“Reed,” Carolina said through her teeth. “Are you okay?”
I took another breath and nodded. Don’t let whoever broke into your room get you all paranoid. Don’t let them ruin this moment, I told myself as I faced forward again. Don’t let them have the power.
“As many of you know, my background is different from most of the student population of Easton,” I began. “I came here last year as a scholarship student, unsure of where I’d fit in, clueless as to what it meant to attend a private school. I remember staring out my window that first night, feeling so homesick it scared me. A huge part of me wanted to flee. I wanted to go back to Pennsylvania and the world I knew. And I might have done that, if it wasn’t for the friends I found at Billings.”
I looked down at Noelle and she gave me a closed-lipped, encouraging smile.
“That’s not to say we didn’t have our bumps at first, as we tried to get to know each other, as I began to understand their world, but before long I came to think of Billings as my true home, my housemates as my sisters. I began to realize what an honor it is to be a part of a grand tradition like Billings, and I was heartbroken when that tradition was taken away.”
I paused for a moment as cameras clicked and a few people in the crowd murmured. Suddenly I recalled with perfect clarity how it felt that day when Noelle and I had come back to campus to find Billings flattened. The confusion, the devastation, the hopelessness. It was all I could do to keep from glancing over at Headmaster Hathaway accusatorily.
“But now I have a second chance. We all have a second chance. To make Billings what it should be. To make it what we all know it can be. A place where young women can live and work together, share ideas, share their dreams and goals, and foster a sense of support as they make their way out into the world.”
Someone shouted and there was another round of applause from the alumnae dotted throughout the crowd.
“So now, it gives me great pleasure to invite Billings alum Carolina Grant and Headmaster Hathaway to help me cut the ribbon and officially get this project under way.”
The various members of the press clamored for a better angle as Carolina, Mr. Hathaway, and I walked over to the shiny red ribbon tied between two orange cones at the top of the construction site. Mr. Hathaway’s assistant handed us a huge pair of scissors, which Carolina and I both held onto. Then Mr. Hathaway pulled the ribbon taut for us so we could cut it. I looked up to smile for the cameras before doing the deed, and my eyes fell on Sawyer and Graham, who were standing right next to a klatch of Billings Girls, including Constance, Kiki, Astrid, Lorna, and Amberly. Sawyer had a grim smile on his face, but Graham looked like he was considering tackling me right into the gaping foundation hole behind me.
I gulped.
“Let’s do this,” Carolina whispered.
The slice of the scissors sounded like a steak knife being dragged across a sharpener. And then it was over and cheers filled the air. When I looked up again, both Sawyer and Graham were gone.
Mr. Hathaway shook my hand. On the far side of the foundation, a cement truck backed up, its barrel tipping toward the hole to release the wet cement for the basement. A crowd of well-wishers gathered around me, clasping my fingers, giving me hugs and air-kisses, posing for photos.
“Miss Brennan! Miss Brennan! If I could get a quick quote—”
“I was promised an interview—”
“If we could get all three of you over here for a picture—”
Everything was a blur of faces and microphones and smiles and kisses. And then, suddenly, a loud, crunching, creaking wail filled the air. Someone screamed. There were startled and panicked shouts, and before I knew what was happening, everyone around me was shoving me toward the edge of the deep hole.
“Omigod.” Carolina gasped next to me. “No!”
And then, the crash. I stood on my toes to see what was going on, just in time to watch the cement truck fall backward into the foundation. The huge vehicle flipped over onto its back, landing on its still twisting barrel with a sickening and seemingly never-ending crunch of metal. On the far side of the foundation, workers scrambled down ladders, trying to get to the driver. It all happened so fast, yet I saw every last moment of it in crystal-clear slow motion. Horrifying slow motion.
“Get him out of there!” Headmaster Hathaway shouted.
Carolina screamed as the door of the cab opened and the driver dangled from the opening. If he fell the wrong way he’d be sucked under the turning cement barrel and crushed. Some brave workers edged close to the vehicle and stood under the open door. An odd, strangled screech escaped from my throat as the dangling man fell into their arms and was quickly dragged away. A few people started to applaud, but all I wanted to do was collapse. The cement truck continued to churn, gurgling fresh cement in massive globs all over the basement, its gears grinding as it dug a hole for itself in the dirt.
“Miss Brennan! Miss Brennan! What do you have to say about this accident?”
I turned around and at least ten microphones and recorders were shoved in my face. Whoever wasn’t on me was on Carolina, and with each passing moment of our stunned silence the shouted questions grew more absurd.
“Did you have the proper permits?”
“Is that man certified to work with that kind of machinery?”
“How do you feel about endangering the lives of your fellow students?”
“What do you say to rumors that this site is cursed?”
Headmaster Hathaway’s strong hand came down on my shoulder.
“Don’t say a word,” he hissed in my ear. “We have no comment at this time!” he shouted loudly.