by Dana Mele
“Why did she always have so much energy?” Maddy points out.
“Because we basically shotgun six cups of coffee a day,” I say.
“Yeah, but Tai was too good. No one plays that well and has time for a social life.” Cori drains her paper cup and slinks away to refill it.
Tricia bites her lower lip and then adds, “I’m glad it was that.”
I eye her curiously. “Why?”
She shrugs. “I was afraid it had something to do with Jessica’s death. It’s so paranoid of me. But she definitely knew her better than she let on. She hated her.”
“So you knew her, too,” Brie says.
“Only that Tai despised her.” Tricia flicks her wispy bangs out of her eyes. “Everyone has secrets,” she says knowingly.
I glance at Brie, but her eyes are fixed on the other side of the room. Nola is balancing on one foot like a ballet dancer and licking the sugar off a beignet.
I wind my way over to her. “Hey.”
She falls into a graceful plié. “Bonjour.” Today she’s wearing cat-eye makeup and dark mascara, and combined with her pale, almost colorless lips, it gives her a retro sixties look. Unlike the rest of the students, she has chosen not to wear a black dress, which is ironic considering her usual choice of clothing. Instead, she is dressed in the standard Bates Academy uniform.
“Did you hear about Tai?”
“I heard I was right and you were wrong.”
“That’s correct.”
A playful smirk creeps across her lips. “Say it.”
“I was wrong and you were right.”
She nods and takes a bite. “Well, this is crap.” She dumps her plate into the garbage and walks outside, and I follow her, pulling my tiny jacket on over my black dress.
There’s a choppy breeze blowing up over the lake, whipping a few rogue paper plates and coffee cups over the chapel lawn. It stings my legs and teases tendrils of hair from my braid and into my face. “I need your help cracking the password for the next recipe.”
“In exchange for . . . ?”
I halt. “We already had a deal.”
“That was for the initial password. What will you give me now?” She takes a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and lights one, and I pull her behind the chapel. Smoking is strictly forbidden.
“I don’t have anything you want.”
She leans against the Dumpster and taps her feet thoughtfully. “Get me a date with Jessica’s ex.”
I blink. “Greg Yeun? I don’t think he’s probably open to dating right now.”
“I’m not looking for love, I’m looking for a challenge.”
Clearly, she’s looking to challenge me. “I—I don’t know if I can manage that. I’m not a pimp.”
She shrugs. “The password software’s pretty basic. You probably don’t need me.”
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I say hastily, regretting it as soon as the words leave my lips. I have no idea how I’ll pull it off.
She sticks the cigarette between her lips and pulls her cell phone out of her pocket. “What was it, the delicious dish?”
“Revenge Is a Dish. Hold on.” I open my email from Jessica, copy the link, and send it to Nola. Then I check the class roster, and Tai’s name is gone. Task one, complete.
“Okay . . .” She pulls up the website and types rapidly for a moment.
“Do you have the code-breaking software on your phone?”
She casts me a withering glare. “What do you think?” She types for another moment or so and then turns the screen to me.
I look down at the list of dishes. Tai Burned Chicken was the appetizer. The next item is the first course. I click on it. The name of the recipe is Pulled Parck Sandwich. Tricia’s last name is Parck.
Take a piggy plump and pink
Trim the fat; select a drink
Irish whiskey aged and iced
Serve with papers, that sounds nice
On a board with fancy trim
Skewer her for screwing him.
Nola whistles under her breath. “Your friends are deviants, Donovan.”
I read the poem several times. Tricia. Irish. Screwing. “There’s no way.”
“That Tricia’s sleeping with Hannigan? Because that is exactly what it sounds like. Irish? Aged? That piggy and plump shit is cold, but the rest is spot-on.”
I feel sick. Tricia’s extreme weight loss explains the cruel first couplet. But Nola’s right. The rest sounds like a reference to Hannigan. And there was a rumor about a student back in September when he first started. We all trashed it as fake news, though, because no one came up with an actual name.
I shove the cell phone back at her. “I don’t want anything to do with this.”
“You know, we might be reading into it.”
“Jessica was obviously a very messed-up person. Maybe she—”
“Had it coming?” Nola flicks her cigarette. She blows a wisp of smoke through her pale lips and then twists them into a prim smile, her blue eyes piercing. “Maybe. But you don’t want to find out any more?” She looks at the screen. “Although, I have no idea what the papers or board part means.”
I take the phone from her and tap the screen experimentally in a few places. The graphic for this recipe shows a bar napkin with a phone number scribbled on it. Tricia’s number. I tap on the number and a pdf file opens. It’s Tricia’s early-decision application to Harvard, including her recommendation letter from Hannigan. On the final page is a screenshot of the Harvard admissions board, and one of the people listed has the last name Hannigan. Attached is a jpeg file of Tricia and Hannigan together in his office, her arms wrapped around his neck, his face tilting down to kiss her.
“Well, that doesn’t look good,” Nola says. The back door of the chapel opens and I duck behind the Dumpster, but it’s only a caterer from the bakery carrying a towering stack of white pastry boxes to his van. Other than that, the small parking lot between the chapel and the trees lining the lake is completely deserted.
