What's Your Status? (13 page)

“Not at all,” Kittson said, and her voice was cold to the point of being frosty. I looked at her, a little surprised. I’d never heard her use such a serious tone before. Not even when I’d suggested that our theme be
Just Prom It
. “We’re all prepared for Saturday, and have been for weeks. Overprepared, really.”

Following Kittson’s lead, I nodded, wondering why she was blatantly lying to this girl I’d never seen before.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the girl said, looking at me again and raising her eyebrows at Kittson.

“What am I thinking?” Kittson asked with a bright and—I knew her well enough by now to realize—incredibly fake smile. “Madison, this is Isabel Ryan. Isabel, this is Madison MacDonald, one of my assistants on our committee.”

“Hi,” I said, deciding to let the “assistant” thing go. Lately, I’d been thinking that the less credit I received for the prom, the better off I might be.

“Isabel is head of the prom committee at Hartfield High,” Kittson continued, her tone still falsely cheerful.

“Madison MacDonald?” Isabel asked, looking at me with new interest. “Really?”

“Um, yeah,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Isabel said, still looking at me closely. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“It does?” I asked. I had never even heard of this girl, so I had no idea how she might have heard of me. A moment later, it hit me that it might have been the hacking. Had people as far away as Hartfield been aware of it?

“Yes,” she said, still staring at me. Then her expression became less intense, and she smiled. “You’re in all the plays at Putnam, right?”

“Oh,” I said, feeling relief flood through me. “Yes, I am.”

“Shame about the review this morning,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Wait,” I said. I tried not to be distracted by the fact that I could now see her enormous diamond studs that
looked—as far as I could tell—real. “What did it say?”

“So, what are you doing here, Isabel?” Kittson asked. “Not that it isn’t
lovely
to see you again.”

Isabel took a piece of paper out of her binder. “The hotel’s inspection sheet. They’re such sticklers, aren’t they?”

“What do you mean?” Kittson asked, looking down at Isabel’s paper—exactly the same as mine—and back up at her again.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Isabel asked. Even though I’d just met this girl, I could tell she was taking delight in this conversation. “We’re holding our prom here this Saturday.”

Kittson was gaping at Isabel and didn’t appear to have the faculty of speech at the moment, so I stepped in. “I thought that your prom was going to be held in your school’s gym,” I said, and Kittson nodded mutely. I remembered all too well Kittson’s stakeout of the Hyatt. She had been concerned about Stanwich or Hartfield taking the Rosebud, so she had made it her—and, by extension, my—business to know where the other local proms were being held. Before Stanwich’s had been canceled, it was going to be at the Stanwich Yacht Club. And Hartfield’s had always been at the school.

“It was,” Isabel said. “But you might have heard about the little stunt that Stanwich High pulled on Senior Prank Day.”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’ve heard nothing at all.”

“Well,” Isabel said, shooting me an odd look, “our school was broken into and our mascot costume was
stolen. And our headmistress thought that due to the security breach, we’d be better off at a public venue, where other precious Hartfield items wouldn’t be on display for those who wished to do them harm. So we settled on the Lily Ballroom.”

“The one directly above this?” Kittson asked, apparently recovering the power of speech. “This Saturday?”

“Yes,” Isabel said. “Which is why I’ve got to get this form filled out. You’re
so
lucky to have an assistant.”

“Wait a second,” I said, feeling that it was time to clear this up. “I’m not actually—”

“You can’t be holding your prom at the same time as ours,” Kittson said, ignoring me entirely.

“But I am,” Isabel said with a smile. “I guess we’ll really get a chance to compare the two side by side, won’t we?”

“But…” Kittson said, wrinkling her nose slightly, which she did when she was thinking hard. “But—”

“Anyway,” Isabel interrupted, “just wanted to say hello. It was lovely to meet you, Madison. Finally. And Kittson, do come up and see the Lily if you’d like. It’s just stunning.” She looked around the Rosebud with a small smile. “Not that yours isn’t, of course. TTYL!” She gave us a little wave, then headed out of the ballroom.

Kittson blinked at the doorway for a moment, then turned to me, her face stricken. “This is a disaster,” she said.

“Why?” I asked, hoping to defuse a possible Kittson meltdown as quickly as possible. “I mean, so their prom
is above ours, on the same night. It’s not like we’re going to get in each other’s way. Much. Hopefully.”

