by Lucy Auburn
Thursday evening, as I'm taking my shower, I squeeze my shampoo bottle into my hand and nearly vomit. There's a thick, disgusting-smelling sludge in the bottle instead of shampoo. I pour it down the drain, along with the similarly disgusting conditioner, and use my body wash all over in an attempt to get clean. As I leave the shower stall I spot Georgia blow-drying her hair near the mirrors, right next to Holly, and she gives me a wolfish grin.
This weekend the Rosalinds aren't hosting an event, so I hole up in the library to study and catch up on all my subjects. Compared to the other students here I'm disastrously behind; even Tanner, who doesn't seem very bright, manages a B average. Finding a studying program on Silas's computer, I put world history facts onto notecards and try to memorize in preparation for the big exam.
It goes on and on. I fall more behind in Calculus I every day; as soon as I figure out what was happening on my last test, I'm barely managing to pass the next one. Ms. Saint recommends me for extra tutoring on the weekend, taking up even more of the time that I could spend on my revenge.
And in Visual Arts class, Cole gets petty. My ink bottles somehow wind up full of grit; the pencils I pick out are always mislabeled, and my light sketching strokes turn into dark ones that don't come up when I try to erase them. The watercolors I pick out somehow change color as they dry on my paper.
I work with what I've got. I grit my teeth and ignore the smirks he sends my direction. After all, if this is the worst he's got, then he's got nothing. If he couldn't get me with a snake, he won't get me with ruined art supplies.
I try not to see Tanner in the hallways, especially when a new girl is at his side. He really did ditch Georgia permanently, and she hasn't released that video of us in the library—at least, not yet. But he doesn't even look at me as he passes me by, as if he's never even met me.
I'll make him pay for everything he's done. I just have to bide my time, make sure I get it right. I want this dirt I got on Tanner to be talked about for longer than Blake's video was discussed.
Finally, the moment comes.
The headlines on all the news sites are huge, the chatter on social media big. Everyone is talking about it.
GEORGE CONNALLY ANNOUNCES HIS BID FOR PRESIDENT
The senator is running for the highest office in the country.
And the world will see the truth about his son.
Chapter 29
I watch the video one last time before posting it, even though by now I've seen every second of it enough times to be able to describe it with my eyes closed.
It all starts innocently enough. Tanner and a small group of boys are at the shore of a lake, wearing swim trunks. None of the boys are the Elites; it looks and sounds like it was filmed in Kentucky.
"Hey Tanner." The boy holding the phone is snickering as he approaches them, his phone shaking with his footsteps. "You got something in your hair."
He scoops up mud from the bank of the lake and pushes it into Tanner's short black hair. Laughing and shaking the mud off, Tanner grabs his own handful of mud and throws it.
Soon enough a mud fight starts. No one is spared; they all get each other in the hair and the mouth. Even the phone lens gets a little dirty and has mud swiped off it. Laughter and boyish glee breaks out.
Until Tanner gets a little too zealous with the mud throwing, and, yanking the waistband of a blond boy's swim trunks, drops mud inside. The other boy gets spitting mad. Whirling on Tanner, he yells at him.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Connally?"
Tanner laughs. "It's just a little mud."
"You always take this shit too far, all because you think your daddy's something special." He shoves Tanner in the shoulders, who just stumbles back confidently, a smirk on his lips. But then the blond boy says, "You act all high and mighty, but we all know the truth. You're nothing but an unwanted bastard."
The expression on Tanner's face changes. Confidence and mischievousness turns to rage. He grabs the blond boy by the shoulders and punches him.
Again and again.
Over and over.
Until he has to be pulled off the boy, who is bloody and unconscious on the ground.
The video stops on a still of his face, beaten and bruised. It's the thumbnail I pick for my posts to Legacies, using the hashtag for George Connally's recent presidential bid announcement.
Let's see who goes viral first.
I'm in my Calculus I class on Monday, struggling through the work Ms. Saint has assigned us, when an unusual noise filters in through the windows.
Thwap thwap thwap.
Students get up out of their desks and rush to the windows, curious, as a helicopter lands in the grass of the Gladius Outdoor Space. Ms. Saint calls them back to the chairs, chiding them.
I glance over at Blake, who isn't even looking out the window at the helicopter. He runs a hand through his hair, which is more mussed than usual, eyes on his laptop.
"You're not curious about what that is?" I ask him, poking at him despite the fact that I know he's a tiger at rest, dangerous when provoked.
