The Diamonds (29 page)

“Say hello to the Bennington School's newest fashion model, bitches!”

With Jenny an Official Mole, the rest of us got down to business. Most days it was just me, Turbo, Boyd, and Monique. Tommy, like I said, had the paper (“It's not going to write, edit, lay out, and print
itself
, you
know!”), while Jed and Darcy attended our meetings as though they were rock stars: late and with no excuses. At least they were consistent about their tardiness.

On Wednesday, though, I called JeDarcy out when they showed up an hour after schedule with a pair of annoying smiles and matching cups of coffee.

“What's the deal, guys?” I was frustrated that the Stonecutters hadn't all been together in the same room for what seemed like an eternity. (It's
so
hard to schedule extracurricular super-secret committees.)

“You're always late, which sucks, but if you
are
going to be late, don't come with coffee. It's just rude.”

“Point taken,” said Jed. “But we can make it up to you.”

“Oh? And how are you going to do that?”

Boyd, from the living room, yelled, “You can make it up to Marni by giving me a ball massage, Jed.” He paused, then giggled. “I mean a
back
massage. Oops.”

“Shut up, Boyd!” I yelled. Then I looked at Jed and Darcy again. Their lips were red and puffy; either they'd both been punched in the face or a serious make-out session had taken place just before their arrival. I hoped for the punching option.

Darcy handed over her iPod. “Here,” she said. “Listen.”

C
LARISSA:
Ugh, Arlene, don't come so close. You smell like tuna.

A
RLENE:
That's because I had tuna fish for lunch.

P
RIYA:
Lesson One—don't ever eat tuna. That's, like, in the Bible.

L
ILI:
I'm not sure it's in the Bible.

C
LARISSA:
Well, it should be. Ugh. Emmy Montgomery is
pissing
me off lately. She tried to be my partner in gym and I was like, “Hello? Does it
look
like I want to be seen with you?” I liked her enough at first but now I am
so
over that byotch.

P
RIYA:
Somebody needs to Taser the shit out of her. She is
so
game.

L
ILI:
What does that mean?

P
RIYA:
Oh, I made it up. It's like gay and lame but I combined them. Game.

L
ILI:
I like it.

C
LARISSA:
Ditto. I mean, of course I understand why Emmy wants to be a Diamond, but give me a break. She's not that pretty and she's not that fun. And she's a
sophomore
. Come on!

L
ILI:
She did help us score a guilty vote for Mark Ryan
and
Trish Greendorf last week, though. Some of the other jurors are scared of her, I think, which is a good thing.

P
RIYA:
She reminds me of apple pie.

C
LARISSA:
Shut up, Priya. I guess Emmy is
fine
, but there are only so many people I can promise spots in the fashion show to. I can't have any crunked-out trolls walking down the runway. I mean, these are
designer
clothes.

L
ILI:
At least she isn't as lame as Joy Darling. She was awful. She looked like a piece of pepperoni pizza.

(Approximately one minute of giggling)

C
LARISSA:
I know. She, like, actually thought her opinion mattered. Thank God we got rid of her. Arlene, what are you doing? Only horses sleep standing up.

A
RLENE:
Sorry, Clarissa. It's just that with writing up all the case reports for mock trial, plus my regular homework, I don't really get to bed … ever.

C
LARISSA:
God, Arlene, I didn't ask for your effing life story.
(shuffling)
Here's five dollars. Go get a Red Bull and snap out of it.

P
RIYA:
Get me one, too.

L
ILI:
Oooh, and a Diet Coke.

A
RLENE:
Sure.

C
LARISSA:
Oh, and, Arlene?

A
RLENE:
Yes?

C
LARISSA:
I appreciate you.

(click)

•
EXHIBIT Q
•

“That's the end of that clip,” Jed said, “but there's tons more. And I mean
tons.”

I couldn't hide my excitement; I was practically doing jumping jacks. “So you were able to get one of your dad's bugs after all?”

Darcy nodded. “Who knows what'll happen when he finds out it's missing,” she said, laughing. “But for now it's okay. We planted it on Arlene last week and we have over a dozen hours of them saying the most incriminating shit
ever.”

“I'm going to edit the best parts into a five-minute
audio clip,” Jed said. “Clarissa says all this stuff about how lame everyone at Bennington is, and how she's only using the court to become Ice Queen. It's priceless.”

“People will go ka-
razy
when they hear it,” said Darcy.

“Dude,” said Turbo, slapping Jed on the back. “Nice job.”

Jed squeezed Darcy's shoulder, and I noticed something electric pass between them. “I barely did anything,” he said. “Darcy made it all happen.”

Even though it pained me the slightest bit, I leaned forward and said, “Thank you, Darcy.”

She smiled without showing her teeth. “I'm glad I could help. Now, let's get those girls!”

It was the first real conversation the two of us had ever shared. It felt nice.

That night, Anderson and I went to a movie. Just like he'd promised. I don't remember what it was called. Something corny and romantic, I'm sure.

