Poor Little Dead Girls

by Lizzie Friend

  “Um, don’t smoke, or any of that other trashy stuff.”

  Jessica winced, but Sadie thought she could see a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Mrs. Darrow’s mouth. “Close enough, Ms. Marlowe. Keating girls do not drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes, or partake in any other such unladylike activities. You may sit.”

  Sadie sank back into the pew and exhaled.

  “It also goes without saying that there are no unsanctioned visitors, ever, on the upper floors of Ashby and McLaren, and girls will not be permitted to leave the dorms after lights out. Students are not to leave school premises without explicit permission, and access to the athletic fields and the beach is prohibited after supper has been served.”

  Jessica leaned toward Sadie. “Darrow is terrifying — seriously, do not let her catch you with a pack of cigarettes — but that last one’s kind of a joke. All the upperclass girls sneak out.”

  Sadie nodded. The rules didn’t sound so bad, and so far Darrow hadn’t mentioned anything about public flogging, so that was a good sign.

  “If you have questions about any of these rules, please direct them to your class prefects,” Mrs. Darrow said. With that, she cracked a smile, and Sadie heard the whole audience exhale as one. Mrs. Darrow’s eyes roamed the crowd until they found Sadie’s. “Enjoy your first day, ladies. And good luck — some of you may need it.”

  Back outside on the quad, Sadie pulled her creased paper schedule from her pocket and stared at it for about the twentieth time that morning. She was actually weirdly relieved that her first class was Calculus. Math wasn’t exactly exciting, but at least it was universal. Sadie could rock a derivative at least as well as these rich kids could.

  She headed toward the math building as a steady stream of plaid skirts spilled out of the chapel and fanned out across the quad. She spotted the pretty redhead from the lacrosse table walking up the steps ahead of her and followed her through the doorway. Once inside, she wandered along the dim hallways, taking wrong turns until she found the door marked 202. At first, she thought she still had the wrong room. Instead of the usual classroom setup — with desks in rows or, for the really hippie teachers, grouped into smaller tables — it was furnished with a big oval table surrounded by about ten chairs. She hesitated. There were four girls seated already, and they were busily arranging notebooks and pens on the lacquered surface. It looked like they were sitting down to a board meeting or something. The redhead was there, pouring herself a cup of coffee out of a giant thermos.

  “Hey, it’s Sadie, right?”

  The girl smiled up at her and held out a tiny hand. “I’m Brett Whitney. We met at dinner last night?”

  Sadie smiled and shook her hand. It was so dainty it made her feel like a giant. “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you, um, again.”

  “You too.”

  Sadie sat down next to her and watched as Brett used a ruler to create a perfectly straight line along the top and left margins of the page. Brett finished by carefully printing the date at the top, titling it, “Calculus, Fall Term, Day 1.” Sadie glanced down at her own notebook and scribbled the date at the top. Close enough.

  As she finished, the teacher entered the room and took her place on one side of the oval. She dropped a heavy armful of books, causing Brett to squeak something in protest and clutch at her coffee cup to steady it. Sadie thought she saw a hint of an eye roll as the teacher waited for her to calm down.

  “Welcome to Calculus, ladies,” she said. Her gray hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and strands of it stood out in wisps around her face. She scanned the room, stopping as her eyes came to rest on Sadie’s. She took a deep breath.

  “Well, you must be the transfer. What brings you to Keating?”

  Sadie sat up straighter in her chair. The teacher was looking at her with an odd expression on her face — something between wariness and disapproval.

  “That’s me.” She gave a little wave. “My mom went here — Maylynne Anderson? Maybe you had her in your class?”

  The teacher’s eyes narrowed, and she stared until Sadie started to squirm. “Did you say Anderson?”

  “Um, yeah,” Sadie said, confused. “Did you know her?”

  The teacher fumbled with the books on her desk for a moment. “I’ve been teaching here for twenty-five years, but I can’t say I remember anyone with that name.” There was an awkward silence, and finally the teacher clapped her hands.

