"Try it," Josh shouted.
"Are you insane?" I asked. His eyes flashed at me and something inside of me paused. Hesitated. I looked around. "I mean, they're gonna freak when they see what you're doing to this place."
"They don't care!" Josh smiled and shrugged and I wondered if I'd imagined the sudden darkness I'd thought I'd seen. "I'm the poor, pathetic roommate of the dead guy." He paused for a moment and his expression shifted, as if he'd just realized how callous he'd sounded. "No one cares what I do," he added.
My heart pounded in sympathy for him. "That's not true."
He focused on me as if suddenly remembering I was there. "No! I don't mean literally. I just mean . . . forget it. Come on, Reed. Try this! I swear it'll help."
He took my hand and pressed a brush into it. My breath started to race at his nearness and his excitement. Josh was energized. I craved that. I craved the idea of feeling anything even remotely positive. I pushed myself up and grabbed a jar of blue paint. I dipped the brush into it and looked at Josh.
74
"Now fling it," he instructed.
I grinned. Suddenly I couldn't help it. Being with Josh made me grin. There it was. So what if it was disloyal? If it was cruel? Right then, I just wanted to keep smiling. So I lifted my arm and flung. Most of my paint hit the wall. The easel only took a drop. Somehow the rest of it splashed Josh in the face.
I took one look at him and cracked up laughing. It felt so, so good to laugh. Josh slowly wiped the paint from his nose with his fingertips, making a nice, wide smear across his cheek.
"Oh my God! You're right! I do feel better," I said.
It hurt to laugh, like I was using a muscle that hadn't been exercised in too long. Josh turned around and I was hit in the face with a smattering of green. Kid was so quick I never even saw it coming.
"Touche," I said, wiping my forehead.
I grabbed another vat of paint and hit him again. He hit me with a blob of red right in the center of my black sweater. I screeched and doused him in yellow. Suddenly we were both laughing and attacking. Before I knew it, Josh was swiping at me with a brush, making random slashes on my clothes. I had paint in my hair, on my shoes, all over my favorite jeans. But I didn't even care. This was the best time I had had in days. The lightest I had felt since Thomas's funeral. Even on my nonbudget, I could sacrifice some clothing for that.
Josh came at me with a brush. I straight-armed his shoulder and held him back, wheezing for breath. He grabbed my waist, twisted me around. I escaped his grasp and headed for the wall.
75
Josh was everywhere. His hands, his fingers, his breath, his laughter, his weight. It was all one blur, and all of it sent my heart rate skyrocketing.
He was going to grab me and kiss me. Every inch of me was throbbing and I knew he felt it too. He had to. I gripped the sleeve of his shirt and didn't let go. Our bodies were pressed together as the vertical wrestling match started to wane. I could feel his breath on my neck as I slowly straightened up. I looked him in the eye.
Come on. Do it. Please. I just want to keep this feeling going. I don't want to go back. I don't want to go back. . . .
"I think you'd look good in purple," Josh said huskily, teasingly, backing me toward the wall. "What do you think?"
My stomach hurt from laughing and I was out of breath. "Don't. Don't you dare," I said, watching the brush in his hand.
Josh, of course, kept coming.
"Reed, hold still! You have to let an artist do his work!"
He lifted the brush.
"Josh! No! Come on!" I laughed, pressing my hands into his chest. "Haven't you done enough damage already?"
Josh hovered inches from me, taunting me with the paint. Aside from the original blue streak, he had flecks of green and yellow in his hair and a smatter of black across his cheek. He looked me in the eye and grinned.
My heart missed a beat. Then another. I stared at his paint- spattered lips. His breath grew heavier as he stepped even closer. My skin tingled with warmth.
76
Do it. Please. Just kiss me.
His eyes traveled down to my lips. I could already feel them buzzing. I looked him in the eye.
Please, Josh. Please.
Suddenly, he blinked and backed off. Everything inside of me nose-dived, so fast I almost physically fell over. "You're right," he said. "Enough damage for one night."
