The Girls Are All So Nice Here

by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn

  “Flora needs to see what life is really like,” Sully continued. “She’s such a bitch. But not in the usual way. She’s sneaky. She was talking in the lounge about you with Lauren a couple weeks ago. About how you’re always trying so hard, and it’s obvious.”

  “She said what?” I spat the words out, roiling with fresh fury. “What the fuck? She doesn’t know me at all.”

  Sully arched an eyebrow. “I’m telling you, I heard it. She stopped talking as soon as she saw me come in, since she knows how tight we are. If you’re going to be a bitch, own it. But she hides it behind this perfect image. I hate girls like that. They’re the worst kind.”

  It was the most terrible thing I thought about myself, and Flora had been luxuriating in it the entire time. The pain on her face from this morning was washed out by the truth. She was the worst kind, and I decided I didn’t feel bad about what I was about to do.

  We pulled onto Webster Avenue, with its mansions and broccoli-top trees, by early evening. Sully parked on the street. She lined her lips with a dark pencil, then turned to do the same to mine. The tights I was wearing under my skirt had holes in them, so Sully told me to take them off.

  “Easy access.” She sipped from a flask. “You are going to fuck him, right? We didn’t come all this way to a frat party for you not to fuck him.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m going to fuck him.” I liked the shock of the words in my mouth. My mom used to tell me and Toni to be ladies. She taught us to contain our emotions until we were in an appropriate place to let them out, as if emotions were caged animals and we were the zookeepers.

  I wasn’t a lady. Sully had shown me that.

  “There,” Sully said. “Close your eyes.” The tug of an eyeliner pencil. “Now open.” A shock of wetness as she put mascara on my lashes. Her mouth was close to mine, big and burgundy.

  “Look at us.” She gestured to the mirror. “We’re practically sisters.”

  When my phone chirped, I assumed it was a text message from Billie, who knew I was trying to make something happen with Buddy tonight, although she had no idea how far I had gone, in any sense of the word.

  But the message was from Flora. Miss you. Hope you have fun! I shoved the phone into my purse without answering.

  “Who was that?” Sully asked.

  “Nobody.” I meant it.

  I wouldn’t give another thought to Flora, to what she was doing in our dorm room and why she felt the need to verbally strip me down behind my back. I didn’t think of her until much later. I had written her out of the movie in my head, even though the script wouldn’t have existed without her.

  NOW

  To: “Ambrosia Wellington” a.wellington@wesleyan.edu

  From: “Wesleyan Alumni Committee” reunion.classof2007@gmail.com

  Subject: Class of 2007 Reunion

  Dear Ambrosia Wellington,

  Hopefully you enjoyed everything last night had to offer—but not too much. Because you’ll need your energy for today. We’ll warn you, our itinerary is packed tighter than Weshop during exams. Pace yourself—the festivities are just getting started!

  Sincerely,

  Your Alumni Committee

  I wake up in the familiar throes of a hangover, with Adrian wrapped around me like a koala. I didn’t want to go to the reunion party at Eclectic last night, but Adrian was having fun, and I was too paranoid to leave him alone. Or maybe I was afraid to be alone myself.

  In the middle of everything was Sully, crackling with the energy she pulsed into every room, her hands on everyone’s backs, her face close to theirs. Whenever we made eye contact, she was never the first to look away, like she was daring me to say something. Or do something.

  “She’ll never change,” Lauren said when we were at the bar, her boozy breath in my ear, a guttural laugh. “She used to have this game, back at Spence, when we’d all go out with our fake IDs. Take a girl’s wallet, steal her driver’s license, and pretend to be her. Just drinking and flirting with older guys like the rest of us did wasn’t enough for her.”

  I had laughed and wondered if Lauren knew about the many Buddies at Wesleyan whose phones became Sully’s casualties. I suppose I never contemplated the origins of Sully’s boredom, that it had a life of its own before I met her.

  “You awake, babe?” Adrian says, his mouth hot against the back of my neck. “Fuck, I drank a lot last night.”

  I stay still, hoping he’ll fall back asleep and only wake up when it’s time for us to leave tomorrow. He doesn’t take the hint.

