Then they left the table that they’d staked out freshman year to sit with the three of us, leaving Allison alone. Her cheeks were hot with rage or shame, her eyes dark as thunderclouds. She lowered her head and went back to her lunch, but the other students were smirking at her. Her behavior was odd, like she felt she had to be extra mean to make up for Brittany’s loss.
“That was too far,” Cam said, and the other guys nodded.
Like you’d know. But obviously he had a different rulebook for girls like Brittany. She deserved better than I had. I stared hard at him, remembering.
To her credit, Davina didn’t say anything about Allison; she was focused on Russ. “I’ve texted twelve times and he hasn’t answered. Is he replying to anyone else?”
Cam checked his phone. “Nope. And I’m sorry for what I said before.”
God, I hated seeing him act … human, apologizing to people. In my mind, he was a horned, cloven-hoofed monster with no redeeming qualities. One by one, the rest of the table scrolled through texts and then shook their heads.
“I’ll call Russ’s house. I’m sure his mom can tell me what’s going on.” Cam waited while it rang, then said, “Mrs. Thomas? This is Cameron Dean.” A pause. “Yes, it’s awful.” Another pause. “Thanks, I hope so, too. I was wondering if Russ is sick. I can bring his—what?” He stopped talking, eyes widening. “No, I haven’t seen him in days. And he wasn’t at Brit’s funeral, either. No, I’m sorry. Yes, that’s fine. I’m sorry.”
Shaken, he dropped his cell on the table as a bad feeling swelled in my stomach. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
Cam answered, “Russ told his mom he was staying with me for a few days … because of Brit. So I didn’t have to be alone. His parents thought he was at my place this whole time.”
“Oh my God.” Jen’s face paled. “Shit. So he’s … missing?”
Hearing it put into words, Davina burst into tears.
THE SLEEP OF REASON
That afternoon, I went home with Jen and Davina. Jen’s mother was a beautiful Thai woman who spoke perfect English. She looked as if she might’ve been a former model or actress, which explained Jen’s good looks. Ms. Bishop was also polite and charming, delighted to meet Jen’s new friends. Or so she said; I was inclined to believe her. She drove us to a restored three-story Victorian out near Beacon Hill. That alone told me the family had money, but the inside was breathtaking, tastefully decorated in an East-West-fusion style that was calming and warm.
“I’m sure the three of you don’t need me to hover,” she said, hanging up her jacket in the hall closet. “So Jen can show you to her room, but let me or the housekeeper know if you need anything.”
So it’s that kind of house.
“Come on.” Jen went through to the hall, the walls a pale cream that contrasted beautifully with the dark wood of the staircase.
I’d always liked our apartment; it had character, but I had the feeling I was about to feel inadequate. We went up two flights to the top of the house, where Jen had the whole floor. Walls had been torn down to create an enormous suite with oval windows all around. The ceiling slanted on three sides, and she had a full-size bed with a couple of futons placed on the other side of a rice paper and bamboo screen to create a small TV room. She also had a mini-fridge and an electric kettle. Add in the big en suite bathroom, and I saw no reason why she’d ever need to leave.
Apparently Davina shared my minor awe. “You could live up here.”
“I do, pretty much.”
“Your mother seems cool, though.” I understood why some teenagers wanted privacy from their parents, but Ms. Bishop didn’t strike me as a helicopter mom.
“She’s fine. But my parents have a lot of parties. My dad is an entertainment lawyer and it’s ‘part of his job to schmooze.’” Jen sounded like she was quoting him. “So I’m glad I have my own floor, otherwise they’d drive me nuts with the constant noise.”
“Any celebrities?” Davina wanted to know.
“Depends on what you mean by that. D-list, sometimes, people who were in soap operas ten years ago and are trying to get endorsement deals in Japan or Thailand.”
“Not too exciting,” I said.
Jen grinned. “Trust me, I’d be downstairs if any real stars were in my living room.”
“So what’re we watching tonight?” Davina asked.
“I found an Anna Faris movie for the rom-com and a terrible SF about a time-traveling T. rex for the sci-fi portion of the evening.”
Davina cocked her head, seeming thoughtful. “The one where she’s freaking out over how many guys she’s slept with?”
“Yep.”
I had no idea about romantic comedies, unless they had been made before 1960, but I couldn’t stop grinning at Jen’s SF choice. There was no way I could’ve done better myself. “Sounds perfect.”
“First, maybe we should talk about what happened with Brit.” Davina perched on the edge of the blue futon. “I’m still kind of freaked out.”
“It’s hard not to be,” Jen admitted.
“I’ve been having dreams.” Davina stared at the floor. “I haven’t told my mom or she’d have me in counseling so fast it’d make my head spin.”
Jen smirked. “I thought everyone at Blackbriar had a therapist and a personal trainer.”
It was meant as a joke, but I felt pretty sure Davina and I were in a different tax bracket. She mumbled, “I’m on scholarship.”
“Wow, really?” I was impressed.
Davina nodded. “I have been since the beginning. I’m pretty sure that’s what Allison has against me. Her parents are nouveau riche, so she’s kind of sensitive about it, like being polite will infect her with poverty.”
“Did you seriously just say ‘nouveau riche’?” Jen asked.
“You know it’s true. People who just got their money always act the worst about it. They want so bad to be accepted by the blue bloods, to hang out with the right crowd—”
“Allison is kind of bitchy to everyone, though.” These were all nuances completely undetectable to an outsider, namely me.
Jen said, “She got boobs early and everyone except Brit froze her out. So now she shoots first. Constantly. She’s always at DEFCON three, looking for a fight.”