It's All About Us Read online

  DGearyDon’t believe everything you hear. All I can say is she didn’t do Jack. LOL

  DLavigneI have it from a reliable source that she did. And her parents are coming today.

  DGearyWhat for?

  DLavigneTo take her to rehab, of course!

  DGearyHarsh. Wonder if we’ll get Angelina now?

  Chapter 17

  THE HEADMISTRESS GAZED at us, but I couldn’t tell if her expression meant disappointment or disgust. Maybe a combination of both. I hadn’t seen a look like that on a woman’s face since I’d broken my mother’s Venetian millefiori bowl during a game of tag at my eighth birthday party.

  Broken being the operative word.

  Mr. Milsom stood with his head cocked to one side, pretending to read the spines of her research books in the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. On the sideboard behind her desk sat the four bottles in question.

  Exhibits A through D, I presumed.

  “Well,” the headmistress said on a sigh, “I’d expect this from you, Mr. Runyon, and possibly you, Mr. Stapleton, since impulse control isn’t one of your strengths.” That piercing brown gaze moved to me, and I swallowed. “But you, Miss Mansfield. I have to admit that after all these years of administering this institution, not much surprises me. This morning, however, I am surprised. I’d pegged you differently.”

  The door behind me opened, and I choked as Callum slipped into the room just in time to hear.

  “It wasn’t her fault, ma’am,” Callum said, his usual drawl sounding a little breathless, as if he’d taken the stairs two at a time. “She had no clue that bottle was under her seat. I put it there.”

  “Mr. McCloud, why aren’t you in core class?” Her dry tone indicated she saw right through him.

  “Lissa hasn’t done anything wrong. I can’t let her take the rap for something I did.”

  “He was sitting on the couch next to her,” Milsom put in, examining a disintegrating edition of Spenser’s The Faerie Queene. Like a chemistry instructor would care.

  “Yes, but according to your report, Bartley, he wasn’t the one concealing the bottle.”

  “I wasn’t concealing it,” I repeated like a robot. “I thought it was the arm of the couch.”

  “Regardless of your intentions, the fact remains that the three of you were concealing the presence of alcohol. Stapleton and Runyon, did you know it was there?”

  The boys looked at each other, then at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you for your honesty, at least. If I could prove you’d brought it to the party, I’d expel you. But since I can’t, and Mr. Milsom can’t, I’m going to settle for detention. A month of helping the maintenance staff with groundskeeping, an hour per day, five days per week, starting this afternoon.”

  Todd and Rory gaped at her, their mouths drooping like the mask of tragedy.

  “Yes, I thought you’d like that. Report to Joe Wrigley’s office after classes. You’re dismissed.”

  They pushed out the door, and before it even closed, I heard them complaining to each other in the hallway, completely put out about doing manual labor. Ha. They should try being a production assistant on one of my dad’s sets.

  “Mr. McCloud, your desire to see justice done is to be commended, but you’re dismissed also.”

  “But—” Callum began.

  “Thank you, Mr. McCloud.”

  He looked into my eyes and squeezed my hand. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered.

  When the door closed behind him, I straightened my shoulders and faced my fate. “Are you going to expel me?”

  Ms. Curzon blinked at me over the fashionably narrow rectangles of her blond tortoiseshell glasses. “Expel you? Of course not.”

  “Should I . . . report to Mr. Wrigley at four, too?” What was she going to do?

  Please, Lord, don’t let her do anything awful. I’m sorry I was so stupid. I need Your help.

  “For someone who says she’s innocent, you seem awfully eager to be punished.” She took off her glasses and looked me over. Had I buttoned my shirt properly? Was my hem the right length? I fingered the fabric nervously.

  Could I do anything right, ever again?

  “I’m not,” I said. “Eager to be punished, I mean. But if I have to be, I’d like to get it over with.”

  “How are you coming along with arrangements for the Benefactors’ Day ball?”

  I stared at her. And this had what to do with the case currently before the jury? “Ma’am?”

