Thorn Abbey (15 page)

T
HE REST OF
P
ARENTS’
W
EEKEND IS A WHIRLWIND OF TEAS,
lectures, art shows, and concerts. It’s late Sunday morning, and I’m in the Kerrith parlors at the farewell brunch. Everyone’s parents seem to be there except for mine: Priscilla’s mom and dad, who arrived Friday on their private jet; Elinor’s, who drove up in a cream-colored Rolls-Royce with their three hyperactive whippets; and Yoonie’s mom, who flew in from LA while her dad stayed at home with their four-year-old twins.

Even Devon’s dad showed up unexpectedly yesterday. Except that she is beyond furious because he brought along his new girlfriend.

“They’re not even effing
divorced
yet,” Devon snipes under her breath.

She, Priscilla, Elinor, Yoonie, and I are standing at the buffet table. She picks up a blueberry scone and stuffs it into her mouth, crumbs flying everywhere. “And look at her. God, what is she, like twenty?”

We all turn. Devon’s dad and his girlfriend are wandering around the room, sipping coffee, whispering to each other. The girlfriend is rail thin with enormous boobs and a short blond pixie cut. She’s wearing rhinestone-studded jeans, a formfitting pink top, and stiletto heels.

“Nah, she’s old. At least thirty. She’s just had a lot of work done,” Yoonie observes.

“Whatever. The only reason he brought her is because he knows I’ll tell Mommy, and she’ll totally lose it, and they’ll scream at each other on the phone about this for the next two weeks,” Devon says. “I swear, they only exist to make each other miserable. I wish they’d just kill each other and get it over with.”

“Oh, honey. You want one of my Klonies?” Elinor suggests gently.

“God, yes!”

Elinor reaches into her purse and hands Devon a little yellow pill. “Swallow that down with your vodka and cranberry. You’ll feel better right away.”

“Thanks, El.” Devon pops the pill into her mouth and takes
a big sip. I glance at my plastic cup, alarmed. I thought it was just juice.

“Shit! Now they’re making out!” Devon whines.

We all turn again. Devon’s dad and the girlfriend are indeed making out, next to the “local authors” bookshelf and the cracked bust of the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. Nearby, Mrs. Frith glares at them over the top of her tiny wire-rimmed glasses, and a bunch of freshman girls stifle giggles.

Priscilla hooks her arm through Devon’s. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Why don’t the five of us get out of here and get some fresh air?”

The five of us. Cool, I’m included.

“Yeah, okay.” Devon sighs.

We forge a path through the crowded room and make our way out to the quad. It’s a picture-perfect fall day: brilliant blue sky, glorious foliage, and crisp air that smells faintly of apples. In the distance, I can see the parking lot, cars, a few students hugging their parents good-bye.

For a moment, I think about my mom. I wish she could have been here.

I instinctively look around for Max, but he’s nowhere in sight. I haven’t seen him since Friday night. He texted me that he was busy keeping his mom and dad entertained, plus he has soccer practice this afternoon. We have a tentative date later
tonight, though. We might go into town or just go for a walk. I can’t wait.

Max.
My heart beats a little faster at the thought of him. I still can’t believe we’re really together.

“Hey, you guys want to head down to the beach and get high?” Yoonie suggests.

“That is
the
best idea I’ve heard all weekend,” Devon says.

“I just need to say bye to the parental unit. It’ll take two seconds,” Yoonie says.

“Ditto,” Priscilla says.

Elinor nods. “Me too.”

“Actually, um, I need to go to the library. I have a ton of homework to do,” I say quickly.

Devon crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve never gotten high before, have you?”

I think about the time Kayleigh and I smoked a joint. Well, she smoked it, and I watched her. When she passed it to me, I had a crazy coughing fit before I even put the joint in my mouth. That was the extent of it. “Of course I have,” I fib. “I really do have a lot of homework, though. There’s a big quiz in algebra, and I have like thirty pages to read for American history, and—”

“You are such a terrible liar. Are you and Max meeting up?” Devon asks.

