CHARADE
My first funeral. My first funeral was for the first guy to ever see me naked. This could not be right.
It wasn't for a grandparent or for a friend's elderly aunt with wrinkles so deep you could stash stuff in them, but for Thomas. Thomas Pearson. The first classmate I had met at Easton Academy. The first person who had made me feel semi-welcome. Gorgeous, mysterious, intense Thomas Pearson. The person I had lost my virginity to.
So many moments kept replaying themselves in my mind, and no matter what I did, I couldn't seem to make them stop. The moment Josh Hollis had rushed back through the fog to tell me that Thomas was dead. The moment I had found the note from Thomas telling me he was going to be all right, and how stupid I felt now to have believed it. The last moment I had seen Thomas, leaving my dorm room at Bradwell. It seemed like so long ago. I didn't even live there anymore. Thomas had never seen my new room at Billings. Now he never would. Because now he was lying
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cold and dead in a coffin. In the ground somewhere, in a coffin. The family had opted for a private burial, so I didn't even know where he was. I just knew he was down there somewhere. Rotting.
Every time I thought about it, I gasped for breath.
"What is it?" Noelle Lange asked me.
We were standing next to the huge marble fireplace in one of four massive living rooms in the Pearsons' co-op on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. A few kids from school were staring at me, just as they had been ever since Thomas had first gone missing. It was like they were just salivating for the nervous breakdown they were sure I was going to have. But so far I hadn't even cried in their presence. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. I waited for the soul-gripping fear to pass before answering.
"Nothing," I told her. "That just keeps happening."
"You're still in shock," Ariana Osgood whispered, her voice soothing. "It's perfectly normal."
Noelle nodded and put her hand on my back. Noelle. Being comforting. That was a new one. Mostly she just opted for sarcastic and mocking. She also looked softer than usual today. Less threatening. Her light-gray cashmere crewneck and simple black skirt were perfect, of course, but her brown hair was product-free and fell around her face, framing it in a way that made her appear gentler. She had also forgone the mascara and subtle eyeliner she always wore. Without it, she almost looked her real age. Like she was my equal.
I looked around the spacious room, feeling numb now and
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extremely hot. Hundreds of people had turned out for the wake. They mingled in the muted opulence in their designer suits and black dresses, sipping wine and talking in low tones. Peppered among the gray-haired gentlemen and Botoxed ladies were dozens of kids from school, all of whom looked shocked and shaken. Like Noelle, some of Easton's most renowned Shiseido worshippers hadn't even bothered with makeup. They perched on sofas and settees, dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs, consoling one another. The guys, meanwhile, stood around with their hands in their pockets, looking skittish. As if their confidence had been somehow shaken. Maybe if Thomas Pearson was capable of dying, they weren't quite as invincible as they had once thought. Reality had just set in for these guys who normally walked around in a dream world, a world where they were completely untouchable.
"Could this be any more morbid?" Kiran Hayes said, swinging her wineglass around a bit too brazenly. "This many people didn't turn up when the pope died. It's like everyone has some sicko fascination just because he was a kid."
Kiran tipped her wineglass toward her mouth and downed what was left in one gulp. An actual billboard model, she was the most beautiful person I had ever met in real life. And after knowing her for a month, I was starting to feel like she might also be the one most likely to end up in rehab. A few pieces of her dark hair had fallen out of her carefully twisted bun, and her green eyes were unfocused. Still, every guy in the room was checking her out when they thought no one was watching.
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"I bet one of these blond chignons walking around here is covering it for the rags," Noelle said stoically. "A good prep school scandal is their wet dream."
There was the Noelle I knew and feared.
"Noelle!" Ariana scolded, her blue eyes piercing. Her own blond hair was also back in a loose chignon. In her dark clothing, with her diamond earrings securely fastened in her ears, Ariana looked less wispy and more in charge than she ever had before.
"What? No one heard me," Noelle said, smoothing her long, dark hair behind one shoulder. "And I'll bet you my entire trust fund I'm right. Just wait. The Thomas Pearson Tragedy' will have a four-page spread in Hamptons Magazine next month."
"I can't believe anyone would want to exploit his death," I said. "It's not like he's famous or something."
"He was around here," Noelle said with a sigh.
At that moment, Taylor Bell, who had been sniffling and quietly weeping all day, burst into another round of tears. Her dark-blond curls shook as she buried her cherubic face in a handkerchief. Ariana reached out and rubbed Taylor's arms.
Taylor's display of emotion made me so uncomfortable I had to look away. She and the rest of these girls hadn't even liked Thomas. They had, in fact, hated him. Warned me to stay away from him. And now, like everyone else, they were all completely shattered. As if Thomas had meant the world to them.
Still, it wasn't like I should have been that surprised. Love him
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