  She glanced at Milsom. “That was a fairly straightforward question, wasn’t it, Bartley? I didn’t speak in Tagalog or anything, did I?”

  “No, Natalie. Though you do tend to revert to Cornish dialect when you’re upset.”

  Oh, ha ha. All I needed at that moment was a pantload of sarcasm.

  My cheeks burning, I said, “The arrangements are going well. My mother works with one of Angelina’s foundations. She’s going to ask her today if she can be our celebrity host. If that doesn’t work, my father will call in a favor. We have a couple of local possibilities that don’t need airfare.”

  “Lovely. Angelina would be a coup. I bet we’d get a sellout crowd. Thank you, Miss Mansfield. Well done. You may go.”

  I tried to get my mouth working properly. “But aren’t you going to—”

  She waved a hand. “Yes, yes, if you insist. I’ll put a note in your file and notify your parents. Off you go, now. Here’s a slip for your core class instructor.”

  I took the slip and escaped before any more weirdness ensued. The boys got a month’s detention and I got a pat on the back? If I’d known that would happen, I could have dropped Angelina’s name at the beginning.

  Relief bubbled through me like pure oxygen. Thank You, Lord. No more parties for me around here. Yes, I make mistakes, but You know I only make them once.

  I’d rather party one-on-one with Callum, anyway. And how about that sweet I’m-sacrificing-myself-for-you gesture, huh? If I’d been the tiniest bit insecure about our relationship, it was totally gone now. What guy would voluntarily take the fall for a girl he didn’t care about? A lot?

  That knowledge was almost worth the risk of expulsion.

  A glance at the clock told me core class was half over. It wouldn’t do me much good to show up now. I had my slip. What I really needed to do was to go back to my room and decompress for a few minutes. I could guarantee that all the others were agog to know what had happened, but I wasn’t ready to face them yet.

  Or to concentrate on core class. Who cared about romantic writers of the nineteenth century when your boyfriend had just done the metaphorical equivalent of jumping into the ocean to save you—again?

  Gillian looked up from the San Francisco Chronicle—known to some as the Comical—as I slipped into our room. It must be her free period. She took a hit off her caramel latte and dropped her gaze to the paper once more.

  Okay, so I hadn’t exactly been the world’s best communicator when I’d finally crawled into bed last night. Who could be, with the threat of expulsion hanging over her head?

  “Oh, look. Here’s Vanessa on the society page. How novel.”

  I took a deep, steadying breath flavored with the soft scent of caramel. “Gillian, I’m sorry.”

  She turned the page before I got much more than a glimpse of a micro-short dress and a big smile. “What for?”

  “For ditching you and your English homework. For going to a party and not inviting you. For cutting out on you during prayer circle.” When she didn’t answer, I sat on my bed. “I’m about the world’s worst friend.”

  “After last night, I can’t say I know you well enough to be friends.”

  Ouch. And that delivery—like she was commenting on a new species of dung beetle. Ouch squared.

  “You know me well enough to know I’m really sorry.”

  At last she looked up, flipping her hair behind one ear. Hurt lay behind the defensive expression in her dark eyes. “Did you know that the Chinese phrase for ‘
sorry’ is dui bu chi? It means ‘I can’t look you in the eye.’”

  Ouch cubed. Because I was having a pretty hard time doing just that. “I’d say the Chinese know what they’re talking about. Did you hear what happened?”

  “The whole school heard. When I went to get breakfast—there’s a bagel there, if you want it—I was informed that you’d been taken to the drunk tank along with Callum.”

  “Really?” I said faintly. Good grief. The rumor mill was out of control. The bagel lay on my desk, and there was even cream cheese on it. “Thanks for the food.”

  “I didn’t see you in the dining room.”

  “I had to go to Ms. Curzon’s office at eight, along with Todd Runyon and Rory Stapleton. They got a month’s detention.”

  “And what did you get?”

  I shook my head and took a bite of the bagel. “Nothing. She asked me how the plans for the ball were going. It was surreal. Like she didn’t care whether I had a whole barrel of Jack Daniel’s under that stupid pillow.”

