Ambition (Private 7)

on--" "Actually, yeah. Let's do that. Let's set up a time to do the interview," I replied, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder

and tucking my hands underneath my arms to ward off the cold. "How's Wednesday afternoon? Soccer's over, so I'm free." Marc

whipped out a BlackBerry to check his schedule, all business like. His brows knit as he checked it over. "Wednesday should work. Do

you want to--" "I'll meet you at Coffee Carma at four," I told him, feeling very in charge. "Four it is," he replied. "Good. It's a date," I

said. Marc blushed and grinned. It was a nice grin. Real. Not at all smug. "It's a date," he repeated. "See you then!" I turned and

walked determinedly toward Billings. I'd dealt with Cromwell and the New York trip, I'd made my next F.Y.R. move. So far, so good.

I was taking charge of my life. But as the dorm loomed before me, I started to feel a bit short of breath. Almost dizzy. Almost like I

didn't want to go inside.

What if there was something new and unexplained in my room? A few days had gone by since the discovery of Cheyenne's cloth-

ing, but rather than making me feel safer, the passing time was making me more paranoid. Who was planting that stuff ? What would

they do next? And when? When would I open another door or drawer and find some other Cheyenne-related artifact that would knock

the wind out of me all over again? All my Noelle-inspired adrenaline started to wane and my steps slowed. I didn't want to go in there.

Didn't want to know what was waiting for me. Billings, the only place that had felt like home in the past year and a half, had changed.

All because one of my schoolmates had a very sick, cruel sense of humor. Why would someone want to do this to me? Did I really

have such an enemy on campus? What had I done to deserve this?

I paused outside the door and leaned back against it. What if it was someone inside Billings? What if it was more than one person?

What if everyone knew what was going on and they were all laughing at me behind my back. What if- No. Stop. This was my dorm. I

was not going to be intimidated. I was not going to be afraid to walk through the door. These were my friends. They wouldn't do this

to me. And whatever my mystery stalker wanted to throw at me next, I would just deal with it. Like I'd dealt with Cromwell. I'd deal

with it like I knew I could. And whoever was doing this to me would be sorry. Taking a deep breath, I turned around and strode inside.

* * *

Everyone was gathered in the parlor. For a fleeting moment I considered just going in there and asking if any of them was behind

the black marbles and the clothing, and maybe even how that picture of Cheyenne and me had made it out of my desk drawer and onto

my bulletin board a few weeks back--which I was starting to think was part of all this. Or if any of them was helping someone on the

outside. Just call them out. But then I realized that revealing what was going on to the general Billings population would be a mistake.

It would make me look weak. It would bring up questions about why I was the only one being targeted. I would have to tell them

about the e-mail. About my guilt. And I was not about to do that.

No, I was just going to have to figure this out on my own. Once the fund raiser was over. Once everything started to normalize

again. Then I would deal with my tormentor. Decision made, I walked over to the parlor door and instantly my blood started to boil.

Noelle was standing in front of the fireplace, addressing a rapt audience of Billings Girls. Clearly, this was a formal meeting and clear-