Poor Little Dead Girls

by Lizzie Friend

  Sadie stood up to talk to her, but Jeremy appeared at her side.

  “Pretty amazing, huh? I’ve never been to the White House.”

  Sadie shrugged and tried to look bored. “I’ve been a few times. Would you believe the First Lady had the nerve to serve us an overdone filet mignon? I mean really.”

  They grinned at each other until Thayer clapped twice, loudly, in the front of the room. The din boiled down to a low hum, and she started to bark directions like a grade school teacher.

  “Girls, my aunt pulled us a bunch of dresses, and they’re on racks in the white room. Pick whatever you want, but try not to puke all over it, especially if it’s a Valentino. We almost burned that bridge for good last time.” She looked pointedly at Olivia, and a ripple of laughter went through the group. Olivia crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  “Fuck you, too, Thayer,” she muttered. Lillian sympathetically patted her on the arm, and Thayer continued.

  “After we pick dresses, we’ll do hair and makeup in Foxburg — I made us all appointments. Guys, your tuxes are hanging in the closet. No switching out your shoes or accessories. Contrary to what you may think, you look like assholes when you try to make tuxes look cool. We’ll meet back here at five for the drive to D.C.”

  Jeremy grinned down at her. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later?”

  She smiled. “Can’t wait.”

  She followed Thayer down the hall to the white room, but today it looked drastically different. The love seat and chairs were all gone, and in their place stood four silver racks packed with glittering and gleaming fabrics in dark, rich tones.

  The girls fanned out against the wall in front of the racks, and Thayer took her place facing them. Directly in front of Sadie was a rack filled with dresses in varying shades of deep, shimmering blue. She reached out a hand to touch one, but Thayer threw her a look so scathing she jammed her hands into her pockets and stepped back.

  “Okay, so you guys know how this works. We’ll go by seniority by order of induction, so Sadie you’re last even though you’re a junior.” She tilted her head toward Sadie and mouthed an exaggerated, “Sorry.”

  Sadie was actually relieved — maybe there would only be one dress left by the time it was her turn and she wouldn’t have to pick anything out. The dresses might as well have been dozens of near-identical screws at a hardware store; they all looked about right, and about the same, but she knew if she picked the wrong one everything would fall apart.

  Thayer was pointing to the rack on Sadie’s far left. “We have, from left to right, Valentino, Marchesa, Oscar de la Renta, and, of course … Chanel.” The girls made swooning noises as each designer was announced, and by the time she said “Chanel” in a low, deferential whisper, Sadie thought they might actually faint. Somehow, they stayed standing, but they staggered on their feet like drunks.

  Thayer pointed to an enormous garment bag hanging alone at the back of the room. “I’ve already picked my dress, obviously, so Lillian, you’re up next.”

  Sadie watched each girl file through the racks of dresses, quickly and confidently, then select one and carry it toward the mirrors. It was as if they had already seen them all before, and they knew instantly which one they wanted. Some left the wall at a jogging pace, zeroing in on a single slip of fabric with the determination and unwavering accuracy of a homing missile. They would clutch the prize to their chest and sneak furtive glances back toward the group, then slink off to the mirror to admire their catch. By the time they got to Sadie, there were still dozens of dresses on the racks, and she was at a complete loss.

  She walked slowly toward the rack on the right and the shades of blue that had caught her eye earlier. She carefully picked one up, noticed a gash of triangular cutouts across the dress’s midsection, and quickly put it back. She hadn’t shown her stomach in anything other than a bikini since her first-grade ballet recital, and she didn’t plan on breaking that streak tonight.

  She stepped back and surveyed the racks. She was tempted to just pick one at random, but she remembered Thayer’s warning in the hallway: Fit in. Fake it if you have to.

  She took a deep breath.

  “They won’t bite, you know.”

  She looked up and saw Olivia, a look of amusement on her face.

  Sadie raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure? Because that black one with the studded shoulder pads looks like it might.”

