"I am so going to make him my boyfriend this year," Soomie said, biting her bottom lip.
"Really?" Brigit asked as Maria looked, ever so briefly, alarmed. Then Maria saw Ariana noticing her expression and quickly glanced away.
Soomie whipped out her BlackBerry, turned it on again, hit a button, and showed them the screen. "It's on my top ten goals for the year."
And there it was. Right underneath "Earn straight A's" and "Perfect SAT scores." Number three read, "Make Landon mine."
"Well, then you should go talk to him!" Brigit said, grabbing Soomie's hand in excitement. "Come on! They're probably out on the quad!"
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"Now?" Soomie looked suddenly terrified. She reached back to smooth her hair.
"Sure. Why not?" Maria said, picking at her fingernails as if wholly uninterested. "I'm dying to see your technique for 'making Landon mine,'" she said, throwing in some air quotes.
"Okay." Soomie rolled her shoulders back. '"Don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today,' right? Let's do it."
"I just have to pay for these things," Ariana told them. "I'll catch up with you."
But the girls were already halfway out the door when they waved to her. Ariana felt a scalding rush of irritation. What was she, invisible? She forced herself to breathe in, then clenched and unclenched a fist--letting it go. She was still new. The three of them--and this elusive Lexa girl, apparently--had been best friends for a while. It would take some time for her to rise to integral status in the group.
She was going to have to be patient. Even though she was older than them, even though she should have been at Princeton by now and would have been if not for the betrayal of certain people , . . even though she should have been well beyond these girls and any need of their approval... she wasn't. That was just how it was. And the sooner she accepted that, the better.
With a deep breath, Ariana returned to the task at hand. She gathered a few more pairs of socks, then browsed through the blazers and selected an array of accessories. By the time she was done her arms were laden with clothing, hangers, and various little touches that would add some personality to her uniform. She had just joined
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the long line snaking toward the center of the store when her phone beeped.
Startled, she flinched, sending the silky ties and scarves sliding to the floor. Quickly, Ariana stooped to gather them before flipping open her purse to find her phone. She had a feeling she knew who was trying to contact her, and her chest filled with dread.
The text, as predicted, was from Ashley Hudson. Of course it was. He was the only living person with this number.
Am @ Easton Acad. No one here ever heard of Emma Walsh.
Where R U? Whats going on??? WB. PLZ.
The phone nearly slid from Ariana's now-sweaty palm, but she gripped it before it could fall and hit the ground. Hands shaking, she deleted the text and turned off her phone, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed her panic. No one was watching her, however. They were all too busy browsing and buying and catching up with friends. Living their lives.
Which was exactly what Ariana was going to do. Live this life and put the old one behind her. As soon as she got herself a new phone number.
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RARE
"I must say, it's the rare student who comes in here and asks for more work."Ariana smiled slightly. She rather enjoyed being deemed "rare." If only you knew my real story, she thought. "Rare" would take on a whole new meaning.
Seated in a leather chair across the desk from her new guidance counselor, Mr. Pitt, Ariana folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath of the musty air. There were piles and piles of books all Over the tiny room, on the floor, on the desk, on top of the printer, all along the windowsill. When Ariana had first walked in, she had almost recoiled in horror at the mess. But after sitting for a few minutes and letting her eyes slide around the area as Mr. Pitt yammered away about her adjustment period and his open-door policy, she realized there was a method to the madness. Biographies and nonfiction to her right, each stack organized alphabetically by author. Mysteries
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behind her. Russian classics to her left. Early American lit next to that. African-American poetry on the windowsill. Everything had its place.
Organized chaos. She had a feeling she was going to like this man.
"Ah. Here it is." He turned his computer screen slightly so that they could both see it, and placed his glasses on his bulbous nose. His thick forearms stuck out of the rolled-up sleeves of his light blue oxford shirt, which was topped by a green sweater vest and a yellow bow tie. All the color made him seem jolly. Like an overweight elf. "I'm sorry to say that your entrance exam scores were simply not high enough to place you in honors courses. I believe the schedule you have will be challenging enough, Briana Leigh. Don't try to overextend yourself. You're at a new school, making new friends. . . . The last thing you need is more stress."