Afterward, he parked his car in my driveway and we snuck into my backyard, making sure to avoid the motion sensors as we stumbled onto the cool grass, dropping to our knees and falling backward, gently, until we were side by side, arms touching, legs overlapping, my hand on his chest feeling everywhere, for a pulse, for a heartbeat.

It seemed like hours before either of us spoke.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

There were times, it seemed, when Anderson had everything to say and other times, like now, when he had practically nothing at all. The silence killed me. Did he ponder the mysteries of the universe? Worries I could barely begin to comprehend? Or was he thinking about what kind of snack he wanted when he got home or if he needed to cut his toenails? I never could tell.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on.” I moved closer, resting my head on his shoulder. “Right now. What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Really.”

“Tell me,”
I said. “I want to know.”

We hadn't talked about the night I saw him at Starbucks. There had been plenty of times I could've brought it up—don't get me wrong—but I decided not to. I didn't want to be a crazy girlfriend. I couldn't help thinking about whether he'd bumped into Clarissa, though (he probably had), and whether they'd spoken (they probably had).

I felt him sigh. “Do you ever, like, miss the way things were?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know, like, before all this? Having people at school want to be around you. Having a life less… complicated. The Stonecutters are fun and all, but it's not the same.”

Anderson, I thought, was like an old jewelry box that you opened inch by inch because you didn't want
it to fall apart in your hands. I wondered how long he'd been storing this inside and what, if anything, his question truly meant.

“Of course,” I said, trying to comfort him. I ran my hand along his arm and up his neck, then caressed his cheek softly with my fingertips. “But being popular isn't everything. And besides, I have you now. I wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.”

I waited for a response but all I could hear was the whistling sound the trees made as the wind rustled their leaves. I wiped the wet grass from my forehead and kissed him softly on the lips. “That was your cue, kiddo. You were supposed to tell me you feel the same way.”

“I feel the same way.”

But did he? Or was he just saying it because I asked him to? I hated being the one to admit my feelings first. I wanted him to tell me how he felt about me without prompting. “Anderson?”

“Mmm,” he said. “What?”

“Do you want to … ?”

“Want to what?”

“You know.”

I maneuvered my legs so that I was practically on top of him, our chests moving up and down in a tender competition. It was a perfect night, with a wide sky and encouraging stars watching over us.

“Mmm,” he said, kissing me more deeply.

His body was hard against me and I melted into
him, our noses tip to tip. Why had he been so quiet before? Something about this moment suddenly seemed wrong. I couldn't rid Clarissa from my mind. Anderson was kissing me, that much was clear, but his mind seemed elsewhere. Was he thinking of her, too?

“Do you ever feel guilty,” I whispered, so softly I could barely hear my own voice, “about what we did to Clarissa?”

There was a long pause before he answered. “Do you?”

“Yes,” I said, kissing him again, and again, but then he pulled away. “What?”

“I think,” he said, moving so that I rolled off him like a log, “I should go.”

I felt heavy and disgusting. I never should have brought her up.

“I'm sorry,” he said, staring at me, so beautiful. “I'll call you in the morning.”

He got up to leave, but it was so dark I could barely see. “Anderson?”

No answer.

I thought maybe I would follow him, but the longer I waited, the longer he'd been gone, and the less sure I was of what to say when I found him. It was then, on the pillowy grass of my backyard, in the middle of the night, that I realized nothing is ever truly what you wish for it to be.

If money or makeup are involved in the dispute, you have the right to a fair trial. (All disputed funds go to the Diamonds for purposes to be determined.)

—The Diamond Rules

The night before the fashion show, in celebration of finally scoring enough evidence to destroy the Diamonds for good, the Stonecutters decided to have a sleepover. Correction: the Stonecutter
girls
decided to have a sleepover. I wasn't sure exactly what the guys were doing, although Boyd claimed they would be having “some serious effing male-bonding time.”

Whatever that meant.

I volunteered my house, because I knew that my father would stay inside his study and my mother was going out that night with her friend Barbara. Jenny promised to meet up with us as soon as the dress rehearsal for the models was over, so I decided it would be fun if we all went to the Ghost House. The plan was to head over around nine, have some coffee, enjoy the live music, and get to bed early—well, early
ish
.

Monique was the first one to show up. “Here,” she said, thrusting a bottle of wine into my hand. “Eet is for later. My favorite.”

I looked at the label. It was all in French. I'd had wine only twice in my life—one time at my bat mitzvah, the other when Clarissa and I stole a bottle out of her parents’ wine cellar and drank ourselves to sleep. I'd also had Manischewitz during Passover, but that didn't really count.

“Thanks,” I said. “I'm sure it's delicious.”

“Eet tastes like the bark of a tree,” she said. “Where shall I be sleeping?”

“In my room,” I said, pointing to the stairs.

“Divine,” Monique said, draping herself across the banister. “I love American homes. So majestic. So satisfying.”

I glanced around my living room. It was anything but majestic. Monique was unrolling her sleeping bag upstairs when the doorbell rang; I swerved into the foyer and swung open the screen door for Darcy, who stood on my porch looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Hi,” she said, waiting for me to invite her inside.