by Nora Cobb
I step into the bathroom, and it looks nothing like the other bathrooms on campus. It’s decorated in lavender with gold accents to match; even the wall has gold swirls. I put on the shirt, which fits me perfectly, and the jeans are sherpa-lined. Comfy isn’t a word I use, but this outfit is so comfy and smells so fresh. I want it.
I step out of the bathroom, and Charlotte has changed out of her street clothes and is sitting on her bed wearing a tie-dyed two-piece. She points to the couch, where she’s draped a fake fur throw, and continues brushing her hair.
“So, who’s responsible?” she asks.
“What?” My eyes widen.
She pauses and shakes her head. “Who made you cry tonight? Which brat boy did it?”
I hesitate, unsure how far I should trust Charlotte. Maybe she’s being nice so she can talk shit about me later. Girls do that shit. It’s a universal truth.
“I’ve slept with all of them,” she continues you, “Well, I exaggerate. I’ve touched the ones whose families are worth at least ten billion. Any lower than that, and we can only be friends but nothing else. All the girls on the floor have standards. It’s like an agreement. You trust the boys because you’re as rich as they are. But you’re not. So what happened?”
I take a deep breath and a leap of faith, hoping I’ll survive the fall. “I want to be a member of the Investors Club. Bryce, Justin, and Pierce were there. Wyatt showed up later, but he wasn’t involved. They said I had to perform a task, and then I could be a member.”
Charlotte pinched up her nose. “Why do you want to join that?”
“I need money,” I state the fact firmly. “You know. The small paper you collect in a wallet and take to the store, and then they let you leave with shit.”
She frowns, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “You are a dumbass. Those boys used you. And I doubt you’ll get anything.”
“No shit,” I snap, “You figure it out on your own?”
She purses her lips. “I figured it out before you.”
I toss the throw on the floor. “Thank you for helping me out, and by the way, fuck you. I’m gone.”
“Astrid.” She slips off the bed and stands up. “We can’t talk if you leave, and if you leave, you’ll be dependent on those boys.”
Charlotte’s right, and that really pisses me off. Plan A is barely working, and Plan B just failed. I need something that will work. Listening to Charlotte won’t cost me any more than I’ve already lost. I pick the throw up off the floor and wrap it over my shoulders.
Charlotte sighs. “So they told you that you could join the club if you had sex with all three of them?”
I nod.
Charlotte plops down on her bed and crosses her legs. “Not the first time they pulled that dirty trick. If I were in your situation, I would find a boy who has a trust fund of ten million and convince him to marry you. Pick one that’s a virgin. You should be able to find one at that price point, but he might have a minor problem if he’s still a virgin. You know, acne on the chin, receding hairline, wheezes when he runs. Like that guy you hang out with—Terri Hamilton. Marry him for a year, or however long the prenup lasts. Then dump him and start a clothing business.”
Speechless and in shock, I have seen some shit that would make a grown man hide his face, but this is unreal. “Is that your plan? To be a gold digger?”
Charlotte laughs like my comment is hysterical. “No, silly, I don’t need to marry for money. I intend to marry for status, but that will be a little harder to do with Bryce chasing after you.”
My feet feel cold under this warm cover. “I don’t understand.”
She smiles as if I should. “I’ve been off and on with Bryce since the sixth grade. I plan to marry him, so I will be a Shelton. But he seems a little more attached to you than I’m comfortable with.” She wags her finger at me. “But it will be okay when we marry.
“And regarding Wyatt, he is handsome, but he’s no longer a prospect. His uncle made a series of bad investments. His only option is to marry new money, which you aren’t. If you want to help Wyatt, introduce him to your new-money roommate. Everyone needs a plastic hook. Then after they’re married, he’s all yours.”
“Holy fuck, you are insane! All of you!” I throw my hands in the air. “This is nuts. I wouldn’t marry Wyatt off so I could sleep with him later. This is stupid crazy.”
“You’re so used to being poor.” Charlotte looks at me as if I couldn’t see the light unless I was holding the bulb. “This is Stonehaven. You’re judging us by standards that don’t exist here. That’s why you’re having a hard time.” She giggles. “Do you plan to marry for love?”
I shake my head. “My mother raised me on her own. My father is out of the picture.” Charlotte flinches but says nothing, so I continue. “I don’t think about marriage because it’s never really been a thing for me to even consider. I guess it’s something I’d do, but I’ll never plan it.”
“Well,” Charlotte replies. “When your worth reaches a certain number, marriage is no longer a game of chance. Especially if some girl comes along and distracts your number-one prospect.”
I cringe in disgust. “You can have Bryce.” I pull the throw tighter. “You can have all of them.”
“Don’t pout, Astrid,” she says, “Let them calm down and trust you, then smile when you twist the knife. That’s how the game is played.”
I watch Charlotte cautiously. “So, you don’t want to get even with me over Bryce?”
