Extraordinary (14 page)

Once, Mallory was also there. That was nerve-racking, but Phoebe discovered that part of her almost enjoyed the need to pretend in front of Mallory that she and Ryland hardly knew each other. The secrecy—paired with a few taut, clandestine seconds when Ryland laid his warm hand at the base of Phoebe's spine, while Mallory was only inches away but turned in another direction—was—it was—well. It was dangerously, shamefully, wonderfully erotic.

A split second after this incident, when Mallory turned back to face Phoebe and Ryland, Phoebe observed a sharp glance dart from Mallory to her brother. For one flash of a moment she thought Mallory knew, but then Mallory had smiled and laughed as if she didn't have a care in the world. Then Ryland laughed as well, and Phoebe knew she and Ryland had fooled Mallory. She was so relieved; she didn't want to disappoint Ryland.

There were other ways in which the secrecy felt right too, and Phoebe decided this was because her feelings for Ryland were like a tender new plant that needed a protected environment in order to grow. She would probably not have confided in her parents at this stage, she told herself, if it had been some boy at school or even her friend Benjamin on Nantucket, who her parents liked. So why should this be different? Why should she feel guilty about not telling her parents about Ryland yet? She would not.

On the other hand—with another boy, she'd certainly have told Mallory. It would have been a delicious part of the whole experience; sharing with Mallory, laughing with Mallory, getting advice and opinions from Mallory. Phoebe felt so sad about missing this, and at first she couldn't figure out why. She had never heard anyone, anywhere, claim that part of love was talking to your best friend about it. Heroines in romance novels weren't calling their friends every day and reporting in, were they? Jane Eyre, for example, loved Mr. Rochester in tortured silence.

Jane Eyre had no best friend, however. A better example was
Pride and Prejudice
. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy couldn't blink without Jane and Elizabeth Bennet discussing what it might mean. Phoebe longed to talk to Mallory like that, but she couldn't. Apart from the uncertainty about how Mallory would react, Ryland had forbidden it.

So maybe it was Phoebe's consciousness of this missing piece that caused the new, uncomfortable constraint between her and Mallory. Maybe this was why Phoebe found that she was suddenly unable to talk normally to Mallory anymore, even about things like school that had nothing remotely to do with Ryland.

But Mallory was acting odd too. She was jumpy, brooding, quick-tempered, and impossible to understand. Her behavior had changed in general, not only toward Phoebe. One day in school, given a surprise math quiz, Mallory simply curled her lip in scorn and crumpled the paper. Phoebe could almost see the black storm cloud over her head, and she had a sudden flashback to the Mallory of seventh grade, with the tawdry fairy wings hanging off her back, the Mallory who had seemed so ferocious, so needy, and yet so completely incomprehensible.

Phoebe didn't say a word about the quiz. She didn't even dare ask what the math teacher said to Mallory after class. She was too afraid that Mallory would whirl on her, scream at her publicly. She could almost feel that Mallory longed to do just that. And Phoebe's guilt about Ryland made her feel that she deserved it. But that didn't mean she wanted it.

It was in fact amazing how quickly the mood between the two girls ripened toward an explosion. Phoebe could almost feel it coming . . .

And it happened on a Friday night; the same Friday on which Mallory had spurned the math quiz. Mallory had that afternoon abruptly announced that she was staying over at Phoebe's.

There was nothing unusual about Mallory inviting herself; she had done it all the time in the past. Her room at the Rothschilds' was truly hers, after all. But Phoebe could feel how different this was. Every minute of silence or forced conversation weighed heavily on her. She wondered how her parents could miss the strained atmosphere, but they chatted at dinner in the usual way.

By eight o'clock, the girls were alone in Mallory's turquoise room. Mallory sat on her bed, her back propped with pillows, tapping on her laptop, while Phoebe rocked, uneasily, in the little Shaker chair by the gas fire and pretended to read. She was supposed to call Ryland soon. How would she do that, knowing that Mallory was just across the hall? Should she go downstairs and call from the library? Slip out into the garage and call from her car? Should she text instead? But Ryland hated texting. He had told her that it was important to hear each other's voices, if they couldn't see each other.