“Isabel Ryan,” Kittson said, practically spitting the name out, “has been making my life miserable this whole year. I haven’t wanted to burden you with it,” she said magnanimously. “But she’s determined to have a better prom than us. She’s constantly commenting on my blog. And now she’s in the better ballroom. She probably stole that mascot costume herself, just to get this to happen.”

“No, she didn’t,” I said automatically. Kittson raised an eyebrow at me. “Not that I know anything about it,” I added. “Because I don’t.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked, a little desperately. “She’s been out to get me ever since I made fun of her theme.”

“What’s her theme?” I asked. Ours was
A Night to Remember,
and it seemed to me that people who came up with themes that referenced books about the
Titanic
really shouldn’t throw stones.

“
Take My Breath Away,
” Kittson said, rolling her eyes. I had to admit, that was pretty bad. And even more morbid than ours, which I hadn’t thought was possible. “She’s never let me forget it. And she’s going to try to sabotage our prom, I bet you anything.”

“No, she’s not,” I said as calmly as I could. I steered Kittson toward one of the chairs that were lining the side of the ballroom, and she sat down. “Listen, Kittson, Isabel wants to have a great prom. So do you. That’s all. There’s no sabotage going on. It’s all going to be fine. Okay?”

“Okay,” Kittson said, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. Thanks, Mad.”

“Sure,” I said. I glanced down at my phone again. “We’d better get this finished. We don’t have much time before school starts.”

“You’re right,” Kittson said, springing into action. “We’ve been wasting all this time talking….”

We finished the inspection in fifteen minutes and probably could have done it in less if Kittson hadn’t kept making asides about how much nicer the Lily Ballroom was. Duties finished, I gave the Rosebud a last look and followed Kittson to the area just outside the ballroom, nearly running into someone as I did so. It took me a moment to realize that the person I’d almost crashed into was Schuyler.

“Shy?” I asked. I was glad to see her but had no idea what she was doing there. I glanced down and saw that she was carrying an iced Stubbs drink in each hand.

“Morning,” Schuyler said. She handed me one of the drinks, and it was all I could do not to hug her. “Here. For you.”

“But how did you know?” I asked gratefully, taking a sip.

“Um, you put it on your Q,” Schuyler said. “You said you were here, and that you wanted a latte.”

“You are the best friend ever,” I said, smiling at her. “Thank you so much.”

“Hi,” Schuyler mumbled to Kittson. Schuyler was still a little intimidated by Kittson, even though I’d told her repeatedly that there was no need to be.

“Wow,” Kittson said, looking at my drink. “You certainly do have good friends, Mad.” She sounded maybe a little wistful.

Schuyler flushed. “I—I would have gotten you one,” she stammered. “But I didn’t know what you drink. Or, um, that you were here.”

“No worries,” Kittson said.

“Plus,” Schuyler continued, lowering her voice slightly, “I thought Madison might need a little something this morning.”

“Why?” Kittson asked.

“Yes, why?” I asked, totally perplexed.

“Oh,” Schuyler said, looking surprised. “Because of the
Dane
review. I thought you would have read it by now.”

“No,” I said, fumbling in my bag for my phone. Between this and what Isabel had said, I was getting a very bad feeling about it.

“So, this is where the prom is going to be?” Schuyler asked. I glanced up from the depths of my bag—which my phone had somehow vanished into—and saw Schuyler peeking inside the ballroom.

“Yes,” Kittson said. “And it’s all going to go perfectly.” She seemed to be saying this for her own benefit as much as for Schuyler’s.

“Oh,” Schuyler said. “Well, good!” She turned back to us, and I could see her face was glowing. “I’m just so excited!” Kittson asked her about her dress, and Schuyler started describing it, shyness apparently forgotten in the face of important prom dress details.

I finally excavated my phone and looked up to see
Schuyler and Kittson, still deep in conversation, headed for the lobby. “Wait,” I said, trying to catch up with them and access the
Putnam Post
website at the same time. By the time I reached them, they were standing in front of the lobby doors, Schuyler excitedly describing how Connor’s cummerbund matched her dress. “Guys,” I said. “Thanks for waiting.”

“Oh, sorry,” Schuyler said, eyes shining. “I was just getting Kittson’s opinion on my dress. I can’t believe that the prom is in just a few days! I’m so excited! Aren’t you excited, Mad?”

