“Sloane plays with people, Amb. It’s what she’s always done. She doesn’t know any other way. When you’re in her inner circle, that’s when you’re being played the hardest. I don’t even think she’s capable of feeling bad about it.” She pauses. “Maybe she’s the one who started the rumors about you and Kevin. I wouldn’t put it past her.”
She thumps up the stairs and I sink down against a bank of mailboxes, remembering how Billie and I used to mail each other the dirtiest and most disgusting postcards we could find. How my grandma wrote me letters asking all about college. I’d write lies back, telling her classes were interesting and the weather was great and of course I’d made some friends, the girls are all so nice here.
I don’t know what’s true. If Sully stole Evie’s boyfriend. If she played a part in her death. And, if she did, what else was she capable of?
THEN
Kevin saw me. He pretended not to, which stung like an open-handed slap, but I convinced myself he had to deal with Flora first. It was almost like he was afraid to come near me. But the more times Flora pushed him away, and the longer he watched her like a worried parent, the closer he crept toward me and Sully. Then, finally, he was in front of us, hands clenched, asking us what to do.
“She won’t talk to me,” he yelled over the music. He shuffled over to an alcove away from the sound and we followed him. “She begged me to come see her, then broke down crying.” I noticed his shirt was buttoned unevenly, as if he did it up in a rush. “This isn’t Flora. She’s out of control.”
“We tried getting her help.” Sully placed her hand on Kevin’s forearm. “She copes with stress in such unhealthy ways. I told her to see the guidance counselor, but she wouldn’t do it.”
I would have marveled at the lie if I hadn’t known Sully could do so much worse. I didn’t like Sully’s making Flora the victim. She needed to be the monster in this story.
Kevin looked terrified, which was disconcerting, and up came the guilt, an acid burn in my chest. “I don’t know what to do. I came here because…”
He trailed off, never finished that sentence. I finished it in my head. I came here because I wanted to break up with her in person.
When he went back to the ballroom, presumably to keep an eye on Flora, we followed him. We had nowhere else to be. Well, I didn’t. Sully could have spent the party finding her own guy to hook up with, another Buddy for another night. But that wasn’t enough anymore. We were storming the castle, and she was leading the charge.
Flora kept dancing. Under the harsh lights, her skin was shiny and unnaturally pallid, and she was bumping into everyone. People gave her a wide berth, like she might spontaneously combust. Kevin tried to step in and take her away once, twice, but both times she slapped his hand like it was on fire. The third time, she screamed and shrugged away from him, prompting a big jock in a wife beater to get in front of Kevin and poke him in the chest, as if to say, What gives?
“This is a mess,” I said. We looked like spectators, but this disaster was entirely my own making.
“It’s what you wanted,” Sully said. “God, I’ll be glad when he finally dumps her and this dumb drama is over.”
It wasn’t exactly what she said but the way she said it. Like when this dumb drama was over, she’d be looking for something—or someone—else to entertain her.
Flora pushed a stringy piece of hair behind her ear. I was close enough to see that her fingernails weren’t painted but totally bare, bitten into ragged red zigzags. That detail almost made me want to take back everything I’d done. But I didn’t. To become the heroine, I had to push the queen off her throne.
Flora suddenly shoved her way out of the room, darting around the corner like a wild animal. Sully and I followed her without exchanging a single word.
She ended up in an upstairs bathroom, hunched over the sink, spitting something red into it. Blood. Or vodka cranberry.
“Flora,” I said. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
She glared at us, or maybe it just looked that way because her eyes were little slits, puffy from crying or lack of sleep or both.
“Why did you do it, Amb? You told him there was another guy. He mentioned the name Hunter—you’re the one who had that guy in our room. But he doesn’t believe me. Then you two took me out on Halloween and—everything is ruined.”
“You know that’s not true,” Sully said, cool and calm, a parent handling a child’s emotional outburst. “You’re not thinking straight.”
“Fuck you,” Flora spat out. The words sounded completely wrong coming from her mouth. She turned to me, reaching out her hands, and I thought of the first manicure she had given me, how gentle and precise she had been. Her eyes pleaded with me. “Amb, you’re my best friend. Tell me you didn’t do this.”
I stood rooted to the ground, unable to move. Sully and I had successfully dismantled a girl, stripped her down to bits and pieces. It was easy for Sully to think of our plot that way, with a character at its center, not a real person. Flora meant nothing to her, but I meant something to Flora, maybe something more than I would ever mean to Sully. The panic surged so quickly and violently that I felt lightheaded.
“This is hard to hear,” Sully said, even calmer, like the angrier Flora got, the mellower she would get in return. “But your boyfriend is just like every other guy. Always looking for something better. He’s in love with someone else.” She crossed her arms over her chest, black bra on display under her mesh top. “Meanwhile, you got bored and fucked a stranger. I don’t blame you. Just own it.”
Flora’s mouth opened and closed in quick succession. I was pissed that Sully had gone so far without checking in with me first.
“Sully—” I started, but Flora cut me off before I had time to decide if I would defend myself or lean into the lie.
