Page 76 of Good Girls Lie

“Yes. Mostly.”

“What do you mean, mostly?”

“I had to tell them I took a shower. And you weren’t in it with me.”

Becca looks stricken for a second, then anger crosses her angelic face.

“I gave you an ironclad alibi, and you tossed it away? How stupid are you?”

“First off, I don’t need an alibi. I didn’t do anything. Second, I couldn’t lie. They knew I’d showered, my hair and towel were wet, and they took apart the room. They asked if you were with me. Would you rather me lie and say we were showering together after hours?”

“You could have said it was Camille’s towel.”

I start to stand up. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand how this game is played. Don’t lie unless you need to? I signed the pledge, just like you did. I can’t get kicked out for lying about something so inconsequential.”

“But you’d let me? My God, Ash, you contradicted what I told the dean. I said I was with you all night. All you had to do was say the same. Then we’d both be covered. Instead, now there’s a time gap, and it looks like I was trying to cover something up.”

“Were you?”

The words are out of my mouth before I can think. Becca’s anger turns to rage, billowing across her face, and I move so quickly I knock over the chair. I’ve only seen that look from one other person, and it scares me to the bone. I know what follows, and brace myself.

Becca, though, doesn’t move. The color slowly drains from her face. I’m backed against the wall, waiting for the punches to come, to land, but Becca is frozen on the couch.

A breath. Another.

Slowly, I detach myself, flexing my hands. My shortened, clipped but unfiled nails have bitten into the thin skin of my palms; blood wells. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I was thoughtless.”

Becca speaks softly, a thin veneer of sadness over her words. “You thought I was going to hit you. That I could hurt you. After everything I’ve done, to help you adjust, to help you fit in, to cover for you, to pave your way, to be your friend, you thought I was going toattackyou?”

How many ways will I screw this up?

“I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice small, meek. I never used to apologize like this. I never used to be so weak.

“You don’t know much about friendship, do you, Ash?”

“This is a strange kind of friendship, Becca. You’re mean to me, alternately ignore me, then are nice and kind, lie for me, interrogate me, scream at me. I don’t get you.”

I sag into the chair again, put my face in my hands. The springs on the sofa squeak, then I feel Becca’s arms go around me. I wait, unmoving, not leaning toward her, not accepting the hug.

After a moment, Becca peels my hands from my face, searching for the tears she’s sure are there. Though I’m not crying, I don’t meet her eyes. I am surprised when I feel her breath on my face.

The kiss is soft. Gentle. Sweet.

Then the pressure increases. A hand goes into my hair, pulling my ponytail back gently so my mouth is forced to tip open. Becca’s tongue is warm, shockingly so, and I feel a rush move through me, longing, desire, and suddenly, I’m gasping for breath.

I’m confused by the emotions I’m feeling. Do I want this? This girl-woman who tortures me with sweet kisses and cruel words? Yes, I do. No, I don’t.

Becca is emboldened by me not pulling away. The kiss deepens. Her long, slim hand slides under my shirt, grazing my ribs, moving up until she’s softly cupping my left breast. She flicks her thumb across my nipple. Another surge courses through me, one so unexpected and strange that I stiffen and swat away her hand.

Becca laughs into my mouth and draws me closer, tucking my body into hers. The hug is almost as intimate as the kiss. Becca rests her face against my chest.

“Sorry, little bird. No reason to rush. We have all year to get to know each other. It’s going to be so much easier now that we both have singles. At least you were wearing my gift tonight. You looked pretty in my shirt. Did you like it? I’m sorry they took it away.”

“No. I mean, I’m—”

Becca jerks away. “You’re what?”

My mind is a whirling mess. I can’t form the proper words. Because I can’t let anyone get too close. It’s too dangerous. I’m too dangerous.You gave me the shirt? The shirt that the police took into evidence? The shirt with the tear in it?