Piper. Emma. Rose.
Is their trauma related? How?
Leave it alone, a voice whispers from within. This is not for your wounded heart.
Nor is sitting on my ass, doing nothing while the person responsible for hurting these girls goes on with their life, merry and free.
They are not your mother.
“Shut up, Voice,” I seethe, ignoring the startled looks cast in my direction as I pass them by on the student pathway to the dorms.
I end up bypassing my own, lonely dorm and head to Richardson Place. It’s where Ivy and Eden live, and I hope at least one of them is there when I knock on their door.
It pulls wide to reveal Ivy. At the sight of her, I pause with my fist still held up to knock. “What’s with the face?”
“Oh, this old thang?” Ivy circles her freshly powdered, foundationed, and glammed-up face with a finger. “It’s Saturday, girl. Let’s play dress up, and make-up, and drink up, then we’re going out. Didn’t you get my text?”
I picture my phone, crammed at the bottom of my bag under my books and computer in the hope that it’d stay there. “Nope.”
“Chase is holding a huge party at his lake house.” Ivy yanks me inside. “We’re going.”
“A party for what? His near expulsion?”
Ivy laughs. “He’s too precious to Marron’s bottom line to be expelled. Do you have stuff to get ready or do you just want to borrow some of mine?”
Ivy, here on full scholarship, barely has a chest of drawers to call her own. Her and Eden’s room is much smaller than mine, with bolted, standard, grayish-blue furniture and a twin bed that might as well fold-out Murphy-style for each.
Meanwhile, my stepdad’s new wife sends me seasonal outfit changes on the regular, my self-conscious rebuffs largely ignored.
“I have a better idea,” I say. “Let’s go back to my place and you can raid my closet for a dress for me and for you.”
Ivy’s eyes light up brighter than holiday fireworks, and a laugh escapes my throat as she half-pulls, half-drags me out of her room, and we scamper over to mine.
This is precisely what I needed, a friend and a fun time—things I haven’t had the beauty of basking in for a while. Chase might be the gatekeeper to my Briarcliff experience, but after the morning I’ve had, I’m willing to pay his price.
Plus, everyone is going, and his lake house is huge. I figure there will be plenty of chances to avoid him until I’m ready.
Emma hasn’t returned to the dorms, and after Ivy’s tentative questions on how the first night went and what Emma’s like, to which I answered noncommittally, we blast music from my computer and sift through the curated outfits Lynda thought would suit me.
When Ivy pulls out a short, black mini dress with a plunging V where boobs should be, I’m positive my stepdad did not approve this “seasonal pick” for fall and winter.
Where the frick are my snow pants?
“This says you all over it.” Ivy flips the dress back and forth on the hanger, humming and hawing in ways that are newly foreign to me. My ex-friend back in New York, Sylvie and I, often got ready like this, but we added lines of coke to our outfit changes and snorts between eye-liner applications.
The flashback fogs my vision, and for a minute I see Sylvie bending close to my closet mirror, dabbing at the corner of her eyes and sniffling, “Make a few more lines for us, will you? We’ll be so badass at the club tonight.”
“Callie?”
Ivy’s face sharpens as she holds up the dress, an unsure smile plastered across her face.
In so many ways, Ivy is the complete opposite of Sylvie. There will be no drugs tonight. No stranger’s hard-ons rubbing against the small of my back as I whirl and stumble under strobe lights.
“No freaking way am I wearing that,” I say. “That’s more Falyn’s taste.”
“Mm.” Ivy’s expression is morphing in a way I don’t like. She’s appearing more as a reality TV fashion judge than my friend, and … I’m fairly confident I’ll be freezing my nipples off tonight. “You’re trying it on.”
“No, I’m—”
The dress whacks me in the face.
“And this one.”
Another whack.
“This, too.”
I predict Ivy’s next toss and hold my dress-laden hands out to catch it, but Ivy fakes me out and pauses mid-throw. “On the other hand, this purple would totally complement my eyes and hair…”
Laughing, I perch on my bed. “Wear whatever you want.”