My head swims. “I need to talk to her.” I race back toward the front of the chapel, my heart tumbling around my chest, and burst through the doors. The air is thick with the lingering scent of incense from the service, mingling with the sweet pastry and coffee smells. My stomach churns and I try not to breathe as I march over to Brie and Tricia.
Brie scrunches up her nose. “Were you smoking?”
I shake my head vigorously. “Tricia, I need to talk to you outside.”
She follows me curiously. “What’s up?”
I wait until we’re out of earshot from the few students milling around the lawn. “I know this is intrusive, but you need to be honest with me. Are you having an affair with Hannigan?”
She doesn’t even hesitate for an instant. “No. Gross.”
“Don’t lie.”
She places a hand on my arm and laughs, the dimples in her cheeks appearing. “Oh my God, Kay. I’m not lying.”
I draw in a deep breath. “You’re always talking about how guys our age are basically preschoolers.”
She shifts her eyes to the side for just a split second. “Some of them are. Look at Spencer.”
“Trish.”
She watches the students pour out of the chapel and head past us toward the dorms. “What do you have against Hannigan all of a sudden?”
“Nothing if it isn’t true.” Now I’m running through every time I stopped by his office to go over an assignment that didn’t make sense to me. He had me read love scenes when I didn’t understand the political speeches. Maybe he just wanted me to study what he was going to test. But it creeps me out now.
“Then why are you trying to get him fired?” She glances behind her reflexively, and we watch several of the professors lingering at the chapel doorway, chatting with students. Hannigan is there with his wife, who looks
remarkably like Kate Middleton. Tricia looks at me, and she seems to have shrunken.
“He sucks, Trish. It’s an absurd abuse of power to sleep with a student.”
She turns back to the chapel for a moment, and her elegant profile is striking. We’re all dressed for mourning, but only Tricia’s face reflects it. She and Tai were best friends, and I know that’s part of it. The rest is heartbreak. “It’s not like that.”
“He’s the one who’s in the wrong, one hundred percent. But please be honest with me,” I say softly.
She doesn’t respond right away. “You’re all about you.”
“Someone knows. And they’re going to go public.”
She looks at me, alarmed. “Unless?”
“No unless. He’s going to get fired, and I think they might want you to leave.”
“Who’s they?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s convenient. Is that what you told Tai?”
“I didn’t force Tai to leave.” But it’s not true. I did.
“So why should I leave?”
“You shouldn’t.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Neither should he. I’m eighteen. I can do what I want.”
“That’s not how it works. He’s a teacher. He controls our futures. One failing grade—”
Her eyes begin to gloss over, but she grits her teeth. “You think you’re so much better than me.”
“I really don’t. I’m just warning you. If there’s any possible way to cover your tracks in the next twenty-four hours—”
“Now you’re just threatening me. Look, I like him. I admit it. We’ve spent time together. But we’ve never actually had sex and I don’t appreciate your judgment.”
A sharp edge of doubt creeps into my mind. There are consequences to not believing your friends. That’s how things fell apart back home. The moment when the chain reaction began that ruined everyone’s life. When Megan told me what happened, what Todd did, and I hesitated, and said, “I’m sure it was an accident.” That was the moment she spun away from me, and after that she was out of my reach; no one else was able to grab on to her again. And then hell descended.
I look at Tricia now, and all of the guilt I felt about Megan floods through me. It’s too late to do anything about Megan. It’s too late to help Tai. But maybe it isn’t too late to help Tricia. And one thing is certain. If no one talks to me, I’m never going to figure out just what it is that Jessica wanted to get back at everyone for. “Did you know Jessica Lane?”
She shakes her head and then smiles as if we’d been talking about classes or sports or our futures, not our potential downfalls. “Nope.” She turns back toward the chapel. “I’m really sorry games are on hold, Kay. Hopefully you’ll manage to pull through with your grades.” She pauses and then gazes toward the steeple with a saintly expression. “Miracles happen.”
My mouth drops open.
And it’s just at that moment that Spencer exits the chapel, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, looking—as always—like he just rolled in from an all-night party. His straight sandy hair blows wildly in the breeze, and he stops to shield his cigarette with one hand as he flicks a lighter to try to ignite it, squinting his pale blue eyes.
I freeze for a moment, stunned to see him, and then turn abruptly and head back toward my dorm. But not before he sees me.
“Katie D.”
He knows I hate when he calls me Katie. I keep walking but he jogs to catch up with me and slings an arm around my shoulder in a one-sided hug. The feel of it makes me want to sink into him and push him away at the same time. I want to see him, but not now. And the fact that he would just show up for Jessica’s memorial and act as if nothing had happened after everything that’s gone down between us feels like a punch in the stomach.
“Long time no see,” he says.
“Or call.”
“You told me not to.”
“With good reason.”
We share a glance, and then he shrugs and takes a long drag. “What have you been up to?”
“The usual. Murder and mayhem. You?”
“Same.” He hasn’t shaved this morning and the faintest ginger stubble covers his jaw. It’s a special Spencer quirk. His facial hair doesn’t quite match the hair on his head. It matches mine.
