Good Girls Lie(30)
Ford puts the glasses in the sink, shuts off the lights. Washes up in the bathroom, then climbs into bed. She can smell him on her still, and it turns her on.
She is finally tired enough to sleep.
If anyone knew, she would be in so much trouble.
22
THE CROWNING
Breakfast is surreal. I’m sleep deprived, and everyone seems to be on max volume. I push my scrambled eggs around while Piper and Vanessa interrogate me about the summons, but I give them nothing of worth. I want to keep this to myself; besides, Camille can be counted upon to share the little bits I told her last night when she’s feeling better. So far, she’s ignoring all of us, looks utterly miserable, sniffing every once in a while.
They soon grow bored of my one-word answers and begin haranguing on about the creepy handyman they saw standing in the woods, watching the soccer team warm up. I tune them out. Their little melodrama isn’t my problem.
No, what I woke worried about was Becca’s strange request. I didn’t lie to her; I can hack the dean’s email. Was the request really a test? Or was it something more? It smells like a setup. Am I being tested on my loyalty to the school? To the Honor Code? I feel damned either way—report Becca and lose her trust forever, don’t report the request and break the Honor Code. A conundrum.
As if she knows I’m thinking about her, Becca calls my name and waves me over to her table. Vanessa’s eyes grow wide, and Piper looks suitably impressed. Only Camille doesn’t seem overawed. Honestly, I’m relieved to cross the room, until I realize all eyes are on me. Bugger.
“Join us,” Becca commands, and I scramble to comply, taking the seat next to her. The table is comprised of the same tittering group of girls who surrounded Becca our first day. All are dressed in their school robes, black-and-white stoles around their necks.
“This little bird is a quiet one. But we’ll get her to open up. Won’t we?”
The girls chirp their assent, and then the barrage begins, the questions coming so rapid-fire I can’t keep up, and in some ways, I’m happy to just smile and blush and laugh a little, demurring, bowing under the influx.
“So, Ash. Your family in England, who are they?”
“How do you get your hair so full?”
“Who are better, Hampden Sydney boys or W&L?”
“Those boots are divine. Where did you get them?”
“Why can’t we find you on social media? Are you, like, a Quaker or something?”
“Which Ivy are you shooting for?”
This from Becca, and I answer “Harvard” to knowing nods.
“Excellent. Goode girls have a great legacy at Harvard. I received my early acceptance last month. Everyone else is waiting, but the letters will be coming any day now. Almost everyone at Goode gets snapped up on early admission. It’s a tradition, so we can focus on our studies instead of worrying about writing applications essays. One of the many perks of Goode.”
“It’s a lovely place,” I volunteer. “So old. I almost feel like I’m home. Of course, Oxford is very old, too.”
“She speaks,” Becca crows, delighted. “Tell us your favorite spot in Oxford. I’ve not been, Mother’s leashed me to her side and I haven’t been able to travel at all these past two summers. Though I will be applying for a Rhodes scholarship, so I need to know all the hot spots in town.”
“Assuming you get it,” Twin One says, and Twin Two sniggers.
“As if there is any question,” Becca responds smoothly. “I’m Becca Curtis. They’ll hand me a Rhodes without blinking. Now, Ash. What are your favorite hangouts? And are the boys adorable?”
Ah. I finally understand. Silly rabbit. The allure isn’t me, it’s what I know. Who I know. The styles, the places, the people. This I can handle. I know Oxford inside and out. Still, the crushing intensity of Becca and her minions is overwhelming. I haltingly begin to list the spots I know are the coolest hangouts and am saved by Camille, of all people. She stands nearby, clearing her throat as if afraid to approach, with Vanessa and Piper on either side.
“We’re going to be late for English, Ash. The bells. Aren’t you coming?”
The bells start tolling a moment later.
“I’ll be along.”
“Really, you shouldn’t be late.”
“You’re fine, Ash,” Becca says. “I’ll explain to Dr. Asolo why you’re tardy.”
I tense, not sure if I should run off with Camille or stay put until dismissed by the seniors, and the seniors are silent, watching this tiny drama unfold until Camille shakes her head in disgust and walks away.
“Don’t worry about her,” Becca says, smirking. “She’s just jealous you’re sitting with us now. Her sister was hot shit last year before she graduated. Camille is a head girl wannabe.”
* * *
I roll into English five minutes late thanks to Becca’s insistence I stay behind. Dr. Asolo’s lips purse and she says, “See me after class, Ash.” Camille’s victorious smile makes me flush and drop into my seat, head down.
After ninety minutes discussing feminist literature and social inequality in the 1800s, Asolo gives me a serious talking-to. One more tardy and I get JPs. I try to explain Becca was holding court, but Asolo is having nothing of it.