Ariana's smile tightened. She was not leaving here without a new schedule. Her entire future depended on it. Not to mention the small matter of impressing Palmer.
"No offense, Mr. Pitt, but you don't know me," she said. "The more challenged I am, the better I do. And as for the entrance exams, I'd like to retake them, please."
The man blinked behind his thick glasses. "Retake the entrance exams."
"Yes. I was going through a horrible breakup when I took them the first time," Ariana lied smoothly, wrapping her hands around her knees. She inadvertently kicked the plastic bags full of Atherton-Pryce
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Hall uniform pieces and bit the inside of her cheek. All she wanted to do was get this done with so she could go back to the dorm and try on her new wardrobe. Start fitting in around here. "Needless to say, I was a bit distracted."
Mr. Pitt sat back in his chair and exhaled loudly, blowing out his chubby cheeks. "Well, this is a first. You would have to take them all this week so I could have a new schedule for you before classes start a week from Tuesday."
"Done," Ariana said.
"Not so fast, Miss Covington. There are five exams. And the Welcome Week competition takes up a lot of time," he said. "Are you absolutely sure you're up for this?"
"I'll figure it out. I have to," Ariana said firmly. "These courses are not going to get me into Princeton."
Mr. Pitt smiled and sat forward again, resting his elbows on his cluttered desk, atop Briana Leigh's open file. "Ah, so Princeton is the goal, is it?"
"That's the goal," Ariana said, her heart fluttering. She had been sidetracked for a time, but that was over now. All she had to do was ace five exams this week and she'd be back on track. And maybe she'd even be placed in a few of Palmer's advanced courses, which would just be an added bonus.
He sat back, opened the top drawer of his desk, and pulled out a well-worn black baseball cap with an orange, block-letter P just above the bill. With a flourish, he placed it proudly on his head.
"I'm a Princeton man myself," he said with a grin.
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Ariana leaned forward as well, as if she and Mr. Pitt were old chums. "Then you understand."
There was an excited gleam in Mr. Pitt's eyes. Ariana could tell that he was going to take her under his wing. That she had just made it his goal to get her into Princeton as well. She officially had someone on her team. Someone who, as a Princeton alum and guidance counselor watching her progress keenly, could be very helpful.
"We'll start tomorrow at eight a.m. with your history exam," Mr. Pitt said. "There's an examination room down the hall from here. Room one-ten. I'll be proctoring, so if you don't show up, it's me you'll have to answer to."
"I'll be there," Ariana replied happily. She stood up and grabbed her bags, smoothing her dress down as she turned toward the door.
"Oh, Miss Covington. One more thing," Mr. Pitt said, removing the hat. "There was a problem with your enrollment form."
Ariana paused. "A problem?"
"Yes. Every stude
nt at Atherton-Pryce Hall is required to participate in a team sport," Mr. Pitt said, looking down at the papers inside the open folder before him. "You didn't specify a sport."
He looked up at her and smiled expectantly. Ariana placed her hand on the doorknob and squeezed. When she was at Easton Academy, she had been excused from the team sport requirement thanks to a doctor's note, written by a close friend of her mother's. Sports had never been Ariana's thing, and the woman had been more than happy to help her avoid the requirement. But she no longer had that option. She was just going to have to suffer through and deal with
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all the athletic spirit and competitive trash-talking and . . . sweat. Disgusting.
"Your entrance essay about your equestrian experience was quite inspiring," Mr. Pitt said, pulling out a few stapled pages. Ariana stared at them, imagining Briana Leigh at her computer, typing away about horses and jumper competitions, getting the essay over with so she could get back to the country club pool and her all-important tan. For a moment, a smile twitched at Ariana's lips at the thought, but then the happy picture of Briana Leigh was suddenly replaced by a mental image of the girl's face as Ariana shoved her underwater. Her wide, terrified eyes as she was held down. As she flailed and struggled for life. Ariana closed her eyes and gripped the doorknob tighter.