  Olivia laughed. “Yeah, well, don’t pick that one.” She held up the dress and shuddered. “This is so fug. Sometimes I don’t know what the hell these designers are thinking.” She put the dress back and turned to Sadie. “So, I take it you’re not really into shopping?”

  Sadie looked down at her rumpled outfit. “That obvious, huh?”

  “Not at all, actually — I like the way you dress. It’s very … West Coast–casual. Sort of purposely messy in a cool, irreverent sort of way.”

  “Oh, yeah, disheveled chic is kinda my thing,” she said sarcastically. A look of confusion passed across Olivia’s face, and Sadie wondered if she had somehow been sincere.

  “Anyway, you look a little lost. Want some help?”

  Sadie nodded, and Olivia turned and walked down the line of gowns, trailing one finger along the edge of the racks. She walked the full length of the room twice, then stopped and pulled out a long, navy blue column that glimmered in the light. She stared at it for a moment, her brows knitted together in concentration, then held it out to Sadie with a smile.

  “Definitely this one. Blue’s your color.”

  Sadie took the dress and carefully draped it across her arm. The bodice fell from points at each shoulder, then dove into a deep, plunging neckline. Bands of glittering jewels crossed the dress at the waist and again below the hip, where the skirt spread out in a flurry of tiny, delicate pleats that fell to the floor. It looked like the kind of thing a Rockefeller heiress would have worn to a speakeasy in the ’20s. Just holding it made her feel a little giddy.

  “Wow, Olivia — this is perfect. Thank you.”

  She waved a hand. “No problem. If anything’ll make you fit in at the White House, that dress will.” She grinned. “Plus, it’ll make your boobs look hot.”

  After the salon, the girls piled into a waiting limo and headed back toward Keating, excitement rippling between them like their eyelash extensions were electrically charged. The girls all chatted and laughed and tried their best not to squash their updos against the leather headrests, but Brett was quiet. She spent the ride staring out the window, her chin in her hand, and Sadie could tell something was wrong. Her clothes were wrinkled, and underneath the thick layer of makeup, Sadie could see her skin was pale and waxen. She looked dull and empty. Closed for business.

  Sadie looked around the car. The other girls were distracted — talking over each other and singing loudly along with the music. She placed a hand softly on her arm. Brett flinched and pulled away, but then her eyes seemed to clear, like she was just waking up from a dream. She shook herself slightly and stretched her mouth wide in an unconvincing grimace.

  “What’s wrong, Brett?”

  Her smile faltered, then stretched even wider.

  Sadie squeezed her arm. “I’m serious. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

  “What? I’m just tired.” Brett waved a hand and looked back out the window. “School stuff. I’ve been pulling all-nighters.”

  Sadie frowned. “You haven’t been yourself in weeks. I barely even see you. Even before the initiation — you’re never in the dining room, and you missed calculus twice last week.”

  Sadie saw Brett’s jaw tighten, but her voice was calm.

  “That’s not true — I see you at practice all the time. I just really need to focus right now.”

  “On what? Finals aren’t for weeks. And you’re just … you’re different. You’re quiet. And I can’t remember the last time you mentioned Josh. Is something going on with you guys?”

  Brett turned her head sharply and looked Sa
die in the eye. Her smile was tighter and smaller. “We’re fine. Look, sorry if I can’t hang out in the dining room with you guys or sit around wasting time in your rooms. College applications are due soon, and I really need to be perfect.”

  Sadie paused. “You mean your applications need to be perfect?”

  Brett sighed loudly. “Yes, Sadie. That’s what I said.” She turned back to the window and crossed her arms over her chest. Sadie noticed that she was distractedly scratching a spot on her forearm.

  “I just need to get accepted to Yale and get the hell out of this place,” Brett muttered.

  Sadie looked down and grabbed Brett’s hand. “Brett, you’re bleeding,” she whispered. “What did you do to your arm?”

  Brett looked down at the bright red line spreading slowly across the sleeve of her white sweater. She said nothing, but yanked her hand away from Sadie’s and tucked it back against her chest. She looked out the window.

