Private 03 - Untouchable (3 page)

FAT PHOEBE

When I walked into my room at Billings, the sun was just starting to set. I was surprised to feel relief as I closed the door behind me. Apparently, this room, with its huge bay window, hardwood floors, and the scent of Natasha's lavender perfume, had actually become a comfort zone.

Two seconds later, the door opened and my roommate, Natasha Crenshaw, walked in with her cell folded in her hand. Her phone never worked inside our room, so she was constantly going outside or up to the Billings House roof to make calls.

"Hey."

It was amazing how much tentative sympathy one syllable could convey. She stepped around me to take a survey of my face, probably to check if I was in the midst of a breakdown. Her dark skin was clean and makeup-free, and she wore a pair of yoga pants topped by a baggy sweatshirt.

"Hey," I replied, dumping my stuff on my bed.

"How was it?" she asked.

I blew out a sigh and dropped down on the edge of my mattress. My feet cried out in gratitude when I kicked off the heels I'd borrowed from Kiran's Closet of Dreams. Girl had more shoes than I had pores, but it seemed like every pair was more torturous than the last.

"It was . . . you know . . . terrible," I told her.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come," Natasha said. She moved to her own bed so that we were sitting directly across from each other on either side of the wide room. "I just can't do funerals anymore."

"Anymore?" I asked.

Natasha took a deep breath. "I lost someone close to me a couple years ago," she said cagily. "Ever since then I've pretty much avoided all the 'Yea though I walk' stuff."

Although my curiosity was piqued, I knew she would have given me more details if she wanted to. And if there was one thing I wanted to respect right then, it was other people's delicate feelings.

"So, if you want to talk ever," Natasha said tentatively. "I mean, I know we haven't had the greatest track record. ..."

We both laughed quickly at that one. Not the greatest track record--if that was what she wanted to call blackmailing me into snooping around my friends' dorm rooms. Of course, the offense was fairly forgivable, since she had been blackmailed into blackmailing me. Such was the life of a Billings Girl.

Still, the whole mess had resulted in me learning a lot about who Natasha was--an out-of-the-closet lesbian with a still-closeted 
girlfriend whom she'd do pretty much anything to protect--and she had learned a lot about me. Like the fact that I could keep a secret. And the fact that I was loyal to my friends. Somewhere along the line, I had begun to trust her. With a certain amount of caution.

"But, I mean, how are you?" she asked.

I groaned and dropped back on my pillows, one leg dangling off the side of the bed as I gazed at the ceiling. "Got about a year?"

"Sure," Natasha said.

Huh. Maybe she really did want to listen. Stupefied was the word that came to mind.

"Um . . . okay." I lifted a hand to tick off my various emotions. "I feel... crushingly sad that I never got to say goodbye, angry that he left, guilty for the anger, angry some more at his parents, angry some more at all the hypocritical assholes around here, and then just tired and devastated and really, really scared that I'm never gonna stop feeling like this. Does that cover it?" I asked, turning my head so I could see her.

Natasha frowned and nodded. "Sounds about right."

"Oh, wait!" I said, sitting up again. I pressed my hands into the bedspread. I could feel that my hair was staticking out, but I didn't care. "There's also the second wave of guilt. You know, the guilt over the fact that I had decided Thomas wasn't worth my time when I hadn't heard from him, when now it turns out that I hadn't heard from him because he was--"

My throat closed.

"Because he was--"

Oh, crap. The tears started flowing.

Natasha got up and sat down next to me.

"It's okay," she said.

"No, it's not." And suddenly I was bawling. The hot tears just came and came and came. I tried to hold them back. Choked and gasped and tried to swallow, but I couldn't. "I can't believe this is happening. This shouldn't be happening."

Natasha put her arm around me and rubbed my shoulder. I just cried. I felt like an idiot, but there was nothing I could do about it. There was no stopping me now. All I could see was Thomas's face. His hands. His arm around me. His smile. I couldn't believe I was never going to see him again. Could. Not. Believe. It. I choked for air and my throat burned. There were sounds coming out of me that I had never heard before.

I just wanted to expel it all, all the anger at the Pearsons and at myself and at Thomas--even at Missy Thurber. I wanted to get it all out of my system. All I wanted was to stop feeling so wretched.