  “All right, we have so much to cover this term, so we won’t waste any more time. Please open your books to chapter one.” With that she turned toward the whiteboard and started scribbling with a blue marker. She barely stopped writing for the full hour, and when she finally turned around and dismissed them, Sadie’s whole right arm ached.

  She dropped her pen and stretched her palm, flexing her fingers and massaging her joints with her other thumb. The open page of her notebook looked like someone had chewed up a bunch of blue pens and then thrown up all over it. She looked over at Brett’s notebook and blinked.

  Brett was carefully placing six pages of perfectly legible notes into a binder, one that she had neatly labeled, “Fall Term: Calculus.” She snapped the rings shut and looked up at Sadie. “So, what do you have next?”

  Sadie pulled out her schedule and pressed it flat on the table. “Uh, English with Bergstrom.”

  “Oh, he’s great. Come on, my class is near there. I’ll walk you.” She grinned. “If your sense of direction is anything like your penmanship you might have some serious problems getting there on your own.”

  The hallway was packed with girls in identical polos, making them look like a swarm of really preppy clones. As Brett wove her way through them, her deep red hair made her stand out. It was shaped into one of those perfect, pretty bobs you only ever see on people in ads for stuff like zit cream or tampons, and Sadie felt suddenly self-conscious about her wild, wavy mess. She ran a hand through it to try to smooth it down, but it was hopeless.

  “So are you excited for tonight?” Brett said.

  “Oh, um, yeah. That thing Cromwell was talking about?”

  Brett’s eyes lit up. “Nobody’s told you about the Kickoff? It’s so much fun, and it’s the first chance you’ll get to see the fresh meat at Graff.” She grinned. “Got a boyfriend back home?”

  Sadie laughed. Jessica had told her Graff students’ egos were even bigger than the school’s endowment, but she figured they couldn’t be all bad. “Nope. So it’s a football game?”

  “Well it’s not just a football game, it’s the first social event of the year. The Graff team plays their rival from Maryland, and it’s a pretty big deal. It goes back like, a hundred years.”

  They stepped out onto the quad, and Brett placed a pair of huge sunglasses over her eyes.

  “Before the game there’s a big reception. You have something cocktail, right?”

  Sadie nodded confidently at Brett even though she had no clue what that meant.

  Brett turned to Sadie and put a hand on her arm. “A good relationship with the right guy at Graff is really important. There are so many events where you need an escort, and if you don’t have someone appropriate it can be super embarrassing.”

  Sadie just nodded. An escort?

  “Anyway, this is you,” Brett said, pointing toward a big stone building to their left. Bergstrom’s on the third floor. See you tonight, then? I have a guy I want to introduce you to. I have a feeling you two might hit it off.” She grinned wickedly, then turned and hurried up the steps.

  Sadie waved and watched as she disappeared through the doors. She could just picture what this guy would look like — probably some social reject from Graff who wore boat shoes with crew socks and too-short shorts. But still, it was nice that Brett was looking out for her. Maybe Keating girls weren’t so bad?

  She walked through the building’s doors and ran straight into two freshmen wearing diamond earrings the size of marbles. “God, watch out,” one said, brushing herself off like Sadie had just spilled so
mething all over her shirt. The other girl looked Sadie up and down and smiled sweetly. “Cute shoes. Didn’t know they still made those.” They pushed past her, and she could hear them laughing as they walked down the steps. Or maybe not.

  Chapter 5

  By the end of her last class, Sadie was exhausted. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and her hand hurt from constantly scribbling notes. She staggered up the Ashby stairs to her room, collapsed on the bed, and stared at the crown molding on her bedroom ceiling. She had spent the whole day trying to navigate the huge campus, and she had been forced to introduce herself awkwardly in practically every class. It had been excruciating, and she was pretty sure no one cared where she was from and what she wanted to be when she grew up.

  As the day went on, she had thought more and more about skipping the party and getting in a workout instead. The team’s first practice was the next morning, and she needed to be ready. Plus, she had nothing to wear that would fit in with these girls, and she was pretty sure a sundress from two years ago didn’t qualify as “cocktail.”

