Page 4 of House of Hearts

Birdie decides to live up to her namesake and cluck at me like a mother hen when I get back. She loops an arm over my shoulders, and I’m trapped in a one-sided conversation as she titters on about homesickness and how sweet it was that my mom cried and how it’s okay if I want to cry andandand —

And it’s exhausting, but I do my best to smile and nod when prompted. Thankfully, Birdie is so focused on parading us around that she fails to notice when my grin falters and my eyes skirt back to the stage. Calvin’s gone, but the imprint of him is seared in my mind.

Ahead of us, greenery spreads as far as the eye can see. It’s even on the lake across from us in the form of big, fat lily pads; the water beneath a stunning blue, the last traces of light reflecting clearly off the surface. I turn away from it to see two strangers sitting in front of me.

“Violet, meet the newspaper team behind the Hart Herald . The workaholic in front of you is Oliver Walton. He’s…

” She scrabbles for the right word before deciding to be mercilessly blunt.

“A total asshole most days, but he means well, so don’t let him scare you.

I swear he’s a big softie when he’s not lecturing people about em dash usage. ”

“I seem to recall winning that argument,” the boy—Oliver—remarks before snapping his journal shut. From our fleeting, split-second eye contact, I can say he’s rather good-looking. Warm black skin and lashes so long they tickle his cheeks.

“And the girl who likes him despite his grammatical tyranny is Amber Yamada.” She nods toward the girl sitting beside him. Her dark hair is gelled into a twist bun, and her skin is glowing beneath an embroidered Miu Miu dress.

Before I can say hello to either of them, Birdie’s gaze shoots down to the papers splayed on the ground. “Do I even want to know what you’re doing?”

“ It’s not a hit list ,” Amber says, involuntarily incriminating herself.

She points down at what most definitely looks like a hit list. That or a satanic ritual.

It’s complete with a pentagram of ripped-out yearbook pages, Hart Academy in the middle.

Red ink bleeds onto the page beneath her, and she scratches a circle over her next target.

“It’s a hit- on list for you, Bird. Because you’re painfully single and it’s depressing to all of us. ”

Birdie’s face beats a hot, telling red. “God, it must be hard being so delusional, but you make it look easy.”

“I’m serious!” Amber squawks. “It’s not a joke.”

“For starters, I’m not ‘ painfully single ,’?” Birdie returns, peppering the last two words with air quotes.

“Secondly, shouldn’t you be focused on your article about move-in day?

I’m over here snapping photos at the welcome ceremony, and you’re drafting the next season of The Bachelorette .

And thirdly, most importantly here, can either of you at least attempt to say hi to my new roommate? ”

I shimmy in place. “No one needs to say hi to me. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine . Amber, quit meddling and say hello. Oliver, pretend to care…and for the love of God, don’t try to indoctrinate her into your anti–em dash agenda.”

He swivels to me instantly. “Em dashes should be used sparingly, if at all, or you risk muddying the clarity of your article and minimizing the overall impact.”

“I’ll minimize your impact .”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” He rolls his eyes at Birdie, but I don’t miss the playful smirk lifting his cheeks. They jab at each other, but it’s obvious that this trio is stitched together by some tender thread, and it almost hurts to stand here, thinking of my own friendship unraveled.

“Oh, hi, Violet.” Amber’s voice rips me out of my own mind by the scruff. “From the ten seconds you’ve known Birdie, do you agree she’s hopelessly single?”

I don’t know what to say to that, but it turns out I don’t have to because Amber thrusts a yearbook page into my hands to read.

I squint at the rows of faces. Last year’s date is printed across the page, but that’s not what ages this.

There’s a face circled, but I’m distracted by the girl I see in the corner.

It’s Emoree’s photo, all five billion of her freckles and the gap-toothed grin she used to press her tongue to when she was lost in thought.

The starlight of her eyes when she smiled, radiant and alive to the world.

My gaze cuts briefly to the clock tower looming ahead. I shudder at the hour hand, the diligent beat of time that stops for no one.

I’m suddenly conscious of Birdie peering over my shoulder at the page. “I’m sorry, is that Calvin Lockwell you circled?”

I’m used to his social-media smiles, the smug gleam in his eyes, and the lipstick stains on the collar. This Calvin isn’t champagne-sprayed. He stares soberly at the camera, his expression more in line with a kenneled dog.