  “None of your fucking business, Sadie.”

  Sadie recoiled as if she had been struck.

  Past Brett, outside the window, Sadie saw the enormous houses roll by, one by one, in blurs of red brick and white columns. They passed a large mansion with pillars three stories high, and an enormous stone house that looked like it belonged on an English moor. She remembered three months ago when she had driven down this road with her dad. She had wondered then what went on behind those walls, what kind of people could possibly live inside something so massive. But now she was glad she didn’t know. If these houses were anything like the students at Graff and Keating, their facades were meaningless.

  She shuddered. The outside was the only thing about these people that was predictable. Once you got beneath the surface, there was no telling what you might find.

  When they got back to the tower, the sky was slowly darkening over the ocean, and everything was so gray it was hard to tell where the sea stopped and the sky began. A cold wind blew across the water and buffeted the stone building from all sides, and she could hear it howling as she followed the rest of the girls down the hallway.

  The guys were already there, gathered around the liquor cabinet filling up flasks and slipping them into the breast pockets of their tuxedo jackets. Within three of his long strides, Jeremy picked her up and twirled her around in his arms. Despite herself, she giggled, then struggled back to her feet.

  “Watch it, dude,” she joked, straightening her skirt. “This dress costs more than my dad’s car.”

  “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks, I could really get used to wearing shit like this all the time.”

  He laughed. “You’re lucky. Tuxes are literally the most uncomfortable thing in the world. Well, maybe not literally, but you know — they blow.” He pulled at his collar. “I’m basically being slowly choked to death.”

  She reached up and adjusted his collar. “Yeah, well, you don’t look uncomfortable.”

  He wrapped one arm around her back and pulled her in close. “Thanks.” His voice was husky, and seconds later he was kissing her.

  “Jesus, Jeremy, she’s not even drunk yet. Save some energy for later.”

  They broke apart to see Finn standing next to them, his face just inches from theirs.

  “Maybe we’ll all have some fun once we finish these.” He held up two flasks, one in each hand, and grinned.

  “Knock it off, Finn,” Jeremy said, pulling her in closer.

  Finn turned his gaze toward Sadie and raised his eyebrows. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip suggestively and slowly looked her up and down.

  “Fuck off,” she said. “I wasn’t interested at the formal, and I’m not interested now.” He shrugged and held out the flasks, one to each of them.

  “Whatever. It’ll happen. It always does.” They took the flasks, and Finn turned and addressed everyone. “Cars are here, ladies and dicks,” he yelled. “Let’s move out.”

  After the first half hour, the flasks were nearly empty and the liquor had the rest of the drive to work its way into their veins and settle in for the long night ahead. By the time they passed the first security checkpoint, Olivia had settled into a pattern of a few minutes of slumped silence, followed by a loud hiccup and then peals of hysterical laughter. She would exhaust herself, then slump back against the seat and start the process all over again.

  The car slowed to a stop in front of the second security checkpoint, and they all piled out. Sadie looked around. It wasn’t the grand entrance she was expecting, but she could see one wing of the White House looming above them.

  Ahead was a small booth staffed by a woman with a sleek black ponytail, the kind of person who looked like she had marched out of the womb with a clipboard and a tiny cell phone. Two guards stood on either side of her, their arms crossed and their chins thrust aggressively into the air. A blue carpet led past the booth and around the side of the building to the entrance.

  At Thayer’s command, the members organized themselves into couples and lined up in front of the desk. Thayer and Finn gave their names first. The woman bared her teeth in what Sadie assumed was a smile, welcomed them, and immediately waved them through.

  A few other couples sailed through next, but when Olivia and Brent stepped forward, Olivia hiccupped loudly, clapped her hand over her mouth, and sputtered with laughter. Brent put an arm around her waist to steady her, but the woman frowned. She scrolled through the list of names on the tablet and murmured a few quiet words into her mouthpiece, holding up one finger for them to wait.