  “Did she come home last night?” He rolls onto his back, traces circles on my arm. “I didn’t hear her come in. I wonder if she hooked up with someone.”

  “Probably.” I let him kiss my cheek. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  When he leaves to take a shower, I grab my phone out of my purse. There’s a text from Billie sitting there. So Ryan says this morning that he wants another kid. He doesn’t even pay attention to the ones he has. Maybe we should time it so we get knocked up together?

  No thanks, I write back. No babies for me.

  Her reply is instant. Billie’s phone rarely leaves her hand. Boo. Did you end up having any fun last night? Any sign of him?

  I told you. He won’t be here.

  When I put my phone down, Sully is standing in the inner doorway in jean shorts and bare feet. She enters my room without asking and straddles the desk chair, resting her chin on her hands. “Kind of ironic. We’re finally roommates, after all this time.”

  I won’t get pulled back in, seaweed in her undertow. I don’t return her smile. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

  “You guys were passed out. I went back to Clark to have drinks with some of the girls. Ella kept fishing around for details about you. It was creepy. I didn’t tell her a thing.”

  I pause, then decide to give her something back. “I was in the Hewitt bathroom during the reception last night. And I heard a phone ringing in the stall beside me, but nobody was there. I checked it out, and I think it was Flora’s old phone.”

  Sully bites her lip. “Her phone? From back then? How do you know?”

  “It was a flip phone. I opened it, and the background picture was of us. You and me and Flora. From Halloween.” I don’t mention the ringtone, that it was Kevin’s. It somehow seems like a betrayal.

  “Are you sure? How is that even possible?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Where’s the phone? I want to see it.”

  “I left it there. But I swear, I saw it. She must’ve taken a photo of the picture.”

  She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. I can tell she wants a cigarette. “How could you leave it there? We could have gone through it and found something.”

  “I don’t know.” I sit cross-legged and tap my knees. “I guess because it wasn’t mine.”

  She understands what I really mean. “That never stopped you before.”

  “Well, maybe you never knew who I was before. And anyway, I’m not that person now, so it doesn’t matter.” My irritation is sudden and fresh. I almost expect her to strike back, but she just lets out a sigh, a tiny exhalation through pursed lips.

  “I knew who you were.” Soft and factual. She can make anything sound like the truth.

  “Where were you before the party?” I say, swinging back to now. “I didn’t see you at the reception.”

  “Headache.” She stops playing with her hair. “You know how I got those.”

  She never once complained about a headache, unless she was referring to a person as one. But this is Sully’s power—not necessarily making people believe her, but leading them to doubt themselves.

  “Felty’s here,” I say. “I saw him before the reception. Why would a police captain be working event security at a reunion? He was waiting for me.”

  “I saw him last night too. You really think it could be Felty? But why now? Why here?”

  “He’s traditional,” I say. “Back when he had a wedding ring, it wa
s plain gold. He named his kids Michael and Thomas Jr. Things have meaning to him. He’s the type who would like the idea of a reunion. Of it being here, where everything happened.”

  “Well,” Sully says. “You sure know a lot about him.”

  “I guess.” I pick at my thumbnail, suddenly embarrassed. It’s hard to articulate how learning details about Felty lulled me into a sense of safety that Sully never seemed to need.

  “He’s probably worked on, like, a thousand cases since then. Why this one?”

  “His sister,” I say. “Because of what happened to her. He’s taking it out on us.”

  The email alert on my phone goes off. I swipe to open it and my eyes glaze over as I scan its contents. “These fucking alumni emails. Like, I know we’re supposed to be having fun. We’re not. Stop checking in.”

  “They’re annoying,” Sully says. “But come on. Admit you’re having a little bit of fun.”

  I don’t look at her. “I’m not.”

  “Do you remember all the wild stuff we did?” She stares at her fingernails, chipped and bitten like mine. “Sometimes I miss it.”

  “Me too.” The words come unbidden, because they’re true. I miss the lack of responsibility, the weightlessness, damp hair spun into a ponytail to make it last another night, bare legs knocking together, something sweet in my throat, my feet sore from shoes that didn’t fit right.

