People Like Us(11)

I feel my face warm. “Tai could go pro someday. My friends and I have a lot to lose.”

“How dreary to be somebody,” Nola says.

I think about my brother. After he died, the newspaper articles focused on his athletic accomplishments and didn’t touch the kind of person he was, the good or the bad. Megan’s death was treated quite differently. She wasn’t a star athlete or a student at a prestigious prep school. There were articles, but they didn’t talk about her accomplishments, her hopes and dreams, everything that made her special. Only what happened to her.

“We all have a lot to lose,” I say. “Bates is a golden ticket. You don’t throw it away.”

The sun is beginning to set outside, and pink and orange rays filter in through the attic window and illuminate Nola’s pale face, making her eyes glow. “Why did Jessica?”





4


Before I go looking for Tai, I stop by Brie’s room to drop the Gatsby costume off. I pause outside before knocking to listen for signs that she’s busy and hear muffled giggling. Justine is visiting. Great. I smooth out the fine, silky layers of fabric and leave it on the polished wood floor next to her door, then head for the stairs. I hate being the constant borrower (and occasional thief), relying on friends, acquaintances, and even random students to provide my wardrobe during the hours we’re allowed to ditch our uniforms. But it’s necessary. The Gatsby costume is one of the most extraordinary things I’ve ever worn. The fabric made my skin feel electric. Daisy Buchanan was an exciting person to be. Sleek and sexy and a little dangerous. I’m sad to return her to Brie, but it’s too conspicuous of an item to “forget” to return.

When I step outside, the sun is bleeding over the lake, a bloom of fiery orange and red through the black knots of branches, giving the illusion that early autumn has returned. I head across the courtyard toward the athletic complex as the chapel bells ring out a tune I don’t recognize, and gaze back at the silhouette of the main campus. It’s stunning at sunset—like a cross between an Ivy League university and Hogwarts, with beautiful Gothic architecture, spindly towers, and quaint Elizabethan cottages.

Tai is practicing alone at the tennis court in the waning light. The school has indoor courts, but Tai likes to practice in all weather conditions because not all schools do. Her form is perfect as she elegantly swoops, arcs, and slices down on the ball. My chest muscles relax as I near the court, and I feel my shoulders drop reflexively. Tai has no reason to cheat. She is so far above the rest of the team that it’s actually embarrassing to watch them practice. My heart sinks again. Why is she so good?

I throw my hands up against the chain-link fence and growl like a zombie, and she whirls around and hurls her tennis racket at me.

“What the hell, Kay? I thought you were that lake girl for a second.” She shakes her damp hair out of her ponytail and combs it with her fingers. She’s dressed in a spotless white tennis outfit accented with the signature Bates scarlet.

That wipes the smile off my face. “Too soon.”

“Don’t sneak up on me.” She retrieves her racket and inspects it for scratches.

“Want to grab dinner?”

She makes a face. “People are going to be crying and acting all melodramatic like their mom died.”

Quintessential Tai. Her mom did die freshman year, but she drops this line with a straight face, and she’d be furious if I showed an ounce of sympathy. I punch her arm. “Someone did die.”

“But, like, no one important.”

“Seriously, Tai.”

She smiles, her lips cutting into a sharp, asymmetrical V shape. Tai has taut skin that makes it look like her hair is always being stretched back tight, even when it’s hanging loosely around her face; a sharp nose and jaw; and eyelashes and eyebrows so light, they’re invisible without makeup. “I am serious. Her friends should be sad. I remember this girl, though. She didn’t have Bates friends. She was a townie.”

“So we don’t feel bad because she wasn’t rich?”

Tai rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I said. Jessica Lane was a thief.”

I laugh out loud. “Everything I’ve read says she was Mother Teresa.”

“Well, she wasn’t. First year, we lived on the same floor, and my mother had sent this really beautiful box of designer soaps from Provence.”

“Jessica stole your soap?”

She grins, embarrassed, but I can see she’s actually upset. She doesn’t mention her mother very often. “I can’t prove it. But they were gone and she smelled like them. And I didn’t see my mother after that, or even hear from her again, so that was important soap.”

I link my arm through hers as we near the courtyard and the dorms. “Okay. She was a thief.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “So I stole her hard drive.”

“Why?”

“I gave it back. Just not until after our papers were due.” She sighs. “It’s the sort of thing that bugs you after someone dies. You remember little ways you wronged them. Even if they deserved it.”

A breeze blows my scarf up into my face and I remove my arm from hers to straighten it. Now or never. Just ask. “I need your advice.”

Misleading. Sometimes misleading is necessary.