Untouchable (Private 3)

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Okay, breathless.

When I looked up again, Noelle was staring at me. I froze for a second, startled, and when she didn't look away I became very interested in my vegetables. What was her problem with me now?

"So, what do you want to do?" Dash asked finally.

"I don't know. . . . Gage, would your dad have any movies yet?" Josh asked.

Everyone seemed to perk up at this idea.

"I haven't seen a new movie in ages," Ariana said wistfully. Whenever she was wistful, her southern accent was more pronounced.

"Nah. Those don't start rolling in till December," Gage replied.

"Gage's dad's in 'the business,'" Kiran explained to me with a couple of lazy air quotes. "He gets to vote for the Academy Awards, so he always gets all the new movies on DVD when they're still in the theater. So he can, you know, 'watch them.'" More air quotes.

"Oh. That would've been cool," I said, wondering exactly what Gage's father did in "the business." Had Gage ever met any celebrities? Somehow I doubted it. Because knowing Gage, if he'd been acquainted with any famous people, he'd have been dropping their names every time he took a breath.

Josh grazed my leg again and I warmed from my neck all the way up through my temples. I surreptitiously dropped my right hand down under the table and touched his fingers, stopping him. If he kept this up, I was going to melt. But instead of pulling away,

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he hooked his pinky through mine and held our hands on top of my thigh. I turned toward him and smiled goofily, resting my head on my left hand and letting my hair fall forward to hide my face from the rest of the table.

His grin was just as goofy as mine.

"I don't think we're capable of normal around here," Noelle announced rather loudly.

I flipped my hair back to look at her, my heart pounding as if I'd just been caught sleeping in class.

"I think you're shit out of luck, Hollis," she said, talking to him but staring right at me. "Around here, there's nothing but strange."

191

THE ART CEMETERY

The text message read meet by GRT rm. post fnl bell, j

That was it. That was all. And yet it was enough to keep me giddy all day long. My skin tingled with curiosity and trepidation as I approached Mitchell Hall, the large brick building at the center of campus, which housed the Great Room, where we'd held Thomas's funeral/drunken disaster, along with several other parlors and gathering spaces. I glanced over my shoulder before opening the huge glass door. Inside, the air was warm and still.

"Josh?" I whispered.

I took one step onto the paisley-patterned runner rug and heard a woman's voice.

"The holiday fund-raiser is one of the most important events of the year!"

Clipped footsteps approached from my right. My heart flew from my throat, pulling me with it down the hall and into the indentation around one of the many doors. The headmasters of

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yore glared down their noses at me from their gilded frames. The footsteps continued to approach.

"I will have nothing less than fresh holly and Douglas fir. Do not bring me one of those horrid Frasers like you did last year."

Ms. Lewis-Hanneman, Dean Marcus's assistant, strode right past me, talking into her cell phone. I saw my entire Easton career flash before my eyes. If she turned her head so much as an eyelash width, she'd spot me here, where I definitely was not supposed to be. Why was I always doing these things? Did some sadistic part of me want to go back to Croton?

"No ... no! That is unacceptable! I believe I have been perfectly clear!"