Amber shakes her head and points at the little scribble she made on the page. “Christ, no, sorry, that was a mistake. I’d never dream of setting someone up with Calvin. Total heartbreaker.” She taps the face beside him. “Sadie, on the other hand…”

I didn’t think anyone on this earth could make Birdie speechless, but I guess I was wrong. It takes her a solid ten seconds to regain her voice, and when she does, she’s bright crimson.

“Not so loud!” She swivels around to make sure no one is listening, as if she suspects someone paddling across the lake might run and tell Sadie that Birdie has a big, fat, embarrassing crush on her.

“Seconded,” Oliver groans, waving his notebook in the air at the three of us. “Some of us actually want to work here.”

“School hasn’t even started. The school paper can wait.

Relax a little, Olly.” Amber blows him a kiss, and he grumpily accepts it.

“I’m only trying to help you out. I know you’ve liked her for ages.

Plus, maybe if you two date, she’ll help get you into the Cards.

” She cuts a scathing look at her boyfriend.

“Lord knows Oliver’s no help with that. He won’t tell me anything. ”

The Cards, huh? Those words bring up memories of late-night calls with Em.

I guess that beats calling it “Percy’s Illuminati Club.

” I have to bite my tongue to keep from blurting out anything too obvious, but I immediately straighten my spine and direct my full attention to the conversation. “What are the Cards?”

“Well,” Amber taunts, her grin positively Cheshire, “why don’t you tell her?”

“You know I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Oliver retorts, doing his best to sound nonchalant but failing horribly as his voice notches up an octave. “I take my vows seriously. Isn’t that an admirable trait in a partner?”

“Not when it comes to keeping secrets from me ,” Amber huffs, blowing her cheeks out like a puffer fish.

He deflates her pout with a poke to the face. “Need I remind you that you’re a gossip columnist?”

“A gossip columnist that you love ,” she amends quickly.

Oliver’s ears flush pink. “I’m not debating that, but—I say this with all the love in the world—you can’t keep a secret. I already know my birthday and Christmas gifts, and it’s only September, so no, my lips are sealed. Sorry.”

She groans but eventually tips her head back in defeat.

“It’s a…student organization here at Hart,” Birdie fills me in.

“They have a private clubhouse and all sorts of special privileges, but since no one knows what it is that they do, well…you know how it is. Shroud anything in enough secrecy and it will take on a life of its own. Everyone has a theory. Everyone wants in.”

I toy with the straps of my duffel bag, playing with the frayed edges. “What sort of privileges do they have?”

“You’ll see, trust me,” Amber says. “Oliver only takes advantage of the boring perks—like having an after-hours library pass—but I swear they can get away with anything .”

I imagine a roomful of alibis and murder accomplices. Based on the five seconds I’ve known Oliver, he doesn’t seem like he’d care to get involved in any of that, but…

I take my vows seriously.

“To be fair, we know the basics about the Cards, like how everyone starts their four years off with a Joker.” Amber fishes through a Chloé bracelet bag to show me a worn-out playing card.

The jester on the front is creased and smudged from a cocktail of pen ink and concealer, a true testament to the three years it’s spent living in her $4,000 purse.

“It’s supposedly your ticket in, but once you submit it, you can never try out again.

You’ve got one shot to prove yourself to the Cards, and if you blow it at Joker Night, you’re done. ”

I swallow down the bulk of my questions. “What’s Joker Night?”

“That’s what everyone wants to know. All we know is that they pick new pledges that night.

We’re told the date and dress code each year, and that’s it.

Not what they’re looking for or what they want—none of that.

You show up at HOH—the House of Hearts — and hope to God they choose you…

And for reasons unknown, they picked Oliver. ”

“House of Hearts” summons an image in my mind—a memory of the school map printed across my frontal lobe.

I remember the house as a Gothic nightmare splayed out across the lawns, an enormous two-story building carved out of a different, bleaker era.

I’m tempted to pull out the school map and trace a pathway to it with my finger when I hear a voice shout out in the distance.

“Don’t walk away when someone’s having a conversation with you, Calvin!

” Sadie storms into my peripheral, and the smiling face she wore on the school stage is long gone.

She’s traded it for a sneer as she chases after her brother, but no matter how fast she power walks, he stays two steps ahead of her.