Poor Little Dead Girls

by Lizzie Friend

  Sadie peeked out from under the covers and saw Jessica standing in the doorway in a pair of crisp white shorts and a navy polo. Sadie jumped up and ran to the door.

  “Oh my god, please tell me you’re my roommate.” She gave Jessica a big hug.

  “I wish. They always put transfers together, so I’m guessing you’ll be with two other new girls.” Jessica jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m down the hall with Madison Plath. Why don’t they just kill me now and get it over with? She has her army of feng shui consultants in there right now trying to reorganize the place.” She waved a hand at the empty beds. “Your roommates aren’t here yet? That’s kinda weird.”

  Sadie shrugged. “Who knows? Rich people are never on time, right?”

  “Very funny.” Jessica picked one of Sadie’s pillows off the floor and whacked her with it.

  “For your information, I’ve been here since noon getting my crap together and waiting for your ass to show up. And here you are, sleeping on a bare mattress with all your crap strewn around the room in plastic bags.”

  “Ugh, I know. I should probably hide the evidence that I bought all my stuff from Target, right? Just so they don’t immediately realize I’m a charity case.”

  “Meh, who cares. Everyone Googles the new kids, so there’s no point trying to hide it. Want some help unpacking?”

  They spent the next hour arranging all of Sadie’s clothes in the dresser, hanging her uniform skirts, blazers, and polos in the armoire, and trying to make the room feel like home.

  “Posters help,” Jessica said, nodding toward the empty walls. “Madison already covered, like, half the room in Fever Stephens glamour shots.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s weird staring at his creepy airbrushed abs all day, but at least I don’t feel like I’m at my Nana’s.”

  Sadie was pulling the last few items out of her duffel bag — a framed photo of her mom, dressed in yellow and holding a young Sadie on her hip, and a handful of medals from lacrosse tournaments — when they heard a knock on the door. It was three quick raps — authoritative, official. She opened the door to two imposing men in dark suits, each at least six feet tall with broad shoulders and dark glasses.

  “You must be here about the aliens,” she deadpanned. They didn’t smile, but she heard Jessica suppress a laugh.

  “Miss, please vacate the room,” the one on the right barked.

  The two men kept their chins pointed straight ahead as they talked, giving the impression they weren’t really speaking to Sadie at all, but rather casting their commands out into the universe and just expecting it to obey.

  “We need to do a sweep.”

  What the hell? She looked back at Jessica, who was sprawled on the bed on her stomach, paging through last year’s Portland South yearbook. She just shrugged, but the expression on her face said this wasn’t usual procedure.

  “Uh, this is my room. Is something wrong?”

  “It’s protocol,” the giant on the left said to the space a foot above her head. “Please wait outside.”

  It clearly wasn’t a request. She stood in the doorway and hesitated, wondering if this was some sort of hazing ritual new students had to go through. What did they think she would bring, unauthorized snack foods? Counterfeit designer jeans?

  Before she could decide how to react, a tiny woman wearing a sleek black suit squeezed through Right and Left and extended a small, bony hand. Her icy blonde hair was pulled back into a tight chignon at the base of her skull, and she wore high black pumps and nude stockings, despite the heat. Even with the heels, she just barely reached Sadie’s shoulders.

  “Hello ladies,” she said in a thick English accent. She nodded to each of them without smiling. “I’m Ellen Bennett, and I apologize for this rudeness on behalf of my staff.” She threw a look over her shoulder at Right, who cleared his throat in mild protest. “I’m the personal secretary and chief of security for His Grace Charles Windsor Everleigh the Third, Duke of Devonshire. His daughters, The Lady Gwendolyn Everleigh and The Lady Beatrix Everleigh will be your new flat mates. Now, which of you is,” — she paused and looked down at her clipboard — “Sadie Marlowe?”

  “That’d be me,” Sadie said, still absentmindedly shaking the woman’s hand. Ellen gave her a tight smile and slithered her hand out of Sadie’s grasp, drawing it back and holding it close to her chest in a fist.