“I didn’t fuck a stranger. I didn’t want to—I never said—he just—”
But she never said it. She didn’t know how to, or she wouldn’t let herself go there, because her brain was protecting her from the truth. I knew exactly what she was trying to say, and I was sure Sully did too, even though Sully hadn’t been in the room that night, able to stop it but unwilling to.
“Flora. Honestly. If you’re going to make excuses for yourself, you might as well tell Kevin what happened. You can go your separate ways, and we can find you a different guy to fuck tonight. There are tons of guys out there who would gladly fuck you. You’ll feel better, you know. Being free.”
Flora was beaten down. Sully had already slung so many barbs at her, punched so many holes in her perfect existence, that she was less girl and more gaping wound. There was no way she was getting back up. But what she said next surprised me.
“We can get through this,” she said. “If he understands what happened—” This was when she fixated on me again, eyes watery, waiting for some kind of validation. “Amb, please, you know what happened. You could tell him. This isn’t who you are.”
I was pinned between two sets of eyeballs, two girls, each wanting something very different from me. My stomach lurched. I hadn’t expected this guilt, this eleventh-hour sensation of being torn in half. But it was too late to turn back. The choice had already been made, the damage done. If I defended Flora, Sully would cut me loose. It was easy for her to discard people, like dolls she was finished playing with. I didn’t want to be one of those dolls. I wanted to be the person throwing them away with her.
And it was more than that. This was Flora crawling on the ground, finally no longer immaculate. This was revenge, not even against her in particular but against a universe that let some girls have everything.
I grabbed my phone out of my purse and found the photo, the one I had taken of Flora kissing the pilot on Halloween. I held it up to her, not letting her touch it when her hands reached out, afraid she would smash my phone to obliterate the evidence.
The color drained from Flora’s face, like somebody had pulled a plug deep inside her. She was done fighting. My b
reath came in short bursts. I was sure I would pass out.
“How could you do that?” she practically whispered. Big Disney eyes, Bambi’s mother before the shotgun. “I trusted you.”
“I trusted you too.” My voice was tinny and uneven. “But it wasn’t right, what you did. I’ve been cheated on, so I know how it feels. I don’t think you’re the kind of person who can live with this weighing on you. You should tell him yourself.”
Her tears started coming, fast and furious. She rubbed her eyes, smearing away what was left of her makeup. She muttered something under her breath, something I wish I had never heard. “I want to die.”
Sully grabbed my arm. “Come on. We should go.”
So we did. We left what remained of Flora hunched over the sink, not looking at the ghost in the mirror.
* * *
Kevin was downstairs, standing by the dance floor. This time he had a drink in his hand.
“What’s going on? Where is she?” I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or actually concerned. His facial nuances meant nothing—I only knew the written version of him.
“She’s upstairs,” Sully said. “She’s acting like a drunk idiot.” She paused, deliberately, as if she were considering which ingredient to add to her recipe next. “She does this a lot. Gets remorseful, then pukes all over.”
My nod was automatic. It was over; we had won. But Sully was still swinging, still fighting. It was one of those movie scenes where somebody is on the ground, unconscious, but the other person keeps kicking.
“Amb, why don’t you go get us another drink?” Sully said, her touch light on Kevin’s arm. “We could all use it.”
Suddenly it wasn’t us versus Flora anymore. It was like I had been bumped from the adult table to the kiddie corner, but I dutifully went, trying to steal glances as I headed for the keg. Sully leaned in and said something to Kevin that made his jaw stiffen. Her nods were sympathetic, the concern on her face genuine, like we hadn’t just conspired to ruin his relationship.
I had a thought. This is a game for you. Everything is a game for you. School, boys, other girls. Maybe even me. Sully pretended she didn’t care about rules. But really, it was that she learned them too quickly, picked them up the same way some people did a second language. She knew all the rules already, so she made a game out of breaking them.
Sully joined me in the line for the keg a few minutes later, her fingers creeping under the mesh of my top, drumming on my spine. Her territory, all of me. I let myself breathe. The worst of it was over.
But my head spun anew as she pulled something out of her purse. A cell phone, not hers. A black one, a plain lump.
“We could have some fun with this,” she said.
“Whose is it?” But as soon as I asked, I already knew. “How did you get it?”
“When you get close enough to a boy, you can do just about anything.” Her breath on my face, somehow sweet and not beery.
“What are we going to do?”
Sully shrugged, as if all of this was an impulse. “We’re going to do what he didn’t have the balls to do himself. We’re going to break them up.”
NOW
To: “Ambrosia Wellington” [email protected]
From: “Wesleyan Alumni Committee” [email protected]
Subject: Class of 2007 Reunion
Dear Ambrosia Wellington,
Please join us for a tree dedication to celebrate the life of Flora Banning, who was taken from us far too soon. Those who knew Flora are aware of exactly how many lives she touched during her short time at Wesleyan. All are welcome to join Flora’s friends in a gathering behind Butterfield C to talk about the girl whose memory lives in so many of us.
Sincerely,
Your Alumni Committee
My back is clammy with sweat and the sundress I just changed into clings to my thighs. The First Response has two lines—two lines that showed up almost instantly, like big middle fingers. Fuck you. Yeah, you took your pills, but karma has been waiting to catch up with you for a very long time.