Finally, after who knew how long, I started to quiet down. I lifted my head and sniffled and wiped below my eyes with my fingertips.

"Better?" Natasha asked.

My breath was shaky. "Yeah. Thanks."

I got up, grabbed a tissue from my desk, and blew into it. Hard. I sucked in a few broken breaths and blew again. "Did you know that Thomas had a brother?" I asked her.

"Yeah. Blake. He graduated last year," Natasha said. "Why? Didn't you?"

I sniffled. Toyed with the soaked tissue. "He never told me."

"Wow. Maybe everyone has someone in their lives they can't talk about," Natasha said.

She was referencing Leanne Shore, her girlfriend, but I instantly thought of my mother. My mother, who was probably passed out in her bed drooling right now, even though it was four o'clock in the afternoon. An open bottle of pills would be on her nightstand and some bad Court TV reality show would be playing in the background. I wondered if my father had even told her what had happened. That had been a fun phone call. It had taken me twenty minutes to convince him not to pull me out of school. When he'd finally agreed I had felt relief beyond anything I'd felt before. I did not want to go back to my dung-colored life in Croton, Pennsylvania. Even if there was, potentially, a murderer running around campus. Easton with a murderer was far better than Croton High without one. It was an indisputable fact.

"Was Blake there? Did you talk to him?" Natasha asked.

At that moment, the door was flung open, and Noelle and Ariana burst in, followed by Rose Sakowitz and the Twin Cities- London Simmons and Vienna Clark. They had all changed out of their funeral drab and into much more colorful outfits. In their arms they carried a half-dozen bakery boxes and various bottles of champagne.

"Reed Brennan! Welcome to your first Fat Phoebe party!"

London squealed, holding up two bottles of champagne. Her ever-pushed-up breasts nearly spilled out of her tank top, and her dark hair was done in two low ponytails. One look at her in that getup and half the guys I knew would have orgasmed on the spot.

"You guys--" Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

"Come on! It's the perfect remedy for whatever ails you," Vienna said, opening one of the boxes. Inside were at least a dozen perfect-looking chocolate eclairs.

"What's a Fat Phoebe party?" I asked.

I noticed that Kiran and Taylor were suspiciously absent, but upon arrival at the Easton gates each had been catatonic for different reasons. Hopefully, they were both already sleeping it off.

"It's an age-old tradition with a highly inappropriate title," Ariana explained.

"It all started, like, ten years ago when this manic-depressive girl got into Billings," Vienna explained.

"Phoebe Appleby," Rose put in.

"Unfortunate name," Noelle said with a shudder.

"Really slipped through the cracks, that one," London said.

"Anyway, whenever Phoebe got depressed--"

"Which, according to legend, was every day--"

"She ordered up a bunch of pastries from the local patisserie and broke out a bottle of Cristal--"

"And threw a Fat Phoebe party! Whooo!" London cried, lifting the bottles again.

"Though I don't think that's what she called it," Ariana put in.

"Basically, it's champagne and chocolate," Noelle explained. She walked over and hooked her arm around my neck. "Obscene amounts of both."

"It'll take your mind off more unpleasant things," Ariana added, wrinkling her nose in a dainty way.

More unpleasant things. Like we were talking about a particularly nasty foot fungus or something.

"Let's do this!" Rose cheered. "I need a chocolate fix, stat."

Everyone cheered.

My skin crawled and I ducked away from Noelle. I felt like screaming. What was wrong with these people? They really thought a sugar high and a buzz were going to make it all better?

"Sorry, you guys. I'm not up for a party," I said.

"What? Why?" London asked, pouting as she lowered her bottles.

Take pity on her. She's a ditz. She doesn't know how idiotic she looks.

"Because I . . . I'm tired," I told them. "Exhausted, actually. I think I'm just gonna go to bed."

Noelle gave me a reproachful stare. She wasn't used to hearing the word no.

"Reed--"

"You guys have fun," I said flatly, moving forward, crowding them toward the door.

Rose, London, and Vienna took the hint, jostling their way out. Ariana paused and looked at me with her clear blue eyes.

"You really should try to get your mind off things," she said. 'You'll feel better."

"I already do," I said honestly.

