Meg Cabot: Shadowland

Cee Cee said, "What can I say? You exude the confidence of a born leader."

"But – "

"And it probably doesn't hurt that you're from New York, and around here, people are fascinated by anything to do with New York."

"But – "

"And of course, you talk really fast."

"I do?"

"Sure you do. And that makes you seem smart. I mean, I think you are smart, but you also seem smart because you talk really fast. And you wear a lot of black, and black is, you know, cool."

"But – "

"Oh, and the fact that you saved Bryce from that falling chunk of wood. People like that kind of thing."

Two-thirds of the sophomore class at Mission High School, I thought, would probably have voted for the Easter Bunny if someone could have gotten him to run for office. But I didn't say so. Instead, I said, "Well. Neat. I guess."

"Neat?" Cee Cee sounded stunned. " Neat ? That's all you have to say, neat ? Do you have any idea how much fun we're going to have now that we've managed to get our hands on all that money? The cool things we'll be able to do?"

I said, "I guess that's really ... great."

"Great? Suze, it's awesome ! We are going to have an awesome, awesome semester! I'm so proud of you! And to think, I knew you when!"

I hung up the phone feeling a little overwhelmed. It isn't every day a girl gets elected vice president of a class she's been in for less than a week.

I hadn't even put the phone back into its cradle before it rang again. This time it was a girl's voice I didn't recognize, asking to speak to Suze Simon.

"This is she," I said, and Kelly Prescott shrieked in my ear.

"Omigod!" she cried. "Have you heard? Aren't you psyched? We are going to have a bitching year."

Bitching. All right. I said, calmly, "I look forward to working with you."

"Look," Kelly said, suddenly all business. "We have to get together soon and choose the music."

"The music for what?"

"For the dance, of course." I could hear her flipping through an organizer. "I've got a DJ all lined up. He sent me a play list, and we have to choose what songs for him to play. How's tomorrow night? What's wrong with you, anyway? You weren't in school today. You're not contagious, are you?"

I said, "Um, no. Listen, Kelly, about this dance. I don't know about it. I was thinking it might be more fun to spend the money on ... well, something like a beach cookout."

She said, in a perfectly flat tone of voice, "A beach cookout."

"Yeah. With volleyball and a bonfire and stuff." I twisted the phone cord around my finger. "After we have Heather's memorial, of course."

"Heather's what?"

"Her memorial service. See, I figure you already booked the room at the Carmel Inn, right, for the dance? But instead of having a dance there, I think we should have a memorial service for Heather. I really think, you know, she'd have wanted it that way."

Kelly's tone was flat. "You never even met Heather."

"Well," I said. "That may be. But I have a pretty good feeling I know what type of girl she was. And I think a memorial service at the Carmel Inn would be exactly what she'd want."

Kelly didn't say anything for a minute. Well, it had occurred to me she might not like my suggestions, but she couldn't really do anything about it now, could she? After all, I was the vice president. And I don't think, short of expulsion from the Mission Academy, I could be impeached.

"Kelly?" When she didn't answer, I said, "Well, look, Kell, don't worry about it now. We'll talk. Oh, and about your pool party on Saturday. I hope you don't mind, but I asked Cee Cee and Adam to come. You know, it's funny, but they say they didn't get invited. But in a class as small as ours, it really isn't fair not to invite everybody, you know what I mean? Otherwise, the people who didn't get invited might think you don't like them. But I'm sure in Cee Cee and Adam's case, you just forgot, right?"

Kelly went, "Are you mental?"

I chose not to dignify that with a response. "See you tomorrow, Kell," was all I said.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again. I picked up, since it appeared I was on a winning streak. And I wasn't wrong. It was Father Dominic.

"Susannah," he said, in his pleasantly deep voice. "I do hope you don't mind my bothering you at home. But I just called to congratulate you on winning the sophomore class – "

"Don't worry, Father Dom," I said. "No one's on the other extension. It's only me."

"What," he said, in a completely different tone of voice, "could you have been thinking? You promised me! You promised me you wouldn't go back to the school grounds alone!"

"I'm sorry," I said. "But she was threatening to hurt David, and I – "

"I don't care if she was threatening your mother, young lady. Next time, you are to wait for me. Do you understand? Never again are you to attempt something so foolhardy and dangerous as an exorcism without a soul to help you!"

I said, "Well, okay. But I was kind of hoping there wasn't going to be a next time."

"Not be a next time? Are you daft? We're mediators, remember. So long as there are spirits, there will be a next time for us, young lady, and don't you forget it."

As if I could. All I had to do was look around my bedroom just about any time of day, and there was my very own reminder, in the form of a murdered cowboy.

But I didn't see any point in telling Father Dominic this. Instead, I said, "Sorry about your breezeway, Father Dominic. Your poor birds."

"Never mind my birds. You're all right, and that's all that matters. When I get out of this hospital, you and I are going to sit down and have a very long chat, Susannah, about proper mediation techniques. I don't know about this habit of yours of just walking up and punching the poor souls in the face."

I said, laughing, "Okay. I guess your ribs must be hurting you, huh?"

He said, in a gentler tone, "They are, some. How did you know?"

"Because you're so pleasant."

"I'm sorry." Father Dominic actually sounded it, too. "I – yes, my ribs are hurting me. Oh, Susannah. Did you hear the news?"

"Which? That I was voted sophomore class vice president, or that I wrecked the school last night?"

"Neither. A space has been found at Robert Louis Stevenson High School for Bryce. He'll be transferring there just as soon as he can walk again."

"But – " It was ridiculous, I know, but I actually felt dismayed. "But Heather's gone, now. He doesn't have to transfer."

"Heather may be gone," Father Dominic said gently, "but her memory still exists very much in the minds of those who were ... affected by her death. Surely you can't blame the boy for wanting a chance to start over at a new school where people won't be whispering about him?"

I said, not very graciously, thinking of Bryce's soft blond hair, "I guess."

"They say I should be well enough to return to work Monday. Shall I see you in my office then?"

"I guess," I said, just as enthusiastically as before. Father Dominic didn't appear to notice. He said, "I shall see you then." Right before I hung up, I heard him say, "Oh, and Susannah. Do try, in the interim, not to destroy what's left of the school."

"Ha ha," I said, and hung up.

Sitting on the window seat, I rested my chin on my knees and gazed down across the valley toward the curve of the bay. The sun was starting to sink low in the west. It hadn't hit the water yet, but it would in a few minutes. My room was ablaze with reds and golds, and the sky around the sun looked as if it were striped. The clouds were so many different colors – blue and purple and red and orange – like the ribbons I once saw waving from the top of a May pole at a Renaissance fair. I could smell the sea, too, through my open window. The breeze carried the briny scent toward me, even as high up in the hills as I was.