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 There s safety in numbers, she continued.  You could
always let me in. You know, for security. Just something to think
about.
 I thought you were  brilliant on your own? Cate asked, fak-
ing a British accent.
Stella studied her cuticles.  Suit yourself. I was just trying to
help.
Cate turned to leave but stopped at the top of the stairs. She
ran her tongue over her teeth thoughtfully. Blythe had spent all
of Bio talking about what a pain it was to buy all new clothes,
since nothing fit her in the chest anymore. And then there was
that eye roll at lunch. . . .
 I ll think about it, she called over her shoulder.
Cate followed Blythe through Chelsea Passage, the home depart-
ment at Barneys. Blythe touched a tall cream-colored vase. It was
completely smooth except for a large elephant trunk coming out
of its center.
 What about this? she giggled.
 Nice, Cate teased, glancing around for an engagement/
wedding/thank-you-for-ruining-my-life gift for Emma and her
dad. One wall was covered in plates with graphic faces, like an
artful police lineup. A stack of red and yellow mod plastic chairs
sat in one corner, next to a long pink table set with neon yellow
china.
 Or how about this? Blythe pointed to a red glass vase with
a nose and a handlebar moustache.
68
 Eh . . . not so much, Cate murmured.
 Come on! It s funny! Blythe said, pulling her freshly high-
lighted hair into a ponytail.
A saleswoman with a wannabe-Rihanna bob shot the girls a
dirty look. Cate shot her a look right back. This was Barneys
not the library.
The truth was, she didn t care about buying her dad and
Emma a gift anymore. She d spent the last hour dissecting
everything Blythe had done since she d been back from Greece.
Why had she let Sophie borrow her hoop earrings? Why had
she asked Priya to go to the bathroom with her during gym?
Was that paper she d passed to Mackenzie Brooks during his-
tory more than just the homework? Was she announcing the
new regime?
 What did you do last night? Cate asked casually, wander-
ing over to a wall of picture frames. She rubbed her hand over a
black alligator frame. It felt rough to the touch.
 Nothing. Blythe picked up a lacquered Mondrian box and
turned it over in her hands.
 You didn t do a single thing? Cate pressed, hoping the ques-
tion sounded innocent.
 Fine, I went to dinner with my mom.
Cate watched her, unsure whether she had just caught Blythe
in a lie. She shook her head and sighed.  Let s go upstairs, she
announced, heading for the escalators.  Forget the wedding. I m
in the market for a new dress.
Blythe picked a piece of lint off Cate s gray uniform skirt as
they stepped on the escalator.  I wish you could have come to
69
Greece this summer. I had to hang out with Connor the whole
time. I m now fluent in two-year-old.
Cate laughed despite herself, picturing super-tan Blythe and
Connor on the beaches of Santorini, Blythe buried up to her neck
in sand. Blythe s father had remarried after her parents divorced,
and now he lived with his new wife and son in L.A., where he
produced big-budget action films and little blond babies.
Cate stepped off the escalator, a little relieved. Maybe Stella
was wrong. Blythe seemed to be the same as always, making Cate
laugh between spray tans.
On the sixth floor, an army of Marc by Marc Jacobs man-
nequins was posed in a line, racks of brightly colored clothing
adorning the walls behind them. She loved how Barneys had no
aisles, just open space and walls lined with exquisite clothes
exactly how a store should be. Beth Ann Pinchowski had dragged
the girls to Macy s once, and Cate had nearly had a panic attack
from the masses of tourists and the claustrophobia-inducing,
tightly packed clothing racks. Blythe had handed her a paper
shopping bag and instructed her to slowly breathe in and out.
Cate walked along a lime green wall covered with bags and
shoes, running her fingers over a chocolate brown Sissi Rossi
tote. Across the store, Ally Pierce, an Ashton senior, was holding
a gold lamé tunic. Interesting were metallics back? Cate made
a mental note to share the tidbit with the girls.
 So, Priya said her sister said that if we have to choose between
sculpture and band next term, we should choose sculpture. Cate
picked up the buttery leather tote and slung it over her shoulder
experimentally.
70
 Yeah, she mentioned that to me too. Blythe circled a tropi-
cal fish tank with a giant smiling Buddha inside. A snail crawled
across his chubby belly.  She said they get models from the
Lincoln Center ballet company. Even in tights, the guys are super
cute.
Cate dropped the bag on the ground. Priya definitely hadn t
mentioned anything about male models. Cate had always been
the one to get feedback on their collective schedules, then make
final decisions about registering. She needed that kind of infor-
mation. And when had Priya even talked to Blythe about sculp-
ture? Cate had been in every class with them. Every class except
French. . . .
 I just thought we should finalize our plans, Cate said, trying
to compose herself. She followed Blythe over to the Theory rack
along the wall.
 Sounds good. Blythe pulled a bright blue cashmere V-neck
off the rack and held it up to her boobs. They looked even bigger
than they had yesterday.  I m going to try this on meet me in
the dressing room upstairs. She turned and walked toward the
glass stairs.
Meet me in the dressing room upstairs? That sounded like an
order. Cate didn t respond to those. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]