Not 100 percent. But after venting my emotions and blubbering all over Natasha, I was much improved. For now. But if I thought for one second longer about the idea of partying, the anger was going to come back full force.

"You're sure?" Noelle said. 'You really don't want to come?"

"I'm sure." I placed my hand on the door. "Please, Noelle. Just go."

Ariana and Noelle locked eyes. Never a good sign. I knew I had stepped over a line in their eyes, and for a split second I was reminded of how scared I'd been of them just a couple of weeks ago. Thomas's death had cured me of that, at least temporarily. At that very moment, I couldn't imagine remotely caring what they might do or say to me.

"Get some sleep," Noelle said finally. "We'll see you later."

And with that, she closed the door. Nothing more. Maybe Thomas's death had cured them too.

DECISION

Cheerios expand when left to soak in milk for too long. If you gaze blankly at them long enough, you can watch it happen. Also, the curious stares of your peers become less noticeable when you're working on approximately forty-five minutes of sleep in three days. And the cafeteria manager doesn't like it when he finds someone sitting on the cold brick outside the door waiting for him to unlock it.

Ninety percent out of it and I was still learning things.

A few uneventful days had passed since Thomas's funeral, and I had still hardly eaten or slept. That is, uneventful aside from the fact that several kids had been taken out of school by their parents. Mostly freshmen. Skittish newbie parents, according to Noelle. "As if this school has never survived a scandal before," she'd said yesterday, as we watched a scarecrow-haired Asian guy being loaded into a Hummer. None of my friends had been spirited away, but it was almost eerie to see the sedans and limos idling in the circle in front of the dorms, the students being 
escorted with their bags while their parents looked around suspiciously, as if some masked killer was suddenly going to come shrieking out of the shadows. No one had officially said that Thomas's death had been suspicious in nature, but it was clear that was what people wanted to assume. My heart tightened and released as I thought of him. This was all it ever did anymore. I wondered if it was going to affect my long-term health.

A couple of girls whispered and shot me looks as they walked by, so I turned my head so that my hair would hide my face. The area under my eyes felt full and tight and heavy at all times, like I might either pass out or burst into tears at any second.

The door to the cafeteria opened and I looked up instinctively, an image of Thomas flashing through my mind's eye. A queasy warmth hit me and I felt so wretchedly stupid I wanted to scream. It wasn't Thomas. It was never going to be Thomas. Figure it out, Reed.

"Are you all right?"

Somehow I lifted my eighty-pound head and looked up at Josh. He hovered at the end of the otherwise deserted cafeteria table with a tray full of doughnuts and chocolate milk. Boy took in more sugar before 9 a.m. than most five-year-olds did in a day. You'd think a place as pricey as Easton would make sure all their charges got four squares, but apparently that was not one of the perks the elite were paying for.

"M'fine," I mumbled. "Just wishing this bowl was a pillow."

I pushed my tray aside and rested my elbows on the table, taking 
a long, deep breath to try to crowd out the nausea. Josh sat down across from me and lifted his messenger bag over his head, placing it on the floor. He wore a blue and yellow rugby shirt with a green paint stain on one of the yellow stripes. His curls were product-free today, which meant they stuck out adorably in all directions.

Adorably. I wanted to flog myself. Thomas was dead. I was not supposed to be noticing that other guys were adorable.

Under the table, Josh fumbled with his bag. He slapped his hand to his mouth, then took a chug of his chocolate milk to help him swallow.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Vitamins," Josh said. "One a day keeps the doctor away."

"You are a parent's wet dream," I told him.

"Tell that to my parents," he deadpanned.

I smiled. It was nice that he could make me smile even in my current state of semi-consciousness.

Josh lowered his body toward the table a bit, in confab mode. I leaned in as well. "So, I've thought about it, and I've decided to go to the cops like Noelle said," he whispered.

He bit into a powdered-sugar doughnut and powdered sugar sprayed everywhere. I looked at him and wondered if I was dreaming. Did he really just tell me that he was going to rat out Thomas and then take a big old bite of doughnut? I couldn't even swallow one spoonful of cereal this morning and he seemed, well, fine. In fact, for the past few days, Josh had been keeping it together better 
than anyone else I knew, which made little to no sense. Thomas had been his roommate. His friend. And I hadn't even seen him cry once. But what did I know? Maybe he went back to his room and blubbered in private all night long. It wouldn't have been the first time someone around Easton kept a secret. I was starting to wonder if secrets were a prerequisite for admittance.

