The Girls Are All So Nice Here

by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” Kevin said. “I didn’t even want to come to this party. But, you know, this is my frat. I kind of have to show up.”

  “I get it,” I said. “I’m sort of over the party scene at Wes. I’m looking for something more meaningful.”

  His hand brushed mine. “I know you are.”

  “I never got the grand tour. Want to show me around?” He hadn’t asked about my fictitious friends I was supposedly here to visit, like he knew I had made them up.

  “Yeah,” he said. Relaxed, easy. I let myself relax too.

  We ended up in his room, on the second floor of the Barn, which was gratefully unoccupied by the two brothers he said he shared the space with. We sat down on his bed, neatly made, his nightstand heaped with books—and, I noticed with satisfaction, bereft of any photos of Flora. The room was what I’d pictured from Kevin, and the fact that this one bit of reality aligned with the boy in my head fueled me. I sipped my beer until he reached over and took my cup, bringing it to his lips.

  “This is weird,” he said. “I mean, we talk about everything in our emails, but I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” I waited for him to go in for the kiss but he didn’t, so I did.

  He didn’t react at first, and panic coursed through me. He was another fantasy I had concocted in my head, a fairy tale that could too easily be slammed shut. Then his mouth covered mine and one of his hands went to the base of my skull, his fingers sifting my hair like it was sand. I had never been kissed this way, by somebody who knew my insides without ever having been inside me. I had kissed Matt hundreds of times without feeling this.

  But just as I fell deeper, it was over.

  “I can’t do this.” He jerked away. “I’m sorry, Amb. It’s just—I have a girlfriend. Obviously. She’s already on me about where I am all the time. I can’t give her a reason to be more paranoid. And you’re—you’re special.”

  I didn’t like the obviously or the way he wiped his mouth.

  “Sorry, I’m not trying to be an asshole. But you deserve someone who’s all in, and I can’t be. I don’t cheat. I could never get into something like this.”

  “We’re not—” I started.

  “You should know,” he said. “I mean, you were cheated on. You know what it feels like.”

  It was almost a warning—almost. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince me or himself. I wasn’t mad that he’d brought up Matt as much as I was furious that precious Flora couldn’t have her perfection marred by suffering through what I had.

  I managed to smile weakly. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  It was hearing those two words out loud—I’m sorry—that made me say the next part. I was sick of apologizing. I thought about what Sully would do. She had shown me it was okay to be selfish, that just because the world wasn’t willing to give me something, it didn’t mean I couldn’t take it anyway.

  “Look, there’s something you should know.” My voice trembled. It would have to be a convincing performance, the best acting I had ever done. “I don’t know if I should even tell you. But we’ve gotten to know each other so well, and I’d want you to do the same for me.”

  “What?” he said. “What is it?”

  Showtime. “Have you ever thought about why Flora is so intent on knowing where you are all the time, even though you haven’t done anything wrong?”

  “What do you mean?” He tugged on the ends of his hair, as if that would help his brain figure it out.

  “There’s a guy.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “This is so awkward. It’s really not my place to be saying anything. But like you said, I got cheated on. I know how much it hurts. There’s a guy she flirts with, and it might be turning into more.”

  “No way. Flora’s a—she wouldn’t be hooking up with other guys.”

  I let a rattling sigh escape my lips. “I saw them together, in our room. It’s a guy from our dorm. Hunter. She tried to say they were studying. Then later, she asked me not to tell anyone he was in our room. Like she was afraid her reputation would be ruined.”

  He clenched his jaw. I wanted to add more incriminating details, but I let what I had already said marinate between us.

  “I heard her on the phone with her sister, saying something about him. But she hung up really quickly when I walked in.”

  “Her sister doesn’t like me,” Kevin muttered. “Never did.”

  I smiled tightly. Poppy was a fissure between Flora and Kevin. It was something I’d learned from Sully—where to pick to make it bleed.