I wish I didn’t know that there were no false positives, something I learned when Billie took her first test, the first time she and Ryan had ever skipped the condom. Toni was different—she had trouble getting pregnant. It took her and Scott six months of obsessively tracking her cycle. I assumed if I ever wanted kids it would be the same thing. But here I am, the unlucky 1 percent.
I don’t know what this means, but I do know that I can’t have a baby. I can’t watch my stomach grow, watch my boobs get huge and veiny, see my feet inflate out of my shoes, and be happy about it. I want to text Billie and tell her, You were right, but she’d be thrilled that I’m joining her team. She’ll want to pass down her maternity clothes, stretchy dresses pilled at the arms, leggings she constantly tugged down from her rib cage.
I can’t tell Billie. I’ll have to tell Adrian. He’ll cry and instantly drop down to kiss my belly. I can’t think about that now. Not until I know who is behind the notes and what they want from me.
I flush the offending pee down the toilet and throw out the test, then go to wash my hands at the sink. It’s only when I look up that I see the message, neat letters in waxy red lipstick.
Stay—you owe her that.
My hands are clenched by my sides, fresh fear rooting me in place. I didn’t hear anyone come in while I was in the bathroom, but how long did I sit there, staring at the test, praying for it to somehow change? Or has the message been waiting for me all along?
I need to tell Adrian that we’re leaving, and this time I need to explain why. Not everything, of course. But enough to get him in the rental car, with Wesleyan in the rearview mirror forever.
I jog back down the hall to our room, trying to decide what I’m going to say. There’s something you don’t know about Flora Banning. A lot you don’t know. I did something to her. I have no idea how I’ll make it digestible. But when I open the door, I hear their laughs in sync. Adrian and Sully. They’re sitting on our bed, their heads clustered over something, Adrian’s hair still wet from his post-run shower.
“What are you doing?” I tug on the hem of my dress.
Sully rolls her neck and winks at me. “I’m showing Adrian some old photos of us.”
Now Adrian turns around. “You were hot. I totally would have wanted to ask you out, but I wouldn’t have had the balls.”
Sully is holding a small album, like the one Toni made for my parents when Layla was born. I hover over Adrian and survey the damage.
“You guys look like sisters,” Adrian says. There’s Sully and me in our princess outfits, more leg than dress. Flora isn’t in it because she took the photo. Smile, girls, she’d said, but I hated how smiling made my eyes crinkle up.
I grab the book and flip through the pages. Flora is in most of the other photos, Sleeping Beauty pink, forced cheer on her face. She was so upset that night. She never should have come with us.
“She was really pretty,” Adrian says softly.
“Where did you get these pictures?” I snap the album shut.
“I borrowed them,” Sully says. “I always meant to give them back. I thought I’d bring them to the dedication. Lauren mentioned that some of the girls were bringing photos and stuff to share memories.”
I glare at her. “No. That’s—” I can’t finish the sentence with Adrian right here. That’s sick. That’s morbid. But that’s Sully.
Sully cocks her head. It’s like she knows I need to talk to Adrian and is making sure I don’t get a chance. Her lips twist into a smile. Her red lips. It would have been easy for her to leave the message on the mirror.
She has photos from back then. She could have planted the cell phone. She knew Flora’s ringtone for Kevin—she used to put a finger to her temple every time she heard it.
“Justin wanted to go for drinks somewhere, but I told him we were going to the dedication,” Adrian says. “I assume we are. It seems like the right thing to do. Ella said during the r
un that she’d see us there.”
What else did Ella say during the run?
The only place I want to go is back to Astoria, to smudgy skylines and Greek takeout and shitty live music at happy hour and our apartment, where there’s never enough room. But someone is making it almost impossible for me to get there.
“We should actually head out so we’re not late.” Sully gets up—Adrian’s eyes linger a beat too long on her body—and slips on a jean jacket before pausing at the door. “Are you guys coming?”
When she swings the door open, Ella is right behind it, eyebrows raised in surprise. There’s a piece of paper in her hand—a card, thick and off-white. The same as the notes we got.
“Oh, hey,” she says. “I figured you guys were out. I just wanted to leave this here to invite you to a pre-drink I’m hosting in my room before the dinner tonight. A bunch of us are going to share some Butts stories and toast Flora.”
I jump up and snatch the card from her hands. The lettering isn’t fancy or sculpted—just basic black pen, like a note you’d take in class. I hand the card to Sully.
“That’s nice of you,” Adrian says, zipping up his jacket. “I’m down for that.”
Ella smiles. She’s genuinely pretty—proof that college isn’t everyone’s prime. Or maybe she was always pretty and I just didn’t notice because I was laser-focused on disassociating myself from her and our suburban similarities. Now I wonder why I cared so much.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to dedicate a tree or something?” Sully says.
Ella’s expression doesn’t falter, but her eyes narrow ever so slightly. “I just wanted to get these invites out before everyone made their own plans. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, but when’s the next time we’re all going to be in the same room together?”
Never, I want to scream. It’s never going to happen again.
The Girls Are All So Nice Here Page 18