So Into You [The Jane Austen Academy Series #2] (11 page)

They were standing in Bergie’s office, having landed just behind the big desk.

"Now what?"

"Now we know our enemy," Emma said. "There might be three judges, but Bergie will be the one who gets what she wants. So look around—find out what music she likes, and that’s how we’ll pick our costume."

Ellie walked up to the mahogany floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the wall and studied the titles of CDs as her finger trailed against the spines. "She likes the classics."

"No one likes the classics." Emma pulled open a drawer and rifled around. "That’s for show. We need to find her real stash."

"These are real CDs—on a real shelf."

"In her public office—come on, where do you keep the stuff you actually like?"

Ellie and Emma walked into the narrow hall. When Anne’s parents had lived here, the long corridor had been filled with photos of their family stacked side by side, frame-to-frame. But now the corridor was completely empty.

They walked down the hall, approaching the door.

"Are you freaking out?" Emma said. "I don’t know why, but this is freaking me out."

"Like you think the door is going to fly open and she’s going to come at us screaming like a Japanese horror film and devour our souls?"

"Chatter alert," Emma said. "But yes . . . exactly."

They took another few steps. A few more.

"This is ridiculous," Emma finally said with a huff. She marched to the door and threw it open.

Ellie didn’t know what she was expecting to find in Bergie’s bedroom, but exploded chaos was not it. The bed, a treadmill, a bass guitar, and every square inch were all covered with colorful clothes.

"Wow, Ellie. She’s worse than you!" Emma stepped over what seemed to be a pile of wadded-up pajamas on the floor.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

Emma raised her brow.

Ellie supposed she did tend not to concern herself with tidiness. Was there really a "place" for things? Did sweatshirts really need to be hung up? Emma seemed to think so, but was forgiving of Ellie.

They stepped through the minefield of discarded clothes. The king-sized canopy bed with brass fixtures that used to belong to Anne’s family was still there—left behind like a relic—although the crisp white linen sheets had been traded for a jungle print.

"See—no CDs, no iPod in here," Emma said. She peered closer at the bookshelves, which had been emptied and instead held wadded-up clothes. "Well, she’s into clothes—that’s for sure."

Ellie drew aside the closet’s sliding door. "Whoa!"

The closet was crammed so full of clothes the hangers stuck out at odds and ends.

"Bergie is a slob," Emma said.

"Look at these." Ellie pulled out several materials—high sheen, polyester. "She’s never worn these."

"Those aren’t clothes," Emma said. "Those are . . . costumes." She drew her hand along the material. "Oh wait—no way."

"No way what?"

Emma giggled joyfully as she sifted through the clothes in the closet, then jumped across the room to the single bass guitar on a stand in the corner. She ran into the open door to the bathroom. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

Ellie followed—the bathroom, much like the bedroom, was an explosion of clutter. Every inch of counter space had tubes of lipstick or tubs of eye shadow or bottles of concealer squeezed free of every last drop and rolled up to the cap.

"It’s gotta be here somewhere," Emma said, pulling open the cabinets.

"What?" Ellie asked, getting more exasperated.

Emma tore past her back into the bedroom and opened a dresser drawer. The contents yawned out of the opening so she had to shove things back in to close it before she could open the next drawer. And finally—the bottom.

Emma squealed and picked up a mop of dark hair.

"Are those wigs?" Ellie asked, peering over.

"Yes! We need to go back into the office—to her computer—to be sure."

"Be sure of what?"

Emma shoved the wig drawer shut, but not before Ellie caught sight of a half-dozen hair colors, lengths, curls, and shapes. She’d always thought Bergie’s fashion sense was off, but she’d had no idea just how enthusiastic their new headmistress was about dress-up.

Emma ran back into the hall. Ellie started to follow, but then something caught her attention—a picture—the only one in the whole room.

It was of a young girl standing in the Jasta kitchens. Ellie recognized the stainless steel counters, even though most of the appliances had been updated since. The girl had a big smile and her hands were stuffed in a bowl of dough. She didn’t even need to notice the girl’s deep red hair to realize it was Bergie.

Had Bergie been a student at Jasta?

On kitchen duty?

"Ellie!" Emma yelled. "Hurry, come see this."

Ellie wound down the hall to Bergie’s office. She was about to explain what she’d seen to Emma, but Emma urgently tapped the screen. "Look, look!"

Ellie leaned in—it was a music playlist. She read through the list of artists—Warrant, Poison, Motley Crüe. "Who are they?"

"They’re called hair bands," Emma said gleefully. "They made really, really terrible pseudo-rock music about a million years ago. And the thing about hair bands was their costumes. The hair, the makeup, the clothes. I bet you anything Bergie even plays in a cover band."

"No—that’s too weird."

"Every inch of her bedroom is covered in crap except that bass guitar—which means she practices. We just need to dress up like a hair band and she’ll love it!"

"Won’t she know we were sneaking around?"

"Of course not. Who would have thought, huh? Bet Lizzie never could have broken this story," Emma said smugly.

The click of the front door key shot through the room.

Ellie and Emma’s eyes grew wide.

"Go, go, go," Emma whispered.

Ellie turned and dove through the window opening, landing in a bush that crunched beneath her weight. She pulled Emma’s arms as she crawled through headfirst. They both tried to pull the window shut, but it held tight.

Ellie yanked as hard as she could and Emma did, too. They heard Bergie’s footsteps coming down the hall.

"Leave it!" Emma pushed at Ellie’s shoulders. "Run!"

* * *

Ellie stared at Emma’s sketch. If she peered hard enough, would it make sense?

