“Outsiders,” Vivienne and her friends said in unison.
“Exactly. But in the world’s eyes—if they knew about us—we would be the outsiders. The others.”
“That’s how I’ve always felt,” Max said, his eyes fixed on the notebook in front of him. “Like I didn’t belong.” He looked up and smiled. “Till I came here, that is.”
Vivienne returned Max’s smile. “Me too.”
Emily swatted his arm. “Same.”
“What does Peter think about all of this?” Vivienne asked.
“That’s something you can ask him yourself when you meet him.”
She tried not to be disappointed by Joseph’s vague answer. It was the same one he always gave when one of them asked a question regarding their mysterious founder.
Joseph checked his watch. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this on Monday. Have a great weekend.”
Vivienne settled her backpack over her shoulders and followed Max and Emily outside. She didn’t bother joining their argument over who could fly faster and refused to be the judge when Max suggested a race. Instead, she went back to her apartment to re-read the portions of text about Peter.
Later that afternoon, she found Emily sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a tabloid.
“Do you ever get the feeling,” Vivienne said, sitting across from her and reaching for the box of cereal Emily had yet to put away, “that everyone is avoiding our questions about Peter?”
“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Emily shoveled in another bite. “It’s super weird.”
“Almost as weird as cereal for dinner,” she teased. High fructose corn syrup was the first ingredient listed on the side panel of the colorful box.
“If I’m going to have a teenage metabolism forever, I may as well take advantage of it.”
Emily had a point. Vivienne grabbed a handful and popped a few colorful circles into her mouth. She had forgotten how good artificial flavoring and sugar tasted together. Lynn only bought corn flakes or cereal with raisins in it. “Did you and Max have your race?”
Emily smiled as she chewed. “Yup.”
“And you obviously won.” She grabbed more cereal, then closed the box.
“Yup.”
Emily was fast—the fastest of the three of them. She even gave Joel a run for his money over short distances. As Vivienne returned the box to the cupboard, the calendar hanging on the wall caught her eye. A sense of unease settled over her. “What’s today’s date?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the twenty-third, but don’t hold me to it.”
October twenty-third was important for some reason, but Vivienne couldn’t remember why. She tapped the date on the calendar, willing the information to emerge from the empty white box. “Is there anything happening this weekend?”
“Not that I know of.”
What couldn’t she remember? She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. The twenty-third was . . . Her eyes snapped open. “It’s Lyle’s birthday!”
How could she have forgotten? They’d bought tickets to see this weird grunge band he loved. Who would he take in her place? Her stomach twisted with guilt.
She had avoided thinking about Ohio for that very reason.
“Who’s Lyle?”
Vivienne’s heart sank. “My foster brother.”
“You never told me you have a foster brother! Is he cute?”
“I don’t even know how to answer that question.” He was cute, she supposed. But she had never thought of him that way.
“If he wasn’t your foster brother, would you date him?”
“I don’t know…maybe?”
Emily finished her last bite of cereal and brought her bowl to the sink. “Are you going to get your hot brother a card or something?”
“Gross. Please, don’t call him my hot brother. That’s just wrong.”
Emily giggled. “Cards are kinda lame, but at least he’d know you’re thinking of him.”
Would that be against the rules? If she sent him something from out of state, from somewhere far away, maybe it would be okay. She could let him know she was still alive. That she missed him.
In spite of what Paul and Deacon believed, Lyle was her ally and not her enemy. She spent the rest of the evening arguing with herself over whether or not she should send him a card. When she finally went to sleep, she had decided a card wasn’t good enough.
She wanted to talk to him.
Vivienne paused in the hallway outside Emily’s door. She still wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing by inviting her friend to be an accomplice, but she really didn’t want to go alone.
So she stuffed her worry beneath her guilt and knocked.
Everything was going to be fine. No one was going to find out.
Emily told her to come in. When Vivienne opened the door, her roommate was glaring into her bursting closet like all the clothes offended her.
Emily turned around and offered her a wide smile. “Why are you up so early?”
Vivienne typically slept until at least ten o’clock on the weekends. “I need to buy some new outfits.”
It wasn’t a lie. The only clothes she had were the things she’d stuffed into her backpack and the few bits Kensington had given her. She was sick of doing laundry every other day.
“Just get one of the personal shoppers to buy stuff for you.” Emily swept the makeup strewn across her desk into a shimmering pink bag.
Vivienne slid the hangers from one side to the other. Most of the stuff still had tags.
“I was going to ask them, but then I remembered you want to be one and thought maybe we could go together.”
“Are you serious? Please tell me this isn’t a joke! I’ve wanted to dress you ever since we met. You’d look amazing in deep, rich colors that show off your flawless skin. And something tighter than those baggy old sweatshirts that make you look like you don’t have a figure at all.”
“Wow. I didn’t realize my wardrobe was such a problem for you.”
Emily dragged a handful of hangers from her closet and handed them to her. “These are yours.”
“You already bought me stuff?” Vivienne was as horrified as she was touched.
Emily went to the stack of jeans on the closet shelf and grabbed two pairs from the bottom of the pile. They had tags on them as well. “I like to shop. A lot.”
That was an understatement. Was there a day since they’d met that Emily hadn’t bought something? She didn’t think so.
“What kind of best friend would I be,” she went on, collecting T-shirts and a pair of cute pearl earrings from the cache under her bed, “if I didn’t pick up a few things for you as well?”
“I don’t really know what to say.” All the stuff looked like things she would wear. Nothing too gaudy or revealing. Simple and—holy crap. Expensive. “Emily! This white T-shirt cost fifty dollars!”
“It’s a really pretty one.”
“It’s a plain white T-shirt.” One that would probably end up with a ketchup stain.
Emily rolled her eyes and told her that when she tried it on, she would understand.