  “We talk on the phone almost every night,” he said. “She wants us to tell each other everything. She asks about who I’m hanging out with.”

  “Because she doesn’t want you to know what she’s doing. It’s reverse psychology. Look, I’m sorry to unload this on you. I like Flora, but she has this whole other side.” It felt good, cutting into Flora’s veneer, chiseling away at it.

  Kevin stared at the ground. I almost caved. But I had to finish what I’d started. I couldn’t leave it, like a wounded animal beside the road.

  “Things have changed. You sense it. I mean, it’s partly why we write to each other. You need someone who understands you.”

  “It’s not true.” His voice became both softer and harder. I had planted doubt, and doubt is the mint of the emotional world. It takes over the entire garden, choking out everything else. “I’m supposed to call her when the party ends. I’m going to ask her.”

  “No. She’ll just deny it. I mean, she’s in denial about it too—you know how Flora hates to admit when anything’s wrong. And she’ll know you heard it from me, because nobody else saw Hunter in our room.”

  “Fuck.” His eyes pleaded with me. “I mean, I know you’re honest. I just don’t want this to be true.”

  I do. “She calls him Buddy. It’s like a pet name or something.”

  “Fuck. I don’t know what to do.”

  “If I were you, I’d think about what you really want. What you deserve. Because it isn’t that.”

  He nodded. Then he reached for me and pulled me into a hug. It had been so long since anybody actually hugged me, especially with the kind of intensity that made my body quake. I’m going to make it. I’m an excellent fucking actress after all.

  “I worried about this,” he said. “That she’d realize she was out of my league and find someone else at college.”

  “I’m sorry.” I smiled into his shoulder.

  My story had implanted, the same way a tick latches on to a dog and buries its whole ugly head in its skin. Kevin was revisiting every conversation he’d had with Flora, every call where it took her longer than usual to pick up, and each silence where she seemed distracted. It was a tale as old as time. Iago did it to Othello and I was doing it to Kevin. I couldn’t be the main character in our fucked-up soap opera, so I would have to be the villain. For now.

  “I have to figure stuff out,” he said when he finally let me go. “This isn’t easy. We have a lot of history.”

  The way he said history, like it was more than just a timeline of chaste dates and corsages. I hated history, the rich families writing it. The Fairfield golf club would be so disappointed by the fallout.

  “Of course.” I stood up and pulled my skirt down. “Just don’t tell her I was here, okay? Not that you would. But she’d get so mad if she knew I told you. She already doesn’t like me.”

  Kevin scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’d never put you in that position. But you’re wrong. She’s always talking about how great you are.”

  I sucked in a breath. Kevin had no reason to lie. Maybe Flora had told him I was great, but it didn’t matter. Sully had heard the real Flora, talking behind my back, an image so visceral I could almost see it myself.

  “She has a snarky comment every time I stay out late. She monitors who I hang out with. I guess she’s lying to both of us.” I surprised myself by how pissed off I a
ctually was—not at Kevin for being afraid of hurting Flora, but at Flora for not being afraid to hurt me. Her judgment was just another microscope I had never asked to be inspected under.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” he said. “Once I have things figured out.” His fingers grazed mine as I walked out the door, not letting myself turn back.

  I found Sully and the boys and drank and danced. Kevin never resurfaced—he must have been figuring stuff out. I eventually surrendered to sleep on a couch that smelled like old basement, the party swirling around me. I vaguely sensed Sully nestled in behind me, hands snaking down to my stomach and curling up there like a housecat, and the absence of her when I woke up later. My thoughts glowed, phosphorescent. It wasn’t a level playing field, me and Flora. I had to play dirty. But that was the difference between us. I never minded having dirty hands.

  NOW

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

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

  Subject: Class of 2007 Reunion

  Dear Ambrosia Wellington,

  There’s no better place than Foss Hill to take in the view, and our festival this afternoon is not to be missed. Sure, this reunion is all about revisiting the past, but there are ways of finding out what the future holds too (see one of our expert tarot card readers)—and it may not be what you expect!