My face burned with humiliation. There was no way he didn't know what I'd been thinking. I'd practically said the word please out loud. I had to get out of here. Now. I cleared my throat and wiped my hands on my jeans, making them even messier. My coat and bag seemed, miraculously, unscathed, but I couldn't pick them up in my current state.
"I need a bathroom," I blurted.
"Down the hall on the right."
Josh couldn't even look at me.
"Right. I remember."
After struggling with the door handle with my paint-covered hands I finally broke free and raced down the hall, as if I could somehow leave what had just almost happened behind me. Shoving my way into the bathroom, I startled a Ketlar guy who was standing right opposite the door. I braced my hands on the white sink. My reflection was frightening--matted, sticky hair, multicolored swirls all over my face--but I didn't even care. All I could see were my eyes.
The eyes of a girl who had just tried to seduce her dead boyfriend's roommate.
77
NOT TO BE SAD
I skipped breakfast the next day. I couldn't face Josh. Instead, I stood in the shower for thirty minutes, letting the hot water scorch my skin, wishing it could burn away all feeling. When Natasha knocked on the door and asked if I was coming, I told her I needed to be alone. She left, no questions asked. One of the benefits of being the widow.
The quad was peaceful when I emerged, cuddled into my favorite white cotton sweater--which I had been wearing almost every day lately--and buttoning up my coat. I expected to take a slow, solitary stroll to morning services, but when I looked up, Constance was just coming out the back door of Bradwell. She grinned in surprise.
"Hey! What are you doing out here?" she asked as we turned together up the path that led past Mitchell Hall and the cafeteria to the chapel.
"Running late," I said. "You?"
"Oh, my mom called," Constance said, rolling her eyes.
78
"My little brother Trey got chicken pox and now Carla, the nanny, has it, too, so my mom has basically gone to the zoo. She's babbling about vaccination shots and surgical masks and the end of the world. Have I mentioned that my mother is not all there?"
I smirked. Constance was always good for a distraction.
"What's your mom like?" she asked innocently.
I bit my tongue against the flash of anger that always took over at any thought of my mother. It was amazing how powerful it was. But I didn't want to bite her head off or say something dismissive. I had done that to her before in response to one of her naive questions, and I was trying to better myself.
"Let's just say she went to the zoo a long time ago and she's still there, feeding the monkeys," I said.
Constance's brows knit, but then she laughed. "You're too funny, Reed."
"I try," I said flatly.
We came around the corner and my stomach attempted to drop out of my body. Josh was waiting against the chapel wall. He stepped away when he saw us. So, waiting for me.
"Hey," he said tentatively.
"Hey."
I looked at Constance. Constance looked at me. Like she was trying to process something. Was my guilt written all over my face, or was the warmth in the air that I felt around Josh now palpable to everyone else as well?
79
"You missed breakfast," he said knowingly.
"Observant," I replied. Because he had to say it knowingly. Like he was so smart and had me all figured out.
"Can I talk to you?" Josh asked, one hand in his pocket, the other cradling his books at his hip. He was wearing an op
en coat over a battered corduroy jacket over a band T-shirt, and his jeans were frayed at the cuffs.
"Sure."
"I'll see you in there," Constance told me. She looked at me over her shoulder before disappearing inside the chapel. Like she didn't recognize me.
"What's up?" I asked.
Josh tilted his head away from the door, where students from the cafeteria were hustling by, eager to get back into the warmth of the indoors. I followed him. My pulse was causing my skin to throb. Was he going to mention last night? Our aborted kiss? Was he going to tell me it was wrong? That he didn't want to be around me anymore? He stopped and turned to face me.
"So, my brother, Lynn, and his girlfriend, Gia, are coming up from Yale tomorrow to checkup on me," he said.
Hello, whiplash. Both the words and the casual tone in which they were said were so unexpected it took my brain a second to catchup.
"Okay," I said brilliantly.
