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My eyes popped open. I was on my side on my bed. My room was dark. My fingers clutched my pillow next to my face, and I was breathing hard. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to press out the image of Astrid’s kidnapping, the eerie expressions of peace on the faces of the former Billings Girls.
It was just a dream, I told myself. Just a dream.
Clearly it had been brought on by Noelle’s recent “kidnapping.” And far too much chocolate at tonight’s celebration.
I took a deep breath and rolled over onto my back. Already the images were fading and my pulse was returning to normal. I moved my foot and it hit something hard. My head shot up and I saw that the book of spells was still open near the foot of my bed, where I’d left it when I’d dozed off earlier. I thought about closing it and putting it away, but my limbs were too heavy and tired to move. Instead I rolled over onto my other side to face the wall.
Somewhere in the back of my consciousness I heard the soft, whispering sound of loose pages fluttering to the floor. Then my eyelids drooped closed and I quickly slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
At breakfast the next morning, Missy’s table was surrounded by a bunch of girls in our year, everyone talking excitedly as they leaned in toward some kind of magazine or catalog. I tried to get a peek at whatever it was as I strolled by, but London saw me and moved her arm, blocking my view from the page. Still, I thought I glimpsed swatches of fabric, and I definitely saw Constance shove a huge color wheel into her bag.
A sinking feeling sucked at my stomach. Was it possible? Were they picking out paint and fabric colors for the new Billings House?
I placed my tray down across from Noelle’s and she scowled, perturbed. “Since when does the reject table get to shoot us looks?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee. “They’ve been looking down at me all morning.”
“And you’ve just been taking it?” I asked.
Her nostrils flared slightly as she placed the mug down. “Let them have their fun. They think they’ve won a battle, but the war isn’t over.”
A thrill of anticipation shot through me. A couple of months ago Noelle had told me she had no interest in bringing Billings back. But now she sounded more than a little invested.
“Does this mean …?”
Noelle smiled. “Oh, don’t you worry, Reed. I’ve decided to make it my mission to crush Missy Thurber’s every wish. If there’s a Billings on campus next year, you’ll be running it.”
“But how?” I asked, thinking of Mrs. Lange and her promise that we could set things right. Had Noelle reconsidered exploring the book of spells?
“Well, remember the other day when I told you that Daddy would get you anything you wanted?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows over the tipped rim of her coffee cup.
I squirmed. Somehow I didn’t like where this was going. “Yeah …”
“I think you should ask him to put in a bid for Billings!” Noelle announced. She placed her cup down with a clang. I gaped at her. She had to be joking.
“You want me to ask your dad to build me a million-dollar dorm so I can live in it my senior year,” I said.
“Actually, it’ll probably be more like ten mil.” She lifted both shoulders casually. “And why not? You’ll ask him when we go to the city this weekend for your birthday party. The timing really couldn’t be more perfect.”
“Noelle—”
“I have to say, Reed, I was a little annoyed at you for not having called him back yet, but now I realized you’ve been playing it all perfectly,” she said, her eyes shining with pride. “Make him wait. Make him grovel. By the time we get there, he’s going to be ready to give you my trust fund.” She blinked. “Actually, don’t make him wait too long.”
“I really don’t feel comfortable with this plan,” I said tentatively.
“Do you want Billings back or not?” she asked.
“Yeah, but—”
“Then you should be willing to do whatever it takes to get it back,” she said firmly. “That’s the Lange way.”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to remind her right now that I wasn’t a Lange. And Brennans weren’t much for throwing money around. Instead, I decided to let the subject drop for now and reached for my orange juice glass.
“You slept with her?”
The entire cafeteria fell silent at the sound of Ivy’s inhuman screech. I whirled around and saw her standing near the far wall of the cafeteria, under one of the larger paintings depicting a quaint street in Easton circa the turn of the century. The object of her rant was Gage Coolidge, one of my least favorite people at Easton, and Ivy’s long-term on-again, off-again friend-with-benefits. He looked around nervously, his shoulders a bit hunched as he noticed the entire world was watching.
“Ivy, chill. It was nothing. And I told you, I was drunk.”
“Like that’s an excuse!?” Ivy shouted, her face red with rage. “You knew exactly what you were doing! Admit it!”