She laughs. “No, you’ve been through enough. Besides, Bryce is expected to marry me.” She sighs, “I’m definitely divorcing him in a year. I never hear you talk about your mom. Is she not around anymore?”
I start at the quick change in the conversation, but I want to talk about it. “You have to keep it a secret.”
“I have no fear, so I have nothing to hide,” she replies. “I’m the only person who hasn’t lied to you so far.”
“Roni hasn’t lied.”
Charlotte says nothing. Her expression remains steady as she stares across the room, waiting for me to continue.
“My mom’s in rehab,” I tell her, “She’s addicted to painkillers. And I haven’t been able to speak to her because they don’t allow phones. They’re afraid people will call out for drugs.”
Charlotte frowns. “Which rehab?”
“She was moved to one in Massachusetts—Attleboro?” I screw up my face, recalling the name.
She nods while holding her ankles and tilting her head in thought. “Talk to Dr. Rawlins. She’s on their board of directors on the East Coast. You should talk to your mom.”
“I don’t talk about it,” I say quietly, “but I’m okay if I only have what’s in my pocket. But my mom could have better care if we had the money for it.”
Charlotte is quiet. She pulls a painted box out of her closet and then offers me a stack of thin Oreos she keeps stashed inside. “I shouldn’t eat these,” she whispers, “my father would be upset if he knew.”
“Why would he be upset?” I ask, biting an Oreo in two.
“He’s a doctor,” she replies, “Head of surgery at Rockingham.”
Charlotte stretches her arms above her head and grabs her fuzzy purple slippers. “Come on. Let’s get you back to your room.”
I fold the throw and place it on the couch. “Thanks for the clothes, Charlotte. I’ll give them back as soon as I wash them.”
“Keep them,” she says, grabbing her passkey. “They look ridiculous on me. I’m not edgy and fierce like you. I don’t slap boys or look like I can make love on the back of a Harley.”
I laugh. “Stop flattering me.” I bite my lip then speak. “And thank you for being nice. I needed it.”
Charlotte smiles. “They have empty lives, so when someone who has a worthy challenge shows up, they do what they can to drag the person into their rut. Misery craves company. You’re an oddity at Stonehaven, Astrid, but not for the reasons you think.”
I follow Charlotte down t
he hallway. She knocks on the room next to mine and steps inside. I’ve never met the girls in the room next door. I only hear their voices when I open the bathroom door, and they shout for me to leave.
“I need to borrow your bathroom.” Charlotte walks straight through their room, not caring that we weren’t invited in.
We step inside the joined bathroom, and she waits as I open the other door. I glance behind me, and Charlotte waves before she disappears.
“Where did you come from?” A groggy Roni is in bed. She reaches for her phone to check the time. I don’t know how late it is, except it must be after midnight.
“It’s 3:00 a.m.,” she says, “When did you get back?”
“A while ago. I was sitting in the lounge.” I debate changing but climb into bed with Charlotte’s clothes on.
“Weren’t you wearing your uniform when you left here?” she asks, poking her head up farther. “Why’s your hair wet?”
I sigh while I stare up at the ceiling. I’m so tired, and Roni is bringing down the mood Charlotte spent over an hour creating. “I went swimming and had to borrow some clothes.”
I glance over at Roni, who has an incredulous expression on her face. It makes no sense what I just told her, but she decides not to question me further.
Chapter 25
Astrid
Monday morning, I cut my first-period class and head over to Foxworth House to see Dr. Rawlins. Same setup as last time, except the lady behind the desk doesn’t shoot me the evil eye as she sips from her coffee mug. This time she doesn’t make me wait long either, and I’m ushered into Dr. Rawlins’ office. Today, my borrowed clothing must make me fit in. My cut-up skirt is back in the dorm room after Charlotte stopped me before leaving the dorm and suggested I get a new one. In the meantime, she loaned me hers to wear, plus a navy cashmere pullover. Stonehaven doesn’t follow trends or wear labels. Now I can pick out the super-rich girls by their accessories and manicures.
I study my ragged cuticles while I sit in front of Dr. Rawlins’ desk as she scrolls through her computer. Her nails look like pristine glass shells in a peachy color. Simple-looking, but I know her nails must cost a lot because they’re on her.
“It looks like you’re missing your global history class,” she says, pushing the monitor away, so she can see me slump down in the wingback chair. “It must be important to miss class.”
I sit up straight. “I want to talk to my mother, but I can’t because she’s in…rehab.” I look away from her steady gaze, knowing what she must be thinking—another poor kid with an addict for a mother. “My mom was in an accident at work,” I add quickly, “She hurt her back and can’t get off the painkillers. Prescription painkillers.” My voice trails off as I look down at my torn fingernail.
“Yes, I know,” Dr. Rawlins states softly, and I meet her gaze again. She has a look on her face that I want to say is compassion. I hope it’s compassion because pity pisses me off.
Dr. Rawlins continues, “What I didn’t know is that you haven’t been in touch with her.”