I blush. “No! I mean, not right this second. He’s got soccer.”

“Ohmigod, Tess! You never told us. How was your big dinner with Mr. and Mrs. D.?” Priscilla asks me.

“She’s kind of a bitch, right? But he’s pretty chill,” Yoonie says.

“I caught him checking out my ass once,” Elinor says.

“What ass?” Devon points out. “In any case, our Tess isn’t talking. I tried to beat the details out of her yesterday, but no success. But maybe the pot will loosen her tongue.”

“Seriously, I can’t,” I plead. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

I give a little wave and take off in the direction of the library. Behind me, I hear Elinor say, “What’s wrong with her today?” and Devon’s reply: “You mean, what’s wrong with her,
period
. That girl is hopeless.”

Whatever. I have Max now. I don’t need Devon’s approval—or the other girls’, either.

Although Devon is right: I don’t actually need to go to the library. But I really, really don’t want to smoke pot with them. I also don’t feel like going down to the beach. I’ve been avoiding it since that day I found Max on the cliff. Too many bad memories—for him, for me. I still get the chills, remembering how I came across him that morning on the ledge.

I figure I’ll kill some time reading. Then I can double back to Kerrith and enjoy some peace and quiet.

As I pass the stone fountain, I notice Gita from Kerrith sitting on the bench with her parents. “This is Becca’s fountain,” I hear Gita say.

I stop in my tracks.
Becca’s fountain?

“That’s what the students all call it, anyway,” Gita adds.

“Becca is the sophomore who died last spring,” Gita’s mom reminds the dad. “Such a tragedy. She was a lovely girl. So full of promise.”

“Oh, yes, I remember,” the dad says. “It’s very nice they have this memorial for her.”

Gita notices me just then. She smiles nervously and waves—probably because she realizes I overheard her talking about my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend.

“Hey, Tess,” she calls out. “I’m showing my parents around.”

“That’s nice,” I reply stiffly.

Gita says something else, but I mutter an excuse and keep walking. I can’t believe this fountain is a memorial to Becca. I can’t believe no one told me.

I think about the time I followed Max out of the movie and found him throwing pebbles at the stone pillar. Does he like to sit by the fountain and think about her?

Now I’m in a
really
bad mood.

I reach the library and run up the steps two at a time. The lobby’s almost empty, except for a man and a woman admiring
some student photographs on the wall. The woman looks over, and I stop in my tracks and clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

Becca.

No, not Becca. It’s a woman who looks a lot like her. She has the same pale blond hair, which is pulled back into a ponytail; the same cheekbones; the same blue eyes. She’s wearing an elegant black suit and high-heeled boots.

The man with her turns too. A young man. Killian Montgomery.

His face lights up. “Well, hello there, stranger!”

“Um . . . hi.” I can’t stop staring at the woman.

“Killian? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” the woman prompts him.

“Oh, my apologies. Where are my manners? Tess, this is my mother, Jean Montgomery. Mother, this is my very dear friend, Tess Szekeres.”

Becca’s aunt.
“Hello, Mrs. Montgomery,” I say, trying to recover my composure.

“Hello, Tess,” Mrs. Montgomery says. “I don’t remember Killian mentioning you.”

“Tess and I have just recently become acquainted. You could say it was love at first sight. Isn’t that right, Tess?” Killian walks over and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

“I, um.”

“You’ve been ignoring me, you bad girl! Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy,” I say, flustered.

He tousles my hair playfully. “I am absolutely taking you to lunch. Next Saturday. And this time, I won’t take no for an answer.”

I’m not sure how to decline politely. “Um, okay.”

“Then it’s settled. And don’t you dare try to cancel. I will march into Kerrith, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you to Le Canard Danse if I have to.”

“Honestly, Killian,” Mrs. Montgomery chides him.

“Just a figure of speech, Mother. You and I need to get to the airport or you’ll miss your flight to Philly,” Killian says, tapping his watch.

“Yes, of course. It was nice to meet you, Tess.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Mrs. Montgomery.”