  “Damn, American girls really are lazy, huh?” someone said. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

  Sadie picked her head up and saw Trix and Gwen standing in the doorway.

  “I might not go.”

  Their jaws dropped. “Why wouldn’t you? We actually get a chance to see some boys for once. You’re going to get really sick of all the puss around here, you know,” Trix said.

  “Speak for yourself.” Gwen stepped out of her uniform skirt and threw it on the floor. “She doesn’t know anything about high school guys, anyway. Her last boyfriend was, like, forty.” Gwen ducked to avoid a shoe Trix had sent sailing toward her head.

  “I’m right about this, though,” Trix said, distorting her lips into a perfect imitation of Thayer’s smug pout. She flattened her voice into an exaggerated American accent. “All the men from Graff will be there, and it’s important that we make the right impression.” Sadie laughed and Trix broke character, her features settling smoothly back into place.

  “Plus, if the Graffies suck we’ll just get trashed and flirt with the alumni,” Gwen added. “I heard half of DC is going to be there.” Trix nodded emphatically, and finally Sadie gave in.

  “Fine — but I’m going to look like an idiot going there in my jeans. What does cocktail even mean?”

  Trix looked her up and down. “You’re what, like a six?”

  She threw open the double doors of her armoire and showed off a row of dresses in every length and color. “I’m wearing the silver strapless, but you can take your pick of the rest.”

  By the time Sadie recovered and started to thank her, the door had slammed and both twins were gone. She tentatively reached out a hand and touched one of the dresses — cobalt blue with a sweetheart neckline and tiny straps — and the fabric flowed through her fingers like mercury. It was beautiful, but there was no way she could pull it off. The material was so thin and clingy she would look like a big blue sausage — something she was sure Thayer would helpfully point out. She flicked through the others with the tip of one finger — there must have been fifty, all in fluttery, flimsy fabrics like silk and satin.

  Finally her hand closed on something more structured, a sleeveless, buttery yellow cotton shift with a subtle floral print and a narrow belt circling the waist. She held it up to herself in the mirror and it looked about the right size.

  She undressed quickly — she still wasn’t quite used to the whole, “Oh, hey, I’m just standing here naked, want to compare bra sizes?” thing Gwen and Trix were obviously totally comfortable with — and slipped the yellow dress over her head. She stood on her tiptoes and looked in the mirror, turning to one side, then the other and smoothing the fabric down across her hips. It fit her perfectly, and she had to admit it looked pretty good. The print was elegant and subdued, but the bright color made it a little more fun, and the simple shape hugged her hips, making her look a little less like a ruler than usual.

  The door banged open as Gwen and Trix strolled back in from the showers, and Sadie turned to face them.

  “What do you think?”

  They looked at her in complete silence. Trix looked confused, and for a crazy moment Sadie wondered if she had actually imagined the conversation where a member of the British nobility casually invited her to rifle through her closet. Then the twins burst out laughing. Trix leaned on the back of the chair and gasped for air, and Gwen collapsed onto her bed clutching her stomach.

  “Is there a garden party tonight we weren’t invited to?” Trix finally managed between loud peals of laughter.

  Sadie turned back to the mirror. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Trix looked at her reflection over Sadie’s shoulder and curled up her lip in distaste.

  “I can’t even believe Elsa packed that after I told her not to. That’s one of the stuffy little shifts we wear when Mum makes us go to parties with the other royals. You look like you’re about to go have brunch with the Queen, and that’s not a compliment.”

  Sadie frowned. She did look a little bit like a politician’s wife at a daytime fundraiser. She rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t even fake rich when she tried.

  “Take it off,” Trix instructed, plunging into the armoire. “What do you think, Gwennie, maybe one of those little white minis from last spring?”

  Gwen frowned. “Nah, she looks too virginal already. We need to slut her up a bit.”

  “Hey!” Sadie put her hands on her hips. “I’m not virginal. Well, mostly. It depends whether you count — ”

  Trix held up a hand. “I don’t need to hear about how many guys you’ve dry humped. And either way, that dress isn’t helping.” She reached back into the closet and pulled out the blue dress with the tiny straps. After a moment, she held it out toward Gwen.

