The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (349 page)

So I did a little bit of both.

“I can’t believe Gage’s parents own this place!” I shouted to Ivy, trying to make myself heard over the music. Kiran, Taylor, and Natasha Crenshaw all danced in our small circle at the center of the dance floor as well, and every time one of us spoke, we all smiled and nodded, but I hadn’t heard a word anyone said all night and I was sure they hadn’t either.

Ivy leaned in toward me, resting her hands on my shoulders as we danced and leaning toward my ear. “I know! They have seaside resorts all over the country!”

“And one day it’ll all be mine!” Gage announced, appearing at our sides with two bottles of champagne clutched in each hand, his fingers woven around their necks. He spread his arms wide, his linen jacket opening to reveal the tight white T-shirt underneath.

Ivy rolled her eyes as he slung one arm around her shoulder under the huge, crystal chandelier. “I got two for you and two for me.
Whaddaya say we go up to my personal suite and have a chug contest?”

Shoving him away with both hands, Ivy shook her head. “We practically just got here!”

He winked at her. “I’ll be back in an hour then.”

With that he plunged into the crowd, kissing a few cheeks and hugging it out with some guys as he went, clearly in his element. Suddenly a pair of slim arms encircled my neck from behind.

“Hey, Tiff,” I said as she rested her chin on my shoulder. “What’s up?”

“We’re going outside for a breather,” she said, tilting her head toward a crowd of Billings Girls behind her. “Wanna join?”

I glanced at Ivy and she nodded, out of breath. “We’re in.”

Together we wove our way through the dancing throng on the marble floor, eventually coming to the huge French doors, which opened up onto a wide, wooden plank deck overlooking the ocean. We all tottered in our heels over to the stone railing, laughing and trying to catch our breath. Down below, more Easton students milled on the beach, hanging out on the cushy lounge chairs set up to face the water. The ocean crashed, and out near the horizon lights twinkled on the decks of distant boats.

“Champagne, ladies?” A handsome waiter in a light blue shirt and white pants paused nearby with a tray full of glasses.

“You know us
so
well,” Vienna trilled, selecting one for her and one for London.

Rose and Portia giggled as we all took our own glasses. I looked around at the circle of my friends—Kiran, Taylor, Natasha, Ivy,
Tiffany, Rose, Portia, London, Vienna, Shelby, Constance, Lorna, Kiki, and Astrid—everyone dressed in their colorful cocktail gear, everyone smiling and glowing, and felt completely and utterly at peace. The only people missing were Noelle, who was off with Dash somewhere, and Amberly, who was a freshman and therefore not eligible to attend the party.

“Well?” Kiran said. “What should we toast to?”

Everyone looked at me. “How about—”

“Um, Reed?”

Everyone lowered their glasses as I turned away. Diana Waters and Shane Freundel, two junior classmates of mine, approached tentatively. Diana bit her lip and glanced over at Kiki, her former roommate and one of her best friends.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, clutching her purse in both hands. “I just wanted to ask you before we all left for the summer . . . how do we apply to be in Billings next year?”

I smiled. Junior girls had been coming up to me all day asking me this same question, and every time someone did, I felt more and more like a rock star—and more certain I’d done the right thing by bringing Billings back. But now I felt the mood among my friends shift. Some of them were probably realizing, not for the first time, that they were out of here—and that they were bound to be replaced in Billings.

“Every rising junior and senior girl will receive an application sometime in the next month,” I said. “As long as you get it in on time, you’ll be considered.”

“Cool. Thanks,” Shane said.

She glanced around longingly at my friends. It was a look I knew well. I’d seen it on the faces of tons of girls over the past couple of years—people who wanted nothing more than to know what it was like to be a part of the Billings inner circle. I licked my lips, feeling guilty for excluding anyone, but now was not the time. They’d have their chance next year. For now, my senior friends deserved to get to celebrate with their sisters.

“Well. See ya,” Diana said finally.

The two girls strolled off slowly, as if hoping to be stopped and invited back, but I resisted the urge and turned around again, reforming the circle.

“It’s so weird that we’re not gonna be here next year,” London mused, brushing her hair away from her face with her fingertips.

“Promise you won’t let in anyone heinous, Reed,” Shelby said, spreading her manicured fingers wide.

I laughed. “I promise to try.”

“So are we gonna toast or what?” Portia asked.

I nodded and lifted my glass, looking around at Kiran, Taylor, and Natasha; at Ivy, Tiffany, and the other seniors; at Constance, Lorna, Kiki, and Astrid. “To all Billings Girls,” I said, my voice almost cracking. “Past, present, and future.”

“To the Billings Girls!” my friends shouted.

We all laughed as our glasses came together in the center of the circle, clinking against the starry sky.

My bags were packed. My tickets booked. My car waiting at the curb in front of the dormitory circle. Junior year was over. I had somehow survived. It was time to go home.

But going back to Croton never really felt like going home. I felt more like I was going away on a two-month vacation and when I came back, my home would be here again. As much as I loved my mother, father, and brother, as much torture and insanity as I had endured at Billings over the past two years . . . the dorm had always felt more like home. It was where I’d made my first real friendships, where I’d lived when I first found love, where I’d started to figure out who I was and who I was going to become.

I stood behind the blue, swagged rope surrounding the Billings construction site, the sunlight glinting against my mirrored sunglasses. It was amazing how quickly the building was coming together. Already the entire five-story frame was in place, the steel and wood
beams rising up toward the sky. On the top floor of that building would be my room—the room Constance and I had decided to share—with windows looking out across the quad and the rest of campus. I reached up and touched Eliza Williams’s locket, imagining she was standing right next to me and smiling.