“And you, my dear, will wear what I tell you to,” Ivy says, then spreads her fingers and descends on me.
Ivy won.
A few hours of primping and sipping later, I’m in the risqué black number, my knees knocking together as we wait for a car at the front of the academy. Ivy chose the off-the-shoulder, deep purple dress, its sequins catching the nectarine glow of the setting sun whenever she turns.
Other seniors have taken their own cars to the lake house, and those juniors, sophomores, and freshmen who aren’t allowed off-campus on weekends but have figured a way to smuggle themselves out, have long departed.
“Isn’t it only cool to attend parties at, like, eleven at night?” I ask Ivy as we wait.
“Usually,” she answers through the flat-ironed curtain of her silvery blond hair. Ivy’s head is bent as she scrolls through her phone. “But, you and me, we don’t have the hook-ups to give us anything more to pregame with at the dorms. Hence…” She lifts her head as she tucks her phone into her clutch. “Why we, and every other invitee, are going to Chase’s place early. Free booze.”
After the scandal between Piper and Dr. Luke broke, the spine of Briarcliff’s student manual cracked open, too. Professors referred to the rules constantly, be it for our curfew or what we could keep in our dorms. Random searches were reinforced, and the first time they were implemented, Thorne and Rose Houses had a lot of plumbing issues.
One thing the faculty couldn’t revoke was the seniors’ privilege to leave campus on weekends. Not if they didn’t want a riot on their hands. They did, however, forbid any access to Lover’s Leap and put up a new gate with barbed wire curling its metal thorns at the top.
I’ve only seen the cliff once, soon after Piper died. It starts with a natural clearing in the thicket of trees where students gathered, well away from the dropping off point. For Piper to have stepped so close to the edge, someone would’ve had to corner her and cause her to back up, her heels scraping against the forest ground until it turned to stone, then … air.
I shiver at the thought.
“Cold?” Ivy asks.
“I’m good,” I say, unfolding my denim jacket from my arm and sliding it on. “Though it’s getting frosty.”
“Yeah.” Ivy glances up at the sky, where burnt orange tendrils are giving way to gray dusk. “It gets bitterly cold here, and soon. October’s our last month of pretty.”
Yael pulls up, and we both slide in, my dress hiking scarily high when I sit. I mutter a curse, but Ivy laughs, telling me I should showcase my jay-walker legs more often.
“Just because I’m a city girl,” I say while elbowing her, “doesn’t mean I can’t be athletic.”
“Oh, yeah? Join crew then.”
“No way in hell.”
“Figures.” Ivy laughs.
Ivy’s the only one who knows I can’t swim. In a school surrounded by water, where the most popular sport is rowing, vacation homes are lake houses, and cliff faces jutting out into the ocean are the hot hookup spots, my lack of ability to tread water seems like a glaring weakness.
Do you like the way my face looks? a tiny voice whispers. Emma’s. Don’t say their name, not if you don’t want them to come after you…
I pull my jacket tighter across my chest.
Ivy’s my best friend. She may love to gossip, but when it comes to me, she’s reliably mute. She doesn’t talk about my mother’s murder, despite having an unwanted first-row seat to the crime scene
photos, and she’s never brought up my inability to swim with anyone.
Relief lightens my chest when Ivy doesn’t push the issue.
We arrive at Chase’s lake house fifteen minutes later than when I was in his car. Yael slows at the beginning of the thin private drive, the paved roadway clogged with a line of luxury vehicles, most lazily parked without giving much thought to leaving space for other cars to nudge through.
I lean forward to the middle console. “It’s okay, Yael. We can walk the rest of the way up.”
“You sure?” he asks.
Ivy scoffs. “Speak for yourself.”
She lifts a freshly shaved leg shining with moisturizer. A three-inch black heel caps off her outfit.
“It’s a short walk,” I say as I push the door open. “Come on.”
“How do you know how far it is?” she asks but steps out on her side. Our doors slam at the same time.
