Good Girls Lie(37)

“I think she’s okay.” The defense is half-hearted at best.

“No, you don’t. You can’t stand her, or her little dogs, either. I see how you recoil when they come near you. They are never going to be your mates.”

At the terrible British accent, Ash laughs, and Becca’s heart does a tiny dance.

“We haven’t had any real issues, she’s been decent to me. For the most part.”

“So you think. Has she been openly mean?”

“Just at the beginning of term. She was sick and wouldn’t let me help. Went to Vanessa. The two of them... Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Ash takes a thoughtful drag. “But Camille wanted to take me to Honor Court about this? Allow me to remove the knife from between my ribs. Oh, yes, I can’t reach it, it’s in my back. Could you help?”

Becca spits out a laugh, and Ash smiles shyly. Clever boots, this girl.

“Speaking of, I did want to raise this issue with you. It’s not an Honor Code violation per se, but you really should make an appointment and tell the dean that word is out. She’ll appreciate the heads-up. We don’t want her put in any awkward situations.”

“Okay. I will. We thought it best to try to keep my family drama off the radar. I should have changed my first name, too, but I was worried... It was stupid, trying to pretend everything was okay. I suppose it was inevitable someone would find out about...their deaths. I never thought so many people would care, truth be told. I mean, I didn’t. Not about my father, at least.”

“You weren’t close?”

“No, not at all.”

There is a sharpness in her tone that stings Becca’s heart.

“I’m sorry.” Becca reaches out a hand and tucks a few strands of loose hair behind the younger girl’s ear. “So sorry,” she says quietly.

Ash freezes, shoulders suddenly tight, then unfolds herself from the ground like a young crane, dropping the last of the cigarette and grinding it out with the toe of her boot.

“Listen, Becca, you’ve been really kind today, I appreciate it. But I need to be alone now. Thanks.”

Ash takes off into the arboretum, and Becca watches her go, the long, lean body so perfect, only interrupted by the wet bottom of her gown, the damp darkness cutting her in half. She shouldn’t be alone in the forest, but it’s daytime, she’s heading toward town and Becca thinks Ash will run from her if she tries to stop her.

She’s glad they had a chance to chat. She’s been waffling about what to do tonight, but no longer.

Decision made, she pops a piece of gum in her mouth, sprays some perfume a foot away and walks through the cloud to help dissipate the smoke scent she knows will cling to her clothes otherwise.

There is much to do. Much to do.

She whistles as she walks back to the school.



28

THE HATE

Look at them. Sitting so sweetly in the moss.

They fit together so well.

They could be sisters.

They could be lovers. They probably are. She’s probably been fucking this girl and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Stupid girl.

This can’t go on, not anymore.

She can’t get close to anyone, or everything will be destroyed. And I’m not ready for things to go south yet.



29

THE FLIRTATION

I haven’t been alone in town before. I shouldn’t be cutting, there’s a computer tutorial this morning, and Dr. Medea will be hacked off when he realizes I stood him up. But I don’t want to go back. Not now. I can’t face them, leering and curious. And Becca made me feel weird. Touching me like that, she was almost tender. Like a real friend. A close friend.

And we are not friends. Not by a long shot. No, I expect Becca just wants to be nosy and find out more so she can use it against me somehow.

It’s cold and damp, the wind picking up as I walk down the street. There’s no question I’m skipping class; even though I’ve bundled my gown into my bag, I’m wearing my Goode School uniform. And I don’t fit in. Even now, with the uniform screaming I am one of you, I am apart, solitary.

I wander from storefront to storefront—the hairdresser, the dress shop, the laundry, the pub—until the rain starts again. The coffee shop where the girls like to hang out on the weekend while they do their laundry, The Java Hut, is three doors down from where I stand. I hurry in, shaking out my ponytail.

The air is redolent of coffee beans. It is such an American smell. I’m used to the must of old buildings packed with books and antiques and carpets that have seen too many wars to count, and the wafting scent of scones overlaid with tea, but not coffee. Wet wool and cold stone and spilled lager and blood, the scents of my people.

The coffee shop is empty. It’s like no one in town exists except for when the girls come to spend their money in the shops. It’s creepy, Marchburg, creepy and strange. The buildings feel shallow against the two-lane roads, like in a Western movie, just fronts with no rooms inside, the streets almost empty as if the residents know a shoot-out is about to take place. Or rabid dogs are going to come screaming around the corner, or hordes of spiders will start carousing down the storefront walls.

My imagination is in overdrive today. A shiver passes through me and I debate just heading back to school, taking my lumps. As I told Becca, it was bound to happen, the girls finding out about my parents, no way I was going to be able to keep it quiet forever. Still, I’m overcome with disappointment. All I’ve done is try to keep people away so they won’t find out about my life in England. Now even that’s crumbling at my feet. I’ve failed in the one stupid thing I’m supposed to be managing perfectly—keeping my past to myself.