The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (112 page)

“No. It’s not,” I replied.

“Really? How do you figure?” he asked.

“Well, for one, I’m in charge,” I told him. “They elected me president, remember? Which, by the way, you haven’t even congratulated me on.”

Josh exhaled audibly and gave me a sheepish look. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Congratulations. At least they got something right over there.”

“Thank you,” I said with a nod. It was the highest praise my Billings sisters were going to get from him. “So Noelle is not going to be running things this year. I am.”

“Yeah, right,” Josh said, picking up his tray and turning toward the cafeteria.

My face stung. Did he not realize how insulting that was? “Thanks a lot,” I said, following after him.

Josh looked at me and his expression softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” He shrugged, gripping his full tray with both hands. “It’s just . . . I know that girl. She’s not happy unless she’s surrounded
by drama and scandal. Come on. Just transfer to Pemberly or something. It’s not that big of a deal. And at least it’ll get you away from her.”

“Not that big a deal? I can’t just transfer after they elected me!” My skin burned. “And do I have to remind you that Noelle saved my life last year?”

“No. But it wouldn’t have even been in jeopardy if it hadn’t been for her and her morally suspect Billings friends,” Josh replied. “Why can’t you see what a cancer that place is?”

“God, Josh. Enough already with the ‘death to Billings’ riff,” I snapped. “That’s like your new mantra.”

He pulled his head back, surprised, and his brow furrowed. “I’m only thinking of you.”

“Yeah, well, I can handle myself, thanks.”

I turned and stormed away, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table from where we usually sat. He followed after me slowly and, taking my cue, grabbed a seat with Trey at a separate table. As I rather violently shook up my bottle of orange juice, a couple of girls from the freshman soccer team strolled by with their food.

“Hi, Reed,” one of them said. “Congratulations on the Billings presidency.”

“Totally. Congrats,” the other echoed. “I
love
your sweater, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said, completely caught off guard. I’d never spoken to either of these girls before. Didn’t even know their names. How had they heard about the Billings vote?

“Listen, my dad works for the New England Revolution and he can get us on the sidelines when they play the Galaxy next spring. We’re totally going to meet Becks. Wanna come?” the first girl babbled.

I blinked. That was a lot of information. And a seriously sick offer—meeting all those pro players. “Um, who could turn down a sideline pass?” I said. “What’s your name again?”

The girl blushed, but gamely answered, “I’m Ava Greene. And this is Demetria Wallace.”

“Thanks, Ava,” I said. “That’s very cool of you.”

“I’m just so glad you’re in!” Ava replied. “Well, see you at practice!” They strode off together, their heads bent close as they gabbed.

“Yeah. See ya,” I replied to thin air.

Okay. That was bizarre. But I guess being president of Billings came with perks I hadn’t even thought of.

I glanced over at Josh as I reached for my bagel, wondering if he’d noticed. He chewed mechanically on a doughnut, staring straight ahead and looking morose. I felt a pang of both sorrow and irritation in my chest. I loved that he cared. I really did. But I was starting to wonder if there was such a thing as caring too much.

“Did you know that George Washington didn’t want to be president?” Sabine asked me that night. She turned around in her desk chair, all excited, the seashell bangles she always wore clicking together. American history was her antidrug. She was learning it for the first time, coming from a foreign land and all, and each new fact got her all starry-eyed—like the rest of Billings got whenever they heard Stella McCartney was coming out with a new line or that Jake Gyllenhaal was shirtless in some new magazine. It was kind of cool, actually, seeing someone get all fizzy about stuff I’d known since grade school.

I placed my pencil down on my calculus notebook and flexed my aching fingers. Apparently I’d been gripping the thing too hard. A callus was starting to form on the inside of my middle finger.

“Yeah, I do remember that,” I said. “He didn’t think he was worthy or something, right?”

“Kind of like you,” Sabine teased.

I looked down at my pencil-dented fingers. “I think I’m worthy,” I lied.

“Just that Noelle is more worthy,” she said perceptively.

My cheeks reddened. “Yeah, well, she’s just . . . Noelle. You’d get it if you knew her.”

Sabine’s face fell and she quickly turned back to her work. “Well, I don’t.”