Shit. I love how I was just thinking what good a friend Ivy is to me, and meanwhile, I’m hiding my meet-up with Chase like he’s my dirty little secret.
At least it’s a meet-up this time and not pornographic sex that made you blow your load the minute his tongue found your—
“Stupid voice,” I mutter again.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” I grab Ivy’s hand and we toddle up the drive.
I glance at Ivy, hobbling beside me but maintaining her good spirit as we toddle through cars and people, heading to the front.
My phone rings in my purse as the drive levels out and the lake house comes into view. At dusk, it’s easier to appreciate the one-way planes of glass used for walls and the multiple levels of pointed roofs. The home is cabin chic meets million-dollar view, and Ivy unfurls her arm from mine, gaping at the structure.
“Go on in,” I say to her, popping open my purse. “I’ll find you.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice. Why did I avoid off-campus parties again?” Ivy asks, then flashes me a bright smile and joins another group heading inside, where music blasts and bottles clink.
AHMAR flashes on my screen when I pull my phone out.
“Hey,” I say, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear while wandering closer to the edge of trees. Someone turns the music up.
“Sounds like you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be,” Ahmar says, but I hear the smile accompanying his words.
“My first weekend party experience. Wish me luck.”
“You’re the smartest kid I know. You don’t need it.” Ahmar pauses. “You know never to accept a drink you didn’t make yourself, right?”
I huff out a laugh, but I don’t miss the hesitation in his voice. He saw me at my worst. He held back my hair when I stumbled to his apartment at 4 AM, because I couldn’t go home and face my stepdad, and coughed up vomit for hours. “Yes, Dad. I’m being good. Promise.”
The name sounds more heartfelt than I intended, but if Ahmar senses it, he keeps it to himself. “I trust you, Calla. You paid your dues. So, what do you need from me?”
“Well…”
“Uh-oh. I sense hedging.”
I pull my lips in, pressing down hard with my teeth, then decide to get it over with as fast as possible. “Could you find out if they’ve matched the DNA of the baby to anyone?”
Static pops on the other end of the line as I picture Ahmar shifting, wherever he is, clearly uncomfortable. “Calla…”
“I know. I know. It’s a lot to ask, but it would clear up a lot. Did you hear about Dr. Luke?”
“Yeah, kid, I did, just this morning. I’m sorry. I wanted to call you to see how you’re holding up, but—”
“You’re on the job. I get it.” And I do. “But that means you agree, right? Finding out the DNA of the baby would answer some serious questions.”
“Sure, but you have to remember, the paternity of the fetus doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the perp’s. And the vic—sorry, Piper—was only ten weeks along.”
I press the phone harder to my ear. “You’ve been told how far along she was?”
A growl curse into my ear, then nothing.
“Ahmar?”
“Yes,” he admits. “Calla, you’re like a daughter to me. Even if you hadn’t asked me to, I would’ve kept updated on this case. I’ve got to make sure you’re not in danger by staying at that school.”
Warmth encompasses my soul, a comforting blanket I haven’t felt since leaving NYC over a month ago. “Thank you for keeping me safe. Now tell me what you know.”
Ahmar gives a low, appreciative laugh, but his tone is serious. “The DNA results came back about a week ago.”
I breathe in sharp, evergreen air, its pine needles spearing my lungs. I chance a look at the lake house, as if Chase would be standing near one of the massive windows, watching me.
“You … you know who the father is?”
“It’s partially why this teacher guy was let go. Where did you hear the news of his release, anyway?”
“Gossip. Friends. I don’t know. Ahmar, tell me.”
“Easy, kid. There was a match. It’s no one you associate with.”
While this should come as a comfort, Ahmar has no idea who I associate with at Briarcliff. He’s ignorant to the boys, societies, and mean girls frequenting these grounds, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’d rather he think of me as reformed. An enterprising young student ready to take on the world with a world-class diploma, whose roommate happened to be killed in an accident.
Not as a girl deliberately immersing herself in the elite underworld to solve a murder.
“Can you give me a name?” I ask.