She was just trying to find the words to tell Mallory she was tired and was going to bed—even though it was barely past eight—when her dad showed up at Mallory's open bedroom door.

“This came in today's mail for you, Phoebe.” Drew Vale handed over a college brochure. “It got mixed in with my mail. Huh. Oregon. Are you thinking of going west?”

“No. There are plenty of good schools here in Boston,” said Phoebe. “Why go far?”

“It's up to you, of course.” Drew smiled at his daughter and at Mallory before he left.

Mallory looked up from her laptop, her fingers stilled. “So. Suddenly you want to stay in Boston for college?”

“It's just an idea.” Phoebe had made the comment about Boston without really thinking, but now she realized that it was because of Ryland. If he stayed in Boston, she'd want to also.

“But you used to talk about wanting to go to England,” Mallory said. Her voice made Phoebe squirm; it was accusing and hard. “Last fall, you spent hours and hours looking at Oxford's website. You were talking about how great it would be to be near your cousins, and that you'd be able to go to London and stuff like that. You were trying to talk me into coming too.”

“Oh. Well,” said Phoebe weakly. “That was just talk. It doesn't matter where I go.”

Mallory snapped her laptop shut and put it aside. “Really? Why doesn't it? What's changed?”

“I don't know. I'm just going to be an English major. Everybody has good programs in English literature.”

“That is just so not what you were saying before.”

“I guess I changed my mind. Can we not talk about it now?”

Silence fell in the room; heavy, loaded silence. Phoebe thought again about excusing herself.

“Phoebe?” Mallory's voice was quieter now, less accusing. But something about it made the flesh on Phoebe's arms crawl.

“What?”

“It's about my brother.”

Phoebe's whole body went on alert. Ryland had told her not to talk to his sister about him—about them. If she did, he would be angry. She didn't know why that was so very bad, but it was.
It was.

Phoebe leaped to her feet and headed for the bedroom door.

But almost as if she'd teleported there, Mallory was suddenly in front of Phoebe, slamming the door shut in Phoebe's face, and then backing up against the door to block it.

“I have to go,” Phoebe said. Her pulse drummed in her throat. “Excuse me.”

“You're not going anywhere until I've said what I have to say.”

Mallory's face looked like it was carved from ice, and Phoebe knew then, not exactly what was coming, but that it would be terrible. Maybe even worse than Ryland's anger.

But she also thought that she deserved it. She straightened her shoulders and met Mallory's eyes. “All right,” she said evenly. “Go ahead.”

There was one strange moment in which Mallory said Phoebe's name. Her name only, and as she said it, a wistful note in her voice seemed at odds with the rage that radiated from her. But in the next second Mallory grabbed Phoebe by both shoulders, and there could be no doubt of her complete wrath. “I know about you and my brother,” Mallory said. “You lying little sneak.”

Phoebe swallowed. But it was true; she had lied and she had sneaked. “I'm sorry. I—when did you—I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you, Mallory, but—but Ryland said—and of course he's right—it's private. I thought later—I—he—we would tell you later—”

“You're just up to your old tricks, aren't you, Phoebe?”

“I—what?”

“You don't know yourself at all, do you, Phoebe?” Now Mallory sounded almost casual. She released Phoebe's shoulders, but stayed close. “You dumped Colette for me. Now you're dumping me for my brother. You don't care who you hurt, just so long as you get what you want when you want it. You're like a bratty toddler. And if you can't get what you want in a straightforward way, then you try to buy it.”

Phoebe gasped.

Mallory continued, “You've been treating me like a piece of trash for over two weeks, and now I know why.”