  “I didn’t mean to be a bitch.” She meets my eyes. “I know I was. Things got really complicated. But just know that I never told anybody the truth.”

  I want to believe her, to trust her. I want to reconnect, like the Wesleyan emails keep telling me to. But the past is an electric fence between us, and I would risk everything by attempting to climb it.

  * * *

  The dorm bathrooms at the Nics are different from the ones in Butts C—they’re bigger, with multiple shower and toilet stalls. I step into a stall and turn the hot water on, letting it beat against my back.

  Sully used to think it was funny to peek under the door when I was showering and yell, Surprise! The first time, I covered myself with my hands as best I could. Then I stopped thinking it was strange when she darted into the stall with me, sharing my water stream, reaching over to use my body wash. It was like she never wanted us to be apart.

  When I’m done showering I dry off and step back into my pajamas, wrapping my towel around my hair. I move over to the sinks, and my eyes lock on something that wasn’t there when I walked in.

  A hairbrush, the round kind, fat with someone else’s hair, wispy white-blond strands. Flora’s hair, almost always worn down and straight. And beside it, a pink mug with one word on it. Friend, the letters dressed in purple-and-white polka dots.

  I crouch down, spinning with nausea. The hairbrush could be a coincidence. Lots of people have hair that color. This isn’t Flora’s doing.

  The mug, though. The mug isn’t a coincidence. I creep up, slowly, like it might explode any second. Who would know that Flora gave it to me, or that hers was its matching Best? Ella would know—she was in our room more than once. The other Butts C girls, who came to Flora when they wanted something. Shampoo. Makeup remover. Advice. Someone to proofread their essays. Someone to tell them they were pretty. Those girls knew.

  And Sully. Sully definitely knew.

  I don’t touch the mug. I don’t want my fingerprints on it. At least, that’s the plan, until I see what’s inside it. Blood, a chubby trickle from rim to bottom.

  I get closer. I pick it up, run it under the faucet. The blood doesn’t budge. It’s too red to be blood. Wesleyan red. Nail polish, already dried, a snake gripping pink ceramic. My hands shake as I put the mug back down.

  The note. The bathroom stall in Hewitt. Now this, my mug and her nail polish. I’ve been on campus for almost an entire day now and nobody has come forward and told me we need to talk.

  It’s suddenly obvious: whoever wrote We need to talk about what we did that night may not want to talk at all.

  THEN

  Webster Avenue was Dartmouth’s fraternity row, Alpha Chi a rambling green-shingled mansion. Girls drink free, we were told at the front door, except the boy who said it had a glint in his eyes, like we were expected to pay in some other way.

  “This looks promising,” Sully said with an exaggerated eye roll. “I’ll get us drinks. You should look for Kevin, and we’ll meet back here.”

  Here was a big gas fireplace that wasn’t actually turned on, bordered by a mantel with pictures of sports teams, golden boys in brass frames. I moved quickly to the stairs, tottering in my heels. I expected to find Kevin up there, in one of the bedrooms, maybe with a book, because parties weren’t his scene and he needed the alone time to recharge.

  “Have you seen Kevin McArthur?” I asked a boy with a shock of blond hair in a Manchester United jersey.

  “Mac Daddy? He’s around here somewhere. Or he will be. Why’re you wasting your time with that fucker? Come hang with us instead.”

  I ignored his leer, his flippant Mac Daddy, then turned around and got out of his gaze. Kevin wasn’t upstairs, but lots of other boys were, all wearing jerseys. I was very aware of eyes on my bare legs, the expanse of flesh. I tried to look like I was enjoying the throb of the music and the cup of cheap beer somebody pushed in my face. The thud of a hand on my back made me whirl around. Kevin, I thought, but it was just Sully.

  “I can’t find him anywhere,” I said, frantic. “What if he isn’t here?”

  “If he’s not, somebody else is.” Sully poured the contents of her cup into mine. “Let’s explore. This place is actually kind of cool.”

