It's All About Us Read online

  “Maybe next week you can go with me.”

  “Maybe,” he said easily, loping down the stairs. “Here’s the staff lounge.”

  He held the door for me and gave me a quick, intimate grin, standing so close it was practically a kiss. Then he closed the door behind me, leaving me alone with Vanessa and her committee. The good part was, everyone had seen that grin and the intimacy, so I went into that room with “Callum’s girlfriend” written all over me.

  While Dani and Emily exchanged open-mouthed glances and the other girls looked from me to Vanessa to each other, Vanessa frowned and took charge as if nothing had happened.

  “Hi, Lissa. You already know Dani and Emily, so let me introduce you to everyone else.” She pointed to four girls in turn. “This is Tessa Runyon, Todd’s sister, who’s a senior. Christina Powell and DeLayne Geary are both in our class. And this is Ashley Polk. She’s a sophomore, but we’re not holding that against her because her uncle’s on the board at Neiman-Marcus.” She smiled at Ashley, a petite brunette with the kind of big blue eyes you usually see on porcelain dolls. “Everyone, this is Lissa Mansfield. She transferred here from . . . ?”

  “Santa Barbara,” I finished. “Nice to meet you all.” Good thing she hadn’t asked me anything complicated. My mind and body were still half in the land of shooting stars.

  Vanessa led me over to the table, where a glossy blueprint of the assembly hall was spread out. Little cutouts of tables, shrubs, and a bunch of squares and rectangles represented everything that would turn it into a ballroom.

  With Callum, it would transform into something magical. But at the moment, the plans looked very prosaic. I squinted at a large rectangle. Was that supposed to be the stage?

  I soon found out, since Vanessa was in charge of decorations and seating. Tessa was managing the music (live, of course, and did I think swing was passé, because if not, she could call in a favor and get Lavay Smith). Christina and Ashley’s job was food and beverages (“We have three wineries desperate to donate—why can’t we just use all of them?”), and DeLayne was running publicity and media relations.

  “You and DeLayne are going to be working together,” Vanessa told me, “because you’ll need to tie in the staff of whomever we get for our celebrity host. Have you come up with any ideas?”

  Uh, no. I’d had more important things to think about lately. I thought fast. “My mom is working with Angelina right now on a thing for the Somali babies. Why don’t I see if she’s available?”

  So casual, Lissa. As if you have a lineup of A-list stars on your friends list that you can call whenever you need one.

  “Perfect,” Vanessa said, her eyes lighting up. “You work on that. If she brings Brad, they’ll lead off the first dance with us and our dates—and Curzon and her date, of course.”

  Can you imagine it? Callum and me leading off a charity ball, whirling in the spotlight with Brad and Angelina?

  Life just couldn’t get better than that.

  LMansfield Mom, need to talk asap. Call me?

  Patricia_Sutter What’s up? You OK?

  LMansfield V. OK. Need to talk charity business.

  Patricia_Sutter Tomorrow after supper. I’ll be back at the house by then.

  Chapter 16

  OUR PHONE RANG at ten to eight Wednesday night, and I dived for it.

  “Hi, it’s Mom.”

  “Hey. Busy week?”

  “The usual. I swear, putting one of these things together is like herding chickens. Everyone wants to go in a different direction. I’m just glad Angie knows what she wants. Eventually everyone will fall into line, but in the meantime . . .” I could hear her blow a breath up through her blunt-cut bangs. “So. What’s up with you?”

  “More of the same, really. I’m on the Benefactors’ Day committee and my job is to get a celebrity to kick off the event, give a speech, and lead off the first dance.”

  “Good luck with that one.”

  “It’s not all work for the person. It’s a fundraiser, and a chunk of the take will go to the celebrity’s pet charity. So of course I thought of you and Angelina.”

  A couple of beats passed. “You want me to ask Angie if she can fly up to San Francisco to do this gig at your school?”

  “It would be great, Mom. If I can get someone like her to do it, I will be so in.”

  “Aha. So this is about social standing, is it, and not about charity at all?”

