by L. A. Sable
“Let me know if you need anything,” he says, shifting away enough that I can breathe again.
“You’ve done enough, really. You don’t need to get into more trouble for me. I mean, I am the reason that Chloe got you fired.”
My words are bumbling and out-of-sync with the confident persona that I want to convey. It’s good that I’m getting in this practice now, when it’s only one person who I have to convince. If there are any breaks in the act once I get to Black Lake, the entire thing falls apart.
The blushing school girl bumbling from one moment to the next can’t help me now. That Lily is dead and gone, perished in a bus crash. The new me doesn’t have the luxury of innocence. But Liam isn’t a part of the game and for now I want to keep it that way.
He gives me a sad smile before turning away, the kind that has a little too much pity for my liking. “Good luck.”
I watch him turn back to stare down at my flat white, its only half-drunk and gone cold. I take a second to realize that my phone is already in my hand and that the Inner Circle login page is loaded up on the screen. Even my subconscious is eager to know what secrets might be revealed by what Liam uncovered.
The napkin is still folded up next to my cup, looking as much like trash as anything else despite its incalculable value. For a split second, I consider leaving it there, letting it be tossed away by whoever clears the tables and headed straight for the nearest garbage dump.
Then I close my eyes against the sharp stab of an impending migraine. Like so many times before, I practically feel the hands on my back, solid because there’s no hesitation behind the movement. Whoever pushed me in front of that bus knew exactly what they were doing and didn’t care about the consequences of their actions.
And I’m better than that. No one, not even the person responsible for my accident, has death to fear from me, or even significant physical harm. I would never do to anyone what was done to me.
But actions have consequences and I plan to hold whoever did this up like an example for the rest to see. The same way that Vlad the Impaler lined up severed heads on the wall of his city as a warning to anyone who dared enter.
They would change their ways or suffer the same fate.
I wait a few more minutes until I’m sure that Liam has gone. It wouldn’t make any sense to put all of this effort into staying hidden only to be seen waltzing down the street together. I’d deliberately chosen this town to avoid running into anyone that might know us but I can’t be too careful.
Eyes follow me as I take deliberately long-legged steps towards the door, designer heels clicking on the tile floor. I make the sort of figure that draws attention, but this random audience of strangers isn’t the important one.
The true test is coming and I have to be ready for it.
Chapter 3
I stayed up all night studying the information on Liam’s Inner Circle account. He has compiled what almost looks like dossiers on almost every single student on campus and many of the faculty. It must have taken him months, even years, to put all this together.
Most of the information is mundane and useless. But there are enough sprinkles of dirt in there to galvanize me. My plan is still amorphous and evolving. I plan to take down the Diamonds but the only way to do that is to break them apart from the inside. Nothing Liam found is enough to accomplish that on its own, but I’ve discovered a few cracks in that glittering facade.
The real discovery is how much more access having a Diamond account gives within the app. I have no idea how Liam managed to keep his higher level permissions, but that alone is worth my phone’s weight in gold. I already knew that Diamonds can send messages anonymously to anyone with an account, but they can also post in the forum anonymously and edit public information like pictures or profiles.
And they also have a log of all the private messages sent to any user via the app. Not the messages themselves unfortunately, but they can see who’s talking and how often.
It makes my skin crawl a bit to think of the Diamonds spying on the rest of us without our knowledge. The extent of their access isn’t disclosed anywhere on the app that I can find. But I guess that’s the point of it. Those people who claw their way to the top of society get to play by very different rules than the rest of us.
And if I have to play this game, then I’m playing to win.
I hesitate on Charlie’s profile longer than is necessary. There’s not a lot of information there, probably because she’s new to the school. But I’m still surprised by how bare her history seems to be, at least based on the information Liam could gather. Really though, what is there to say?
Scholarship student. Check.
Working class family. Check.
Knows her place. Check.
If anything, that last bit is what saved her from the horror of being Proli. Like she once told me, everyone loves a rags-to-riches story. I can’t help but wonder if she would have drawn the attention of the Diamonds if I hadn’t been there as a scapegoat. Maybe things would have gone in a completely different direction and she’d have a Cinderella story to tell. I can’t help but wonder if she thought of her old life before Black Lake as the beginning of the fairy tale, right before the modestly beautiful servant girl is swept off her feet by the charming prince.
Maybe I stole that dream from her. Could that be enough to compel her to betray me?
Part of me misses having her as a confidant, having anyone to confide in for that matter. But I also recognize that impulse as the weakness that allowed me to be so hurt in the first place. This isn’t the life with slumber parties and braiding each other’s hair while we gab about boys. The girls of Black Lake are wicked and I have to consider Charlie one of them until she proves herself otherwise.
And if she doesn’t have anything to hide, why hasn’t she reached out to me in the past month? Aside from a get well text message that I received immediately after the accident, she’s made no move to interact.
A guilty conscience perhaps?
