Page 16 of Good Girls Lie

Camille tosses her head. “I said, which Ivy are you shooting for?”

“Oh. Harvard.”

“Naturally,” she drawls in a most annoyed voice, “but what’s yoursecondchoice? Not everyone gets into Harvard, you know.”

“I like my chances,” I say lightly. My chances can be helped along at any time by a few clicks on a keyboard, but there’s no reason to brag. Camille has that corner covered. But this is dangerous territory.Back to you, roomie.“Tell me about DC. I wasn’t able to spend any time there.”

Off she goes.

I have to admit, I didn’t know what I was in for, agreeing to go to dinner with these three intimate strangers, but by the time the dessert plates are cleared, I know one thing for sure—I really need to watch myself. These are friends to be kept at a distance, especially the way Camille gossips. But the buffer they provide is vital, as is their intelligence on the strange world of Goode. If I’m totally friendless, a loner, I’ll stand out even more.

Our plates have just been cleared when whispering starts on the other side of the dining hall, growing quickly, a tidal wave moving through the room.

I catch the name Grassley. The piano teacher.

“What is it?” I ask. “What’s happened?”

A waitron stops by the table. “They’ve had to take Dr. Grassley to the hospital. Some sort of allergic reaction.”

Oh, bloody fucking hell.

I dive into my bag and paw through, digging until I find the gold box with the silver bow. I flip it over and look at the ingredients label:Manufactured in a facility that is allergen-free.

Oh, my God. What a horrible, careless mistake. I gave her the wrong chocolates.

Jet lag, fear, whatever excuse I can come up with, I grabbed the wrong box from the depths of my bag.

I excuse myself and take off at a run, though I really don’t know where to go outside of the dean.

Halfway to her office, I slow.

What is this going to look like? I gave the woman a dose of chocolates that made her sick. And I’m trying to get out of piano. Will they think...?

Stop. None of this matters.You have to own up to this. The box will have both your fingerprints and the shop’s address. Broad Street, Oxford, England. You can hardly play dumb. You’re such a fucking idiot. Way to go, Ash. That’s how to fly under the radar, for sure.

I start running again, skid to a stop in front of the dean’s office. Her assistant, Melanie, is there, and I don’t even have to fake the tears that start when I ask to see the dean.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

“I just heard about Dr. Grassley. Will she be all right?”

Dean Westhaven emerges from her inner sanctum, looking appropriately alarmed.

“Ash? What’s wrong?”

“I heard about Dr. Grassley. Is she... Is she?” I collapse into sobs. God, this is too hard. I want to go home.

For the second time today, I am enfolded in a hug. It’s the most mothering I’ve had in years. The dean strokes my hair, murmuring until I calm down.

“There, there. You’re okay. Muriel will be fine. She had her EpiPen, she went to the hospital just in case. I’m sure she’ll be back quite soon. It happens, Ash. Accidents happen.”

EpiPen. She has an EpiPen. Maybe she’s going to be okay after all.

“Did she say anything about our meeting today?”Don’t be so freaking suspicious, jerk.I sniff, hard. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to fall apart like this. It’s only I told her I didn’t want to play piano anymore, and then she got sick—”

“Ash, this is not your responsibility. She’s had an allergic reaction, but they caught it in time. She’s going to be just fine. This happens at least once a term with Muriel, it’s a hard allergy to manage. Now, what’s this about the piano? It’s part of your scholarship.”

Careful now, careful.