  Sincerely,

  Your Alumni Committee

  I need to tell Sully about the mug. If she doesn’t believe me, she can go back and see it for herself. But when I spill into our room, breathless, I can’t say a word, because Sully is with Adrian. Not just talking to him—she’s behind him with her hands in his hair and he’s laughing, his eyes cast up.

  “What are you doing?” Fear buzzes at the base of my spine.

  “Sully was trying to get rid of my hangover,” Adrian says. “Apparently there are all these pressure points in your scalp that release the toxins. She might be onto something. I swear, I’m feeling better.”

  Sully hasn’t moved her hands. She’s staring at me, hair swishing against Adrian’s neck, challenging me to find something wrong with what she’s doing. That’s her—always blameless, an expert at shifting the weight to somebody else.

  “Fine. Adrian, can we talk for a minute?”

  “I’m meeting up with some people anyway,” Sully says, releasing her grip. “I’ll see you guys at Foss. If we even find each other. It’s going to be a madhouse.”

  As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Adrian and rest my hands on his shoulders, claiming back my territory. “Look, I think we need to leave. I’m not feeling well at all. It’s better if we just head home. I’m not going to be any fun.”

  He stands up and wraps his arms around me. “I think that’s a bit extreme. You’ve been kind of off since we got here. Do you not like me talking to your friends?”

  “Of course not,” I say into his chest. I hate how he has made it all about him—he’s right in a way, but not the way he suspects. “Just be careful with Sully. She’s not… she’s not always someone you can trust.”

  “Chill, babe,” he says, his mouth humming against my neck. “I’m just being friendly. What do you not want me to know?”

  “Nothing. She’s just kind of difficult.”

  He shrugs. “She seems fine to me. Why don’t you take a nap and see if you feel better when you wake up? We’re having such a good time.”

  I grit my teeth. It’s typical Adrian. We’re having such a good time. His stock line whenever I want to leave and he isn’t ready to call it quits on a party.

  “I can hang out with Justin and Monty. You don’t need to worry about me feeling abandoned or anything.” He tries to pull away, but I hug him tighter, not wanting him to see my face. Trust me, I would say if I were honest. That’s the last thing I’m worried about.

  I could insist that we leave now, which will inevitably end in a huge fight. I can stay here and let him go to the festival alone and hope that no incriminating details find their way into his ears. Or I could go with him and pretend everything is okay, knowing that whoever is behind the note and the mug will probably be watching me.

  It’s not really a choice. I’m trapped. I try to banish the ugly thought that I might have been summoned back here for that very reason. So I could never leave.

  * * *

  Foss Hill is packed with bodies, with music and noise, harsh sun nestled in gauzy clouds. I squint from behind my sunglasses and shiver despite the rising heat. I’m straddling two worlds—my comfortable one, with Hadley and Heather beside me, drinking wine on a blanket, and the other one, Butts C girls standing in a clump, catching up. Hads and Heather seem happy to spend the entire weekend as a trio, almost like it’s another girls’ trip, but I can’t let my guard down. Just when I start to feel safe is always when the world shows me its claws.

  Adrian pinballs between Justin and Monty and the husbands of the other girls. He’s currently locked in a conversation with Jonah Belford—they’re talking about stocks, something Adrian pretends to have firsthand knowledge of, even though I’m the one who takes care of our finances. I keep one ear on his conversation and another on Gemma, who is regaling the girls with the details of her Hollywood Hills bungalow and her casual friendship with Jason Statham.

  The only girl from our floor at Butts C not sitting with us is Flora. I know she’s here—I feel her gaze, still holier-than-thou—but I refuse to look up and truly see her.

  “What a night, right?” Lauren brings her plastic cup to clink against mine. “I haven’t drunk that much in years. Actually, I barely drink at all anymore. It’s not responsible with the kids. But they’re with my parents, so I think I deserve to let loose.”