  “Of course it’s about charity.” I hated it when she took the high road. It always made me feel like I was standing on some other track, covered in everyone else’s dust. “You don’t know what it’s like here. They’re expecting me to come up with someone fabulous. And you know all kinds of fabulous people.”

  “What about George?” Mom asked. “Your father could talk to him. And it doesn’t have to be an actor, does it? What about an athlete? The Giants and the ’Niners do charity appearances all the time.”

  “Mom.” Was she kidding? Spencer was not about athletics. How could I explain this? “If I were putting together something for the Getty Foundation, I’d ask people like that. Old people relate to them. Angelina is different. She’s young, she’s cool, and she honestly cares about those Somali babies. She’d be perfect. Don’t forget about the contribution. It could tie right into what you’re doing for her.”

  Ooh, brilliant point. Surely she could see that.

  “How big a contribution?”

  “I don’t know, but I can find out and text it to you tomorrow.”

  My mother sighed. “It’s a lot to ask, especially when I’m catching her between films as it is.”

  “Please? Just mention it. That’s all. If she’s interested, great. If not, then I’ll go to Daddy.”

  “You’d better go to Daddy and line up someone else anyway. This isn’t going to happen, especially with only a few days’ notice.”

  “It’s almost two weeks.”

  “And her calendar works a year in advance. Take my advice. Call your father.”

  “But you’ll ask her anyway?”

  “Yes, I’ll ask her. But I already know the answer.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate this.”

  “Just search your heart, sweetie. Make sure your motivations are right.”

  A perfect moment under the spotlight with Callum? Securing my spot at the top of the ladder? What was wrong with working for that? Both my parents had always told me to go for my passion. That’s exactly what I was doing. Obeying my parents.

  “I will. Bye.”

  “Good night, darling.”

  Thank goodness Gillian was down at the library, looking for sample Italian sonnets we could use for a crash course on the form. Otherwise, she’d have been down my throat again about the committee. And not just that. Landing Angelina for the celebrity speaker was probably so outrageously out of her universe that I’d no doubt get an earful about pride going before a fall or overshooting my limits or whatever.

  What Gillian needed was a little imagination and some chutzpah. Both of which I had in spades. Biology and genetics modules were one thing. Anybody could figure those out with the right study skills. Angelina was quite another—and getting her would need my particular set of skills.

  To be on the safe side, though, I sat at my desk again and flipped into e-mail.

  To:[email protected]

  From:[email protected]

  Date:October 1, 2008

  Re:Celebrity speaker

  Hi Dad. Remember that Benefactors’ Day ball on 10/11 I told you about? Well, I’m on the planning committee and my job is to find a celebrity speaker to kick the event off and lead the first dance.

  Any ideas? George? A ball player? Some hot boy actor running around begging for an audition? Time is short to nonexistent and I need help.

  Thanks! Love ya.

  Lissa xo

  To:[email protected]

  From:[email protected]

  Date:October 1, 2008
r />   Re:Re: Celebrity speaker

  This thing is 10/11? Argh, I knew that. Don’t ask much, do you? Let me check around. I’m assuming you asked your mother already. She has more people in her PDA than I’ve ever even met.

  Love ya 2X.

  Dad

  When my iPhone chimed a couple minutes later, I expected it to be Dad calling back already with a brilliant solution to my problem.

  But it wasn’t.

  “Callum,” I said, in what I hoped was a warm, welcoming voice.

  “Hey. Whatcha doing?”

  “Working on committee stuff and waiting for Gillian to come back from the library. I’m helping her with her English homework.”

  “I miss you.”

  Warm tingles tiptoed through my veins. “Already?” We’d eaten lunch together. This was very good.

  “Yeah. Why don’t you ditch her and meet me in the common room? They’re watching Prison Break.”

  “Uh . . .” If we’d been talking Firefly, that’d be a no-brainer. But Prison Break? Even for Callum, that was a stretch.

  “We don’t have to watch it. I staked out one of the couches in the back, next to the fire.”