  “How grand.” With a quick wave of her hand, Right and Left marched into the room, brushing Sadie aside in the process. Ellen walked in after them and cast a calculating glance around the room. Her eyes stopped when they landed on Jessica, still lying on the bed with her chin in one hand.

  “Would you be so kind as to go back to your own room, Miss?” she said. “I need to go over some details with Ms. Marlowe and ensure the room is up to our specifications.”

  “I would be happy to,” Jessica said, giving Ellen a sweet smile that dripped with sarcasm. She walked toward the door and made a gagging gesture only Sadie could see. Sadie bit her lip to hold back a snort.

  “Ms. Marlowe, can you come over here please?” Ellen smoothed a pillow on the window seat and gingerly sat down, crossing one thin knee over the other and looking up with poorly concealed impatience. Right and Left were making their way around the room, peering behind the furniture and scanning the walls with a small black device. Sadie crossed the room and sat down, leaning back against the cushions and tucking her legs underneath her.

  “What’s up?”

  Ellen looked at her for a moment, an odd expression on her face, then handed her the clipboard. She drew a black fountain pen from one of her blazer pockets and laid it on top of the form.

  “I’ll just need you to read this carefully, then sign it. It is very important that you understand every detail of the contract, so I would be pleased to answer any questions you may have.” She didn’t look pleased to be doing anything, so Sadie just nodded and started reading. The contract was some sort of confidentiality agreement, one that prevented her from, as it stated, “revealing to the press, the public, her parents, the other students, or any other interested party anything she learned specifically relating to her status as roommates of The Lady Beatrix Everleigh and The Lady Gwendolyn Everleigh.” That and seven other pages of crap that didn’t make any sense.

  Sadie finished skimming it and looked at Ellen. “Um, I’m not really sure I want to sign this. I’m not even really sure what it means. Why would you need this?”

  Ellen sighed heavily. “Ms. Marlowe, what do you know about the Everleigh family?”

  Sadie hesitated. “Well, I know they’re important enough to have bodyguards, and that their daughters are my roommates.” She held up the clipboard. “And apparently they don’t want anyone to know whether or not they wear embarrassing jammies?”

  Ellen nodded gravely, ignoring her sarcasm. “Yes, Ms. Marlowe. They are important. His Grace is a very, very important man.” As she said this, she puffed out her thin chest and squared her shoulders, as if she were expecting Sadie to be floored by the prestige of her position. “And privacy is of the utmost importance to the Everleigh family. Keating’s code of sisterhood does not permit transfer students to live in private rooms, so we have been faced with a difficult situation.” She looked hard at Sadie before continuing. “The Everleighs want some reassurance that you will appreciate the gravity of this situation, and respect their privacy as public figures and members of the English nobility. Do you understand?”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “But I can’t guarantee I’m never, ever going to talk about my roommates. I mean, I can’t tell my friends what music they listen to or what we talk about? This is high school. That’s kinda what we do.”

  “Well, you’ll find a more worthwhile way to spend your time if you want to continue living in this room, and if you want the pleasure of the company of some of the most celebrated young women in England. I might suggest poetry or classical piano. Beatrix and Gwendolyn excel at both of those pursuits.”

  Sa
die focused every bit of her energy on keeping her eyes from rolling into the back of her head. Her roommates were celebrated — celebrated, piano-playing, poetry-reciting British freaks who were definitely not going to be down for scarfing Cheetos and watching Diva Divorcées reruns after lights out. She could feel disappointment settling into her stomach like day-old Chinese food. If you couldn’t OD on trans fats and trashy TV with your roommates, what was the point of boarding school at all?

  Ellen paused, then spoke slowly and deliberately, her eyes never leaving Sadie’s. “I would hate to have to request a transfer so early in the term,” she said, cocking her head to one side. “It would be quite arduous for the administration, and I know they frown upon students who make trouble regarding the roommate system. The code of sisterhood is such an important principle for the Keating community.” She paused again. “You’re a scholarship student, aren’t you?” She smiled sweetly, and her message was clear: You are expendable. You should think twice about making waves.