  “Sure.” I swirl my wine around, not even wanting to drink it. “What dorm are you guys in, anyway?”

  “We’re in the Nics. How about you?” The way she looks at me makes me think she already knows.

  “Us too,” I say.

  “Sully hasn’t changed much,” Clara says. “Does anyone know what she’s up to now? I lost touch with her when I did my MFA.”

  “No idea,” says Gemma. “She said something about acting, but we’ve never crossed paths.”

  “Not surprising,” Lauren says with a derisive snort. “She thought she was so talented. I remember when she’d get coked up and convince guys she was an heiress. She was always somebody else. Does anyone know who she actually is?”

  That was lobbed at me, underhanded, exactly what I expect from Lauren. I don’t give her a reaction, instead looking into the crowd, directly at the girl everyone is talking about.

  Sully watches the band, swaying her hips lightly, as if the music is for her alone. Every so often she looks back at us, like she wants to make sure she isn’t missing out on anything.

  “You know who looks incredible? Ella,” Lily says. “I barely recognized her.”

  “I know, right? We were texting before coming here and I told her to go for it and go blond. She said she always wanted blond hair.” Lauren pushes her own hair off her face. I make a mental note that they’re friends. They could have written the notes together. Lauren was the ringleader back then, the one who left SLUT Post-its on my dorm room door and wrote on the ACB junior year, AW is pathetic trash, she’s so evil she’s barely human, even though I could never prove it.

  “She had a hard time,” Gemma says. “It’s good to see her doing well.”

  “Yeah. She was actually really mad at Flora,” Lauren says, louder now, aware that more people are listening. Just then, Adrian and Jonah stop their conversation and turn toward our group.

  “Who’s Flora?” Adrian hugs me loosely from behind.

  All eyes on me. Everyone waiting for my explanation. When I don’t have one, Lauren does. “She was Amb’s roommate freshman year.”

  “Cool,” Adrian says. “Where is she?”

  She’s over there, I want to say, and point to her blond head, cresting over the crowd like p
art of the sun, right beside the tent where they’re giving out temporary tattoos. But if I do, he’ll insist on marching over there, where he’ll inevitably gawk at her perfect face.

  I wait for my world to detonate, but it doesn’t. The girls have turned away from us, breaking off into little satellites, casting their eyes at me every so often. It’s a move I’m familiar with. Nothing solidifies a group like casting someone out and having a common enemy.

  I know what they’re saying. I can’t believe she didn’t tell him. That poor guy.

  “I don’t think you’ll meet her this weekend,” I tell Adrian. Or ever. I turn around and search for Sully in the crowd, but she’s not watching the band anymore, and I don’t see her near any of the tents. I scan Andrus for her—tomorrow, it will be clogged with graduates and parents, never-ending rows of chairs and cheers.

  I look behind us, back toward the Nics, just in time to see her emerging from a thicket of men in cargo shorts. I have to decide if I’m more desperate to know where she’s going than I am terrified to leave Adrian here without me. But I always choose her.

  “I’ll be right back,” I mumble, and before I can lose sight of her, I take off, clutching my half-full cup of wine.

  She’s walking down the paved path past the observatory, heading for Hewitt and McConaughy Drive. I keep a safe distance behind her, trying to stay hidden behind people dotting the space between us. Then I realize where she’s going. Toward V Lot, where we parked yesterday.

  She’s leaving.

  I stand back as she darts across Vine Street, her purse flapping at her side. She doesn’t have her luggage, which means something scared her enough to make her take off without it, or her plan is done and she’s wiping the mess off her hands like dust.

  “Sully,” I yell. A rumbling truck drowns out my voice. I cross the street as soon as traffic clears, dropping my sloshing cup on the road. I didn’t make her answer to me then, but now I’m not letting her get away without an explanation.