“They won’t let her use a cell phone,” I explain, leaving out the reason why.
“Yes, the staff is strict on cell phone usage.” Dr. Rawlins presses a button on her desk phone. “Alice, Ms. Bowen will need a late pass for class.”
“Yes, Dr. Rawlins.”
She lifts her finger and then picks up her desk phone with a graceful turn of her wrist, and then dials an outside line. “Yes. This is Dr. Rawlins at Stonehaven. We have a student whose mother is staying at your facility. My student hasn’t talked to her mother in almost three weeks.”
By the time Dr. Rawlins hangs up, she has a number to call. She hands me a Post-it note with the Stonehaven logo printed across the top and the name and number of the person I need to call to speak to my mother.
“Unless she’s otherwise engaged, you may call her any time to talk.”
I tuck the Post-it in my purse. “Thank you, Dr. Rawlins. I’m sorry that I cut class, but I was getting worried.”
Her mouth softens into a slight grin but not quite a smile. “They should’ve contacted you when she was admitted. Do the other students know that your mother is seeking treatment?”
I think for a second, but only Charlotte knows…I shake my head.
“Good,” she replies, tilting the monitor toward her again. “I would recommend keeping your personal concerns private in this circumstance.”
I back away toward the door. “I will. Thanks.”
With a raised eyebrow, Dr. Rawlins’ gaze appraises me from head to toe as if she’s trying to resolve something in her thoughts. “My door is always open.” She looks at her computer again. “Please shut it when you leave.”
***
By third period, the freakin’ skirt is itching my legs. I squirm around my seat like a hot lava rock, and the minute I’m alone, I’m lifting up the hem and scratching until I bleed. I notice that some of the girls wear tights, but I’m not into looking like I’m on my way to church. Maybe bike shorts? I can rock that.
I skip lunch at the dining hall to hurry back to the dorm and find a pair of shorts. Huffing up the front steps, I run smack-bang into Charlotte, who’s leaving. So, now I know she’s okay, but I’m in a hurry. I mutter, “Sorry,” but she grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the basement door. WTF? I almost fall and crack my ass on the concrete steps.
“Where are we going?” I yank my sleeve out of her grip. “This skirt you loaned me. Did you do something to it?”
Standing in front of the outside door, she levels her cool glare at me before walking through the door. “Other than have it washed with soap?” She opens the secret door inside, and I follow her in. “We have to talk,” she continues, “and we have to do it in private.”
I knew it was too good to last. These kids might not need money, but they always want something.
I press my lips together and just glare at her. Charlotte flips her long blonde hair like a cape and returns the dirty look threefold.
“I’ve been listening to the gossip. You need to stop meeting up with Bryce, and especially Pierce,” she demands, “And Justin is weird despite being able to paint.”
I scoff. “This is bullshit. You dragged me down here to play mean girl. Fuck you. I mean, thank you for helping me last night, but I’m not one of your followers, so now please go fuck off so you have something else to do besides telling me what to do.”
Charlotte scoffs and raises her hands up as if she’s going mad. “Why do I bother helping you?”
“Helping me.” Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Okay, so you did it one time. One time and now you want me to do as you say. I knew there had to be a catch.”
Her eyes widen as she pulls a blonde strand away from her open mouth. “One time! You think I helped you just one time!” Her hands attach to both hips. “Sweetheart, your life would be misery if I hadn’t stepped in to rescue you.”
“Misery?” I gawk.
“Girls like me use you for snob practice,” she states firmly, “We try out different ways to reduce nannies, waitstaff, personal assistants, and future stepchildren to tears. We spend six years reducing girls like you to bawling wrecks of snot.”
I roll my lips with my teeth and seethe. But what Charlotte said makes sense. No girls have picked on me, and I had been expecting it. They watch me closely, but they keep their talons to themselves.
“Okay,” I reply, jerking my head, “So, thank you again. Now, what do you want?”
Charlotte plops down on the couch and rests her head back with a sigh. The upholstery was once bright yellow, judging from the seams, but now it’s a mustard color with stains. I’m shocked she sits on it, but it doesn’t bother me. Quietly, I sit down beside her, and bizarrely, I feel like we’re equals, but I don’t know why.
“Hey,” I nudge her knee with mine. “What do you want?”
A tiny sigh escapes her before she digs into her Louis Vuitton purse and pulls out a piece of paper. Charlotte glances
at it and frowns slightly before handing it to me. It’s a printout of a photograph that’s been blown up to fit the letter-size page—two little girls standing in front of a large white house on a green lawn that’s so huge it spreads out of the picture.
One of the girls is blonde, with her hair tied back in a ribbon, and dressed in every shade of pink you could imagine. The other girl has dark hair, the same color as mine, with a Snoopy T-shirt and jeans. Their arms are draped around each other as they smile into the camera. They point at their smiles as they pose.
I know that T-shirt.
“Look familiar?” she asks.
“That’s me,” I say, pointing, “But who is this?”