We’re almost at my dorm. The parking lot has been blocked off with barriers to make room for extra cars, but most of them are gone now. I feel torn. I want this conversation to end as soon as humanly possible. I also want it to go on endlessly.
It wouldn’t be fair to say that we had a love-hate relationship. Love-hurt would be more accurate. We met the night Brie and Justine met, at the same party. Brie and I had gone together, back when we were still in a maybe phase. I had screwed up several times already, and this was the clear last chance. It was a cast party for some show Justine was in at Easterly, and it had seemed like Brie and I were getting really close to actually happening. I had finally persuaded her to go out with me. At least I thought so. I thought it was a date. Tricia spent two hours stripping my body of hair, covering me with fragrant goo, straightening my frizzy locks, and applying makeup with a horror movie special-effects level of skill. Tai loaned me a killer pair of Louis Vuitton boots and a cotton-silk Coach mixed-print dress. Not too much—just enough. That is, as long as it actually was a date.
Then at the play, everything fell apart.
The show was depressing to the point that I started crying and had to leave the theater. By the time I pulled my shit together, the cast party had already started. But when I got there, I found Brie off in a corner flirting with the star of the play.
So. Maybe not a date after all.
I found myself sitting on the couch alone, pounding vodka lemonades and pretending to text so I didn’t look like a total friendless wonder.
And then this guy flopped down next to me like we were best friends, leaned in, and whispered, “Texting makes it look worse.”
He totally stood out from the rest of the crowd. Bates students tend to dress to their status with a preppy spin, Polo Ralph Lauren and Burberry. The Easterly drama crowd favored a more hipster flair, with a lot of scarves, vests, skinny jeans, cardigans, and glasses. Spencer wore ripped-up jeans, a long-sleeved Red Sox ringer T-shirt, and a pair of scuffed Converses. But he exuded an air of confidence that struck me as both condescending and intriguing for someone so clearly out of his league. He looked like he rolled out of his bed and wandered over in the dark. I may have been abandoned on the island of misfit party guests, but I still looked awesome.
I placed my phone down. “Texting makes what look worse?”
“You’re supposed to be with Burberry.” He nodded at Brie.
“How do you know that?”
“It says so on her scarf.” He tilted his bottle back and I shot another desperate look at Brie, but she was deep in conversation. She gets stuck in, thick. But only when someone really, really sparks her interest.
“That’s not what I—”
“Because you keep looking at her, but she’s not looking back.” I turned back to Spencer, my face burning. “So you’re stranded. And pretending you have something better to do at a party just makes you look sadder. First mistake, introducing your girl to Justine. Second mistake, acting like you don’t care.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Make her jealous.”
I laughed. “Not gonna happen, friend.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
I glanced around the room. More than one Easterly student was looking at us curiously, and there was unmistakable envy on some of their faces. I shot a glance over to Brie and Justine, and finally caught Brie’s eye. She raised a brow as if to ask what I was doing. I nodded to invite her over, but she shook her head and held her finger up like hold on a sec.
; I turned back to Spencer. “Who did you come with?”
He grinned. “The question is who do I leave with? Want to help me decide?” He described a few of the girls in the room, gave me some pros and cons, and then, of course, made his pitch. “Or I could help you out with Burberry. You have two basic options. One, we grab a room. We can play blackjack and I Never all night, and no one will even know the difference. Two, we make out here on the couch. I know which one I prefer.”
I flicked my eyes over to Brie again. She had repositioned herself against the wall so she had a full view of me now. But she made no move to end her conversation or even to invite me to join them.
I adjusted my position so that I was angled in toward both Brie and Spencer, and leaned closer to him. “Amateur.”
An intrigued smile crossed his lips. “That’s a treasonous accusation.”
“Oh no. It’s a fact.” I took his beer and placed it on the floor and then pulled him to his feet and placed him at one end of the couch and sat down at the other, facing him, legs folded beneath me. “That’s not how jealousy works.”
His smile grew, but I also saw uncertainty and excitement flicker in his eyes. He was kind of cute. That didn’t take the sting out of Brie crushing my heart for the millionth time, but there was something magnetic about his smile. It made it easier not to look at her, at least. “No?”
I shook my head. “It’s a slow burn. We keep talking. Low voices, so no one else can hear what we’re saying. And every time I smile. Or laugh. I come a little closer.” To illustrate, I slid one inch toward him and lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “Just one little bit. You have to earn it.”
His breathing quickened a little, and I couldn’t help biting a smile. I had been waiting and wanting for so long with Brie, I had completely forgotten what it felt like to be wanted. It felt powerful. It felt sexy. He was sexy.
“What makes you smile?” Spencer asked, leaning in closer. There was something so tempting in his smile. Something dangerous and innocent at the same time. A paradox. This is why people like him, I decided. They can’t figure him out. I realized suddenly that we must be attracting a lot of attention, and wondered whether I had finally caught Brie’s. But I suddenly didn’t want to tear my eyes away from Spencer’s. Not even for Brie, especially after she humiliated me. I hoped she was watching.