Killian pecks me on the cheek, then escorts his mother out the door. I stand there as though I’d been sucker punched. Twice. First, I learn about Becca’s stupid fountain. Then, I find out that Becca’s aunt was here for Parents’ Weekend. Did Max see her? Did they reminisce about Becca? Was he lying to me when he said he was busy with his parents and with soccer practice all weekend?

Jealousy and anxiety overwhelm me. I rub my throbbing temples. I almost wish I had gone down to the beach with Devon and the girls.

Of course, I could still go.

Instead, I head back to my room. I’m tired of all these secrets. And with Devon occupied, I’m finally going to get some answers.

K
ERRITH
H
ALL IS SILENT AS A GRAVE
. I
GUESS EVERYONE IS
still saying good-bye to their parents, or hanging out on the quad, or getting high on the beach, or whatever.

Up in the room, I quickly lock the door. I’m not sure how long I have until Devon gets back.

I want to get past my confusion, doubt, and insecurity once and for all. Becca’s laptop is a blank slate, and I can’t find anything useful online. Devon’s silver box is the only place left that may hold clues to Becca and Max’s relationship—and the tension between the people in their little orbit, like Killian and Franklin.

What is in that box? Besides that photo of Becca in her sexy bikini, that is?

I dig through Devon’s jewelry chest. I find the key in a nest of necklaces and bracelets, then I hurry over to her desk and pull the box out of her bottom drawer.

I wait for the same warm, tingling sensation as before. Nothing. I run my hand over the entire surface. Still nothing. I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. Maybe it was static shock, like when you walk across carpet and touch metal?

It’s not important now. Excited and nervous, I insert the key and lift the lid.

The box is filled to the brim with mementos. There are more photographs of Becca. Photographs of Becca and Devon. Airline ticket stubs for trips to Paris, London, Madrid. Dried flower petals. A white silk scarf. A teddy bear key chain. A tube of shimmery pink lipstick. An empty perfume bottle.

I touch the perfume bottle to my wrist and inhale deeply. The fragrance is so familiar, but I can’t quite place it. I pick up the white silk scarf and wrap it around my neck. It is impossibly soft, like a whisper.

And then something catches my eye. Underneath the pile of keepsakes is a red leather diary. With the initial
B
emblazoned on the cover, in gold.

I lift the diary with trembling hands and open it to the first page. I recognize Becca’s lovely, florid handwriting:

September 18

Today was a good day. It was so warm outside. D and I skipped lunch and gave each other mani-pedis on the lawn. Then I had Streetcar auditions after class. Fingers crossed, but I think I might get the part of Blanche. Mr. R was smiling at me during my “kindness of strangers” speech like I was Vivian Leigh reincarnated. Or maybe he just enjoyed my outfit. Mother would so not approve of the tight dress I wore to audition, but I really want the part. (Ha!)

After dinner, D and I watched old Buffy episodes on her laptop and drank shots. I’m so glad she and I are roommates again this year. She is the most loyal friend I have ever had. I only wish I could talk to her about M. Maybe one of these days I will.

I frown. Why couldn’t Becca tell Devon about Max? Were they keeping their relationship under wraps in the beginning? Or did Becca have a secret crush on him?

I read on:

Speaking of M, he texted tonight and said he wants to meet up this weekend. I don’t know what to tell him.
I want to be with him, but I know I shouldn’t. I’m so mixed up.

Now
I’m
mixed up. Why couldn’t Becca be with him? Unless by “be with” she meant something else . . . as in sex? I can relate to that, since all I’ve ever done with Max or any boy is kiss. It’s weird and annoying, thinking that Becca and I share this problem.

Shared
, I correct myself.

I skip ahead several pages:

September 24

D and I went skinny-dipping at the beach yesterday. The water was cold but not freezing. I thought we were alone, but I spotted Mr. S on top of the cliff, watching us. As soon as he saw me notice him, he left. Creeper.

M sailed by at one point in the boat, and D and I gave him a peek. Bad girls!