Last Christmas (Private 0.60)

glancing out the windows, she noticed for the first time that morning how beautiful the campus looked

underneath the thick covering of snow. It was as if someone had taken a white cashmere throw and tossed it

casually over the grounds. The trees, the old stone buildings, the lampposts-everything was draped in pure

white. Under the bright sunlight, Easton Academy looked innocent. Untouched.

"You ready?" she said finally, her hand on the door handle.

"Yep." Thomas nodded, glancing suspiciously around the deserted basement. "Let's move, Osgood."

"You are such a dork," she groaned. "When the guys get back to campus I'm going to tell all of them what a

dork you are," she lied. She wasn't exactly sure which parts of this weekend she would ever divulge, but she

was just having fun-and trying to keep her mind from wondering if the stalker really was Sergei and if he

was actually dangerous.

Together they slipped into the darkened lobby of Drake House. Ariana lifted her index finger to her lips,

motioning for Thomas to be quiet. He gave her an exaggerated nod and she had to concentrate

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to stifle a giggle while he checked the directory board to find Sergei's room number.

"He's on four," Thomas said as he limped to the elevator.

In moments, Ariana found herself staring at a dorm door covered in photographs. Shots of the Easton

Academy campus. Pictures of buildings, professors, and students. There was a shot of Noelle giving the

camera the finger at the Winter Ball, a look of annoyance tinged with self-satisfaction on her face. A candid

of Dash and Thomas, tossing a football across the quad. A picture of the entire student body, taken from the

back of the Easton chapel during the last morning assembly. Brilliant red and blue light filtered through the

stained glass and spilled over the students. It was a stunning image. All the images were, in their own way.

Somehow, Sergei had managed to capture something about Easton that Ariana couldn't name. What Easton

was, who its students were, when no one was looking, when it was stripped of the polished veneer of money,

prestige, and power. Sergei had captured what was underneath.

"There you are." Thomas pointed.

Ariana's breath caught in her throat. In the photo, she was leaning against the marble column at the Driscoll,

staring up at the ceiling, the light from the crystal chandelier spilling over her face and hair. She couldn't take

her eyes away from the girl in that picture. There was an innocence about her that seemed foreign. That girl

felt safe and secure in the world. She trusted that everything was going to work out for her in the end. Ariana

felt an unexpected twinge of anger.