Page 26 of Good Girls Lie

17

THE SUMMONS

Dinner is crazed, as only the first few days of classes must be, but coupled with the news of a dead teacher, the hall is incredibly loud.

The students are either zombified or frantic. New friendships have blossomed; tablemates change freely as alliances are struck, cliques formed. The buzz is electric, the hive at work. In the middle sits the queen bee, Becca Curtis, serene as a country brook. Her very being commands attention, allegiance.

I watch quietly, eating another Cobb salad with grilled chicken, drinking ice-cold water. The box from Muriel’s office sits in my bag, taunting me. I ignore it, watch the scene unfolding before me.

These very rich girls and their privileged lives are at once familiar and alien. They have a sense of intimacy with each other; they’re more like sisters than friends. Traditionally isolated by my circumstances as an only child, I am both fascinated and jealous. They fit together so clearly. Will I always be on the outside, looking in?

If I keep killing people, yeah, probably.

Accident, accident, accident...

Camille pushes away her plate, those doll eyes shining. “Ash, I heard you had a private coaching session with Dr. Hot. Is it true?”

“Dr. Hot? Oh, you mean Dr. Medea? Yes, we talked after class. I would hardly call it a private coaching session. We’re to do tutorials going forward.”

Vanessa throws me a smug smile. “Better be careful. The dean won’t like it if she hears about it.”

“I think it might be hard for the faculty to avoid being alone with students if they’re ever to counsel them.”

“What did you need counseling about?” Vanessa snaps back.

“He liked the code I wrote and realized I had more experience than the rest of the class. That’s all. Nothing exciting about it.”

“Au contraire, mon frère. I heard you tested out entirely and he’s going to be tutoring you privately. One-on-ones with Dr. Hot. Better make sure he keeps it in his pants, or you’ll be in major trouble.” Vanessa looks both triumphant and angry. I fear she has taken a dislike to me.

“Where do you hear all of these things?”

She shrugs, but Piper leans over with a conspiratorial grin.

“She’s just jealous because she has the hots for Dr. Medea. I’ve heard he’s really quite brilliant. If you’re getting one-on-ones from him, I’d say you’re either extremely talented or extremely lucky.”

“Maybe both? I feel quite lucky.”

“I’m sure you do, bitch,” Vanessa says, voice laden with sarcasm.

No. We are not doing this anymore.

“Stop it. I am not a threat to you. I don’t like it when you pretend to be all tough and cool. And what were you doing in my room earlier?”

“I wasn’t in your room.”

“I saw you. The bells had just rung. You were in the window looking out on the quad. I assumed you and Camille—”

“I wasn’t in your room. Was I, Camille?”

Camille, who’s gotten distracted watching a group of seniors playing some kind of seated game of Duck Duck Goose with their waitron, shakes her head. “Nope. I haven’t been back to the room since I left this morning. You must have had the wrong window, Ash. They all look alike from the outside anyway.”

I prefer not to mention I’ve counted them inside and out, in case I ever need to depart in a hurry, that I know exactly which one is ours because of the small trail of thick ivy that forks three times just below the sill, so I sit silently, chewing the inside of my lip. They’re lying. I know they’re lying. I know what I saw.

There is a gentlethwackby my elbow, and I draw my attention back to the table. A waitron has dropped a creamy envelope, which sits askew on my knife. My name is spelled out—black ink, elegant cursive, the letters drawn carefully and precisely. Camille, who’s been picking at her food, snatches it up immediately.

“What’s this?”

“An envelope. Give it back.”