"See, my parents are in Germany and they're all worried after
80
what happened, so they're sending out a posse, basically," Josh said. "We're probably going to go up to Boston to hang out for the day, so I was wondering if you wanted to come."
The invitation hung in the air. Around us students talked and milled and laughed. Each day since the funeral the student body had reanimated a bit more. They were almost back up to normal pitch now. Just a couple weeks later.
"So. Do you?" Josh prompted.
"Want to come to Boston?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"With you and your brother and your brother's girlfriend."
Sounded like a double date to me. Was that what it was intended to sound like?
"Yeah," Josh said, confused. "Was that not clear?"
I smiled and looked down at my shoes. Why did he have to be so cute?
"We'll do something fun," Josh said, nudging my arm with his books. "I think it'll be good, you know? To get out of here ... do something different. . . ?"
The very thought sent a rush of excitement through me. Followed by a crippling stab of Thomas-related guilt. What was I supposed to do here? What? Stay true to the memory of my murdered boyfriend, or start trying to get on with my life?
I knew what Noelle and Ariana would say. That there was no point in wallowing, and here Josh was, offering me one day of carefree fun. One day to not be sad.
81
And, okay, if I was being honest, one day to figure out what the hell there was between us.
"Okay," I said finally, lifting my shoulders. "Sure. Why not?" Josh grinned and my heart stopped. Just like that. Good decision, Reed. Good decision.
82
* * *
There were no lights on in the chapel. The November sun cast a dull glow on the room, and all the faces appeared muted and blurred at the edges, like an impressionist painting come to life. I slid into the pew and sat between Constance and Diana. The moment my butt hit the hard wood, the back doors closed. Darker still.
"What's going on?" I asked. A sliver of irrational fear raced down my spine.
"It's firsts," Diana whispered, as the entire room hushed.
"Guess not even a murder investigation can stop them from whipping out the jackets," someone behind me muttered bitterly.
Okay. That sentence made zero sense. "What's 'firsts'?"
"Shhhhh!"
Just like on the very first day of school, two freshmen boys stepped out from the shadows and lit the lanterns at the front of the chapel. We were all bathed in their warm, cozy, glow. Dean Marcus rose from his chair and stood at the podium. He looked around at all of us in an appraising way.
83
"Tradition, honor, excellence," he intoned.
"Tradition, honor, excellence," we all echoed.
"Students, today is a day of celebration," the dean announced, his strong, weighty voice echoing off the stone walls. "We here at this hallowed academy will not allow recent events, as terrible as they may be, to deter us from our ultimate goal. We will continue to strive for excellence in every facet of our lives. Today I have the pleasure of announcing to you the names of those students who have achieved first honors for the first semester of our academic year."
"Here, here!" one of the professors cheered with a raised fist, earning a round of applause from the hall.
"As always, I will start with the freshman class. When I call your name, please come up and receive your founders' jacket," the dean said. For the first time in days, I saw a hint of a smile on his face. The man vibed on tradition. "From the freshman class, the students who have received the highest all-around marks this first semester are . . . April Park and Carson Levere."
As everyone around me applauded, I leaned toward Diana's ear. "Founders' jacket?"
"The guy and the girl from each class who get the highest GPA get to wear founders' jackets all day," Diana said as she clapped. Onstage, the dean was lifting a blue blazer with the Easton crest on the pocket onto April Park's shoulders. "It's this huge honor. People around here would kill to wear that jacket."
Sure enough, April's face shone and her eyes brimmed with
84
tears. She touched the sleeve of her jacket with her fingertips as if it were made from spun gold. You could tell she was just aching to call her parents right then and there. Maybe they'd give her a pony. A quick survey of the room revealed that almost every student of any merit was sitting forward in his or her seat, salivating. This was serious business.
April and Carson stood aside. Instantly, the applause halted.
