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Immediately she shoved the thought aside. It wasn’t Zora’s fault Ellie had been pushed out in favor of her. It just wasn’t.
They pulled into Amanda’s driveway, a long, straight cement road that led to the two-story Georgian house on the hill with a matching two-story, double-bay garage set apart from the house, so as not to get in the way of the view. Behind the house were acres and acres of Forsythe land, the West Knoll River cutting a jagged chasm of both slow-moving and whitewater rapids through the Forsythe property. The graduation committee was staking out a part of their land for the overnight party, and there had been raging discussions about whether it was safe or not to have them so close to the cliff side and river. The Forsythes had nearly pulled back their invitation, but Mr. Timmons, the senior math teacher, and Miss Billings, one of the school counselors, had talked them back into it, though the school district had made it clear they were not sanctioning or hosting the event in any way.
So many rules. Zora was going to be glad when school was all over . . . sort of. The great uncertain beyond gave her a chill, whenever she thought about it.
So just don’t think about it.
“What?” Bailey asked, and Zora realized Carmen was looking at her askance, as well.
“Never mind.” She must’ve spoken out loud. Too much on her mind.
They pulled up to one side of the Forsythe home, where there was space to fan out a dozen cars in the stone parking area between the house and the two-story garage. Amanda’s father was a lawyer who made a buttload of money—more than Zora’s father, it sounded like, though Zora’s parents were very tight-lipped about it, whereas Amanda’s dad was one of those guys who was proud of his accomplishments and liked to kind of brag. He’d even once brandished a big bottle of some fancy champagne and invited Amanda and the rest of the Firsts to join him in celebrating a big deal of some kind, but Amanda’s mom had intervened and shooed them all out of the big den with its black-leather bar. Amanda took it all in stride. She had a tendency to hang back and just absorb everything, a character asset Zora’s mother told Zora she should learn from.
“Amanda Forsythe knows when to talk and when to keep her mouth shut,” Mom said more than once. “You could take a lesson.”
Zora had been pissed, though she knew her mother was just trying to help, but Zora was Zora. She knew how to have a good time. And Zora had seen Amanda shed that icy, blond-bitch persona, which was more of a cover-up than a thing anyway, when it suited her. She could flirt like a randy whore. Hadn’t she done that with Tanner?
Tanner Stahd . . .
Zora bit her lip, thinking about him.
As if reading her mind, Bailey piped up, “Tanner isn’t the only hot guy in the class,” as the three of them walked up to the Forsythe front door. “There’s McCrae and Justin Penske and Brad Sumpter . . .”
“Brad Sumpter?” Zora sniffed.
“None as hot as Tanner,” Carmen defended loyally.
“Tanner Stahd, the teenage god,” Zora murmured, repeating her mother’s ironic words as she rang the bell.
“Well, he certainly thinks so,” said Bailey on a
short laugh.
“He’s not as much of an egotist as McCrae,” Carmen defended.
“Okay, Chris McCrae and Tanner Stahd both have inflated opinions of themselves,” Zora said. “Doesn’t mean they’re not hot.”
The door was opened by Amanda’s mother. Marilyn Forsythe was rail thin, and the skin around her face had been stretched to remove lines. Tastefully so. Zora’s own mother had tried a similar procedure, but it hadn’t worked quite the same way. She was still a little dumpy, with a cloud of curly brown hair—dyed—whereas Marilyn was slim elegance, with blond hair swept into a ponytail at her nape. She wore cream-colored pants and a matching blouse. She was beautifully put together, creased and combed and her makeup flawless, with just a hint of blush on her defined cheekbones. She smiled at them all a bit tightly and told them Amanda was in her bedroom, a room that had once been a private den, accessed only by a wrought-iron stairway and now Amanda’s very private, very chichi bedroom.
The three girls clambered up the stairway, their footsteps clanging through the cavernous house, and they were greeted at the bedroom door by Amanda, who seemed to let them into her room a bit grudgingly. Zora walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that curved around the turret that made up this end of the house. Below Amanda’s room was a dining room with the same nearly 360-degree view as this bedroom.
“I can see the river from here,” said Zora.
“No, you can’t. It’s down in the ravine,” said Amanda.
“Well, I mean, I see where it is. I can see the jogging path that runs along the edge and the rail.” Zora flushed. Amanda could be so mean sometimes, without even trying to be.
“Can you?” Bailey asked.
“You must have great eyes,” said Carmen, squinting.
Zora didn’t answer. In truth, she’d just been making conversation.
Amanda’s gaze was trained out the window as well, but her blue eyes held a faraway glint, as if her mind were anywhere but with her friends. It was just as well, as Zora didn’t want her every comment analyzed and thrown back at her.
“What are you thinking about?” Zora asked.
“Nothing.”
