“I'm gonna let you two catch up,” I said, interrupting before I got stuck. Behind Constance, I saw Noelle and some other girls from the soccer team finally boarding a bus. “Looks like they've got us sorted out.”
Whittaker's brow knitted as he looked at me. “But I--”
“See ya!” I said, then turned and jogged off.
I climbed onto the bus, sat down in the first seat, and hunkered down to peek through the bottom of the window. Whittaker was still talking, gesturing hugely as he spoke, and Constance was rapt with attention. Standing out there in the sun, her in her Easton sweats and him in his trench, they looked like the perfect fresh-?faced, overprivileged, prep school couple.
All I could hope was that very soon Whittaker would start seeing that too.
124
TRUNK SHOW
Noelle Lange had sick amounts of stuff. Hundred of CDs stuffed into leather crates in her closet. A half-?dozen silk boxes filled with tangled necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, most of which looked far too expensive to be treated with such carelessness. Drawers full of photographs and postcards and invitations to charity events and fashion shows. Ticket stubs from London theaters, shot glasses from exotic locales, three iPods of various sizes and colors, crystal-?studded makeup cases, leather wristlets, gold and leather key chains, scented candles, digital cameras, lace thongs, manicure kits, cell phone cases. It never ended. How I would ever sort out something that mattered from all this swag that clearly didn't, I had no idea.
I stood up after closing her bottom desk drawer and blew my hair out of my face. I was almost afraid to try under the bed. What did she keep under there? Her illegal furs and bars of gold and silver?
At least I had time on my side. Noelle and Ariana were supposed to be at the library all night studying for some massive
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English exam. Or, more likely, gossiping all night and trusting that their golden streak of luck and blessedness would, as always, get them through.
That golden streak was the reason I was here. All I wanted in life was to have their kind of luck. Too bad I was going to have to take them down to get it. But I couldn't think about that now. I had work to do.
Down on my hands and knees, I was about to lift Noelle's duponi comforter when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. On the floor, sticking out from behind her dresser, was a sliver of something red. Curious, I crawled over and inspected. It looked like the end of a patent leather bag. Suddenly my pulse went into overdrive. This looked like it could be something.
Bracing one hand on the front of the dresser, I reached around and yanked the bag free. It was long and slim, a plain red clutch. I leaned back against the foot of her bed and slowly unzipped it. Inside were about ten four-?by-?six photographs.
I pulled the first one out and almost gagged. It was Dash, and he was naked. Completely stark naked. And very... well... excited.
Barking a laugh, I slapped the photo facedown into my lap.
Oh. My. God. Was this for real? Slowly, I lifted the corner of the photo again and peeked. Yep. Still there. He was lying on his side on a double bed, his head propped up on his hand, his hairless chest cut as could be, and his penis completely erect.
Damn, was he ever endowed. This guy could totally be in porn.
Quickly, I pulled out the rest of the pictures. Dash, naked,
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sitting on the edge of the bed. Dash, naked, standing with a smirk on his face. Dash, naked. Dash, naked. Dash, naked. And the piece de resistance: Dash, naked, hugging a teddy bear. Talk about blackmail. If I ever felt like taking Dash McCafferty down, I had just found the motherlode.
Shaking my head, I stuffed the photos back in their case and shoved them behind the dresser again, this time making sure no part of it was visible. No one else needed to find that. It was my good deed for the day.
I blew out a sigh and decided to try Ariana's side of the room. This time I went for the closet first and straight for the top shelf, since that was where I had uncovered Kiran's big secret. Unfortunately, Ariana's shelves contained nothing scandalous, aside from a pink crocheted sweater that I had never seen her wear and hopefully never would. Definitely one of those gifts given by a grandma that one just couldn't manage to throw away. I jumped down off the desk chair and dropped to the floor.
Tucked back toward the rear wall was an old-?fashioned trunk. Huh. That definitely looked like something that might hold something scandalous. I pulled it toward me and opened the lid. Inside were piles and piles of notebooks, copies of the Easton literary magazine, various editions of Poetry magazine and Writer's Weekly, and boxes of pens and pencils. I lifted out a stack of magazines and dug through the memorabilia, looking for anything that seemed as if it didn't belong. There were random pages and scraps covered
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in Ariana's handwriting, drafts of poems and lines of ideas. If I'd had more time and a free pass from Ariana, I might have stopped to read some of it, but that wasn't what I was here for. Unfortunately, it looked as if I'd hit another dead end.
I was about to replace the magazines when I saw a tiny piece of brown ribbon that seemed to be lodged between the bottom of the trunk and the side. How had that gotten wedged in there? I reached in and tugged at it and my breath caught in my throat. Had the bottom of the trunk just moved?
I glanced at the outside of the trunk. Sure enough, the “floor” of the inside was about four inches higher than the bottom on the outside.
The trunk had a false bottom.