  It was Sadie’s turn to sigh. She flipped to the last page on the clipboard, uncapped the pen with her teeth, and signed her name. There was no turning back now, anyway. And if they were truly horrible, maybe she could sleep on a cot in the broom closet. That’s probably where she belonged, anyway.

  As soon as she lifted the pen off the paper, Ellen was all business. She grabbed the clipboard and clacked her way back across the floor in her impossibly high heels. She turned in the doorway, busily wiping the pen cap with a handkerchief she had produced from another pocket.

  “My team will need another few minutes to sweep the room,” she said with another icy smile. “Perhaps you and your friend should take this opportunity to have supper? They should be finished upon your return.” With that, she turned and strode out of the room.

  Sadie sat for a minute, a little stunned, as Ellen’s muffled footsteps moved away down the hall. Her roommates were going to be two famous girls — not famous, royal — and she had just legally signed away her gossiping rights. In the high school hierarchy, she was pretty sure that made her just a hair above completely worthless. The twin giants were starting to throw stern looks in her direction, so she stood up and headed off towards Jessica’s room. Contract or not, Sadie couldn’t wait to see what she had to say about this.

  Chapter 3

  “Wow, and I thought Madison was bad,” Jessica said. “I’ve heard rumors about things like that, but it’s usually when the girl’s mom’s a senator or something. I guess being a Duke is kinda the same thing?”

  “I guess,” Sadie grumbled, still miffed about being blindsided.

  They had left Jessica’s room — a double just down the hall from Sadie’s — and joined the steady stream of girls heading down to the Ashby dining room. At the bottom of the curving staircase, they turned away from the front door and continued through an archway leading toward the back of the building.

  After the dusty gloom of the dark lobby, the dining room was almost jarringly modern. It reminded Sadie of the kind of swanky bistros that lined Pioneer Square in downtown Portland, with shiny maple tabletops and walls painted in warm tones.

  Jessica scanned the crowd until her eyes settled on one table in a far corner of the room. The girls were talking and laughing loudly, and most of them were wearing fitted, kelly-green tank tops that read “Keating LAX” in big, white letters.

  Jessica waved and a couple of the green tank tops shrieked loudly in response. “Come on,” she said, linking one arm through Sadie’s and rolling her eyes. “Time to meet the girls.”

  As they started across the dining hall, Sadie felt so many pairs of eyes on her that her cheeks started to flush. She pretended not to notice everyone at the lacrosse table was looking her way, but most of them weren’t smiling.

  “Hey, ladies. You all remember Sadie Marlowe, right?” All the dead eyes at the table transformed into big, phony smiles, and a few manicured hands fluttered in waves of welcome.

  A tall, willowy blonde with thin, tanned arms and thick, pouty lips stood up and extended a hand.

  “I’m Thayer Wimberley, team captain. Welcome to Keating.” Her smile stretched wide over blindingly white teeth aligned in perfect rows. She tossed her head, making her long ponytail swish from side to side. “I hear you’re quite the hotshot on the West Coast.”

  Sadie stretched her mouth into what she hoped was a less terrifying expression. “Thanks. I was all-state last year.” She hesitated. “But obviously the competition isn’t exactly the same as it is out here.”

  “No,” Thayer said, cocking her head to the side. “It’s not.” She paused, just long enough for the other girls to start squirming uncomfortably. “But we’re all super, super excited to have you here.”

  The whole table exhaled.

  “Anyway, this is everyone.” She waved a hand around, listing each girl by name as Sadie and Jessica plopped down into two empty chairs. Seconds after they sat, a waitress in a white, full-length apron quickly set their places with silverware and a white napkin monogrammed with the Keating crest.

  One of the other team members, a black-haired girl named Grace, smiled at Sadie. “We really are glad you came. We’ve been needing another middie so, so badly — ever since Anna … ” She trailed off, and Sadie saw Thayer’s head jerk in her direction.

  “Ever since Anna’s been gone,” Grace finished, hunching back over her food and shrinking into herself like a scared puppy. Sadie swallowed and looked around the table. Something had shifted. The girls fidgeted in their seats, and Thayer was still glaring at the top of Grace’s head. Sadie noticed a few girls at neighboring tables had turned to stare, and the whole room felt quieter. The name “Anna” had dropped like a bomb on the cafeteria, one that spread silence and squirm instead of smoke and shrapnel.

