The Diamonds (15 page)

“So,” Clarissa said, “Principal Newman, do you think you'll approve the proposal from student government?”

“Well, Ms. von Dyke, I do need to think about it,” he said, “but I can't imagine why not.”

Clarissa smiled with both rows of her teeth. “Wonderful!”

“I should be running,” Principal Newman said, reaching out to shake each of our hands. “Stop by my office sometime this week, girls, and we'll discuss all the details.”

Once he was out of earshot, Lili raised her eye-brows. “That seemed promising.”

“Definitely,” Clarissa said, turning to me. “You look sad, Marni. What's wrong?”

I wanted to say:
Aren't we taking this a little too far?

I wanted to say:
What did Joy Darling ever do to us?

But I couldn't. What I said was: “Nothing. I'm fine.”

People started taking their seats again, visibly eager to hear the jury's verdict. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Joy devouring a chocolate bar and full-on crying.

“Good,” Clarissa said. “Because we have a trial to finish.”

After Joy was officially found guilty and removed from the jury (I never knew a person could produce that many tears or have such severe camel toe), I said goodbye to the Diamonds and headed toward the student parking lot.

“Hey, Marni. Wait a sec.”

Tommy was running to catch up with me.

“If you think I'm going to sit down for an interview with you right now, you're out of your mind.” I continued walking down the senior hallway, past my locker, and out the back exit. Tommy stayed right by my side.

“Nah,” he said eventually. “I'm okay for now.”

“Stop,” I said once I'd reached my car. It was dark now. Bright lights filled the student parking lot as if it were a football stadium.

“Stop what?”

“Following me.”

“I'm not following you.” He pointed to the ancient red Buick wedged next to my Ford Taurus. “That's my ride. I'm not that creepy, Valentine.”

Tommy opened his door and slipped into the driver's seat. He started his engine and pulled out of the cramped spot. “But that guy is.”

I snapped my neck and peered into my car. Someone was sitting in my passenger seat, with a backpack in his lap and an outrageous grin.

“Hi,” Anderson said.

“You scared me,” I said, climbing inside and shutting the door behind me.

“You shouldn't leave your car unlocked. Some guy could sneak inside after football practice and have his way with you.” He leaned over to kiss me; I closed my eyes and felt the tip of his tongue brush against my lips.

“I thought we were going to be careful,” I said. “Tommy saw you.”

“He doesn't know it was me.”

“Maybe he does.” I could hear the paranoia in my own voice. “What if I was giving one of the girls a ride home? They would have seen you in my car and—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Anderson took my head in his hands and kissed my nose. “It won't happen again.”

“Thanks.”

“So.”

“So…”

“Wanna come over?” Anderson wiggled his ears. “I'll be good, I promise. Or I can be bad,” he said, lowering his voice. “Whatever you want.”

“Well, when you put it that way …,” I said, coaxing the gas pedal. “Let's go.”

T
HE
B
ENNINGTON
P
RESS

Diamonds Team Up with Student Gov't

By: TOMMY PAYNE

October 28
—It's official. The Diamond Court has joined forces with the Bennington Student Government, uniting two of the most powerful student groups on campus.

Principal Newman had this to say: “It's a very exciting time here at Bennington. Students are taking justice into their own hands, and we have decided to support them, providing the necessary backing for them to succeed.”

Although Dean Meyerson still has his job, the mock trial team will now be allowed to issue detention and suspension for students who break school rules.

“It gives us a lot more cred,” says Lili Chan-Mohego, current student body president and mock trial member, “and allows us the opportunity to really deliver justice to the halls of Bennington.”

But there are some who voice a different opinion. “One group having so much power is
not
a good thing,” says an anonymous senior. “It eliminates the idea of checks and balances our current government has in place.”

When questioned, Mr. Townsen, faculty advisor for the mock trial team, had this to say: “Perhaps this does place a great deal of power in the mock trial team's hands, but these students have shown they are more than capable of being fair to their peers.”

Let's hope the power doesn't go to their heads.

•
EXHIBIT K
•

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.

—
The Tenth Amendment
to the United States Constitution

If you're in high school on Long Island, the Ghost House is
the
place to be.

It's this tiny coffeehouse about twenty-five minutes from where I lived, the sort of place that, if you didn't know it existed, you would never find. The lights are perpetually dimmed; the walls are adorned with fantastic artwork; and every table has a blue candle that flickers and burns a scent I can never quite describe—rain, sea, salt—while paper cutouts of ghosts and ghouls (female ghosts) hang from the ceiling and sway in unison. On the weekends there are always live bands. It's the perfect spot to go for a good time, which is why, I suppose, Jed never took me there. (“Oh, Marni, it's so loud. Don't you think? Honestly”)

“Here we are,” Duncan said, opening the door and whisking me inside. “Wow, it's really packed.”

It was Friday, the night of Anderson's show, and Duncan had picked me up twenty minutes earlier in his shiny Rav4. He was wearing a worn pair of jeans that weren't too tight and a striped button-down; his hair was gelled and ocean-wavy; and if I weren't head-over-heels obsessed with his best friend, I might have entertained the possibility that this
was
in fact a date.

But, of course, it wasn't.