"From the sophomore class," Dean Marcus continued, glancing at a page on the podium. Suddenly I wished I had opened my mailbox and gotten my grades. Not that I had any sort of shot at this, but I would have loved to have known for sure that there was zero chance my name would be called. "Kiki Rosen and Corey Snow."
"Omigod! Kiki!" Diana exclaimed, elbowing her roommate.
At first I thought Kiki hadn't heard, that her music was deafening her as always. But then she calmly removed her earbuds and stood up, looking totally and completely unaffected. It wasn't until the jacket was safely on her body that she finally busted out in a grin. Honestly, in that moment, I was jealous. And in the next I marveled at how quickly something like that could take hold. And the next, how I was actually thinking about something other than Thomas.
Amazing, the power Easton could have.
"Did you know she was that smart?" Constance asked us.
"No! Maybe she has our lessons on constant loop on her iPod," Diana said, baffled.
85
"From the junior class," the dean continued. "Well, here's no surprise. Taylor Bell and Lance Reagan."
I cheered extra loud for Taylor, but as she walked past us, she hid behind her hair and kept her eyes trained on the floor. My spirits slumped along with her shoulders. I wished I could see her bounding up there all bubbly and excited. I missed the Taylor I'd met back in September.
"And finally, from the senior class..." Dean Marcus announced.
"Noelle Lange and Dash McCafferty," Diana recited with a slight eye roll and smile.
"What?" I said.
"They always win," Diana told me. "We're talking four semesters a year since seventh grade. Accept no substitutes."
Shocker.
"Ariana Osgood--"
There was an audible, chapelwide gasp, like we'd all just gone over the top of the highest hill on one massive roller coaster. Every single pair of eyes turned around to gape at Noelle, who was half out of her seat, and at Ariana, who was perched next to her as always, looking stunned. There was an awkward moment of suspended animation before Noelle plopped, more awkwardly than I've ever seen her do anything, back into the pew.
"And Dash McCafferty!" the dean finished.
When Dash got up, he looked deeply confused. Ariana whispered something to Noelle before sliding past her and joining Dash in the aisle. Together, they walked stiffly to the front of the
86
ch
apel. Anyone who was not watching Ariana was watching Noelle. She kept her eyes trained straight forward, but I could see her jaw clenching.
"What happened?" someone whispered.
"Noelle is going to throw a shit," someone else said.
Up on the stage, the dean lifted the jacket onto Ariana's shoulders. Never had I seen her smile so wide.
87
* * *
"How'd you do?" Constance asked me as we walked out of history class.
"Okay, I think."
I hugged my books to my chest and stepped sideways to get around a couple of the guys in my class. I just wanted out of here. Everywhere I went these days, I wanted out. Then I'd get to wherever I was going next and want out of there, too. At least I hadn't been forced to lie about the quiz. After my encounter with Josh the night before, I had been in a manic state of self-loathing and simultaneous euphoria that had made me more hyper than ten shots of espresso. With my desk light on half the night I had actually managed to study and absorb enough info to squeak by.
Thank God. Because after the head rush of the first-honors ceremony I had run to the post office to grab my grades. All B's. Every last one of them. Except for history. Barber, thanks to my stellar quiz grades, which I had only achieved due to Taylor's advice, had been forced to give me an A. Now that I had one, I
88
thought it might be nice to keep it. Maybe even earn another one somehow next semester. If I could just manage to stop obsessing about other things.
"So . . . what's the deal with you and Josh Hollis?" Constance asked.
"There's no deal with me and Josh," I lied.
I shoved open the door to the stairwell so hard I almost rearranged April Park's face. She scowled at me. Her founders' jacket was obviously lined with bravado. Already she was high on the instant fame.
"Sorry," I said.
Suddenly her face seemed to register who I was and she ducked past me without a word. Yeah. Billings Girl and Pearson widow trump first honors and founders' jacket, freshman. Keep walking.
"Are you sure?" Constance asked. "Because ... it's just I thought you guys had kind of a vibe before and I just thought... I don't know. I thought it was weird."