  Oh. Now we were talking. But at the same time . . .

  “Callum, I can’t. I promised Gillian I’d do this so she’d help me out on this stupid genetics project. If I ditch her, I’m on my own.”

  “I’ll help you with it. Eventually. After . . . you know . . .”

  Oh my. I could feel my body temperature spike just thinking about it.

  “Shut up. I hope you’re alone.”

  “Brett’s downstairs. I’m in his room. Sure you don’t want to come? I’ll only hold that seat for so long.”

  Part of me said, He’s trying to make you jealous while the other part said, It’s working. And another, saner part said, You’re not the kind who ditches her friends.

  But come on. Life was not all about work. Prison Break or not, I’d get to cuddle with Callum on the couch. Right there in front of everyone. He wasn’t like Aidan, who’d convinced me to keep our relationship quiet so that it would be something precious and secret. Ha. So Tiana wouldn’t find out, more like. I should be grateful that Callum was so fearless about us. So proud to have me beside him.

  And I wanted to be there.

  “Okay,” I said. “Give me ten minutes to finish some notes and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, and disconnected.

  That was me. Callum’s girl.

  And proud of it.

  Gillian still hadn’t come back, so I scribbled some notes, with little boxes meant to look like an Italian sonnet’s structure, and left them sticking out of the right chapter in her English anthology. A quick touchup on my hair and a dash of lip gloss, and I was out the door.

  When we got to the common room, the party had already started. A DVD played on the big-screen TV, but hardly anyone paid attention to it, whether it was because they’d already seen the episode, or because the show was just an excuse for everyone to get together. It took about five seconds for me to see that a couple of bottles of what looked like rum were making their way toward everyone who was drinking Coke. Cartons of orange juice and plates of munchies sat on an antique Victorian sideboard, and behind that I saw the top of a bottle of vodka.

  My vision of snuggling with Callum next to the fire and feeling like the Chosen One wavered a little, but didn’t break. I was not going to worry about the potential dangers of the situation, or argue right and wrong with my conscience. I, after all, had not brought the stuff. I was going to have fun and enjoy the moment.

  “Get you something to drink?” he asked me.

  “Diet Coke. Neat,” I added.

  He grinned. “Yeah. Me, too. I don’t know what idiot snuck the liquor in here. They have to know Milsom is on duty patrol this week.”

  He walked away before I could point out that the innocent would get lumped in with the guilty if we got busted, unless there was a guard posted at the door to give us an early warning.

  Still feeling a little uneasy, I made my way over to the couch. As soon as they saw me, a couple of juniors—weren’t they in my English class?—got up, smiled vaguely, and disappeared.

  Callum handed me my drink and settled beside me, his arm slipping around my shoulders as easily as if we’d been going out since freshman year. There was something hard under the pillow I was leaning on, but with Callum heating up my whole left side, who cared? It was a minor annoyance. Probably just the arm of the old Victorian-style couch.

  “What did you do, threaten everyone with bodily harm if they stole our spot?”

  He grinned, then knocked back half his can of Coke. “Nah. I asked politely.”

  Kids settled around us on the carpet and on ottomans, talking about everything from golf clubs to how much they hated the math homework to where they were going for the weekend. I felt like Eleanor of Aquitaine and her court of . . . well, if not love, then certainly social triumph. While Callum talked as easily with DeLayne Geary and her little flock of Pussycat Doll wannabes as he did with Todd Runyon and the guys on the golf team, I chipped in an opinion now and then and tried to be as nice to everyone as possible.

  If I was going to be queen to Callum’s obvious king, I wasn’t going to be like Vanessa Talbot. She might be rich and beautiful, but people wanted her to like them because it could be dangerous if she didn’t. I’d be different. People would want to hang out with me because I was nice to them, because I didn’t exclude them. The whole school would love me, and at the Benefactors’ Day ball, people would applaud as Callum and I took the floor and—

  “Heads up!” somebody called from the door. “Milsom!”

