Ambition (Private 7)

time. My room on the top floor was, mercifully, empty. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I struggled to get my breathing under control as

I speed- dialed Dash on my iPhone. I held my breath, unsure of what I was going to say, but certain it was going to be shouted. I had a

lot of angry, confused adrenaline to spew. Why not spew it at Dash "You're All I Think About, Reed" McCafferty? The phone rang

once, then clicked over to voice mail. "This is Dash McCafferty. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." So

formal, that Dash. I hung up before the beep. I was not in the frame of mind to leave a coherent message. I yanked my laptop off my

desk and hit a few keys to bring it to life. My fingers trembled as they hovered over the keyboard, waiting for my e-mail to boot up.

When it did, I typed a simple message. Dash, We need to talk. Call me. -Reed

Message sent, I tossed the computer on the foot of my bed and collapsed backward, my legs hooked over the side of my mattress,

feet on the floor. Dried tears tightened my cheeks. Josh hated me. Hated me. And Dash had abandoned me. And Noelle was going to

kill me when she found out. How had I gotten here? How had everything gotten so screwed up? My head pounded as if my brain were

pulsating against my skull and my skull against my skin. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and brought my fingers to my temples.

Breathe, Reed. Just breathe. But Josh's disgusted expression kept flitting through my brain and my head pounded harder. My throat

was desiccated, and the muscles in my back and neck coiled painfully. I couldn't take it anymore. This wasn't just the drama talking.

This was the hangover. The lack of sleep. I had been awake since yesterday morning. Awake and partying and drinking and puking

and barely eating a thing. God, I loathed myself. It was still early. Not even six o'clock. Dinner had yet to be served at the dining hall,

but I didn't care. This day

had to end. Now. I would take something for the headache and go to bed, and tomorrow I would start fresh.

Start my life without Josh. Somehow, I would start over. I forced myself up to a seated position, my eye sockets exploding with pain,

and reached for my top desk drawer, where I kept a small bottle of Tylenol. As I yanked the drawer open there was a racket not unlike

the sound of a dozen bowling balls racing down their lanes. Then a slam. The unexpected noise scared me half to death, but when I

peered into the drawer, my heart all but stopped. Black marbles, dozens of them, had rolled forward from the back of the drawer and

slammed into the front. A few latecomers still trickled forth, bouncing around my pens and pencils to join their friends.

Black marbles. Used in the inner circle for voting people out. For expelling people from Billings. Who had put these in my drawer?

Why? Was it just some kind of stupid prank, or was someone sending a message? That they wanted me out? Wanted me gone? I was

just starting to hyperventilate when the door to my room opened. I grabbed the Tylenol bottle, then slammed the drawer so hard the

framed picture of me and my brother, Scott, fell over on my desktop. Sabine came traipsing in, all excitement, too hyper to realize

anything was wrong. "Omigosh! Everyone on campus is talking about how incredible you were," she trilled, dropping her backpack

on her bed. She turned to me, her green eyes glowing. Lately Sabine had updated her Caribbean wardrobe to better suit the New Eng-

land autumn weather, and today she was wearing a kelly green turtleneck, tartan skirt, and tall brown boots. The preppy look suited

her, but she still wore her shell earrings, which dangled almost to her shoulders. "Your fund-raiser is the hot topic of the day. Do you