But no matter how hard she squinted, how hard she looked, it still appeared to be a skintight black latex catsuit, platform-heel knee-high boots, a black curly wig, and tons and tons of white makeup with black stars drawn on the cheeks.

"What is this again?" she asked.

"KISS. You know . . . like . . ." she pursed her lips together in fish formation and made a
mwah
sound.

"And this is an actual, real rock band?"

"This is what the band wore when they performed. Judging by Bergie’s playlist, she’s a big fan. Now, come on, arms up."

Ellie raised her arms over her head and Emma reached around her with a measuring tape and noted the inches around her chest, waist, and hips.

"Is it something people will recognize?" Ellie asked.

"Yes," Emma insisted testily as she kneeled to measure Ellie’s right thigh and calf. "People who watch or read entertainment news will figure it out. Even so, it doesn’t matter. The only person we need to impress is Bergie. And maybe Lizzie."

"Lizzie?" Ellie asked, surprised.

Emma shrugged as she put away her measuring tape and quickly jotted down the measurements next to her sketch. "Maybe she’ll write an article about it. Tip the vote."

"That’s not even possible. She quit the paper, remember?"

"Well, it would be nice if she liked the costume, is all," Emma said. "Speaking of Lizzie, why isn’t she answering my texts? Doesn’t
juiciest gossip ever
seem like something she’d respond to?"

"She’s scheming," Ellie explained. "Ever since Dante’s parents gave her the cold shoulder, she’s been on the warpath to out them as the owners. She worries it will make her the worst girlfriend ever and Dante will never forgive her."

"The worst girlfriend ever is a doormat for her boyfriend’s parents," Emma said. "I thought Lizzie knew that."

"Why are you so obsessed with Lizzie?" Ellie asked.

"I’m not." Emma looked away as she set her measuring tape back on her desk. "But she’s your best friend. And you’re my best friend. And we need to complete the tripod, is all."

"What about Anne?" Ellie reminded Emma of Lizzie’s roommate, rightful heir to the Jane Austen Academy legacy.

"I’m not sure how she figures in yet," Emma said. "What has four legs? A table? That doesn’t sound as cool as a tripod."

Ellie nearly sighed in agreement. Things had been simpler last year when she and Lizzie were best friends and spent every waking second together. As much as she loved rooming with Emma and was surprised to find she genuinely liked Anne, she wasn’t quite sure how they all fit.

"We have to make sure Anne has a good time at the Halloween party," Ellie said firmly. "This is the first Jasta party she isn’t planning. It can’t be easy for her."

"It’ll be easier because we’re there," Emma said. She picked up her sketch. "As I’m sure you’ve figured out—KISS has more than two members."

* * *

Knight opened his door the width of his face, stuck his head in the opening, and looked down at the sketch of four KISS members that Emma displayed with a wide smile.

"Did I lose a bet?" he asked wryly.

"It’ll be fun." Emma could pitch a sale with the best of them.

"Doubtful."

"How about, you owe me? We nearly got caught today by Bergie. You promised us fifteen minutes."

"I gave you twenty." He pushed the door open all the way.

"Exactly. It confused us to have more time," Emma said.

Knight leaned against the door jamb, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked over Emma’s head to Ellie. "You in for this, Ellie?"

Ellie nodded. "Say what you want about Emma, she knows how to make a costume."

Knight smirked. "I can’t believe I’m saying this. I’ll do it.
If
the fourth member is a guy. Got it? A guy. Come to me with a name of a guy and I’m in."

"We’ll be back," Emma said, waggling her fingers.
Ta-ta
.

"I’ll believe it when I see it." He shut the door.

"There are no guys," Ellie said. "Edward will be in costume with Lucy." She tried not to choke as she said it, but the hollow in her chest pulsed cold. "Lizzie and Dante will be in costume together. Josh is out of the question."

"Obviously," Emma said.

"And we can’t ask Rick . . . it will upset Anne. Who does that leave?"

"Doesn’t Knight have a roommate?" Emma said. "Tran, right?"

Ellie had never been formally introduced, but he always nodded in greeting when they passed in the hall. He was tall and lean, with cut-glass cheekbones, sleek black hair, bottomless coal eyes, and a silver-ball nose ring and sleeve of tattoos that mysteriously appeared whenever teachers were out of range.

"There’s no way he’d do it." Ellie recalled the casual and too-cool way he always had a hand-rolled cigarette hanging from his lips. Rumor was he’d been dragged to the headmistress’s office only to prove the contents were cloves and kitchen herbs—completely legal. He didn’t seem like he belonged in the rolling hills of central California. "He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would dress in drag just because a pretty girl asked."

"Only one way to find out," Emma said.

"What? Me? You want me to do it?"

"I need to go into town to buy latex. Besides—this is so you can stay, Ellie. Prove you want it."

* * *

Ellie found Tran in the courtyard leaning against the bark of a tree with his knees bent and a tablet resting on top of them. His fingers moved quickly across the screen—some kind of game where he rearranged and reconfigured stones. As the game sped up, so did his fingers, until they were flying across the screen.

Ellie cleared her throat. "Hi, Tran."

He glanced up, gave his trademark nod, and went back to his game.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "So . . . what are you playing?"

He half looked up, then back down.

"I think I’ve played it before, I mean, not that I own it, but I think once Dante lent me his phone and that game was on it—it’s the one with the pipes that get shorter—"

"I’m in," Tran interrupted.

"But—but—I haven’t—"

"You don’t have to." His eyes darted back and forth across the screen as the game jumped up a level. "You and Emma are up to something, judging by all the cloak and dagger. I’m in. Email me the details."