I hurry from his office before he can change his mind. One-on-one instruction from the man who helped devise the modern end-to-end encryption protocols for private email services isn’t a bad thing.
Except...to be singled out by a teacher, any teacher, goes against my ethos here at Goode.
But I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to show off a little bit. It was the first time since I left England that I’ve felt at home. Fingers on the keys, tapping away, the lines of code spooling out from my mind. I’ve always been good with computers. A few books checked out from the library taught me the languages I needed, and then I played, developing my own code, writing programs to fulfill basic tasks.
Not that I’ve ever actually tried hacking. Well, not really. Okay, maybe a little, here and there.
16
THE DEATH
Outside, the sun is beating down, the air thick, almost sticky with humidity. I grab a bottle of water from my backpack and cross to the large oak tree in front of Old West. Despite the sunlight, the building stands in shade as if a cloud hangs above it. From this vantage point, I have a perfect view of the dorms and of my window. Oddly enough, as I watch, the curtains twitch. I glance at my watch. Camille shouldn’t be in the room right now. She is supposed to be at choir practice. We compared schedules this morning, taping them to the inside of the closet doors so we could find one another if need be. At the time, I was touched by her concern—wanting me to fit in, to be happy, seemed paramount to Camille this morning.
Now it’s obvious she just wanted to know when I wouldn’t be in the room.
What is she doing? Going through my things?
Rage fills me, and I start to get up, to run to the room, to confront her. This will not stand.
The shadow moves again, the curtains fall back into place, and I catch a flash of dark, curly hair. Vanessa is in my room. Are they together? Has Camille skipped class? Or have I simply remembered the schedule wrong?
I’m torn now. Confront them, having made a mistake, and I look like a fool.
It’s not like I have anything that will reveal all to them. I’ve been very careful.
Cool off. Take a breath. Wait and see what shakes out.
Good, bad, or indifferent, I have to make my way here, and to do that means not drawing notice to myself. And yet...here I am, doing the exact opposite. Showing off for the hot teacher was beyond stupid. I’ve managed to get myself singled out three times, from the dean, Dr. Medea, and Becca Curtis.
One of the three is going to be a big problem. I can feel it in my bones.
The bells ring, shuddering through my skin. It’s biology now, with Dr. Hall, but as I walk past the dean’s office, Westhaven comes out and stops me.
“Ash? May I have a word?”
She looks tired today, not the same elegant creature I encountered when I arrived.
I follow her into her sanctum. “How is Dr. Grassley? I meant to come by earlier and ask after her. Lost track of myself.”
“Have a seat.”
Uh-oh.
“Ash, I have some bad news. Dr. Grassley has passed away.”
The words reverberate through me as intensely as the bells. “What?”
“The doctor at the hospital said she had an underlying issue, exacerbated by multiple incidents this year alone.”
Holy shit. There’s no way around this, my actions have just killed a woman.
I’m too upset to cry, just sit, frozen, listening to the dean’s platitudes.
She’s dead. Dead. A mistake. A simple, stupid mistake, and a talented, lovely life is crushed forever.
Do I have to admit what I’ve done?
I tune back in when I realize what the dean is asking. “Are you okay, Ash? I know this must be such a shock. I got the sense you and Muriel hit it off. You were so concerned about her...”
Tell her. Admit your sins, be absolved.
Tell her. Tell her!
She’s watching me with that curious hawk-stare, and I chicken out.
“Yes. We did. She was very kind.”
“There will be a memorial service soon. And we will start the search for a replacement right away. It may be more than a few weeks before we can find someone of Muriel’s caliber to take over. It looks like your wish is granted. You may take this time away to decide what you want to do going forward.”
I killed her I killed her I killed her.
But I only nod and say, “Thank you.”
“Off to biology. I’ll let Dr. Hall know you were with me. Stop by the ladies room and wash your face. And, Ash?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“Try not to worry yourself too much. This is a rough start to term, I know. But things will calm down. You’re going to fit in here very well.”
“Thank you, Dean.”
If she only knew.
I scamper off as if I’m heading straight to biology, which is, thank heavens, in the building behind the theater. On my way, I stop by Grassley’s office, my eyes peeled for a small gold box.
There. On her desk.
I snatch it, jam it in my bag, and take off. I will dispose of this later.
My God, not only have I killed a teacher, now I’ve stolen the evidence.
What the hell is next?
I have no answer to that.
17
THE SUMMONS
Dinner is crazed, as only the first few days of classes must be, but coupled with the news of a dead teacher, the hall is incredibly loud.
The students are either zombified or frantic. New friendships have blossomed; tablemates change freely as alliances are struck, cliques formed. The buzz is electric, the hive at work. In the middle sits the queen bee, Becca Curtis, serene as a country brook. Her very being commands attention, allegiance.
I watch quietly, eating another Cobb salad with grilled chicken, drinking ice-cold water. The box from Muriel’s office sits in my bag, taunting me. I ignore it, watch the scene unfolding before me.
