Good Girls Lie(52)

“We better go on up, just to see.”



41

THE PLAN

I walk from window to window trying to see what’s happening. Dr. Asolo has gone to fetch Becca. She won’t tell me why I’ve been pulled out of bed and marched to the attics but considering they’re bringing Becca, I have to assume we’ve been busted for the goings-on in the cabin. The tap, come back to bite me already.

I shouldn’t be surprised by this, but I am. I’ve had the sense that the school is proud of the secret societies. Not openly encouraging them, but doing nothing to stop them. Stomps happen regularly, and tonight’s tap hadn’t exactly been quiet. So why are we getting in trouble now?

The only real rule that’s inviolable is not lying and cheating. The rest of it—Goode certainly has a girls will be girls mentality. I’m familiar with the sentiment. It exists back home, too. The rules just don’t apply to certain kinds of people. The right kind of people, as my mother would say. If you have money, privilege, you can get away with most anything.

I am woozy from the alcohol, the Benadryl, the Ecstasy, sheer tiredness. Still feeling relatively cuddly toward Becca, though, even though I know I’m going to hate her when the already itchy rash comes up full force.

Why am I here? If we’re in trouble, shouldn’t we be in Dean Westhaven’s office?

I am so confused.

Finally, I drop into a tufted leather club chair and look around. What is this place? It looks like an office, there’s a desk with a typewriter and a stack of pages facedown, two chairs facing it—the one I’m in and its mirror mate—a thick, green-and-cream Oriental rug set at an angle. Fresh-cut flowers in a small square glass vase, lush, full-petaled pink roses, sit on the corner of the desk. English roses. Like from home, in the spring, when the gardens of Oxford burst to life. Bookshelves from floor to ceiling, but only two shelves are filled.

Spartan, but elegant, comfortable accommodations. Who works up here, in isolation from the rest of the students?

The dean, dummy. When you see her in the window, this is where she is.

A commotion in the hall and the door flies open. Becca stumbles through, eyes bleary, arguing, and Dr. Asolo follows behind.

“So, I was out of bed after hours, who cares?” She notices me, and her face changes. Gone is the compassionate friend, and in her place, the Mistress. A banshee, a furious, evil-tempered death-presaging spirit who will eat me alive. “Why is she here?”

She thinks I’ve outed them. She thinks I’ve told.

I duck down into my chair, legs drawn up to protect myself. “I—”

“Did you tell? You stupid girl, I will end you—”

“Stop it!” Dr. Asolo pushes Becca into the chair next to me. She lands with an oof. “Listen to me. A girl has died.”

“Fuuuuck,” Becca drawls, clearly assuming this is related to the tap, but I sit up, suddenly clearheaded.

“It’s Camille, isn’t it?”

“It is, unfortunately. She fell off the bell tower.”

The shock goes through me and I close my eyes, send up a silent prayer for my hateful roommate.

“You’re shitting me,” Becca says.

“Young lady, your mouth is going to get you in trouble. Knock it off.”

“Why are we here?” I ask. “And no, Becca, I didn’t say a word to anyone.”

Asolo’s shoulders drop, the stress and tiredness showing plainly on her pretty features. “Because the dean requested it. She knows about the tap tonight—no, don’t deny it, why else do you two stink of alcohol? I suppose she was concerned that Camille was a part of the tap. Becca?”

Becca is still slouching in her chair but answers immediately, and honestly. “No, ma’am. She wasn’t. We don’t normally tap sophomores—Ash is an exception.”

“Ash?”

“Camille wasn’t there. I swear it.”

Asolo waits a beat. Both of us say, “On my honor,” and she blows out a breath.

“Okay. You two stay here. Don’t leave until either the dean or I come to get you.”

She bustles out the door, leaving us staring after her.

“What the hell is going on?” Becca asks, curling deeper in the chair. “How did Camille get up to the bell tower? It’s always locked. I should know, we’ve tried to get up there enough times. Westhaven keeps the key under lock and key. Ha!”

I feel sick. Camille, dead? It doesn’t feel possible. She was so excited, so happy, and a few hours later, broken at the base of Main like a doll thrown from a height.

“I’m sorry I accused you, Swallow. That was wrong of me.”

“Becca, what you said to me the first day, about a roommate dying...”

“I was just trying to rattle you, Swallow. I had no idea she’d be dumb enough to go through with it.”

“She had an invitation to the attics tonight. Remember?”

“Yes. I remember. Like I told you this morning, it wasn’t me. I don’t know who sent the summons. We aren’t the only society who tapped tonight. Though no one sends a summons to do a tap. We try to keep who we bring in quiet. Didn’t you see her tonight?”

“She was in the room after dinner, yes. The last time I saw her was when she left at ten for the summons. She was so excited.”