Page 13 of Good Girls Lie

“Ivy Bound? What is that?”

“It’s a secret society.Thesecret society. Goode has quite a few, but Ivy Bound is the cream of the crop. It’s the one everyone wants to be tapped for.”

“If it’s secret, how does everyone know about it? And what’stappedmean?”

“Shhh!” A sharp whisper behind us.

“Later,” Vanessa says quietly. “Pay attention like a good little mad Brit.” Her grin is infectious, and I relax, put my attention to the front of the chapel.

The professors have filed in and taken their seats. There is Dr. Asolo, who seems to be having a joke with the woman next to her, small, older, with a silvery bun knotted on top of her head. Most are unremarkable, outside of Asolo and one devilishly handsome man on the far left. He’s younger than the rest, and I know this is Dr. Medea, the computer science professor. He alone sits at attention; the rest look alternately bored and tired. Moments later, when they sit up straight, all the girls rise. I leap to my feet with them as Dean Westhaven comes from the wings and steps behind the pulpit.

The dean waits until there is complete silence in the room before she begins to speak.

“Welcome to Goode, ladies. Welcome. I am Dean Westhaven, though you all know me already, either from our interactions here on campus or, if you’re new to the school, through our entrance interviews.”

A small, pale hand goes to the side of the dean’s perfectly coiffed hair, patting and smoothing it into place. I watch the gesture with interest. She’s nervous. Why?

“To matriculate from Goode is more than good fortune, it is to seize the future. The statistics don’t lie—of the fifty graduates sitting before me today, the class of 2021, all of you will graduate, and all of you will go to college. Why? Because I, your dean, expect nothing less. Your fellow students expect nothing less. Your families expect nothing less. You will excel because that is what Goode girls do.

“You are here to learn. You will work harder than you have ever worked before. You will serve your classmates and this community.

“Never forget, it is a privilege to receive this education. It is your responsibility to step into the world with grace and dignity and an inquisitive brain. You are the leaders of tomorrow. Be a leader today. Show me, your fellow students, your professors how very special you all are. You have each been chosen to have a place behind the redbrick wall. When you leave these corridors, when you are no longer protected by our traditions and our campus life, you will always be safe in the world, because you bear the stamp of Goode on your soul.

“It is vital for you to understand how important a female-only education is to your future. You will be tried—it is our lot in life—and when faced with any sort of animosity or barrier because of your gender, you will have every tool imaginable at your behest. That is what Goode does for you. Yes, you will go to college. But it is more important to recognize the power you are being given. The power of the sisterhood.

“Look to your left. Look to your right. These young women are your future. The investment you make in yourself is an investment in them, as well. Together, we all rise. Together, we are strong. Always remember your sisters.”

With a benevolent smile, the dean raises her hands and clasps them in front of her, palm to palm.

“Together,” she says.

“Together,” the room echoes as one, teachers and students linked together.

“Now, if you please, we will recite the Honor Code.”

Two hundred girls draw a quick breath and speak as one, their voices filling the chapel to the rafters, repeating the words I said in the dean’s office. This is our official claim, our pledge, our sacred word and bond. It is not unlike reciting a confession. The power of it rings through me. This is what it means to belong to something bigger than yourself.

“...On my honor.”

Dean Westhaven touches one hand to her heart, then exits the pulpit, and the chapel resumes its role as school beehive, the girls buzzing with excitement. Convocation is over. Term has officially begun.

10

THE QUITTER

As instructed, I find my way from the chapel to Muriel Grassley’s lair in the Adams Theater.

Grassley looks like she should be the subject of a modernist painting. Her face is square, her eyes almond, her lips overly lush—almost certainly the work of a needle, not God. Her brown hair is liberally dosed with gray as if she’s walked through a cobweb. She wears flowing robes of turquoise and purple, silver rings stacked on her slim fingers. She is loud and brash, and I immediately like her.

Which is going to make the next hour of my life very hard.

The music lab is in the back of the Adams Theater, facing the mountains. Like many of Goode’s buildings, glass is the predominant feature. The vista coupled with the sea of blue-green trees is striking. Happily, the piano faces into the room, instead of out. I’ll never be able to focus if I face the windows.

“Ash? I’m Muriel. Come here, let me see you.”

I dutifully cross the room to the woman in blue. I dig in my bag and extract a small gold box with a silver ribbon, which I set on top of the piano.

Those bee-stung lips part into a gigantic smile. “Welcome to Goode! I’m so excited to meet you. You brought me a gift?”