Page 27 of Good Girls Lie

“‘Please return my property’ is the more polite way to phrase it, Ash. Gawd, don’t be so touchy.”

If I murder her in her sleep, will anyone blame me?

“Camille, please return my property.”

“There, that wasn’t so bad. We’ll tame the savage in you yet.” She giggles and tosses the envelope at me, winking at Vanessa.

“What’s the note? Is it a love letter from Dr. Hot?” Vanessa asks.

I roll my eyes and crack the wax seal, thick and red as fresh blood, slide a finger under the edge of the envelope. The card inside is heavy stock. Three words are written on it in black ink, the same flourishing script as the envelope.

Fourth floor. 10:00 p.m.

“What is this?”

Camille takes it from me, and her eyes grow wide and wild. “My God, it’s an invitation to the attics.”

“An invitation to the attics. And you’ve been here two days. What the hell, Ash?” Vanessa’s newest indignation puts me on alert.

“I have no idea what this is. I take it this is unusual?”

“You’re asophomore. No one gets to go to the attics without a written invitation, but no sophomores, ever.”

“But I don’t know any seniors.”

As I say it, I feel eyes on me, coolly appraising, and turn to see Becca Curtis, four tables over, staring. The goddess has spoken. All hail the goddess.

I whirl back around. “Oh, God. You don’t think it’s fromher, do you?”

“Her, meaning Becca?” Camille laughs, but the sound is joyless. “You did make an impression. Listen, Ash, don’t worry. She probably just wants an apology. She’ll embarrass you a few times, make you grovel, and it will all be over quickly.”

“I won’t go.”

But even as I say it, the draw of being in the attics, seeing them, makes the words ring hollow in my ears. I don’t want to draw attention to myself, yet being singled out by this girl makes my heart flutter in my chest and my mouth go dry. I want to be singled out. I want it very badly.

“Quite a day for our mad Brit,” Vanessa says, and while it sounds like she’s teasing, and she’s smiling, I can’t help but think she’s genuinely furious at the unbidden attention.

18

THE WAITING

The hours drag between dinner and my appointment in the attics. I check my watch so often Camille leaves in disgust to study in the sewing circle—the nickname for the grouping of couches on the landing where the girls hang out, chatting and gossiping, sneaking tokes off vape pens in the bathroom, listening to music, and occasionally studying.

Alone, with another hour before my rendezvous, I do something I’ve promised not to do. Something the dean said yesterday has been niggling at me. I activate the VPN on my computer, override the school’s meager parental block on the Wi-Fi, open a browser called Brave that doesn’t track my actions (bravo, Brave!), then a private window, and type a name into the browser. The hits pile up, the most immediate a story from theGuardian. At the headline, my eyes go swimmy.

SIR DAMIEN CARR’S DEATH INVESTIGATION CLOSED

Banker Died of Drug Overdose, Inquest Confirms

London Wire

29 August, 2020

Chadwick Staff

The coroner’s court today recorded a verdict of misadventure in the July death of Sir Damien Carr, Viscount Eldridge. Carr, a graduate of Eton who read law at Cambridge and subsequently became one of London’s premier wealth managers, was found unresponsive in his home in Westminster this past 14 July.

Carr was known for his unrelenting desire to keep a discreet and low profile in the industry, and this moral rectitude was one of his hallmarks, making him one of the most sought-after wealth managers in London. He served on several boards and was thought to be in line to be named as under-treasurer for the chancellor of the exchequer. The position was filled by John Bamforth, Carr’s former associate in the financial firm, only last week.