And thanks for reminding me,
her tone said. But how was I supposed to explain it? How was I supposed to convey what it had been like for me last fall? I could hardly define it myself. I had worshipped Noelle. Hated her. Loved her. Feared her. Needed her. There was no way to quantify Noelle’s . . . Noelle-ness. It was something you had to experience for yourself.

“Sabine, I—”

A knock at our door cut me off. We both looked at it, perplexed. No one ever knocked. They just barreled right in, usually with some hair crisis or vital gossip already spewing forth before the door had even slammed shut.

“Come in?” I said tentatively.

Noelle opened the door and stepped back to allow a distinguished-looking middle-aged woman to step inside. She was wearing a gorgeously cut power suit and a thick gold necklace, and had perfect blond highlights that even Ariana would have died for. In her hands was a large, silver-wrapped gift with a thick, silky red bow. Her smile was warm and genuine, but something about the way she carried herself was all business. Even though she was tiny, her presence somehow
filled up the room. I stood up, feeling instinctively that it was the right thing to do.

“Ladies, so sorry to interrupt your study session,” the woman said, with a slight Southern accent.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” I answered quickly.

“Reed Brennan, I’d like you to meet Susan Llewelyn,” Noelle said cordially. “Suzel is head of the Billings alumni committee as well as a member of the Easton Academy board of directors.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Reed,” Suzel said, stepping forward to hand me the large, heavy box. “On behalf of the Billings alumni committee, I’d like to congratulate you on your presidency.”

“Thank you,” I said, surprised that news of my presidency had made it to the board of directors. Her formality made me feel flustered and warm—unsure of how to respond—and the box felt big and awkward in my arms. Sabine shifted in her seat and I cleared my throat, tipping my head toward her side of the room as I eyed Noelle pointedly.

“Oh, and this is Sabine DuLac,” Noelle added flatly.

My face burned for Sabine. Why was Noelle so very disinterested in my roommate? But Sabine didn’t seem to notice the tone. She was focused intently on Suzel. At the beginning of the semester, when Cheyenne had made all of the Billings newbies steal artifacts from around Easton, Sabine had chosen to lift Susan Llewelyn’s valedictorian banner from the chapel. Sabine had spent hours researching Suzel in the Easton library and was fascinated by her.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Sabine said, getting up to shake Suzel’s hand.

My heart fluttered with nerves. Oh, crap. Should I have shaken her hand? But she had put this huge box right into my arms. Suddenly I wished I had paid attention when Sabine had told me all those little factoids she’d learned about Suzel, just so that I could have an interesting or insightful question to ask. I quickly turned around and placed the box on my desk, knocking over my cup of pens and pencils in the process. I was so mortified I wanted to cry. Noelle pressed her lips together at the huge clatter, but Suzel ignored it.

“And you,” Suzel said politely to Sabine. “One of our newest initiates.”

Sabine and I glanced at each other. She had, in fact, never been properly initiated. But neither of us was about to mention that debacle. On the night of the annual ritual, Cheyenne had made sure that the girls she had deemed acceptable—Missy, Kiki, and Astrid—had been welcomed to our circle with open arms, while Sabine, Constance, and Lorna had been humiliated and ostracized. The whole thing had been busted up by Headmaster Cromwell; Cheyenne had been expelled and had taken her life that night. No one had spoken about initiation since.

“Well, that is for you, obviously,” Suzel said, looking at the gift as she folded her hands in front of her. “Open it later, when you are alone,” she added firmly.

I glanced at Sabine, who seemed discomfited by the instruction. “Oh. Okay. Thank you,” I stammered.

“We all think you’re going to be a real asset to the Billings legacy, Reed,” Suzel said, her smile broadening as she looked me up and
down. Thank goodness I had worn the new, expensive sweater Noelle had given me.

“Thank you. I hope I live up to your expectations,” I said. There. At least that was a full sentence.

“It was so nice to meet you both,” Suzel said.

“You too,” I said. “Will we see you at the alumni dinner on Saturday?”

Yes! Another complete sentence. Suzel smiled.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied. “I’ll see you then.”

Then she shook both our hands and walked toward the door. Noelle showed her out and, after a few hushed words in the hallway, came back inside.