“That’s confidential. You know how it works.”
“But it’s me you’re talking to. My roommate was killed. Ahmar…”
He exhales, and I refuse to wince at the pang of guilt that hits when I know I’ve won.
“I’m already aware of the possibilities,” I argue. “Dr. Luke or Chase. And if you’re saying it’s not Dr. Luke’s…”
I realize my mistake too late.
“Chase, huh? Since when are you so familiar with that dude?”
“I … he’s well-known. By everybody. And he’s Piper’s ex. I’m only repeating what I hear, but maybe if a reliable source gave me information, I’d stop listening to gossip.”
Ahmar chuckles. “I see what you did there.”
“I’m begging you. Is it—”
“This Chase guy? No, it’s not.”
My chest cracks from the released pressure. I hold a hand to my heart, ensuring it’s still beating.
“He’s just well-known, huh?”
The dangerous edge to Ahmar’s tone makes me grimace. “He’s just a guy, Ahmar.”
“A guy I gotta meet?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Mm.”
It’s easy to change the subject. “I don’t understand. You said the DNA result was partially why Dr. Luke was released. So, it’s not his, either?”
“Nope.”
My hand stills in the middle of tucking my hair behind my ear. I frown into the copse of trees, noting the growing, cold shadows creeping onto the asphalt and over my feet.
“The DNA’s been tied to a kid in the system. A boy named Joaquín del Pozo. Heard of him?”
My brows pull down, hard and low. “Not even a little bit.”
“Exactly. That’s the end of that. You don’t know the dude. I did you a favor by giving you that name, and in return, do one for me.”
Ahmar’s talking, but his voice seems so far way, tinned and faint compared to the rush in my ears.
Who the hell is Joaquín del Pozo?
“Calla?”
“Yeah.” I finish tucking my hair back. “I’m still here.”
“This roommate of yours, Piper, it looks like she was involved with a few guys. Her death could be related to this boy, but it might not be. Because of that, I need you to stay back, okay? Let the police do their jobs, and run through their witness and suspect lists, as t
hey’ve been doing. Are you listening?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice a whispery trace of its usual sound. “There’s a process. I know that.”
“I’m doing what I can behind the scenes, but I have my ear on this. Leave me in charge. Can you agree to that?”
His question is not a simple request. He remembers, as much as I do, how the weeks after my mother’s death went. How I fell apart and screamed for him to arrest my stepdad, then, when that didn’t work, turned to artificial mind-altering.
I respond quietly. “This isn’t that, Ahmar.”
“Not saying it is. But I’ll never stop looking out for you.”
I smile through the welling thickness in my throat. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, kiddo. Now, go try to have some safe, wholesome high school fun. I got this.”
We hang up, and I wiggle my phone back into a clutch chosen by Lynda that seems to only fit lip gloss, wrestling it shut.
An adult taking the reins—and a competent one at that—would usually have me feeling buoyant, secure, and hopeful. But … there’s so much Ahmar doesn’t know.
I’m not sure how much I can tell him, because my confession would have to begin right here, with the boy I made a deal with. And if I divulge the DNA results to Chase, I have no doubt he’ll stage a reaping until Joaquín is found. Then destroyed.
9
The lake house’s front doorway—twice the size of normal entryways—is packed with bodies, shifting, drinking, hooting, hollering, all of it.
I’m amazed at the transformation of the Briarcliff elite, though it shouldn’t come as a surprise that as soon as the uniform’s stripped off and the weekend’s pulled on, revelry ensues.
And … a lot of belly buttons enjoy their freedom.
I duck under errant elbows and arms, alcohol-tinged droplets escaping from red Solo cups and landing on my shoulders and forehead, but I forge on. The music pushes through my soles and into my chest, a deep, rhythmic bass turning my heart into an 8-count thump.
First, I search for Ivy, but don’t see her in the expansive main room. A ring of people surround the fireplace that crackles and spurts, nearby blunts and cigarettes finding the flame.
Virtue (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 2) Page 6