Before I knew it, Clarissa and Lili were in front of me. “Hey,” I said as Clarissa grabbed my hand and sat me down at a table that said
RESERVED
. Her skin dazzled with glimmery body lotion. Lili was standing next to her in a corduroy skirt and a gray sweater. Priya was nowhere in sight.

“Do you want something to drink?” Duncan asked, sliding his hand on top of mine. I had the urge to shake it off immediately, but let it rest there for a moment. “I'll go up to the bar.”

“I'd love an Iced Blaze.”

“Cool,” he said. “Lili? Clarissa?”

Lili ordered a regular coffee with skim milk. Clarissa, without blinking, ordered: “a nonfat soy latte, no whip, with one Equal and a hint of vanilla. Stirred.
Soy,”
she repeated. “No milk.”

“Uh, sure,” Duncan said, obviously wishing he had a pen and some paper. “Be right back.”

Once he was out of earshot, Clarissa squealed like a fifth-grader. “So?”

“What?” I asked.

“Come on, Marni,” Lili said, pushing up her sleeves. “You're on your first date since—”

“Your boyfriend tragically dumped you in front of the entire school,” Clarissa finished. “I want
all
the details.”

“There's nothing to tell. It's not exactly a
date
if your best friends are at the same table.”

“Don't worry,” Clarissa said. “At Ryan's party you can have him
all
to yourself.”

I was about to make some sort of joke, but then she said, “I'm
so
happy you're out with a nice guy, Marni. You deserve it.”

The only reason I'd agreed to go to the show with Duncan in the first place was to appease Clarissa, and in turn see Anderson, so it wouldn't kill me to at least
pretend
I was having a good time.

“You know what's amazing?” Clarissa's eyes jumped from table to table in an intricate ballet.

“What?”

“Look around,” she said. I did. There were a few people I didn't recognize, but mostly it was the familiar Bennington crowd. People were chatting and having a good time, waiting for the lights to dim (as if the room could get any darker) and for the music to start. “Notice anything?”

“I don't see JeDarcy. Is that who you're talking about?”

“Sort of,” she said. “They're not here.”

“Thank God,” I said, relieved. Being stuck in a
coffeehouse with your boyfriend trifecta—ex, pretend, and secret—wasn't exactly a winning situation. “Jed hates this place, anyway.”

“That's
not
why he isn't here,” Clarissa said with an I-know-something-you-don't-know smile. “Take another look around.”

After a few minutes, I realized what she was getting at. None of our trial “victims” were here, meaning they didn't dare show their faces. As I continued to peruse the crowd, I realized that everyone, in some way, was staring at me. At us. There was a sort of force field around our table that no one dared to penetrate.

Before I could comment, Duncan was back, accompanied by Ryan, drinks in hand.

“Hey,” Ryan said, taking a seat. “Are you guys stoked for my party? It's gonna be awesome. I got a keg and everything.” Ryan's older brother was twenty-four and still lived at home; he was always available to buy booze. “And, of course, liquor for the ladies.”

“Is your drink good?” Duncan asked softly.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“Here you guys are!” a voice called from over my shoulder. I turned around and there was Priya, in a shimmery gold lamé top and black jeans. A sheepish-looking Tiger was right behind her. “Is this some table or what?”

Tiger, I noticed, looked incredible sweaty; his hair, which at some point in the evening had probably been spiked up, limped to the side. Clarissa raised one
eyebrow suggestively and tilted her head toward the bathroom.

Gross.

Priya sipped what looked like a glass of water. “I guess it's good to know people in high places, huh?”

“I'll drink to that,” Clarissa said, making no move to touch her latte.

Duncan pointed to her drink. “Did I get you the right thing?”

“Oh, I think so,” Clarissa said in a saccharine tone. “I'm just waiting for Arlene to test it and make sure it's not poisoned.”

I laughed but, since I had Iced Blaze in my mouth, wound up spitting onto the table. I quickly wiped my napkin across the surface. “You're not serious, are you?”

Clarissa looked shocked by my question. “Of course,” she said, motioning to the rest of the coffeehouse with one hand. “I don't want to end up like Caesar, Marni. That's what happens to people in positions of power.”

“But no one except the barista even touched your drink,” I said. “Well, and Duncan.”

Clarissa shrugged.

After a minute or so, I was forced to realize a certain truth: Clarissa thought she was important enough that someone at Bennington would actually try to
poison
her. Just then Arlene showed up at the table, her hairline dotted with sweat.

“I'm
so
sorry I'm late,” she said, panting. “I was waiting for my mom to come home so she could drive me, and—”

“Next time take a cab,” Clarissa said, pushing her latte to the edge of the table. “Now, taste this for me and make sure it isn't poisoned. Or roofied.”

“I'm sick,” Arlene said. “I probably shouldn't.”

Clarissa made an actual hissing noise, like a snake. “If I wanted your life story, Arlene, I'd text you, saying,
Dearest Arlene, I value your friendship so much and care so greatly about what you think! Come over to my house as soon as you can.… We'll have a sleepover and braid each other's hair and make brownies in my Easy-Bake oven!
Did I send you a text like that?”

Arlene glanced at her phone as though she half expected one to magically appear. “No? I mean, I don't think so, Clarissa.”

“Then drink up.”