The It Girl(29)

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but those shoes are an insult to that top. What size are you?”

“Six,” Hannah said. She knew her expression must look mutinous. The shoes were basic, but they looked totally inoffensive to her eye. And so what if she couldn’t afford April’s designer sandals? Not everyone was the heir to a city fortune.

But April wasn’t paying her any attention, she was too busy rooting through a tangle of shoes in the bottom of her wardrobe. Two pairs of Louboutins flew past Hannah’s knees, followed by a single Jimmy Choo sandal. And then April straightened, holding a pair of deep green Manolo Blahniks. They were crocodile embossed leather, open-toed, and about three inches higher than Hannah’s usual style.

“There. These are a loan, by the way, they’re one of my favorite pairs. But don’t worry about scuffs, I’ve worn them outside already.”

Done protesting, Hannah slipped her feet into the shoes. They were extremely high, and for a moment she teetered, but then she caught her balance and stood, looking at herself in the mirror. Behind her, April pulled Hannah’s hair out of its clip and shook it loose over her shoulders. A different person looked back at Hannah from the mirror. Taller. More confident. Rocking her designer top and shoes like she was born to it. The shoes picked out the green in her eyes, and the ivory set off her pale skin and dark hair. She looked like she was beautiful. She looked like she was one of April’s friends.

“There,” April said, her face so close to Hannah’s that Hannah could feel her breath on her ear. “You look majestic.”



* * *



IT WAS JUST A COUPLE of days later that Hannah found herself putting the poplin top back on, braless this time, and making up her eyes with smoky eyeshadow and liner. Finally, she put on a swipe of dark red lipstick—but she knew as soon as she’d done it that it was a mistake; it made her mouth look comically huge and with the dramatic eyes, the effect was clownishly overdone. Instead, she wiped it off with a tissue, leaving a faint flush that somehow made her mouth look as if she had just been roughly kissed. That unaccustomed stranger from the other day stared back at her from the little mirror above her desk.

“April,” she called, picking her way carefully out into the living room. “What do you think?”

There was the rattle of a door handle, and April appeared in the doorway to her room. She was wearing makeup herself, pale face and scarlet lips, and a devastatingly simple black silk sheath that showed the hollows of her collarbones and the lines of her white throat and made her golden hair glow like it was electrified.

“Perfect,” she said, smiling broadly. “You look a million dollars.”

“I ought to,” Hannah said ruefully. She looked down at the shoes. “I’d better not ask how much these cost or I’ll be terrified of snapping a heel. Are you going out?”

“I am,” April said, and her smile turned wicked. “But not far. I’m coming with you.”

Hannah felt her insides turn over.

“Oh… April, I’m so sorry—it’s a party for his students. And not all of them—he didn’t invite Miles even. I’m sorry, I feel really bad. I should have explained.”

“You did,” April said. She knelt down beside the minifridge in the corner of the room, where Hannah kept the milk for her morning coffee, and pulled out a bottle of Dom Pérignon. “But I don’t care. I’m coming. Oh, don’t worry,” she added, as Hannah began to protest. “I’ll make it clear you didn’t invite me. But gatecrashing is my very favorite occupation.”

She straightened, tucking the bottle under her arm.

“Anyway. Dr. Myers is rather dishy. I’m not letting you have him all to yourself.”

For a long moment Hannah just stood, looking at April in helpless exasperation, unsure whether to be angry or push back—and then she caved.

“Fine. I guess I can’t stop you. But don’t follow me in, or it’ll look like I invited you.”

“Fine,” April shot back. “In fact, you know what, I’ll lead the way.”

And before Hannah could stop her, she opened the door to the set, stalked across the hallway, and rapped loudly on Dr. Myers’s door.

The door opened and the sound of chamber music carried across the hall on a wave of student laughter, followed by Dr. Myers’s voice, full of welcome and bonhomie.

“Hello!” And then, slightly puzzled, “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

“Hi.” There was no embarrassment in April’s voice, and peering through the crack in the door, her face flushed with preemptive mortification, Hannah saw her stick out a hand and lean confidentially in towards Dr. Myers. “I’m your neighbor, April. I heard a rumor that your end-of-term drinks parties were the hottest ticket in Pelham, but my friend…”—she paused just long enough to make Hannah nervous—“Joanne told me that I would never get in, because I wasn’t clever enough. She bet me a bottle of champagne that I wouldn’t get past the door, but I thought perhaps I could persuade you to drink the winnings…?”

She held out the bottle of Dom Pérignon and trailed off, smiling up at Dr. Myers, her expression an intoxicating mix of pleading, adoration, and just a tiny little touch of flirtation.

“Well.” Hannah heard Dr. Myers’s voice take on an amused quality, and she saw him look April up and down, taking in the willowy limbs, the slim fragile neck, the expensive sheath dress with—Hannah strongly suspected—no underwear beneath. Finally his eyes alighted on the champagne. “Dom Pérignon Oenothèque. Well, well, well. We can’t have Joanne furthering the reputation of this college as an elitist establishment, can we?”