Page 136 of All These Beautiful Strangers

“Your friend?” Dalton said. “When’s the last time you two even hung out?”

His question was like a slap in the face. I didn’t have a retort, because he was right. I hadn’t hung out with Stevie since Drew was expelled, and even before that, we hadn’t spent that much time together since Dalton and I became a thing and I had become involved in the A’s.

“Sometimes you outgrow people,” Dalton said. “And usually for a reason.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, drawing back.

“Come on, Charlie,” Dalton said. “Stevie Sorantos? Do I really have to spell it out?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

Dalton sighed and turned back toward the table. I saw him roll his eyes at Crosby. “Don’t be so dramatic, Charlie,” Dalton said. “The whole thing was a joke.”

“Well, I’m not laughing,” I said. I grabbed my bag from the table and slung it over my shoulder before I marched away.

“Where’s she going?” I heard Leo ask as he returned to the table.

“To find her sense of humor,” Crosby said.

In the library later that evening, I sat at one of the study tables with Finn, a score of old newspapers and yearbooks spread out around us. We were doing research to write our article on the story behind Knollwood’s ghost, which was due that Friday. It would go into this year’s last edition of the Chronicle, but to tell the truth, I was having a hard time concentrating. I was still reeling from my fight with Dalton and my altercation with Stevie and Yael, and the very last thing I wanted to be doing was writing a false article on the death of a boy that my father was involved in. Somehow, on top of everything else, I had to juggle keeping the story I knew out of the story I was telling. I couldn’t slip up and put in some detail that wasn’t in the newspaper accounts or the yearbook and open a whole other can of worms.

“Why are all ghost stories morality tales?” Finn asked, flipping through an old yearbook.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Jake—he seemed like this Knollwood golden boy,” Finn said. “Star of the tennis team, on the student council, popular, good-looking, successful, et cetera. Seems like he had it all, and then one day he cheats and falls from grace and becomes ever after this paradigm of failure that hangs over campus. It’s like he’s this specter of doom warning you what will happen if you stray outside the lines. Hence, morality tale.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” I said. My phone vibrated in my purse and I pulled it out. I had two missed calls from Dalton and one text message (Where r u?), and a slew of texts from Greyson.

Greyson: I’m sry I screwed things up for you. I just want to know that you’re ok. Plz text back.

I typed out a quick response. I was still pissed at him for what he had pulled with my father at Thanksgiving.

Me: I’m fine. Plz leave me alone.

I threw my phone back in my purse.

“Well, I must have done something right today,” Finn said.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because the epitome of masculine beauty has made an appearance, and, if I’m not mistaken, he’s headed this way.”

I turned my head and saw Dalton near the entrance, by the librarian’s desk. I whipped my head back around and picked up the book closest to me and buried my head in it, trying to shield myself from view. “Why do you think he’s headed this way?” I asked.

Finn rolled his eyes. “Because you’re here, and if you hadn’t noticed, Dalton kind of follows you around.”

“Do you think he saw me?” I asked, slouching down in my seat.

Finn’s face split into an ear-to-ear grin, which gave me my answer.

“There’s something about the way he walks that just gets me,” he said, leaning his chin onto the palm of his hand and staring unabashedly at what I was sure was the approaching figure of my boyfriend behind me. “It’s like the world is his runway. Do you think he’s had professional training?”

“We’re kind of in a fight,” I said. “A big one.”

Finn sighed. “The best part of my day is watching him in our Ethics and Morality seminar. He makes utilitarianism sound sexy.”

“Do you think I have enough time to make a stealthy exit?” I asked, starting to gather my things.