  Gwen nodded approvingly. “Sexy, but like, hard-to-get sexy. The hamburgers’ll love it.”

  Sadie raised her eyebrows.

  “American dudes. You know, meatheads.”

  Sadie grinned. It was oddly fitting, especially considering every guy she had ever dated had a tendency to smell like bacon and barbecue sauce.

  Trix tossed the dress on Sadie’s bed. “You’re wearing that. Trust me, guys don’t want a girl who looks like she’s about to go to church, and every single one of these uptight little American girls is going to be wearing a dress that looks just like that yellow sack. Now go shower. We’ll figure out what to do with that hair when you get back.”

  Half an hour later she sat in her desk chair while Gwen fluttered around her, wrapping hunks of hair around a huge curling iron. Sadie brushed a stray strand out of her eyes, and Gwen smacked her on the shoulder.

  “Quit fidgeting.” As Gwen picked up another lock and wrapped it expertly around the barrel, something occurred to Sadie.

  “Hey, why are you guys here? At Keating, I mean. Wouldn’t you rather be at Eton or Oxford or one of those famous British schools?”

  Gwen snorted. “First of all, Eton is a boys’ school and Oxford is a university. But we didn’t really have a choice.” In the mirror Sadie saw her eyes flick toward Trix, who was straightening her hair in front of the full-length mirror.

  Trix turned to face them. “What Gwennie means is, we got kicked out of all the good schools in England, so Daddy sent us here to keep us out of the gossip rags and make sure we didn’t embarrass him anymore.” She shrugged and turned back to the mirror, but Sadie saw Gwen bite her bottom lip as she finished curling the last section. Gwen cocked her head to one side and stepped back.

  “Not bad, right?” She looked back at Trix, who nodded in agreement.

  “All right, bitches,” Trix said, running the straightener once more over her side-swept bangs then dropping it on the floor. “Time to get dressed.”

  Once the blue dress was on — and fitting about ten times tighter than Sadie thought it would — Sadie blinked at her reflection.

  There is no effing way that�
��s me.

  Sadie Marlowe was messy and tomboyish and, as another year of swimsuit shopping had sadly confirmed just two months ago, still pretty flat. But the person in the mirror was none of those things. She was hot — and girly — and even her boobs looked bigger. Maybe fashion designers really were magical. It would explain how they had managed to convince people to wear shoulder pads.

  Suddenly Sadie was nervous. “Listen, guys, are you sure you don’t mind me wearing your stuff? What if you want to wear this to one of the other dances or something?”

  Trix rolled her eyes and Gwen started digging around in the bottom of her armoire. “Those dresses,” Trix said, nodding toward the rack, “are just what we packed for fall. Our stylist sends us a new collection every season.” Sadie’s shoulders sagged, and she made a mental note not to ask any more ridiculous questions.

  “Two final touches, and you’re done,” Gwen mumbled, pulling out two handfuls and darting back across the room. She had a pair of black pumps that looked like high-fashion bear traps in one hand, and a glass bottle filled with dull, amber liquid in the other.

  “Put these on,” she said, holding out the heels. She held up the bottle and smiled her crooked smile. “Two shots each, and then we’ll go?”

  She uncapped the bottle and threw her head back, taking a huge gulp. She swallowed and shuddered slightly, then passed the bottle to Trix. She took a smaller sip, then grimaced. “Fuck, Gwennie, why do you always have to buy whiskey? It’s nasty.” She held the bottle out to Sadie and they both looked at her expectantly.

  She froze. She had gotten drunk exactly once, but it wasn’t really an experience she was dying to replicate. Earlier that summer she and her friend Sarah had convinced Sarah’s older brother to buy them a big jug of cheap pink wine that tasted like rotten grape juice. They drank the whole thing, washing it down with a huge bag of popcorn and a couple Diva Divorcées reruns. They had felt great for about an hour, then spent three times that long puking it all up in the bathroom. But what the hell — it was just a few gulps.