Good Girls Lie(35)

Camille’s china-blue eyes shine. Hands shaking, she examines the envelope from all angles, cracks open the wax seal, and draws out the note.

Fourth floor. 10:00 p.m.
The same instructions I received. Camille looks up, pupils dilated in pleasure. A small smile plays on her lips. I can practically read her mind.

It is so good to be singled out. This could make me at Goode, like Ash’s audience did for her.

Vanessa, face twisted in anger, snatches the note away.

“Who did you two blow to get in Becca Curtis’s good graces?”

And...we’re back to normal. I shoot down my orange juice and gather my things.

“Shut up, Vanessa. You’re just jealous.”

“You and I are going to have words soon, Ash. Or should I say, Ashlyn?”

One extra syllable and I feel the blood drain from my head. “My name is Ash. I told you before.”

“Oh? Funny. I thought your name was Ashlyn Carr. Daughter of Sylvia and Damien Carr. The late Lady Sylvia and Sir Damien Carr. Or am I mistaken?”

Vanessa’s smile is feral. I fight to keep my breathing steady.

“Wherever did you hear that?”

“Ooh, it’s true, isn’t it?” Piper says. “Does the dean know you’re using a fake name?”

Camille is shaking her head, both hands up. “Stop, you guys. Stop right now. We agreed...”

Everyone is staring at me. All the students in the vicinity have frozen, forks halfway to mouths. They are all listening. They all know. Camille’s words—we agreed—how long have they suspected the truth? Why did they go searching for information?

You should have told them something, given them something. But I didn’t want to lie about this, not with the Honor Code front and center like a matador’s cape.

“Report yourself, or we’ll do it for you,” Vanessa says. She has clearly been planning to drop this bomb at the perfect moment. Now that she has the upper hand, I’m hardly surprised to see her turn the screw.

Panic floods my system, my vision blurs. Adrenaline or tears, I don’t know which, but I’m going to fall apart in a moment if I don’t do something. I can’t stand here in the dining room denying my parentage, that would be a lie, and if they know the truth, lying about it will get me into trouble.

How did they find out?

What else do they know?

I think back to Becca’s request for me to hack the dean’s email... Did she find someone else to do it for her? Was Becca looking for information on me, not herself? Oh, bollocks. Great big bloody bollocks.

I bolt. There’s nothing else for me to do. My bag slams against my hip as I run, the sharp edge of my laptop digging into the soft flesh of my thigh with every step. I don’t care about the pain, I just want to get away. It’s too much. I don’t want to do this anymore. Balancing my old life and new is just too hard.

I knew something felt wrong.

The dining room is on the west edge of campus and leads to the arboretum. This is the refuge I seek now. My precious little fairy glen. I’ll hide here, maybe until dark, maybe forever. The trees, rattling in the breeze as their leaves begin to fade, still provide a great deal of cover. Shelter.

The arboretum is dark and cool. Quiet. The rain has stopped. I find a mostly dry patch of grass and moss under the spreading branches of my favorite hemlock. Whip the strap of my bag over my head and sink to the damp ground, wiping away the tears from my cheeks.

I have been so exposed the past few weeks, like a raw nerve ending on a sore tooth, being prodded and looked at and whispered about. Whatever was I thinking coming here? I want to go home. Back to the rolling hills of Oxfordshire.

Sadly, this isn’t possible. I have no home, not anymore. No parents. No life back in England. I’m stuck here. I am officially under the dean’s wing, her responsibility.

I pause my crying jag.

I could go to Westhaven. But what will the dean say? What will she do? “The girls found out the truth, so sorry, Ash, we’ve done our best to keep your past hidden, chin up, we’ll get you through this.”

Like that will help.

I have an overwhelming urge for a cigarette. There are three left in the pack I smuggled in, hidden inside the toe of my flats. It would mean going back to the dorm, though, and I’m not ready to face them, not until I get myself back together. Figure out how to handle this mess.

“Fuck!”

“Language,” comes a quiet voice, and Becca Curtis steps around the trunk of the tree.



27

THE SENIOR

Ash looks so fragile, so alone. To have your private world laid bare in front of your friends—Becca knows how hard this is. Ash is clearly a rookie when it comes to having her dirty laundry aired; Becca lives with it every day. Not only under the scrutiny of her mother, last summer, Becca became a Twitter meme for one of her stupid antics. A crazy night in Georgetown that got totally out of hand was turned into a great, arty, black-and-white short film called Vomitous Key Bridgius. It was posted on Snapchat and TikTok, where it was amusing for the short amount of time it existed, but instead of disappearing into the ether like everyone else’s snaps, someone captured it, posted it to Twitter, and suddenly, it was everywhere. Even the Washington Post did a story, the perils of teen drinking, blah, blah. She was mortified, and her mother... Well, suffice it to say the senator wasn’t well pleased. Becca had been grounded for weeks.