Regardless, I’ll find out the truth when I return to Black Lake, even if I have to break her into pieces to do it.
Not for the first time, I ask myself what I’d like to do to the person responsible for my accident. As much as I’d like to get behind the wheel of the bus and deliver precisely the vengeance they deserve, payback isn’t worth serving prison time. And the person who pushed me isn’t the only one to blame. Every person responsible for me standing on the edge of that sidewalk, for all the events leading unerringly to that moment, holds a special place in my dark little heart.
And I would see them suffer for it.
But even if I was capable of it, death was the easy way out. I want them to bear witness as their world falls down around them, left broken at the center of the wreckage of a life that no longer seems worth living.
That would be justice.
The night before I’m supposed to leave for school, Trish has arranged a formal dinner at the house. Carter has been in and out of the country even more frequently than usual, managing his company. But he agreed to return for this dinner and had assured my mother that both he and Asher would be there.
It’s the last part that has me concerned.
I haven’t spoken to Asher since just before my accident. I’ve only caught glimpses of him in the weeks since I came home from the rehab center when he was either sneaking in or out of the house.
I’ve taken to swimming in the evenings, building up the strength necessary to really hit things hard once the term begins. A few times, I’ve been in the pool and glanced in the direction of the house only to see the curtains over Asher’s window shifting slightly as if they’d just been pulled shut.
He’s watching me and I know it.
As much as I hope he’s planning to skip the dinner, I know I’m not that lucky. He’s interested enough in staying on Carter’s good side that there’s little chance he’ll miss it.
And if I can fool him, then I can fool anyone. Classes start on
Monday. This is one last dress rehearsal before opening night.
Trish is the only one at the table when I enter the formal dining room. It seems strange to have so few people at a table with enough settings to seat twenty, but I doubt Carter or Asher will even take notice of it.
She gives me a tense smile as I take a seat next to her. Her formal gown is made of some sort of taffeta or other thick silk that makes a crinkling sound as she shifts in the chair to face me. Her hair is caught up in a complicated style. I never see it down these days and can only assume that Carter prefers it this way and told her so.
Even with the Botox that smoothes the lines around her mouth and the skin cream she wears that’s imported from France, she seems much older than she did even a year ago. Maybe it’s her eyes, there’s a weariness there that I’ve never seen before.
“Are you excited to go back to school?” she asks, for what has to be the dozenth time. Everyone asks me that in an excited way, as if there’s an obvious answer but they want to make absolutely sure.
“Of course.” I mean it but not for the reasons that she thinks. “I’m finally feeling like myself.”
As if I would ever feel like myself again.
“Oh, good.” A genuine smile briefly touches her face, or as close as she’s capable of producing considering the dermal filler treatment she had done this morning. “I’m so glad that things are finally getting back to normal.”
I wish I knew what she meant by the world “normal,” because that is something I’m not sure that I will ever feel again. The two of us — girls from the Bronx — were sitting in a dining room with walls so ivory they shown under the light of the chandelier at a table with two dozen place settings made of bone china and the finest silver. Nothing would ever be normal again.
“Did you enjoy your trip?” I ask, instead of one of the dozen more important questions filtering through my head. Carter had taken her to Rome recently, more out of pity I think than anything else. He gave her a platinum charge card to shop with while he took care of business at his office in the finance district. “I assume you did lots of shopping.”
“Oh, tons. After dinner, you have to come see the vases I picked out. There was the loveliest little shop where you could watch the man blow the glass.” Her voice is full of forced cheer, but I know for a fact that she spent her days strolling down the cobblestone streets of a market square all on her own.
I’m not the only wearing a mask, but that’s what it takes to live in this world.
Before Trish and I can share more platitudes, Carter walks in, slamming the door open hard enough that it strikes the opposite wall.
Carter Bellamy must have truly been a force of nature once and even in his late 60’s he hasn’t lost a step. I can see part of the charm of what Trish sees in him, but there’s a canniness behind his affable gaze that makes me think there’s significantly more going through his mind than he would ever reveal.
I listen to them interact, but make a point of keeping silent. Carter is still very much an unknown quantity to me and I need the chance to observe him.
His grandfather’s favor is one of the most important things in Asher’s life. If I decide to hit him where it hurts, Carter will be the way to do it.
I haven’t yet figured out precisely which sins Asher has committed, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s guilty of something.
As if I’d conjured him from my thoughts, the door opens and Asher appears, stopping at the end of the table. He sways slightly on his feet and it’s obvious he’s been drinking.
“We haven’t been served yet,” he blurts out, unheeding of the fact that he just interrupted whatever Trish was saying. “I would have had waited to come down.”
“It’s considered polite to wait until all the guests have arrived before serving the first course,” Carter says, voice more caustic than I’ve ever heard it. “I expect little, but I would have thought you had at least mastered etiquette by now.”
“You’re the one who insisted that I be here.”
“I wanted you here and sober.”