Breathe. Just breathe.In, one. . . two. . . three. . .
Out, one. . . two. . . three. . .
"Are you all right? You look pale," Mr. Pitt said.
Ariana's eyes wrenched open. She was back in the counselor's office. Back in the now. Everything was fine. Briana Leigh was in the past. The horrible, awful past. There was nothing Ariana could do for her now.
"Fine. I'm fine," she said.
"Good. So shall I put you down for the equestrian team?" he asked, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. "They're quite accomplished, actually. I--"
"No!" Ariana blurted, as the Briana Leigh images threatened to resurface. "No. I'm over horses."
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Mr. Pitt blinked. "Over horses?"
"Tennis," Ariana said and forced a smile. "I'd like to be on the tennis team."
Mr. Pitt shrugged and typed it in. "All right then. Tennis it is." He hit a button and locked it in.
As Ariana thanked her counselor and strolled out the door, she felt a twinge of uncertainty. If Briana Leigh had been so into riding that she had written about it in her essay, it must look kind of odd that now, just a few months later, she was so avidly disinterested. Would it make Mr. Pitt suspect something? But when she looked back at Mr. Pitt, he had already busied himself with something on the computer. He had no reason to suspect her. She was just a kid to him, and kids changed their minds all the time.
I am Briana Leigh Covington now, Ariana reminded herself. The world is just going to have to get used to the new me.
And anyone who didn't like the new her . . . well, she had ways of dealing with them.
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OF COURSE
It wasn't until Ariana was back out on the quad that the panic set in. She had been in prison for almost two years. Two years since she had studied history or French or science or anything other than the novels housed in the Brenda T.'s library. If she was going to pass these exams, she was going to have to study.A pair of guys rushed by, trying to tackle each other for a Frisbee, and came close enough to nearly crush Ariana's feet.
"Sorry!" one of them called out, lifting his hand as he was slammed into the ground.
Ariana took a deep breath, told herself not to strangle them, and turned around. At the back of the school store was a whole section filled with laptops and desktops and printers. She noticed a sign for textbooks behind it, with a big arrow pointing down a set of stairs. She was about to rack up one hell of a credit card bill for Grandma Covington. But it was the start of the school year.
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She needed a uniform and supplies. The old woman would have to understand.
"So, did you get my text?"
Ariana's heart jumped into her throat as she almost strode full force into Palmer Liriano. He had appeared out of nowhere and was now walking backward in front of her so he could look at her while he talked. Somehow, as distracted as she was by his sudden appearance, Ariana managed not to miss a step.
"What text?" she asked, the handles on the heavy plastic bags cutting into her suddenly sweaty palms. She took a deep breath and tried to stay cool, calm. Why did sweat exist? It was so unattractive.
"I texted everyone on gold to let them know about the first team meeting," he said, still ever-so-confidently walking in reverse. "Three o'clock. Gymnasium. You didn't get it?"
"My phone's turned off," Ariana said, recalling Hudson's earlier text. "How do you have the numbers of everyone on your team? Wouldn't that be more than a hundred people?"
"One hundred and eight, actually ... if you count the freshmen, which I rarely do," he joked, finally turning to walk beside her. He produced a worn baseball from his pocket and rolled it between his palms. She noticed his hands were large and powerful, with long fingers. "I got the numbers from admissions. Rosie loves me, so she gives me pretty much anything I want."
"Rosie the receptionist, I presume," Ariana said with a smile.
"Yep. Actually, I'm pretty sure all the receptionists on campus love
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me," he said, tilting his head. "Maybe I have a receptionist-targeted pheromone."
He had pheromones all right, but they affected more than just receptionists. Ariana was about to shoot back a flirtatious remark when a cold wave of dread hit her in the face and snaked right down her spine. She was so startled she stopped walking and it took Palmer a few steps to realize she was no longer with him.
