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FORTY-TWO

DANNI

I try my best to do what Rose said and distract myself, I swear, but nothing works. A part of me feels like I should pack, but that also kind of feels like giving up. So, I kill some time by practicing in the ballroom—for what might be the last time—and spend the whole session turning over every second of the last week in my mind while my fingers fly over the keys on muscle memory. It’s like I think if I ruminate for long enough, I’ll get a eureka moment. Nothing hits, though.

By the time the afternoon rolls around and people get out of class, there’s only one thing I can think of that I want to do.

Harriet seems surprised to see me. She keeps the doorway blocked with her body and gives me a look that says she’s not sure whether to bolt or not. I suck in a deep breath and try to give off calm vibes. “Hey. Can we talk real quick? In private?”

After a long, awkward pause, she steps aside. Her room is, as usual, neat. Like, startlingly neat. The way the bedsheets are folded and tucked in you’d think there’s a trained hospital nurse making it. She’s got no notes lying around, no textbooks strewn on the floor or jeans hanging over her computer chair. I guess it makes sense for an RA. Someone who’s got this much of a handle on their own room can surely be trusted to keep an eye on others’ rooms, right?

“I’m sorry, Danni,” she says.

Is it okay? Honestly, I don’t even know yet. This all happened because of her. I was outed because of her. She’s cost me my place at the school. She might have cost me Rose. All because, what? She didn’t think it was necessary to check in with me first before making out with me?

I just keep wondering, over and over and over. Did she kiss me without checking because she was that sure I’d want to? Or because she was sure I’d say no if she asked?

“Do you know who took that video?” I ask. “My memory’s really blurry.”

She leans against her desk and gestures toward her desk chair for me to sit. I stay standing. “A couple of Ashford guys,” she says. “They were trying to film themselves, I think. Or the party.”

“Do you have names for me?” I ask.

She raises an eyebrow. “Gilbert Carlton and Charlie Upwey. They’re friends with that Edmund guy you went skating with that time. You gonna get them for it?”

I’m not sure what I’m gonna do.

Harriet must like what she sees in my expression, though, because she smiles like a villain. “Good.”

For the first time something occurs to me. Harriet wasn’t out before this, either. I’ve been so preoccupied with resenting her and dealing with the online backlash, all of which seems to focus on me alone, that I missed that. I feel a surge of guilt. We’re not even letting her sit with us at meals. She and Florence have had to go off on their own. At least I have more than one person on my side at the moment.

“It’s been a shitty week,” I say.

She pushes off from her desk, takes a few unbalanced steps toward her bed, and falls backward on the mattress, crumpling up the perfect sheets. “Yeah. I’m sorry about… all of that.” When I don’t reply, she continues in a weird voice. “The headmaster told me what they’re doing to you. I hate him. I hate everyone right now. I’m waiting for it, you know? For the first person to come out and admit that they’re judging me.”

I hesitate, then sit on the bed next to her, looking ahead. “People have already started that with me,” I say. “It’s pretty much all over the internet. There are all these strangers out there now who hate me. Like, hate me. They don’t even know me.”

“Screw them all,” she says. “Screw every last one of them. Your friends know you. No one else matters.”

It still hurts, though, I want to say. And I don’t know if it’s something you get used to. People despising you without meeting you. Or if it keeps hurting every day for the rest of your life.

It’s not the first time I’ve felt like the world hates me. It is the first time I’ve been kind of right about that, though.

“My parents are barely talking to me,” she says in a thin voice. “I don’t know what’s going to happen now. Maybe they’ll have cooled off a bit by school holidays. Maybe it’ll be worse by then. Who knows?”

I wince. “I’m really sorry to hear that. You don’t deserve that.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m sorry to put that on you. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I just thought maybe you’d get it.”

“I do.”

“What about your parents?” she asks.

“They’ve been good.”

She breathes out, long and hard. I guess she was terrified I was going to give a different answer. That she’d taken my family from me, too.

“I did this to you,” Harriet whispers.

I shrug.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she presses.

I give her the side-eye. “So, what were you doing then? Why kiss me in public?”

Harriet’s round face turns pensive, and she runs a hand through her tangled hair. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“Danni, I…” She lets out a breath. “Look. I’ve known I’m bi for a long time. Pretty much forever. I’ve always been kind of… a serial romantic. I’ve had more crushes than you’d believe. And so. Many. Times. It’s been on a girl who could never, ever like me back. And every single time, I had to make sure the girl never realized how I felt. And you’re… my type. I liked you as soon as I met you. I thought you were straight, but then you weren’t, and I… I think I misread your signals. I promise, I thought you wanted me to kiss you. I was just drunk and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m so sorry.”

“You could’ve just asked . You could’ve even just slowed down and given me a chance to step back. You kind of ambushed me, Harriet.”

“I should have,” she agrees simply. “I just… I’ve never done it before, and I know it’s not an excuse, but I guess I just… I don’t know. You know, I’m almost eighteen? I’m practically eighteen, and I’ve never kissed anyone.”

“I don’t think that’s uncommon.”

“Maybe, but it feels it. It feels like everyone knows what they’re doing except for me. I’m the only one who has no idea, so I messed up every part of it, and I hurt you when that’s the last thing I wanted.”

I’m really tired suddenly. “Harriet, just… next time, give them a chance to say no.”

“I will. I promise. I will.”

“Good luck with your parents. I’m sure they’ll come around. Eventually.”

Her smile is tight. Something tells me she doesn’t think I’m right.

“Can we still be friends?” she asks.

I think back to the taste of her. The feel of her face too close to mine. The twisting, repulsed sort of fear. My heart starts racing—both at the memory, and because of my answer. Because I hate conflict, and I hate hurting people, but I don’t deserve to be hurt, either.

“I don’t really think I want that,” I say. “Not right now.”

Harriet nods.

There. I said it. And I survived it, too.

“Do you hate me?” she asks.

“No,” I say honestly, and she nods again.

And for now, that’s that. I leave, and I don’t feel good, exactly. Mostly just sad, and anxious.

But at least I don’t feel regret.