These very rich girls and their privileged lives are at once familiar and alien. They have a sense of intimacy with each other; they’re more like sisters than friends. Traditionally isolated by my circumstances as an only child, I am both fascinated and jealous. They fit together so clearly. Will I always be on the outside, looking in?
If I keep killing people, yeah, probably.
Accident, accident, accident...
Camille pushes away her plate, those doll eyes shining. “Ash, I heard you had a private coaching session with Dr. Hot. Is it true?”
“Dr. Hot? Oh, you mean Dr. Medea? Yes, we talked after class. I would hardly call it a private coaching session. We’re to do tutorials going forward.”
Vanessa throws me a smug smile. “Better be careful. The dean won’t like it if she hears about it.”
“I think it might be hard for the faculty to avoid being alone with students if they’re ever to counsel them.”
“What did you need counseling about?” Vanessa snaps back.
“He liked the code I wrote and realized I had more experience than the rest of the class. That’s all. Nothing exciting about it.”
“Au contraire, mon frère. I heard you tested out entirely and he’s going to be tutoring you privately. One-on-ones with Dr. Hot. Better make sure he keeps it in his pants, or you’ll be in major trouble.” Vanessa looks both triumphant and angry. I fear she has taken a dislike to me.
“Where do you hear all of these things?”
She shrugs, but Piper leans over with a conspiratorial grin.
“She’s just jealous because she has the hots for Dr. Medea. I’ve heard he’s really quite brilliant. If you’re getting one-on-ones from him, I’d say you’re either extremely talented or extremely lucky.”
“Maybe both? I feel quite lucky.”
“I’m sure yo
u do, bitch,” Vanessa says, voice laden with sarcasm.
No. We are not doing this anymore.
“Stop it. I am not a threat to you. I don’t like it when you pretend to be all tough and cool. And what were you doing in my room earlier?”
“I wasn’t in your room.”
“I saw you. The bells had just rung. You were in the window looking out on the quad. I assumed you and Camille—”
“I wasn’t in your room. Was I, Camille?”
Camille, who’s gotten distracted watching a group of seniors playing some kind of seated game of Duck Duck Goose with their waitron, shakes her head. “Nope. I haven’t been back to the room since I left this morning. You must have had the wrong window, Ash. They all look alike from the outside anyway.”
I prefer not to mention I’ve counted them inside and out, in case I ever need to depart in a hurry, that I know exactly which one is ours because of the small trail of thick ivy that forks three times just below the sill, so I sit silently, chewing the inside of my lip. They’re lying. I know they’re lying. I know what I saw.
There is a gentle thwack by my elbow, and I draw my attention back to the table. A waitron has dropped a creamy envelope, which sits askew on my knife. My name is spelled out—black ink, elegant cursive, the letters drawn carefully and precisely. Camille, who’s been picking at her food, snatches it up immediately.
“What’s this?”
“An envelope. Give it back.”
“‘Please return my property’ is the more polite way to phrase it, Ash. Gawd, don’t be so touchy.”
If I murder her in her sleep, will anyone blame me?
“Camille, please return my property.”
“There, that wasn’t so bad. We’ll tame the savage in you yet.” She giggles and tosses the envelope at me, winking at Vanessa.
“What’s the note? Is it a love letter from Dr. Hot?” Vanessa asks.
I roll my eyes and crack the wax seal, thick and red as fresh blood, slide a finger under the edge of the envelope. The card inside is heavy stock. Three words are written on it in black ink, the same flourishing script as the envelope.
Fourth floor. 10:00 p.m.
“What is this?”
Camille takes it from me, and her eyes grow wide and wild. “My God, it’s an invitation to the attics.”
“An invitation to the attics. And you’ve been here two days. What the hell, Ash?” Vanessa’s newest indignation puts me on alert.
“I have no idea what this is. I take it this is unusual?”
“You’re a sophomore. No one gets to go to the attics without a written invitation, but no sophomores, ever.”
“But I don’t know any seniors.”
As I say it, I feel eyes on me, coolly appraising, and turn to see Becca Curtis, four tables over, staring. The goddess has spoken. All hail the goddess.
I whirl back around. “Oh, God. You don’t think it’s from her, do you?”
“Her, meaning Becca?” Camille laughs, but the sound is joyless. “You did make an impression. Listen, Ash, don’t worry. She probably just wants an apology. She’ll embarrass you a few times, make you grovel, and it will all be over quickly.”
“I won’t go.”
But even as I say it, the draw of being in the attics, seeing them, makes the words ring hollow in my ears. I don’t want to draw attention to myself, yet being singled out by this girl makes my heart flutter in my chest and my mouth go dry. I want to be singled out. I want it very badly.
“Quite a day for our mad Brit,” Vanessa says, and while it sounds like she’s teasing, and she’s smiling, I can’t help but think she’s genuinely furious at the unbidden attention.
18
THE WAITING
The hours drag between dinner and my appointment in the attics. I check my watch so often Camille leaves in disgust to study in the sewing circle—the nickname for the grouping of couches on the landing where the girls hang out, chatting and gossiping, sneaking tokes off vape pens in the bathroom, listening to music, and occasionally studying.
