12
I’m struggling to shove my duffel bag beneath the charter bus when an older man skillfully adds a fancy suitcase to the luggage compartment. He sees me watching him and takes my bag, tucking it perfectly inside the compartment. Before I can thank him, he turns around to face two of my classmates—Justice and Chantel. Both girls are yawning and carting Starbucks cups.
“Is there anything else you require?” the man asks Justice, a hint of a French accent leaking through his words. “Do you have your phone? Passport? Credit cards?”
Justice pats the bag on her shoulder. “I’m all set. Thank you.”
There’s an air of dismissal in that thank you, and I’m caught off guard by it. I’ve heard Justice and Chantel both talk about their nannies and staff at their houses, but I’ve never seen any interactions like this.
After the man walks away, Chantel shakes her head. “God, is he always like that?”
“He’s new,” Justice says. Then she seems to notice me. “Ellie! I’ve hardly seen you all week.”
“Yeah, I’ve been—”
She grips my shoulders and steers me toward the bus entrance. “Come on, let’s get a good seat so we can catch up. How were finals? I think I bombed Spanish. If I get another B plus my parents will freak.”
And just like that we leave Chantel standing outside in the cold, waiting for her own bags to be brought from her chauffeured car. As we’re walking up the bus steps, Justice whispers under her breath, “Chantel, on the other hand, I can’t seem to escape. She and Jacob have been fighting constantly. I’m so over it.”
Not for the first time, I wonder why Justice continues to be friends with Chantel. I used to lump them together, but they are very different despite their similar lives.
“Thank God you got that scholarship D’s dad started,” she adds.
The bus is nearly half-full already. I’m scanning the seats for the best selection while Justice continues her whispered conversation. “Heard from your boy toy, Miles, lately? Oh! Should we come up with a code name, since you two clearly want to keep things low-key?”
Boy toy? Seriously? And she’s taking this relationship news pretty well, considering Justice had a thing for Miles until she caught us post make out at the homecoming dance back in October.
“We talk,” I tell her, though this hasn’t been true for way too many days. Fear bubbles up in my gut. No news from Aidan and his search, either. But in this case, no news might be good news.
Near the middle of the bus, Mr. Lance, my favorite teacher at Holden, digs through a well-worn canvas bag and removes a clipboard. “Morning, Justice, Ellie…” He pauses to give me a nod. “I was so glad to hear of this last-minute addition to our trip. Have you spent much time in New York?”
I shake my head. “First timer.”
This seems to excite both him and Justice even more. “Fantastic! You’re in for the experience of a lifetime.”
“What he really means to say,” Justice adds, “is that there’s a million things you haven’t done—”
“But just you wait,” Mr. Lance interrupts, singing the words.
I look between the two of them, bewildered. “What am I missing?”
Justice smacks the headrest of the seat nearby, and several dozing students are startled awake. “Hamilton,” she says, waiting for my reaction.
“Oh, that play about Alexander Hamilton?” I say.
“Musical,” Mr. Lance corrects. “And tickets are hard to come by, but Holden Prep booked seats well over a year ago at my suggestion.”
“Best teacher ever,” Justice adds, then she looks at me, concern on her face. “Okay, we’ll need to educate you ASAP.”
I’m immediately offered Mr. Lance’s ancient iPod containing the musical cast album, which Justice instructs me to memorize in its entirety prior to the show. Soon I’m seated comfortably by a window, headphones on and music playing while I explore the advantages of this Hamilton obsession. This will likely be a great night to sneak off. If everyone is as obsessed as Justice and Mr. Lance, they’ll be too excited to pay close attention to details such as my empty seat in the theater.
Before we take off, Justice is forced to abandon her spot beside me in order to provide a buffer between Jacob and Chantel. Dominic stumbles onto the bus five minutes after six, sleepy-eyed, his uniform shirt untucked, and takes the empty seat beside me. Mr. Lance is nearly done calling roll when Bret Thomas steps onto the bus looking as sleepy-eyed and disheveled as his former best friend. He quickly checks out his seating prospects, and when he glances this way, Dominic must give him the glare of all glares because he slips into the spot beside Ms. Geist, the guidance counselor and second chaperone for this trip.