  “Anyway,” Thayer said finally, cracking another wide smile, “I heard Jess got stuck with Madison Plath. My money’s on her for the Keating Curse, so let me know if she starts, like, making voodoo dolls of everyone in the Harvard admissions department.”

  “The Keating what?” Sadie asked.

  Thayer tossed her head. “What, they didn’t put that in your scholarship pamphlet?” She smiled like it was a joke instead of an insult. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Girls at this school tend to … uh … lose it during college application season. The last whack-job threw herself in front of a car out on that road by the main gates, all because she didn’t get into Princeton. And some girl in the ’80s tried to drown herself and then ran away from school when that didn’t take. The Princeton one was like eight years ago, though, so we’re totally due.”

  “But Anna — ” Grace spoke up again.

  “Let it go, Grace,” Thayer snapped, her voice like ice. “That was different.”

  Sadie looked at Jessica with wide eyes, but she just waved a hand. “It’s a stupid rumor,” she whispered. “I think the teachers keep it going just so they can scare people into finishing their applications early.”

  “But those accidents — they really happened?”

  Jessica nodded. “And if there really is a link, I am just fine not knowing what it is.” She shuddered and looked down as her phone vibrated on the table.

  “Oh my god, Madison seriously just texted to tell me she’s thinking about painting the walls pink,” she murmured.

  “You should listen to her, you know,” Thayer said softly from across the table. Sadie looked around, but all of the other girls were too wrapped up in their own conversations to hear.

  “Why wouldn’t you want to know?” Sadie said. “I would.”

  Thayer’s face was blank. “Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.”

  Before Sadie could respond, Thayer smiled and clapped her hands. “So do you guys like the new practice jerseys? We tested them out this morning.”

  Jessica punched a button and put down her phone. “You can’t seriously have practiced already.”

  Thayer cocked her head to the side. “Oh, honey, all the local
girls did a three-hour session as soon as we moved in.”

  The girl on Sadie’s right, a pretty redhead with porcelain skin, nodded. “Coach is out for blood. She told Thayer we’re doing the running test early this year just so she can make sure no one sat on their ass all summer.”

  Sadie felt a lump start to form in her stomach. Running test?

  “When is it?” All the eyes at the table turned toward her. Thayer looked annoyed, like she had spoken out of turn.

  “Monday.”

  Sadie sat back heavily in her chair. The other girls chattered on all around her, and suddenly she felt like her bright red tank top was oddly appropriate among the sea of green ones. She might have been recruited to play lacrosse, but she wouldn’t be part of the team until she earned it — Thayer had made that much completely clear.

  I am just as good as they are, Sadie thought, her dad’s words sounding trite and ridiculous in her head. It was going to be a long week.

  The hallway was empty outside her room, but as she neared the door, she heard voices. She paused. Yup — English accents. Her shoulders sagged as she pushed open the door.

  Their backs were facing her, but she could already tell everything she needed to know. Each girl was tall, thin, and dressed in a boxy tweed suit, one pale lavender and one pink. Their black hair was drawn up into buns, each one topped with an identical, tiny, white hat. They looked like Easter Brunch Barbies. With really weird taste in headware.

  They turned slowly — and, for some creepy reason, in perfect sync — and Sadie stood awkwardly while they looked her up and down, slowly taking in her jeans, tank, and rumpled, wavy hair. She tried not to think about the ketchup she had dripped onto her thigh at dinner, or the zit she knew was developing right above her lip, but she could feel her cheeks burning. She was toast.

  The girls smiled identical ladylike smiles, and Ellen Bennett appeared between them.

  “Hello again, Miss Marlowe.” She clicked her way across the room, nodding to Sadie over the top of her ever-present clipboard. “May I present The Lady Beatrix Everleigh.” She swept an arm toward the girl in lavender, who dropped into a small curtsy. Sadie’s eyes widened.