Alone, with another hour before my rendezvous, I do something I’ve promised not to do. Something the dean said yesterday has been niggling at me. I activate the VPN on my computer, override the school’s meager parental block on the Wi-Fi, open a browser called Brave that doesn’t track my actions (bravo, Brave!), then a private window, and type a name into the browser. The hits pile up, the most immediate a story from the Guardian. At the headline, my eyes go swimmy.
SIR DAMIEN CARR’S DEATH INVESTIGATION CLOSED
Banker Died of Drug Overdose, Inquest Confirms
London Wire
29 August, 2020
Chadwick Staff
The coroner’s court today recorded a verdict of misadventure in the July death of Sir Damien Carr, Viscount Eldridge. Carr, a graduate of Eton who read law at Cambridge and subsequently became one of London’s premier wealth managers, was found unresponsive in his home in Westminster this past 14 July.
Carr was known for his unrelenting desire to keep a discreet and low profile in the industry, and this moral rectitude was one of his hallmarks, making him one of the most sought-after wealth managers in London. He served on several boards and was thought to be in line to be named as under-treasurer for the chancellor of the exchequer. The position was filled by John Bamforth, Carr’s former associate in the financial firm, only last week.
Family and friends, who saw him as a staunch teetotaler, were admittedly shocked by the news of the overdose. Carr’s wife, Lady Sylvia Carr, suffered a breakdown after the incident and sadly took her own life. Their daughter—
“Ash? It’s time. What are you reading so intently?”
I jump up so fast my laptop drops to the floor with a crash. I put a hand on my heart, deep breaths, deep breaths. You are not in danger. You are not about to die.
Vanessa stands in the door looking very young in her bathrobe and glasses, her riotous hair standing out like she’s been pushing her hands through it.
Bloody fucking hell, why do they have to sneak up on me all the time? Is there a class they teach at Goode frosh year in stealth? I could have used it.
“You scared me, Vanessa.”
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”
It’s the nicest tone Vanessa has ever used with me. I have been crying, I realize, tears are bubbling over the edges of my eyes and running unchecked down my face. I sniff and scrub them away.
“I’m fine. It’s time?”
“Yes. You’ll tell us everything, won’t you?” Kind Vanessa is confusing. Vanessa whiplash, I’m starting to think of the girl’s mood swings.
“I will.” I open the laptop long enough to log out of everything and shut off the VPN, wondering briefly what the Honor Code would say about such a thing. Surely there is a difference between protecting my privacy and deceiving the school’s IP filters. I plug it in and take the envelope with my name on it from the desk gingerly.
“Off I go.”
“Go with God,” Vanessa replies dryly.
In the hall, I can hear voices to my left, toward the stairs. Camille and Piper are standing there, whispering behind their hands. They stop when I approach, both smiling tremulously. It feels like I’m being led to the guillotine with friendly witnesses amassed to see me along the way, which is just stupid. I’m going to speak with my bully, get this situation dealt with once and for all. I will not spend term looking over my shoulder, waiting for Becca and her minions to make my life hell. I just won’t. I’ve already been through enough this year. I refuse to be a victim any longer.
I give the girls an ironic smile, a brief salute, and step through the steel door into the stairwell. The first set of stairs is uneventful, but the second flight is blocked by two identically bored, sweatshirted, messy-bun-topped girls sitting on the last
step. These are the twins I saw following Becca around that fated first day. Camille said their names are Amanda and Miranda and no one can tell them apart, even their mother, who is chief of staff to a corporate bigwig and isn’t around enough to worry about it. In the murky darkness, I definitely can’t see a characteristic or feature that allows me to distinguish between them.
One says, “Finally. Come here.”
“Why?”
“Because we have to blindfold you, idiot,” the other says. “You’re not allowed to see the seniors’ hall. It’s bad luck.”
I don’t like the idea of being blindfolded at all, and my heartbeat kicks up a notch.
“We aren’t going to hurt you,” the first girl says. “You’ve been summoned. You have an invitation. And you don’t want to keep Becca waiting. Come on.”
I turn reluctantly and try not to bolt as the strip of cloth is tied around my head. It is black velvet, thick and close, and I can’t see anything.
They lead me the rest of the way, soft hands, murmuring “step here,” “watch out,” “we’re turning now.”
One more set of short stairs and the air changes completely. Musty, evergreen, overlaid with the scent of bleach. A gentle coolness on my face; there is a window open, and the night air in the mountains already holds the hint of fall. My nose twitches, I smell marijuana, a scent as familiar to me as my strawberry shampoo. Someone is getting high in the attics. Naughty, naughty.
The hands leave my arms, and the door closes quietly behind me. I am alone.
19
THE COMMONS
But I’m not alone.
The voice comes from my right. “You can take it off now.”
I rip off the blindfold, relieved.
The room is dark, but my eyes have adjusted. I’m in a large space, windowed along one wall, with a sloping ceiling. Sofas and chairs and oversize beanbags are scattered throughout. The windows are open, and the mountains are shadows outside, huge and ominous, their very presence pressing in on me.
Good Girls Lie Page 8