“Ask and you shall receive, dear Grandfather.” Asher half collapses into the seat across from me, avoiding eye contact. “And you can’t get drunk off of a couple of beers.”
“Oh, a couple is it?”
Trish and I exchange an uneasy glance, heavy with meaning. Neither of us has any intention of intervening in whatever this is.
It’s an almost regretful realization that I might not have to put any effort into bringing Asher down, he seems to be self-destructing at a rapid pace all on his own. I don’t understand it. Where is the self-assured asshole who made my life a living hell for most of last term?
I barely recognize him at this point. Even though he’s sitting little more than an arms-length from me, really he is miles away.
“Can we just eat already?” Asher grumbles, slumping down in his seat. “I haven’t had anything solid all day.”
Carter scoffed at that. “If you can’t be bothered to come down at designated meal times then you don’t eat. The servants don’t exist at your beck and call.”
“That’s the literal definition of a servant,” Asher mutters under his breath, but not loud enough for his grandfather to hear.
As if on cue, a trail of sharply dressed servants trail into the room carrying plates covered with silver domes like something out of a movie. We get through the appetizer with no more outbursts, Asher seeming to have resolved not to speak to anyone until the whole affair is over.
But I balk when the main course is revealed with a flourish. The dish that’s placed in front of me is some sort of fowl in a thick white sauce that I can already feel congealing at the pit of my stomach even though I haven’t yet taken the first bite. I’d been okay with the salad because it came tossed in a light dressing, but this is something else entirely. Just trying to calculate how many calories have to be in that cream sauce makes my head spin and sends a shiver of anxiety worming through the pit of my belly. I can’t risk returning to the person I used to be, everything hinges on perfection.
I remind myself that I haven’t eaten all day either and I need to have at least a little to keep up appearances. Otherwise, I risk drawing attention to myself.
The second bite goes down harder than the first because I swallow while fighting down a wave of nausea. I chew slowly, prolonging my discomfort but drawing out the amount of time between when the dish was served and when I set down my fork.
Sensing his gaze, I look up to find Asher watching me. He’s the only person who has seen me since I healed and evidenced practically no reaction, or at least not one that he allowed me to see. His casual regard sends my already unwelcome anxiety surging even higher. What if the miraculous transformation I’d worked so hard to achieve is entirely in my head? Maybe I’ll walk onto the campus of Black Lake with none of the fanfare that I need to set my plan in motion. The whole thing will end with a whimper, not a bang.
I force myself to look away from the green eyes that are like shards of jagged sea glass, with an edge sharper than the blade of a knife. Even though he’s practically in a drunken stupor, I can almost feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on me. The swirl of negativity and self-hatred that he hopes to mask with intoxicants is like a fog in the air that threatens to choke me with every breath.
If I didn’t hate him so much, I could almost feel sorry for him.
And then he opens his mouth and sympathy is the last thing on my mind.
“That’s an interesting dress,” Asher says through a mouthful of food he can’t be bothered to swallow. “It looks…new.”
Trish isn’t stupid, she knows an insult when she hears one, but pastes a smile on her face, anyway. “Thank you.”
Carter’s eyes have narrowed, but when he speaks it’s with a neutral tone. “I assume you’re both prepared for your return to Black Lake.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, taking a sip of water. “And again, thank you so much for the oppor
tunity to attend.”
“You’re very welcome.” Carter’s gaze turns to Asher who has slouched even further down in his chair. “And you? I hope we won’t have a repeat of your dreadful performance last term. I was quite disappointed when I saw your grade report.”
“Your little pet project here isn’t a straight-A student, either.”
When I glare over at him, Asher isn’t even bothering to look at me. Apparently, it’s fine to insult me like I’m not even sitting here. But it’s Carter who comes to my defense.
“Lily is still catching up,” he snaps. “She hasn’t had a lifetime of opportunities to squander like you have.”
“Please, Grandfather, let’s talk more about all the ways I’m a disappointment to you.”
“That is enough, Asher. If you can’t be civil, then you may be excused.”
“Tell me again how much I remind you of my father—”
Carter’s face turns red as he abruptly stands from the table, bumping it hard enough that the force of it knocks over his empty wineglass. “Do not speak of him in this house! He is dead to me.”
“You can’t just pretend that he doesn’t exist. I’m his son, what does that make me?”
“I’ve heard enough of this.” Carter shoves his chair back from the table and strides for the door. “I apologize, Trish. Dinner was a lovely idea, but I seem to have lost my appetite.”
Asher slams his own fork down, letting it strike sharply against the porcelain plate in front of him. “Fuck this.”
Then he’s stomping out of the room before either Trish or I can respond, sparing an angry glare for me as he passes.
The most surprising thing to me is how little Trish reacts to the drama. She slowly raises the fork to her lips and takes a bite, eyes staring off into the empty air in front of her. Part of me wants to ask if she’s okay, even though I don’t really want to know the answer, but at the moment I just don’t have the time.