  From my comfy seat on the couch, I watched the whole room scramble to hide the bottles of booze. Good grief, didn’t they have a contingency plan? I felt calm and amused, secure in the knowledge that my can of Coke didn’t hold anything it wasn’t supposed to, and neither did Callum’s.

  Someone yanked out a bunch of leather-bound books on the shelf over the fireplace and rolled the vodka in behind them. The bottles of rum were stashed under the seat cushion of two easy chairs, and a student flopped on top of each. When Milsom walked in, half the room was absorbed in munching cold pizza and watching Prison Break, while the other half sat comfortably around Callum and me.

  “Hey, Mr. Milsom,” Todd said. He lounged sideways in one of the easy chairs, his legs draped over the arm. He looked way more comfortable than a guy should with a bottle of rum poking against his hip.

  “Don’t be a suckup, Runyon.” Todd raised his eyebrows and looked hurt. “Are alcoholic beverages being imbibed here?”

  Only Milsom would use a word like imbibe—or precipitating, or dulcet—in any context outside chemistry class. The guy was worse than Kaz.

  Twenty people shook their heads. Todd looked astonished that the teacher would even think such a thing.

  Milsom shook his head with an expression of regret that was as fake as Todd’s. “Unfortunately, my years of experience tell me differently. Runyon, Stapleton, Miss Mansfield. Stand up, please. Miss Geary, please remove the books over the fireplace.”

  DeLayne’s dusky skin went pale. Moving hesitantly, she did as she was told while the rest of us stood. Callum and I looked relaxed in comparison to Todd and Rory Stapleton as Mr. Milsom confiscated the bottles they’d been sitting on. He took the vodka from DeLayne and then narrowed his pitiless glare on me.

  What was he looking at me for?

  “Miss Mansfield, if you don’t mind.”

  I stared at him. “Sir?”

  “Your cushion, Miss Mansfield. Knock off the innocence, please. I’ve been policing this room since before you were born. It, and you, have no secrets.”

  Did I look as dumb as I felt? “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand what you mean.”

  He sighed, and in the future I could see a whole senior year’s worth of chemistry grades slide off his desk, right into the
trash can. “The bottle, Miss Mansfield. Under the cushion. Hand it to me, please.”

  “But there’s no bottle there. I was sitting right—”

  “Miss Mansfield, don’t compound the trouble you’re in by arguing with me. Hand it over, please.”

  For Pete’s sake. Shaking my head at the stupidity of someone who refused to believe a perfectly innocent person when there was a herd of guilty ones all around him, I turned and yanked the pillow off the arm of the couch.

  And stared in horror.

  “Thank you, Miss Mansfield.” He pulled the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from between the arm of the couch and the seat cushion.

  Breathe. Take a breath. Speak. “But I didn’t—”

  “Runyon, Stapleton, Mansfield,” Mr. Milsom said heavily. “Headmistress’s office, eight o’clock tomorrow. The rest of you, turn off the TV and clean up this mess. You have twenty minutes until lights-out at ten.”

  Clanking a little with the weight of his booty, he turned and walked to the door, his heavy tread clearly audible in a dead silent room.

  The door closed behind him and I turned to Callum, feeling a little desperate.

  “What does he—I didn’t know—”

  Vanessa handed an empty pizza box to the person closest to her and dusted her hands, an expression of distaste battling with concern as she looked at me across the room. “Milsom is such a jerk,” she said. “I hope you guys don’t get expelled. I need you on the committee, Lissa.”

  Expelled?

  I’d never even had a detention in my whole life. How could I be expelled? I hadn’t done anything.

  Callum put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me against his side. “It’s okay, Lissa. First offenders never get expelled unless there’s blood or fire. Don’t worry about it.”

  Blood. Fire. Expelled.

  Cradled in the warmth of Callum’s arm, I suddenly found it very difficult to breathe.

  DLavigneHear what happened last night?

  DGearyI was there. Much carousing. Expulsions to follow.

  DLavigneWoo hoo!

  DLavigneIs it true Little Miss Christian got plastered and cussed out Milsom?