Good Girls Lie(81)

Figures they were lying.

“Now, I have a little favor to ask. I received an email from a stranger, and I’d like to know if you can tell me where it came from.”

“Dr. Medea—”

She hands me a piece of paper, a full header from the email that she’s printed out. “I’d like to keep this between us girls, if that’s all right with you.”

There’s no subject. I can tell there were attachments, several of them, HEIF, the file type Apple uses. The images came from an iPhone.

I look closer, tracing the head. It’s come from a throwaway account, totally anonymous. But the IP address, it’s generated from Canada. Odd. The last time I set up my VPN, I hooked into a Canadian server farm.

Whoosh.

Oh, bloody hell. Was this email the one that was in my draft folder when I opened my program? The phantom Send?

I go back to the beginning of the head. Memorize the thread of numbers. My email should be untraceable.

I think.

I’ve backstopped everything, but I hadn’t planned to send any anonymous emails to the dean of my fucking school.

And why has she come to me instead of Dr. Medea? What sort of trap is she laying? Is she handing me the tools of my own destruction? A way to get out of everything?

I can’t see the details, but I can’t help but wonder who is sending the dean images. And of what? I take a stab in the dark.

“What are the photographs of?” I ask.

Her face drains of color. Bingo. “You can see there are photos?”

“Yes, Dean. At least six attachments, all HEIF.” At her blank look, I continue, “High Efficiency Image Files. Helps with compression and... Hey, are you okay?”

Her hand flutters to her throat. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Only...someone is playing a cruel joke, I’m afraid.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

“You can’t decipher who sent it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. It’s from an anonymous, throwaway account. It’s probably already been deleted. It’s an easy thing to do.”

“Can you tell if it was sent from inside the school?”

Careful...

“That’s trickier. Origins can be traced if given enough resources, but off the top of things, I’d say chances are it comes from outside. If it was inside the school, the intranet signature would be here, on this line.” I point to the spot. “It’s missing those designators. As a matter of fact...” I make a point of reading it again. “I believe this was sent from a mobile device, not a computer.”

She blows out a breath, and I do, as well. She’s not trying to trick me. Seems we both have something to hide here.

I don’t have a phone. I’m safe.

“I appreciate your help, Ash. Yes, someone sent me some photos, of one of our students, and I want to be sure we handle this carefully. It would be good if you didn’t mention this to anyone.”

“Will you show this to the sheriff?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think it has bearing on the case. Like I said, this seems to be someone playing a cruel joke. I think I’ll delete it and we’ll all move forward.”

Good idea, Dean. Really good idea.

“Oh, one more thing...tell me, is there any indication this email was sent to anyone else? Or only to me?”

“I don’t see any other addresses. Yours only.”

The bells toll, the deep tenor clangs of the tongue against the brass especially loud in this space. Moments later, the dean’s mobile rings. She glances at it. “Ah, this is Melanie. I need to go. And you’re expected in English now, aren’t you?” She smiles, benevolence incarnate. “Go straight to class, Ash. We don’t want Becca finding you in the hallways, do we?”

See? I told you they are in on it.



60

THE SOLICITOR

I just make the last bell before Dr. Asolo shuts the door. I take my seat and she greets the class with the worst possible news.

“Pop quiz, ladies. If you’ve finished the reading, this should be a no-brainer. Put away your books and take out an exam book, please.”

Groans leak throughout the room, and I join them. Is this really how we’re welcomed back after the death of one of our own? How can she expect anyone to have done the reading?

I dig into my bag for the stack of exam books I keep there. One of the items I have learned a Goode girl mustn’t ever be without is the pale blue, thin-paper exam book in which all tests and essay assignments, from pop quizzes to the dreaded midterms and finals, are taken. Centered on the cover are the words in bold On my honor, followed by two lines, one for printed name, one for a signature. By signing the cover of the exam book, the Honor Code pledge is taken. No booklets are accepted without a signature.

I flip open to the first page and look to the whiteboard at the front of the room, where Dr. Asolo has written a single essay question under the essay title, A Room of One’s Own.

What are the feminist ideals expressed in the text?
“Three hundred words, ladies. You have the hour. Go.”

I start scratching away. This is an easy one. Low-hanging fruit. I loved the book, identify with the themes. Identify more than anyone at Goode can possibly realize, actually. A room of one’s own... Even the title speaks to me. Though the way I’ve gotten to this point isn’t the way I would have chosen. I doubt Woolf would have liked to achieve this status because her roommate died. Since I am now in dubious possession of this ideal, I think I’ll include this thought in the essay.