“Um…” I stalled. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the DJ might play terrible music and that all the potential prom kings might be suffering concussions. I hadn’t seen Schuyler this happy in a long time. “Sure. Of course I am.”

“Oh, Kittson,” someone called. I turned and saw Isabel heading toward us. “I had one last question for you—” Isabel stopped short, and her mouth dropped open. “Schuyler?” she asked, sounding stunned.

I turned, surprised, to see that Schuyler had gone pale and her hands, clutching her Stubbs cup, were shaking slightly. “Isabel?” she asked faintly, almost like she was afraid of the answer.

“You two know each other?” Kittson asked, looking from one to the other.

“Oh, we go way back,” Isabel said, her voice cold. She was staring hard at Schuyler, who looked like she was about to pass out. “Isn’t that right, Schuyler?”

“We, um,” Schuyler said in a voice so faint I had to lean closer to hear her, “went to boarding school together.”

“Choate,” Isabel said, and I watched Schuyler flinch at the word. Because of whatever had happened to her at Choate—and for three years, Schuyler had refused to tell us—we were forbidden to speak the school’s name in her presence. Occasionally, under the influence, Schuyler would mumble something about “The Evil Place.” But that was the most we’d ever been able to get out of her. “What are you doing here?” Isabel asked.

Schuyler glanced at Isabel but then immediately looked at the floor. “I was just, um, bringing Madison a coffee,” she said, mostly to the carpet.

“So you go to Putnam?” Isabel asked, eyebrows raised. Schuyler nodded, still not looking up.

“And it looks like you’ve managed to make some friends,” Isabel said, glancing at Kittson and me. “Isn’t that nice!” She smoothed her bangs, and her eyes dropped to my Stubbs cup, which had
Schuyler
scrawled on it in black marker. “I think the best thing about having close friends is
telling
them everything. No secrets between friends, am I right?”

I looked from Schuyler to Isabel, trying to figure out what was going on. I suddenly felt like I was watching a foreign movie without subtitles. “Um, sure,” I said after a moment, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“So, we should be heading to school,” Kittson said, making a big show of checking her watch. “What did you want to ask me, Isabel?”

“You know,” Isabel said, still looking at Schuyler, “I seem to have totally forgotten. I’ll e-mail you if it comes to me, though.”

“Please do,” Kittson said with another falsely bright smile. “I’ll look forward to that. See you around, Isabel.”

“Not if I see you first!” Isabel called back, which seemed a very strange response to me. Then she stalked off in the direction she had come from, and Kittson headed out of the lobby. I looked at Schuyler, who appeared shell-shocked.

“Shy?” I asked, touching her shoulder. “You okay?” Schuyler blinked at me as though she wasn’t quite sure who I was, then nodded quickly.

“Fine,” she said. “I just wasn’t expecting to see her, that’s all.” She walked toward the lobby doors, and I followed.

“So, what was that about?” I asked.

“What was what about?” Schuyler asked as we walked to the parking lot, Kittson a few feet ahead of us and already talking on her cell phone.

“The whole thing with you and Isabel,” I said. “What was going on there?”

“Nothing,” Schuyler said quickly. “I just knew her from Choate. That’s all.”

“Shy,” I said, “come on.”

“It’s nothing,” Schuyler said, beeping open her SUV.

Kittson, standing next to her pink Mini Cooper, lowered her phone and turned to me. “Madison,” she said, “do
not
forget that we have a prom meeting after school today. Okay? Dr. Trent is presenting us—”

“With the Hayes crown,” I finished for her. “I know.” She nodded, got into her car, and pulled out of the parking lot. “Seriously,” I said, turning back to Schuyler, “I was there. That wasn’t nothing. That was
weird.
”

“Really, Mad,” Schuyler said in a slightly strained voice. “It’s nothing to worry yourself about. She just never liked me, that’s all. We never really got along. And then she got expelled and then I left, and I hadn’t seen her since.”

“She got expelled?” I asked, shocked. “What for? And why did you leave, again?” I threw the last one in there hoping that she’d forget that she’d refused to answer that very question for the past three years.

“I can’t talk about it,” Schuyler mumbled, looking at the ground. “Just forget it, okay? I have to get to school. See you there, Mad.” And before I had a chance to say anything else, Schuyler climbed into her SUV, stuck a lock of hair in her mouth, and drove away.