I elbow my seatmate in the side. “It’s not like he committed murder,” I whisper. “Plus, you’ve gotta admit, the guy can keep a secret.”
Dominic has to know that I’m referencing his current in-the-closet status, but a scowl forms on his face. “Yeah, that’s the part I can’t get past.”
“Welcome, young friends,” Mr. Lance says to the entire bus after the last name is called and doors are shut. “Welcome to Holden Prep’s January Session in the greatest city in the world!”
A cheer erupts, followed by more singing. I can only guess he’s quoted Hamilton the musical again.
“This adventure will immerse each and every one of you in culture, history, and art like you’ve never experienced before, even if you are a frequent Manhattan visitor.” He nods toward the guidance counselor. “Ms. Geist and I are thrilled to be your tour guides for the next three weeks, and we have planned activities that allow us to journey behind the scenes and speak to experts on topics of history and art. We will also receive personalized guided tours and opportunities to sit in on classes at Columbia University and NYU, schools Ms. Geist has informed me many of you plan to apply to. We’ve set up meetings with department heads in your areas of interest, allowing you to form valuable connections before application season next fall.”
The bus pulls away from the school’s circle drive, but Mr. Lance continues his lecture as if we’re all seated in the classroom. “Each of you will complete an independent project of your choice, approved by myself. A five-page proposal is due a week from today and the final project due two weeks after returning home. Study your itinerary, take note of the excursions that will be taken as a group and those that offer more freedom, and plan accordingly. Nightly curfews vary depending on activities, so please pay close attention to those times and don’t make Ms. Geist or me have to play bad cop or phone home to your family. Any questions?”
No one raises a hand—probably too early in the morning—so Mr. Lance takes his seat, and soon we’re on the highway leading us to the train station in DC. Beside me, Dominic pulls out a small box from his jacket pocket and pops three pieces of gum into his mouth. I’d seen him do this the other day in the motel room but hadn’t seen the package or realized it was nicotine gum.
“New Year’s resolution?” I prompt.
“No promises,” he says in perfect unmotivated Dominic fashion. Then he quickly switches topics. “Any word from the agents?”
“Nope.” I pop the earbuds back in place. “Guess I’m on my own until I’ve got something to offer them.”
…
I toss my duffel bag onto the sofa bed before Justice or Chantel can claim it. Sneaking out of this hotel room will be much easier if I don’t have to tiptoe past a classmate sleeping near the exit. I wave off Justice’s offer to take the couch, and the two of them wheel their luggage into the bedroom portion of our room at the DoubleTree Hotel at Times Square.
I head over to the window while they debate which of the two full-size beds is better. The curtains open in one swift motion, and I immediately draw in a breath at the view. It’s nearly dark out, but Times Square is lit up like every night is New Year’s Eve. And for a moment, I almost wish I was just another student on this trip to a city that is proving to be as intriguing as Mr. Lance said earlier on the bus.
My purse buzzes, and I dig for my cell, then quickly read a text. It’s from an unknown number and they’ve sent a picture of the soda machine at the end of the hall, the sign marking the eighteenth floor hung above it. Beneath the photo it says: meet me here in 2min?
I have no idea who this is or whether it’s safe to meet them. It could be Dominic? Or possibly my dad? Or maybe, if I’m lucky, Miles.
That tiny drop of hope is enough to have me snatching the key card from the coffee table, my hand on the doorknob. Justice’s voice carries from the bedroom, reminding me that I’m not alone and I can’t just take off without a word. “I’m getting a soda at the vending machine. You guys want anything?”
Both girls decline my offer, and I rush out the door, punching a reply to the unknown number.
ME: K
The Pepsi machine is vacant when I reach it. I glance around, checking the hallway, and then I dig for three dollars because I can’t come back empty-handed. I get one bill in and then feel fingers gripping the back of my sweater, tugging me away from the machine. My heart jumps up to my throat. I catch a glimpse of a man’s black dress shoe kicking open the door to the hotel room across from the Pepsi machine.
And then before I can even think the word “self-defense,” I’m on the other side of that door.