lunch to go over our short list of theme ideas, which we had narrowed down at the meeting the night before. By the end of the day I
was going to make a decision. By the end of the day something was going to be set in stone.
We grabbed sandwiches and bottled water and got to our table before any of the other Billings Girls arrived. In fact, the place was
as still as the library. Only a few of the faculty and some of the foreign exchange students--who always seemed to arrive early to ev-
erything-- were present, and their conversations were whispered, hushed. "I think 'indulgence' is a perfect theme," Sabine whispered
as we sat down. "All those ideas London had about serving only sweets and champagne and having private massage rooms and cash-
mere blankets on every seat as favors--it sounded divine." "I like it too, but it might be too expensive to pull off. It'll all depend on
whether or not the Twin Cities can really get all that stuff for free or at cost," I replied, opening my notebook to the theme list. "What
about the green theme? The environment is so trendy right now and we--" "Ladies! I've got it!"
I stopped talking as the door to the dining hall flew open and Noelle made her announcement. She strode over to our table, her
cheeks flushed from the cold, tugging her camel-colored suede gloves from her fingers. Tiffany, London, Vienna, Portia, and Shelby
were at her heels, looking like very excited ladies-in-waiting. "You've got what?" I asked, looking up at Noelle as she paused at the
end of the table. "The most perfect fund-raiser idea ever!" She shrugged her thick hair off her shoulders and spread her fingers wide.
"We are going to make so much money for this school, the Crom will not only leave Billings alone, he'll bow down to us for the rest
of our scholastic lives." I glanced warily at Sabine, whose expression had turned hard and cold. No surprise there. I was sure she saw
this as yet another attempt by Noelle to seize control of Billings. But even if I did feel a twinge of foreboding myself, I had to ignore
it. I owed Noelle that much, after last night's conversation. Besides, I was kind of psyched to hear about this plan of hers. In my expe-
rience Noelle's plans were generally fabulous. "Don't keep us in suspense," I prompted.
"Right. So we have the big, extravagant dinner for the per-plate donation we talked about, but we also offer a special platinum tick-
et," Noelle said, pulling a chair over to sit at the head of the table. "And what do they get with a platinum ticket?" I asked. "Patience,
Reed. I was getting to that," Noelle said with a condescending smile. "Anyone buying a platinum ticket will be invited to a salon earli-
er in the day to be styled by the one and only Frederica Falk, stylist to the stars." London and Vienna clasped hands and squealed at
the sound of the name. Like Noelle had just announced that Brad Pitt was going to be teaching their afternoon art histor
y class. "And
photographed by Tassos, world-renowned fashion photographer," Tiffany added, grinning. "Really? That's amazing," I said. I had
never heard of Frederica Falk, but all the other girls seemed beside themselves at the mention of her name. And I knew from the rever-
ent way the Billings Girls talked about Tiffany's father, Tassos, that landing a shoot with him was one of the most sought-after prizes
of the rich and famous. We could make a killing with this.
"And Dad has offered to donate a whole slew of his old photos and cameras and equipment so that we can auction them off at the
dinner," Tiffany added, dropping into the chair next to mine. She whipped her heather gray scarf off and opened her coat. "He can't