. I hadn’t heard this much laughter in days.

“Nice work, Reed,” Sabine whispered in my ear as she refolded her napkin in her lap.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She draped her arm over the back of my chair and leaned in. “Look around. Your day trip plan definitely worked. No one here looks depressed about Cheyenne.”

My heart contracted at the sound of her name, but I let it pass. She was right. Everyone was clearly starting to move on. Mrs. Kane would be so pleased.

Tiffany stood up, tapping her fork against her glass. Everyone instantly fell silent and looked up at her expectantly.

“I’d like to make a toast,” Tiffany said, lifting her glass. “To our friend Cheyenne.”

Heart squeeze.

“We’ll miss you. And we hope that wherever you are, you’re happier than you were here.”

Tiffany raised her glass higher and everyone did the same.

“To Cheyenne.”

We all clinked and everyone fell silent for a moment, each thinking her own private thoughts. I just hoped Cheyenne was, in fact, out there somewhere and that she would appreciate our gesture in her name. That it might somehow make things right. Finally, London stood and cleared her throat.

“There’s a . . . a . . . what is it? A point of business we need to take care of!” she announced, seeming pleased that she’d used such an important-sounding phrase. “Billings needs a president. I think we should elect one now.”

“Is that really appropriate?” Missy asked, her face screwing up
in consternation. If she wasn’t careful, she was really going to give herself premature wrinkles. “Cheyenne’s only been gone a week.”

A few people murmured their agreement.

“Yeah, and if she were here with us now, I think she’d say that Billings needs a leader,” Vienna put in, standing next to London. They looked as Twin Cities as ever, one in a purple knit minidress, the other in a black knit minidress, and each with a colorful scarf holding back her teased hair. “Besides, we all know who it’s going to be. What’s the point in putting off the inevitable?”

Wait.
We all know who it’s going to be?
Who? I didn’t know. I looked up, curious, and saw that everyone aside from Missy was staring at me.

I pushed back from the table, overcome by a sudden wave of extreme heat. “What? No way.”

“Are you saying you don’t
want
to be president of Billings?” Portia demanded. Like the very idea was just unimaginable.

“No, I’m not. I just . . . why me?” I asked, flabbergasted.

“Reed, it’s totally obvious,” Rose said gently, leaning into the table so I could see her. “Look at all you’ve done this year. You were the only one who stood up to Cheyenne during initiation—”

“You’ve shown everyone here what it really means to be a strong Billings role model,” Tiffany confirmed. “You stood up for what you believed in, even when all your sisters didn’t agree.”

“You stood up for us,” Lorna clarified, earning an irritated look from Missy.

“And then coming up with this retail therapy idea . . . and the masquerade and scholarship fund,” Rose said. “All you.”

“You’re already our leader. It’s just not official yet,” Astrid said.

“Besides, you’re a junior, so you can hold the post for two years,” Tiffany added, lifting her camera to snap my picture and preserve my stunned expression for posterity. “If there’s one thing Billings needs right now, it’s a little stability.”

My palms were sweating in my lap. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t. Cheyenne would still have been there if it wasn’t for me. Or so she said. I couldn’t take her place. Could I?

“I don’t know what to say,” I blurted.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Tiffany replied. “All in favor of Reed Brennan for president?” she said.

“Aye!” came the general reply. They all raised their hands. All fourteen of them. Even the ever-silent Shelby Wordsworth. Even Missy, though her hand didn’t make it quite as high as the others.

Everyone applauded politely so as to not disturb the other ladies-who-lunch, and suddenly I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt so honored. So stunned. So floored that they would want me. That they would
all
want me.

This was just what I needed. A united house. The confidence of my friends. A real new beginning.

Reed Brennan. President of Billings House.

We barely fit through the front door of Billings with all our bags and packages. Everyone was talking jovially, reviewing their purchases, striking deals over who could borrow what from whom. Clearly retail therapy was a legitimate method of treatment for depression. At least inside the circle.

“Reed, you have to stop by and try on that red dress for us again,” Shelby demanded. Perhaps the first words she’d ever spoken to me unbidden. Not that I was feeling bitter toward her right then. Right then I was loving everyone. “I think I have a pair of Louboutins that would go perfectly.”

“The strappies with the gold? Totally!” Portia agreed.

“Why don’t we all go back to my room now and we can all show everyone what we bought?” I suggested, not wanting the party to end. I was too high on this freedom from guilt I was feeling. Wanted to keep it at bay. And bonding with the girls was fun. It had been so long since we’d allowed ourselves to have fun.

“Fashion show!” Vienna and London sang, throwing their arms up.

“Fab idea,” Portia said happily.

I laughed and turned to Sabine. “Okay, is it just me, or is everyone suddenly my best friend?” I whispered.

“This is what happens to women in power,” Sabine replied with a laugh, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Get used to it. You deserve it.”

My chest swelled with pride, even though it seemed ridiculous that anyone might think I deserved this. But if that was what they really felt, I wasn’t about to argue with them. I just wanted to hold on to this. I just wanted to feel this good for as long as possible.

We all tromped up the stairs to the top floor together, a mass of flipping hair, swinging shopping bags, and laughter. I was just about to turn and open the door to my room when someone stepped out into the hallway. Stepped out into the hallway from Cheyenne’s room.

“There you are! I’ve been waiting for
hours
for someone to get back here and help me unpack all my shit!”

We all stopped short, slamming into one another, tripping forward. The laughter died. There was no way I was seeing who I thought I was seeing. But there she was. Thick brown hair. Imperious chin. That mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

Noelle Lange was back.

“Noelle! Oh my God! What are you doing here?”

After they recovered from their shock, everyone rushed forward, shrieking and shouting questions. Noelle was engulfed by the crowd as they all tried to hug her at once, their bony elbows and designer watches banging together. I, however, was rooted to the spot. As were the rest of the juniors. Constance, Sabine, Astrid, Kiki, Missy, and Lorna. They didn’t know Noelle. In fact, most of them probably feared her. But that wasn’t why I wasn’t moving. I was simply too stunned to control my motor functions.

How could she not have told me she was coming back? I’d seen her just last weekend. She had to have known. But she had acted aloof, mentioning all the places she wanted to travel to now that she was off probation. Had she wanted to surprise me, or was this another one of her games? God, I hoped it was the former.

Finally, the crowd around Noelle thinned out a bit and she looked right at me. Looked right at me and smirked.

“Surprise!” she said.

She moved forward through the throng, walked right up to me, and hugged me. It was a real, firm, full-body hug. Not one of those stiff things you give someone you’re supposed to like but don’t. Her signature scent enveloped me, that slightly spicy, slightly flowery perfume she’d worn for as long as I’d known her. I instantly relaxed.