“So that was Suzel, huh?” I asked. Aside from Sabine stealing Suzel’s chapel banner, I hadn’t heard Susan Llewelyn’s name since last year, when she had wrangled a way for all of us to get off campus for a spa day. Us being myself, Noelle, Ariana, Kiran, Taylor, and Natasha. It seemed a million years ago.

“That was Suzel,” Noelle said with a smile.

“Well? Come on, Reed. Open your gift!” Sabine urged me, eyeing the package hungrily.

“Oh, yeah!” I said. I turned to pick up the box.

“Reed, no,” Noelle said, placing her hand on top of the package.

“What? Why not?” I asked.

“You heard Suzel. You’re supposed to open it when you’re alone,” she said, pointedly looking at Sabine.

Sabine turned positively ashen. And why not? It seemed obvious
that Noelle knew what was in the box. And soon I would know what was in the box. Noelle was basically saying Sabine was the only one in the room unworthy of knowing.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Reed, you’re president of Billings House. You have to take these things seriously,” Noelle said sternly.

I swallowed hard and looked at Sabine. Since the beginning of the year, she had become one of my best friends, and I felt awful leaving her out. But what was I going to do? This was official Billings business. This was big. “She’s right. I’m sorry.”

Sabine shrugged. “Fine. Whatever.” Then she turned and went back to her desk as if she couldn’t have cared less.

But I knew that she did. It was obvious that she did. When it came to Billings stuff, Sabine just didn’t understand. I hoped that as time went on she would figure out how lucky she was to be here, and what it really meant. Otherwise, I had a feeling this presidency thing was going to become a real issue between us.

It was a Chloé bag. A big, black, buttery, limited-edition leather Chloé bag. Worth at least two thousand dollars, which I only knew because Portia had a similar one and I’d overheard her telling Shelby about how she had been on the list to get one for over a year, and how her dad had freaked when he saw the bill. Even though he was supposedly some big, international billionaire. He dabbled in something to do with gold and diamonds—and had shady dealings with underground militia in several different countries, if you believed the whispers.

“One bag? One bag?” Mr. Ahronian kept saying over and over again in his thick Armenian accent, turning redder and redder with each parroted phrase—which Portia and her mother had found hilarious, apparently.

But he had, of course, paid for it in the end.

And now I had one. Me. Reed Brennan. If I sold this thing on
eBay I could pay off my dad’s car loan. Not that I was about to do that. This thing was just way too yummy. I was allowed to have something yummy, wasn’t I?

I glanced over my shoulder to double-check that I was alone. Then I lifted the bag to my face with both hands and inhaled. That tartly rich smell of new leather filled my senses and made my head feel light. I think I was in love.

But why couldn’t I open this in front of Sabine? It was outrageous, sure, but she was going to see me carrying it eventually. Me. Scholarship student Reed Brennan with a two-thousand-dollar bag. Sure I had received some expensive gifts from Kiran and the others last year, but nothing like this.

I ran my fingertips over the soft leather, toyed with the gold closure, and was about to set it down so I could lean back and just admire it, when I realized there was something inside. I opened the top flap and peeked in. Placed neatly in the bag were a thick, glossy Neiman Marcus catalog, a jewel case with a CD inside, and a long, red clutch with a zipper. Which was bulging. Something in there as well.

This was like Christmas morning. Only no Christmas morning I’d ever had. I pulled out the clutch and popped it open. Fendi. But this time it wasn’t the label that stopped me. It was the wad of cash nestled inside the clutch.

No. Freaking. Way.

I snapped it shut and glanced over my shoulder again. Dead silence. Everyone was downstairs talking about our masquerade ball.
I planned on joining them in a few minutes, but I was going to have to get over this heart attack I was having first.

Hands shaking, I opened the clutch again and pulled out the paper-banded stack of money. I’d never seen so many hundreds before. The printing on the white band read $5,000.

Five thousand dollars. Cash. Why would anyone want to give me five thousand dollars cash?

Gulping in air, I shoved the money back in the clutch and shoved the clutch under my pillow, feeling like a SWAT team was going to burst in at any moment and throw me up against the wall. Five thousand dollars. That was more money than I’d ever dreamed of having in my hands. What was it for?