  I followed Sully back downstairs and through a concrete hallway into another part of the house—later, I would learn that it was known as the Barn.

  The party got a lot louder when a bunch of guys wearing jerseys thundered in, fists in the air, green and black stripes under their eyes. Every school had its kings, the guys everyone watched and worshipped. Then one of them became Kevin.

  I was sure it was some kind of mirage, that I’d had too much to drink and hallucinated his face on this jersey-wearing body. Kevin would wear button-down shirts, like Pacey from Dawson’s Creek, a show Billie and I used to watch religiously. And his jeans wouldn’t be falling off his ass like this guy’s were, complete with chains coming down to the knees. The pack turned and made a beeline for the keg. They were messy, sloppy, taking up so much space.

  “It’s him. There he is.” He hadn’t seen me yet.

  “Which one?” Sully said, stifling a yawn. “I can’t remember. They all look the same.”

  Kevin stood behind a beer-pong table, giving out high fives. Maybe I had forgotten what he looked like and started replacing parts of his face with whatever my brain wanted to summon. His nose looked bigger and his lips thinner, and his hair wasn’t long, no ringlets curling around seashell ears. He was just a boy, a mortal.

  “That one,” I said.

  She leaned into me. “Well, are you going to stand here all night with me or actually talk to him?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m going to talk to him.”

  I walked up and tapped him on the shoulder, an approach I instantly regretted. There was nothing sexy about a shoulder tap. It was what you did to get a rude person to move out of your way. But when he turned around and saw me, his smile was worth the stress.

  “Holy shit,” he said. “Ambrosia. What are you doing here? I mean, I’m glad you’re here. But—am I super drunk, or are you actually standing in front of me?”

  I smiled back. “It’s me.”

  I don’t know what I expected—that he would kiss me, maybe, drop his beer and put his hands on my cheeks to see if I was real. But instead, he gave me a hug, the same casual hug I’d just seen him give a bunch of his jerseyed buddies.

  “Why are you here?” he said. Paint was smeared across his cheekbones. Flora wouldn’t approve of this—Kevin in his red-blooded jock glory, me with my short skirt in front of him.

>   “I’m—it’s a long story.” I had planned to tell him the truth. That I was here for him. But it felt like too much, so I took the safe way out. “I have some friends who go here.”

  He nodded. I wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. “Yeah. That makes sense. But I thought you had a big assignment you were working on this weekend.”

  “I did,” I said. “I mean, I do.” It was this. Finding you. All of the lines swirled in my head, a veritable potpourri of every cheesy bit of dialogue from romantic comedies, but I didn’t have the courage to say any of them. I didn’t need another excuse to cringe at my own desperation.

  “You know, we should—” he said, eyes on my face like he was studying it.

  I didn’t get to hear the rest because Sully chose that moment to sweep in and wrap her arm around my waist. I bit back my annoyance. She knew what I was doing but interrupted regardless.

  “Hey.” She clutched my side. “Are we going to turn this into a real party, or what?”

  “Sully.” I silently prayed she wouldn’t tell Kevin what a real party was. “You remember Kevin, right? He goes to Dartmouth too.”

  “Of course,” she said. “You poor boy.”

  I wanted to smack her. The guys were passing out shots, and Kevin looked at his like he shouldn’t drink it. Flora was in our room, cross-legged on her bed, cell phone beside her on her duvet like a beloved pet. When it didn’t ring, she would call Kevin herself. She pictured Kevin’s car in a ditch, Kevin on the floor of his room, unable to call for help. When she pictured the worst, she didn’t see me and Sully. But she should have.

  * * *

  Kevin’s friends were just like everybody at Wesleyan, letting Sully suck out their energy. She indulged them, grinding her hips against theirs and leaning in when they talked, slipping her bra strap off her shoulder. Kevin and I hung around the periphery, him eyeing Sully and the thickening dance floor, never touching, like a kid in a store whose mother strictly forbade him to put his hands on anything, because if you break it, you buy it. He checked his watch. I was sure Flora had gotten him the watch. She was the kind of girlfriend who would buy a watch, and maybe even a ridiculously expensive pen.