Phoebe managed to say, “No—I mean, Mallory, I never meant—”

“Don't even try to deny it. You've been lying to me and avoiding me. And you talk to me in that fake nicey-nice voice, like I'm someone you hardly know. I had to invite myself over tonight. You didn't ask me.”

Everything that Mallory had just said was also true. Sort of. Phoebe tried to think of how she could explain. “You've got things all twisted—”

“Twisted? Me? Funny. I'd say you're the one who's all twisted.” Mallory's eyes glittered as she leaned closer. “And you don't even have the brains to see it for yourself. You have this totally delusional la-la-la picture of who you are. Sweet little Phoebe, helping others! Yeah, right. Twisted is the word for it. It's really so you can show off. Feed your own little ego.”

“Mallory—”

“And your ego desperately needs feeding. You want to know why? It's because deep down, you're nothing. And you know it too. All those talks we had about your fantastic mother and your extraordinary family? The ones where I tried to reassure you? But you weren't really reassured, were you, because you already know the truth. You've said it yourself sometimes. You don't belong in your family. You're actually so dull, it's unbelievable. If you weren't your mother's daughter, she'd be so completely bored talking to you, she wouldn't even be able to remember your name. You've never had an original thought in your life.”

It was like being stabbed, Phoebe thought. Mallory's face so close to hers, her low, mean voice going on and on—stabbed and stabbed and stabbed—

And she couldn't even move, as Mallory went on—

“When I met you, you'd sold your very soul just to belong to Colette's little group. Don't deny it. Then you sold it again to be my friend. You begged me, remember? And now you're doing the very same thing with my brother. Just now, Phoebe?” She mimicked viciously. “
Oh, I'm going to be a little English major! I can study anywhere
. Right? You're all set to throw out your own ideas about college because you wonder where your boyfriend might be. It's true, isn't it? That's exactly what was going through your mind, five minutes ago.
Isn't it?”

Finally Mallory stopped. Finally. But she was still in Phoebe's face and her question rang in the air, and Phoebe knew the answer.

“Yes,” she whispered.

She closed her eyes, briefly, against the scorn and disgust that flooded Mallory's face. When she opened them, Mallory had cocked her head to the side and appeared to be waiting for Phoebe to say more. But Phoebe had nothing else she could say, and it wasn't only because her mind was empty with shock and hurt and defeat and shame.

“I'm going to go get your inhaler,” said Mallory crisply. “You'll be fine after a couple of quick puffs. And by the way, Phoebe? Your asthma is just another one of your selfish, stupid manipulative techniques.” She opened the door and within a few seconds was back again from Phoebe's room across the hallway, with Phoebe's inhaler.

Hand shaking, Phoebe snatched it. She felt Mallory watching her while she worked the mechanism.

After a few minutes she looked up. She still couldn't believe that she had heard what she had heard. “Mallory,” she began. “You can't have meant it—”

Mallory interrupted. “Yes, I did. I meant every word. You are nobody. You're an empty name, Phoebe Rothschild. Go and be with my brother if you want. It won't help you. Nobody can help you.”

Phoebe lingered for one more moment, looking at her ex-best friend, unable to believe what had just happened. Thinking that surely, surely, Mallory would take it back.

Though even if she did, Phoebe knew she'd still never forget a word Mallory had said.

Mallory held the door. She said pointedly, “Good night, Phoebe.”

Phoebe stumbled from the room.

“So, the great friendship is over.”

“My sister was masterly. I thought the girl would never stop crying when she came to me. She said that she now believes that all these years, my sister secretly thought she was an empty little rich girl with no special personal qualities and that she only pretended to value her. Given the high esteem in which the girl previously held my sister's opinion, she can't help wondering if it could be true that she is nothing. It reinforces her worst fears and will continue to eat away at her.”

“It sounds as if the girl will be ready for us very soon.”

“Soon, but not immediately. My sister was right that the girl is stronger than she looks. More work must be done to destroy her fully.”