It was all going to be different next year. I could feel it in my bones, in my heart, in my soul. This Billings really would be a new Billings. Ariana was gone. Sabine was gone. Cheyenne was gone. Even Missy was gone. As I listened to the sounds of the saws buzzing, the hammers pounding, the gears on the machinery grinding, I felt as if Thomas was really and truly being put to rest. As if every last awful thing that had happened to me over the past two years was firmly behind me. There was no place to go but forward.

“Why so pensive, Glass-Licker?” Noelle asked, strolling up behind me.

She cradled two champagne glasses against her chest, and held a bottle in her free hand.

“Noelle!” I hissed, glancing around the quad. Several faculty members and students still milled about, waiting for their rides or saying their good-byes for the summer. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“So?” She handed me the bottle and held out the two glasses. “They can’t do anything to me now. I’m outta here.”

The bottle was cold in my hand. “What about me?” I said through my teeth.

Noelle scoffed, tilting her head back. “Please. You own this place now.”

My cheeks turned pink with pleasure. She was, at least, partly right. I owned the dorm being erected right in front of us, and with the amount of money I’d either donated to or generated for Easton Academy over the past three months, I may as well have held the deed to the place.

I turned my back toward the quad and popped open the champagne. It overflowed, splashing foam near our feet, and we both jumped back, letting out little happy squeals. Noelle held out the glasses and I tipped the bottle over each in turn.

“To old friends and new beginnings,” Noelle offered, holding her glass toward mine.

I lifted an eyebrow. “To you never, ever,
ever
calling me Glass-Licker ever again,” I replied.

She lifted a mirrored eyebrow, considering. “Done.”

We clinked glasses and sipped. I wondered how long that resolution would actually last.

“So. This is where you’re going to be living next year,” she mused, tilting her head as she looked up at the building’s skeleton. “It’s a tad bare.”

I chuckled, then sighed, shaking my head as I looked down at the grass between our feet, my aged Converse lined up next to her shiny Jimmy Choos.

“Actually, I’ve given it some serious thought, and after everything that’s happened over the past two years, I’ve decided something.”

Noelle took a long sip of her champagne. “Really? What’s that?”

I turned toward her, adopted my most grave expression, and looked her in the eye.

“From now on, I’m going to be homeschooled.”

Noelle’s jaw dropped. She almost fumbled her glass. “What? No! You can’t. Reed, you can’t possibly think that—”

Ever so slowly, my serious frown turned into a shit-eating grin. Noelle’s eyes widened and she gasped.

“You bitch!”

“Gotcha!”

She slapped my arm with her free hand, shaking her head at me in wonder as she drained the dregs of her champagne.

“Nice one, Glass-Licker.”

“Hey!”

“You deserved it! God! You really had me for a second there!”

We turned our steps toward the underclassman dorms and the circle beyond, where trunks snapped closed, hugs were thrown, car doors popped shut. Someone, somewhere, let out a scream, but it was a happy scream. The scream of a girl seeing someone she hadn’t seen in a long time, or freaking out over summer plans. I gave Noelle a hug as the driver loaded my things into the back of the town car. I would be seeing her in a few weeks when Josh and I came to visit her in New York, but for now she was bound for the islands with Dash. Before getting in the car I took one last look up at the windows of Bradwell, the dorm that had been my very first home on campus—ever so briefly—and at Pemberly, where I’d spent the past few tumultuous months, then I sat down on the velvety seat, and the driver slammed the door.

“Need to make any stops on the way, miss?” the driver asked me as he turned onto the drive.

“No thanks,” I replied. “Just to the airport.”

“Can’t wait to get home, eh?” he asked pleasantly.

I angled myself so I could see the stone facades of the Easton campus in the rearview mirror, watching the very top of the Billings frame until we dipped down the hill and it was out of sight.

“Yeah,” I said giddily, imagining how it would look the next time I saw it—all covered in stone with the windows shining and the new cornerstone firmly in place. “I can’t wait.”

It’s hard to believe how long I’ve been working on Private. We’re talking two moves, two babies, and a few bestsellers ago. So many editors, publishers, marketing experts, and agents have been instrumental in making this series as intriguing as it is, and as successful as it is, so I’m taking this opportunity to try to thank them all now. They are, in no particular order . . . Josh Bank, Lanie Davis, Emily Meehan, Sara Shandler, Les Morgenstein, Lynn Weingarten, Katie del Rosario, Kristin Marang, Courtney Bongiolatti, Julia Maguire, Justin Chanda, Paul Crichton, Lucille Rettino, and, of course, Sarah Burnes.

I also want to thank my friends and fellow authors for always supporting and recommending my work, especially Shira Citron, Sharren Bates, Wendy Stewart, Ally Stevenson, Jessica Freundel, Meredith and Jason Rothouse, Roxy Menhaji, Jeff Palkevich, Courtney Sheinmel, Elizabeth Scott, Gayle Forman, Sara Shepard, Susane Colasanti, Jenny Han, Jen Calonita, Julia DeVillers, Kay Cassidy, Micol Ostow, Stephanie
Hale, and David Levithan. Thanks to my sister, Erin, for her tireless work helping me keep all the facts straight; my brother, Ian, for just being you; my mom for always believing; and Matt for supporting me through all the ups and downs and keeping me sane when I start channeling Noelle or Ariana. Without you and our little ones, none of this would matter.

Finally, to all the YA librarians and independent bookstore owners who have worked so tirelessly to put good books in front of reluctant readers, my undying gratitude. Keep fighting the good fight, and I’ll keep on writing!