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  If this par­ty hap­pened ev­ery year, if thir­ty kids traipsed back to school drunk and in par­ty clothes ev­ery year at dawn, how they nev­er got caught was a mys­tery. The clos­er we got to the class­room and dorm build­ings, the more my teeth chat­tered and my bones shook. If we got caught, I was dead. If we got caught it would all have been all for noth­ing.

  We cut across the soc­cer field and ducked along the tree line that would bring us up be­hind Billings and the oth­er up­per­class­men dorms. We paused en masse to catch our breath. There was no sound ex­cept the sound of our breath­ing. The fog mut­ed ev­ery­thing.

  “Ev­ery­one ready?” Dash whis­pered.

  A few peo­ple nod­ded. I could hard­ly breathe. This was it. A few more mo­ments and we'd be safe.

  “Go!”

  Ev­ery­one ducked and ran. Josh clutched my hand and a few

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  peo­ple laughed as we crossed the last few yards of open space be­tween the tree line and the west wall of Day­ton House, one of the girls' dorms. Once there, we all gath­ered against the cold, wet brick, gasp­ing for air and count­ing our bless­ings. The mist was not so heavy here among the cam­pus build­ings. I was about to break away from Josh and head for Billings, when I looked around at my friends and re­al­ized that all of their faces were flash­ing red, then blue, then red, then blue.

  “What is that?” some­one said.

  “Hang on.”

  Josh dis­en­tan­gled his hand from mine and crept to the cor­ner of the build­ing. At first he sim­ply peeked his head around, but then his shoul­ders slumped and he stepped right out in­to the open.

  “Oh, my God,” he said.

  All the air whooshed out of me. “What?”

  Not even the fear of be­ing caught could have stopped us from sat­is­fy­ing our cu­rios­ity. We all moved care­ful­ly to the cor­ner and gath­ered around Josh. What I saw made me want to sink to my knees and turn and run all at once.

  Po­lice cars. Ev­ery­where. On the grass be­tween the dorms. In the quad. Ev­ery stu­dent in school was out­side their dorms in var­ious stages of dress, whis­per­ing and look­ing around as cops in uni­forms cir­cled among them, talk­ing in low tones or shout­ing or­ders.

  “We are so dead,” some­one be­hind me said.

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  I had to agree. Clear­ly ev­ery po­lice of­fi­cer with­in a hun­dred- mile ra­dius had been called to the scene. And why not? Thir­ty stu­dents miss­ing? Thir­ty of the most pre­cious and over­priv­ileged sons and daugh­ters in the coun­try? Of course the au­thor­ities would re­spond in droves.

  “No. It's not for us,” Josh said. “Look at them.”

  So I did. And he was right. Some of the stu­dents sat on the bench­es, wide-​eyed and open mouthed. Oth­ers cried. Three girls hugged one an­oth­er over near the back en­trance of Brad­well. Some­where near­by some­one was clear­ly sob­bing.

  “What the hell is go­ing on?” Dash said. Let's go.

  With that, Dash, Gage, Josh, and Whit­tak­er, along with a few oth­er guys, jogged ahead. The rest of us were root­ed to the spot. There was on­ly one word in my mind.

  “Thomas,” I whis­pered.

  I whirled around and looked at Noelle. Her skin was as white as the mist swirling all around her. She stared past me, un­blink­ing.

  “Do you think it's--”

  Pound­ing foot­steps in­ter­rupt­ed my words. A hand fell on my shoul­der. In­stant­ly ev­ery pore in my body filled with dread.

  “Reed,” Josh said, his voice harsh and strained. “Reed.”

  I turned around slow­ly. I didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to see on his face what I had al­ready heard in his voice. He stood be­fore me, pant­ing. An­guished tears streamed down his face.

  “It's Thomas. They found his body,” he said, brac­ing his

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  hands over his knees. “Reed, he's . . . Thomas is dead.”

  I shut my eyes and squeezed my hands in­to fists, so tight I could feel my nails break­ing through the skin of my palms. I silent­ly begged my heart to keep on beat­ing. I willed my lungs to keep fill­ing with air. I looked down at my hands, at my new ring glit­ter­ing in the flash­ing lights. I tried to con­cen­trate on this. And on­ly this.

  I knew if I opened my mouth even the tini­est crack I would start scream­ing. I would just start scream­ing and I would nev­er, ev­er be able to stop.

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  UN­TOUCH­ABLE

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  DE­CI­SION

  Nine­ty per­cent out of it and I was still learn­ing things. For in­stance: The cu­ri­ous stares of your peers be­come pret­ty easy to ig­nore when you're work­ing on ap­prox­imate­ly forty-​five min­utes of sleep spread out over three days. Al­so, 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. Chee­rios ex­pand when left to soak in milk for too long. If you spend enough time gaz­ing blankly at them, you can watch it hap­pen.

  A few days had passed since Thomas's fu­ner­al and still I had hard­ly eat­en or slept. The area un­der my eyes felt full and tight and heavy at all times, like I could ei­ther pass out or burst in­to tears at any sec­ond. The door to the cafe­te­ria opened and I looked up from my Chee­rios in­stinc­tive­ly, an im­age of Thomas flash­ing through my mind. A queasy warmth hit me and I felt like 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?”

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  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 nine a.m. than most five-​year-​olds did in a day.

  “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 stick­ing 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 said.

  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 dough­nut and 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

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  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 was 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 be the first time some­one around Eas­ton kept a se­
cret.

  '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 out a laugh and took a sip of milk, smil­ing in mirth. I sud­den­ly 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

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  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 that morn­ing 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 leave 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.

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  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 laughed de­ri­sive­ly and 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. “I just don't think that Thomas ev­er ful­ly ap­pre­ci­at­ed what he had when he had you, that's all.”

  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

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  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.

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  (In­side The Back Cov­er)

  PAY TO GET IN. PRAY TO GET OUT.

  An­gels on Sun­set Boule­vard

  Melis­sa de la cruz

  The siz­zling new se­ries from the best-​sell­ing au­thor of The Au Pairs,

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  Com­ing in Jan­uary 2007

 


 

  Kate Brian, Invitation Only

  (Series: Private # 2)

 

 


 

 
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