  “Or she knows you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Man, that bagel tasted good. “Which means that everyone is making up their own story.”

  She shrugged. “What do you care what they say?”

  “I don’t. You know who else was there?”

  “I heard Callum got sent up, too. I was waiting to hear what happened to him.”

  “That’s just the thing. He didn’t get sent up. He came voluntarily, and get this—he took the blame for me. He was ready to do groundskeeping along with Todd and Rory. For me.”

  “So he got detention, too?”

  “Uh-uh. I think they figured out he was just being gallant.”

  “Or he really was guilty and was playing gallant so those guys wouldn’t take it out on him later.”

  Cynical much?

  I finished the bagel and got up to wash my hands. “How can you say that?” I said from the bathroom. “Of course he didn’t put that stuff there. But he was willing to take the hit so I wouldn’t have to. He really cares about me.”

  “I guess he must,” she said, but her tone was so neutral, I couldn’t tell if that was a positive or a negative in her book. She closed the paper and got up. “I gotta go. See you at lunch.”

  “I’ll save you a seat if I get there first.”

  She was no sooner out the door than my iPhone made its happy sound. And, oh joy, it turned out to be a three-way.

  “Lissa,” my mom said from Los Angeles. “I just got the most disturbing call from your headmistress.”

  “Me, too,” Dad chimed in from Marin.

  Don’t you just love technology? Stereo parents.

  I glanced at the clock. Three minutes until my next class. “Mom, Dad, I have a class at nine forty-five. Can we do this after school?”

  “I trust your ability to be concise,” Mom said. “Explain. Now.”

  Concise. Okay. I told the story in twenty-five words or less, sticking to the facts and trying not to sound defensive even though I felt attacked on all sides.

  Though maybe not on Gillian’s side. Maybe she was right, and Ms. Curzon really had thought I was innocent. If the call to my parents wasn’t to say I was an immoral troll who should be taken out of school immediately, then sticking to the facts was the best plan.

  “Do you know who stashed that bottle there?” Dad asked.

  “No. But even if I did, I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “Of course not. That would be social suicide. But—”

  “Gabriel, that’s hardly the point,” Mom interrupted. “Lissa, we don’t need to say that you have to think things through and make better choices.”

  If they didn’t need to say it, why say it? I sighed. “No, Mom. I already told the Lord that I only do dumb things once. I do learn. Eventually.”

  “Maybe this Callum boy isn’t as hot as you thought?” Dad asked.

  What did he mean? “He’s totally hot,” I said. “He went up to Curzon’s office and took the blame for me. It didn’t work, but at least he tried. That’s amazing, if you ask me. He could have been expelled.”

  I wondered if he’d been sent up to Curzon’s office before . . . or what kinds of notes had been made in his student file. Maybe none. Maybe a lot. Just how big a risk had he taken for me? Not that it mattered. A risk was a risk.

  “I know you have to go to class,” Mom said. “Please remember that we love you and we want to see you do well at Spencer. I sincerely don’t want any more calls from Natalie Curzon.”

  “Okay.” Then I remembered. “Mom, did you get a chance to talk to Angelina?”

  “I mentioned it to her assistant. They’ll get back to me.”

  “When? I need to get Dad on the case if she says no.”

  “When they get back to me,” Mom said firmly. “Bye-bye, darling. Have a good day.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “Love ya, L-squared.”

  “You too, Daddy.” I disconnected and dropped the phone into my tote. Then I glanced at the clock again with a sigh.

  Not even ten o’clock in the morning.

  Could I go back to bed now?

  Chapter 18

  WHEN WE GOT out of Math, Callum stopped me just outside in the hall, smiling down into my eyes in a way that made the pandemonium all around us fade into background music.

  “You doing anything tonight?”

  I shook my head.

  “Want to come over to my place?”

  “Your house?” I asked, just to clarify he didn’t mean the common room in the boys’ dorm or something.