"You really think that's necessary?" I asked.

"Noelle was right," Josh said, chewing. "That guy she was talking about? Rick? He was Thomas's local supplier and he's a total wackjob. I would bet money he had something to do with this."

I took a deep breath, straightened my back for a second, then slumped again. "I don't know, Josh. Do we really want Thomas's parents to know all this stuff? I know he was into some scary crap, but he was trying to change. Did he tell you he was on his way to rehab the night he left?"

Josh blurted a laugh and took a sip of milk, smiling in mirth. I felt very hot all over.

"What?" I said.

Josh blinked at me and then his face fell. "Oh. You're serious," he said.

"Yes, I'm serious," I said, beyond offended.

Josh put his milk down and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Reed, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Thomas was the last person who was ever going to rehab. He was so wasted the last night he was here you could have wrung him out and served shots."

The cafeteria had just become a Gravitron, whirling and tilting and heading for the sky. There was no way to focus, so I closed my eyes.

"What?" I said, my mouth dry.

"I came back from the library and he was on the phone screaming at Rick, so gone he couldn't even stand up straight," Josh whispered. "That's why I think Noelle might be right. Thomas was pretty livid, and I bet he said some stuff he wouldn't have said if he wasn't such a mess. I didn't think much of it at the time, because those two were always at each other's throats over something, but maybe this time he really pissed Rick off somehow."

I pressed the heel of my hand into my forehead, trying to make sense of all of this. Thomas was drunk? But he had been so sincere about quitting. And he'd left me that note. He was going to some holistic treatment center. He was getting help.

Had that all been a lie?

"This doesn't make any sense," I said aloud.

"What?" Josh asked.

Wait a minute, wait a minute. Why would he have left me that note if he wasn't actually planning on leaving? I would have been kind of suspicious if I had found the note that night and then seen him on campus the next day. So he must have been planning on going somewhere. But where?

"Maybe it was just a last hurrah," I suggested. "Maybe he wanted to get drunk one last time before going to rehab?"

It sounded totally pathetic even as I said it. So pathetic that Josh actually had pity in his eyes.

"Reed, what makes you so sure that Thomas was going to rehab?" he asked gently.

The double doors opened and sunlight poured in. Noelle, Ariana, Taylor, and Kiran strode through and headed straight for the breakfast line. I didn't want them to hear any of this and start speculating. We had to talk fast.

"He left me a note," I confessed quickly. "I found it in one of my books. He said he was going to a treatment center and not to try to find him. He said he was leaving that night."

Josh stared at me for a long moment. Slowly, he shook his head. "Leave it to Pearson. I bet the last words out of his mouth were a lie."

A thump of dread warmed my insides. "What do you mean?"

Josh looked at me as if he'd just realized who he was talking to. "Nothing. Forget it," he said.

"Josh-"

"It's just..." He crumpled a napkin and squeezed it in his fist, just for the sake of crumpling and squeezing. "I just don't think that Thomas ever fully appreciated what he had when he had you, that's all."

Whoa. My mouth fell open slightly and I snapped it closed. Josh stared at me intently. No averted eyes, no quick change of subject. He really meant what he had just said. I was both flattered 
and completely thrown. He'd just implied that Thomas had lied to me nonstop . . . and complimented me in the same breath.

"Reed, you have to show that note to the police," Josh said.

"How do you know I haven't?" I asked.

"Have you?"

"No," I admitted miserably.

"It's evidence," Josh said. "It might be the last thing Thomas ever wrote. They need to see it."

My stomach felt acidic and warm. I had been dreading this moment for weeks, but Josh was right. When he put it that simply, it seemed obvious. Besides, I had only kept the note a secret to protect Thomas from his parents hunting him down. Now that was no longer an issue.

"You're right," I said, determined. "I'll go right after morning services."

Just thinking about it made me feel monumentally better. I was nervous to let the police know I had hidden something from them, but I couldn't wait to be free of it. Thomas had lied to me. Who knew how often or about what? It was no longer my responsibility to protect him. It was about time I got this whole thing over with, once and for all.