  Olivia fell silent and pouted. She looked over her shoulder at Sadie and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “So rude,” she slurred, just as one leg buckled and she collapsed against Brent’s side.

  A moment later, the woman pursed her lips and looked up. “Against my better judgment, welcome to the White House, Ms. Spencer and Mr. Taylor.” She waved them through without smiling.

  “Finally,” Olivia huffed loudly as she strolled past.

  Sadie cringed and stepped forward.

  “Are you also personal guests of the Cranston family?” The woman didn’t look up.

  “Uh, yeah — I think so.”

  Her eyes flicked toward Sadie. “You think?”

  Jeremy cleared his throat and squeezed Sadie’s arm. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Jeremy Wood and this is Ms. Sadie Marlowe. I believe you’ll find us on that list without any problem at all.”

  She spoke a few hushed words into her mouthpiece, then waved them through with a stiff nod. As they passed, she put a hand on Jeremy’s arm.

  “Look, you kids clearly have friends in high places, but if your friend pukes on the president or any members of Congress, it’s going to be my ass on Monday. Keep an eye on her.”

  Jeremy nodded solemnly, and she let him go. They walked quickly down the lit path and stifled their laughter until they rounded the corner of the building.

  Chapter 20

  The first time she caught a glimpse of the President, Sadie gasped audibly. President Manning was taller than she had expected, but it was him — the President of the United States — sipping champagne out of a flute just like the one Jeremy had handed her seconds before. He was about fifteen yards away from her, his head bowed in discussion with two other men, and she was surprised to realize he looked so … normal. He was just one guy in a tux in a room full of them. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it was a shock.

  Brett stood next to her, a full champagne glass in her hand. She was staring, glassy-eyed, in the President’s direction.

  “Pretty crazy, right? We’re actually at a party with the President,” Sadie said. “My dad’s going to be so jealous.”

  Brett just stared and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

  Sadie blushed. “You’ve probably seen him tons of times. I bet I’m the only one in here who doesn’t consider this, like, an average, run-of-the-mill Saturday night.”

  Brett turned to her and raised her eyebrows. “I doubt it.” She waved her flute in a
slow arc, motioning toward the crowd mingling in the elegant ballroom. “All these people just live for this shit.” Her voice was hard. “Being here means something to them, all right. It means they matter.”

  Sadie looked at Brett, and as she watched, her face suddenly changed. Seconds earlier her cheeks had been flushed, and the fire in her voice had shown clearly on her face. Now the color was gone, siphoned by some force Sadie couldn’t see. She looked flat and lifeless.

  “Brett — what’s wrong?” She followed Brett’s unblinking line of sight back toward the President. She frowned. Nothing had changed.

  At that moment, one of the men he was speaking to turned toward them and for the first time she saw his face. She recognized the strong jawline and sandy hair immediately. It was Teddy Cranston, and the gray-haired man next to him was his father.

  Her face registered surprise, and she turned back to Brett. “Hey, that’s — ” She trailed off. Brett was already gone.

  Sadie circled the ballroom three times looking for her, and by the time she gave up she had downed her second glass of champagne. She glanced around for a sign for the bathrooms, then tapped the shoulder of a woman standing nearby in a long silver gown. The woman turned and looked her in the eye — she had shiny brown hair and perfectly rouged cheeks, and something in Sadie’s mind tried to push its way through the champagne fog. Sadie was sure she had seen her before, but she wasn’t sure where. Recognition flashed across the woman’s face, and she turned away without saying a word.

  “What, rich people never have to pee?” Sadie muttered to herself as she made her way through the crowd. Eventually a waiter pointed her toward a small alcove, and inside she found two large white doors primly labeled with brass plaques.

  Once inside the stall, she sank gratefully onto the seat. Then she looked down.

  “Oh, come on!” she said, unable to help herself. “At the White House — real freaking poetic,” she muttered. She looked around the stall. The tiny satin clutch Olivia had lent her was useless; she could barely have fit a tampon in there even if she wanted to. She needed to find something — right away. She was not going to be the girl who got her period on Chanel.