Palmer had texted the number he'd gotten from admissions. That would be Briana Leigh's old phone, not Ariana's current one. The phone which had been stolen along with all Briana Leigh's things on the night Briana Leigh had been murdered.
Stolen by Kaitlynn Nottingham. Kaitlynn, Ariana's completely psychotic former roommate from the Brenda T. The girl who had no idea of Ariana's plans to assume Briana Leigh's identity and attend Atherton-Pryce.
Arianas vision started to prickle over with gray spots as panic seized her heart.
But wait, you canceled the phone, you moron, a little voice in her mind reminded her. Calm down. It's all good. You took care of it."Are you all right?" Palmer asked.
Breathe, Ariana. Just breathe. . . .
In, one. . . two. . . three. . .
Out, one. . . two. . . three. . .
"Ana?"
"I'm fine," Ariana said.
Her vision cleared and there was Palmer. Handsome, concerned
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Palmer, looking down at her with those earnest brown eyes, probably ready to whip her over his shoulder and fireman-carry her to the infirmary if she needed it.
"Fine. I'm fine," Ariana said shakily. "I just. . . thought I forgot to do something. But it's okay."
"Okay, good. For a second there I thought you were going to pass out on me," Palmer said with a grin that made her heart tap-dance. "Not that girls haven't had that reaction in the past."
Ariana smiled. "You're kind of full of yourself. Anyone ever tell you that?"
Palmer blinked, tossed his baseball up, and caught it. "Not in those words, no. You're the first."
The first. It was always nice to be the first something in someone's life.
"So, you never told me which classes you were taking," Palmer said, strolling along.
Right. That old question. Ariana thought back to her conversation with Mr. Pitt and how impressed he'd been by her dedication to her future. Was it possible that Palmer, with the importance he placed on school, would find it impressive as well?
"Actually, that's not quite clear at the moment," she said, eliciting a confused glance. She tilted her head and said with chagrin, "I'm retaking my entrance exams."
"Really?" Palmer said, pausing again.
"I had kind
of a bad day the first time I took them," she said. "Let's just say my scores were not up to my usual standard."
"Which is?" Palmer asked.
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"Straight A's," Ariana replied firmly. "No exceptions."
"Wow. You sound like me," Palmer replied. "That's cool that they're letting you retake them. I doubt they do that for everyone."
"I guess I'm not everyone," Ariana replied, loving how mysterious it sounded. It wasn't lost on her that Palmer had decided not to pry into the reason behind her bad day. He was a gentleman. Another point in his favor.
"I guess not," Palmer said, popping the baseball up with the back of one hand and catching it with the other.
"So, if we win this competition, we move into Privilege House?" Ariana asked.
"Not if. . . when" Palmer replied, raising his eyebrows. "And only the juniors and seniors get to move in."
"Okay, when. So how does it work, exactly?" she asked, looking up at the two towers, which could be seen from almost anywhere on campus. "Guys and girls living together, I mean."
Palmer chuckled. He paused in his tracks and crossed his arms over his chest, tucking the baseball under one bicep. "Well, the north tower is for guys, the south for girls. We only really mix in the common areas, but it's cool. You don't have to walk all the way across campus to meet up with your friends, and it's easier to get study groups together. It's definitely a privilege. I'm glad my uncle came up with it."
"Your uncle?" Ariana asked.
"Yeah, on my mom's side. The whole thing was his brainchild," Palmer said. "He was kind of a big deal around here. When he graduated he gave the school this huge endowment, but said he wanted
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to leave his mark on Welcome Week, so they let him create the fifth privilege--which was turning Wolcott Hall into a coed dorm for the upperclassmen winners. I guess he didn't appreciate the fact that he had so little access to females while he was here, and wanted to make it easier for future generations," he added with a laugh.
"Wow. That's so cool. Your family's part of the history of Atherton-Pryce," Ariana said, feeling a thrill of excitement. Palmer was more than the president of the student body, more than Mr. Popular--he was Atherton-Pryce Hall royalty. And apparently, his family had an insane amount of money, if his uncle could make that large of an endowment upon graduating from prep school.