  “Yeah. My mom has a committee meeting, my dad’s in Houston, and my sisters”—he did a one-shoulder shrug—“are both away at college. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

  Even if I’d had plans, I’d have canceled them. But he didn’t need to know that. I pulled my iPhone out and made a show of checking a schedule I knew by heart. It’s easy to remember a lot of blank space. “No, nothing. I’d love to come.”

  That grin again, the one I adored. “Great. Meet you out front right after dinner.”

  Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day spacing on classes and planning what I’d wear. When Gillian got back to our room I was deep in strategizing, clothes all over my bed and the closet doors draped in blouses and skirts.

  “Don’t tell me.” She dropped her backpack at the end of the bed and sat, staring at the chaos. “You’re going out with Callum.”

  “Why did I ever think that leaving half my clothes at Dad’s was a good idea?” I moaned. “Callum invited me over to his place and I don’t have a single thing to wear.”

  “Will there be tuxes and pearls?”

  “No. No one but him and me.”

  “That nixes everything with a skirt, then.”

  Ah. The process of elimination. I was such a wreck that Gillian’s orderly mind was exactly what I needed.

  “Are you going hiking or snowboarding?”

  “No.”

  “Then put away the jeans and sweaters. The hoodie and the Aran cable-knit, too.”

  I did. This did not leave much in the middle of the bed.

  “So, totally alone, huh?”

  “I hope so.” Oh, yummy thought.

  “Then if you’re really going to do this, wear the velvet skinny jeans and the ruffled silk tank top, and the crocheted cashmere wrap sweater over it.”

  What did she mean? Of course I was going to do this. I hugged the sweater to my chest. Soft, approachable. “You’re a genius.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Tell that to Milsom. I think he has a deliberate hate on for me.”

  “After last night, it can’t be worse than the hate he has on for me.” I dropped my voice. “‘Miss Mansfield, don’t compound the trouble you’re in.’” I stripped off my fake wool skirt and white shirt, and kicked off my socks.

  “Compounds,” Gillian said with a grin. “That’s exactly the trouble I’m in. He doesn’t listen when I say we’d get better results if we used
magnesium in the stupid experiment.” Then she sobered. “Hey, speaking of stupid experiments, don’t you have some genetics thing due soon? When am I supposed to help you with that?”

  The velvet jeans felt so soft and cuddly. I imagined cozying up with Callum, and a tingle went through me.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s due tomorrow but I’ll ask for an extension.”

  “You can do that?”

  I stared at her. “Sure. You mean you’ve never gotten one for anything?”

  “No. I just turn the stuff in when it’s due.”

  I shook my head. “Girl, girl. You have to learn to play the game. I’ll ask for Monday, and we can do the project over the weekend. No biggie.”

  “If you say so.” She paused, watching me slip on ballet flats.

  “What?” I looked at my feet. “Would heels be better?”

  “Do you think you’re doing the right thing, Lissa?”

  I stared at her. “Asking for an extension?”

  “No. Going to Callum’s place. Being alone. You know.”

  Why was she asking me this now? “What do you mean, the right thing? You just helped me find the perfect outfit.”

  “Yeah, aiding and abetting. That’s me.” She rolled off the bed and began to clear up her clutter.

  I didn’t really care for the sound of that. “Going over to his place is not a crime.”

  She shrugged, her back to me. “It just seems like you’re moving awfully fast, that’s all.”

  “Gillian, relax. We’re just going to watch a movie or listen to music or something. We never get a chance to just be together at school. Don’t worry.”

  “Who’s worried?” She shoved some papers into her backpack. “Come on. I’m starving. I hope you don’t spill anything on those pants.”

  So did I.

  THANK GOODNESS I didn’t. The crocheted cashmere wrap sweater was a good choice, I reflected as I stood on the steps waiting for Callum. It might be Indian summer in the daytime, but nights in San Francisco get cool. In the distance, the downtown traffic sounded like the roar of the ocean, and birds cheeped as they settled down in the branches of the pepper trees. The scent of freshly mown grass hung in the moist air, mixed with exhaust from the street.