"I know what it is: Tanner's dad come to collect him. He's not thrilled with some of his recent behavior." He looks over at me, his deep brown eyes taking me in passionlessly. "Don't tell me that you didn't see it. The story is all the rage."
"I saw it," I admit, because claiming otherwise would be suspicious. "Your friend sent that boy to the hospital."
"Exactly. So his dad is here to show him how to throw a punch." Leaning close, Blake murmurs to me, "You should probably stop gossiping and pay attention to the teacher, Brenna. After all, it's not like you're acing this class. You wouldn't want to fail and have to drop out."
Gritting my teeth, I take his advice against my better judgment. He has a point; I'm barely surviving this class, and that's being generous. About the only chance I have of reaching my goals is if I manage to take down all the Elites before I fail out.
"I was thinking that our presentation would go better if we focus on... Brenna, are you paying attention to me?"
Looking into Lukas's bright blue eyes, I admit, "Not really."
"Why?" He puffs out a frustrated little sigh, leaning back in his chair. "You've been moving back this meeting for weeks. Our presentation is due in just a couple of weeks. We still have hours of research to do, and then we have to practice. There isn't time to waste."
"We're in Carthage Library," I point out. "You do the research. I'll be turning in my own paper."
"The presentation is twenty percent of our score."
"And you're sure to sabotage it." I glare at him. "Blake got rid of my calculus paper. Cole has been messing with my art assignments for weeks. There's no way you're not planning something, too. So I figure I won't waste any of my time and effort on our presentation when I've got so much other studying to do. But I'll gladly watch you research diligently on your own."
Those blond brows of his raise halfway to his forehead. "You're nearly as frustrating as Cole. Not everyone is out to get you, Brenna."
Thinking of what I've been through since I came here to Coleridge, I challenge him, "Aren't they? I nearly snapped my neck during that rock climbing trip."
"Which I told you I had nothing to do with."
"There was a snake in my laptop bag after Visual Arts class a few weeks back." He goes silent at this. "Any idea who might've put it there? I think we both know who, so don't answer that question. He's been trying to drive me away from this school, force me to drop out. Tanner admitted as much. Blake has been joining in when it suits him. Why in the world should I believe you won't do something, too?"
"Because I haven't done anything to you yet." He leans forward, voice soft. "We've had this class together every day since the start of the semester. Don't you think I would've done something by now if I had some kind of devious plan up my sleeves?"
I open my mouth to retort but can't come up with anything. He has a point. At any time he could've destroyed one of my essays, put som
ething in my book bag, or messed with me. But he hasn't, unlike the others.
That doesn't mean I trust him.
Lukas says, "Let's just agree to get along for this presentation. I want a good score, and so do you. It's twenty percent of our midterm grade. Everything else—Cole's dumb little list, Blake and Tanner's games—can stay separate from this. Deal?"
I lick my lips, searching for an objection, a reason why this has to be a trick. As I do so he leans forward, and the edge of his slacks moves up a bit, revealing a strange tattoo on the outside of his right ankle.
"Is that a dragon?"
He jerks, reaches down and pulls his sock up suddenly, a frown on his face. "It was a dumb impulse decision. I've been getting it lasered off, but it'll be months before it goes away completely."
"It looks neat."
"Stop trying to change the subject," he grouses. "Do we have a deal—that we work together on this project, and pretend like everything else going on around us isn't happening?"
Since I can't figure out a reason to say no, I nod and stick my hand out between us. "Deal."
Looking bemused, Lukas takes my hand and shakes it, his palm warm and soft against mine.
I tell myself it might not be a trick.
But I don't quite believe it, and I refuse to relax. Lukas DuPont may have pretty baby blue eyes, perfect skin, and a charm to die for, but he won't reel me in to believing in him. There's something he's hiding—there has to be.
I just have to keep my head down and play along until I find out what it is.
Chapter 30
One Week Later
Tanner Connally has been gone since the day that helicopter landed on the field, out on an apology tour across America—mostly the South—with his father the straight-laced senator. The sound bytes could be pulled from a publicist's playbook, line by line: he regrets what he did, he's never done it since, it was a huge mistake, and he's made amends to the boy he hurt.
It's so much like what Blake did—and his response to it—that I get a sense of déjà vu from hearing it. The first time I sit down and watch one of his apology videos, I find myself thinking that no one can be buying this.
By the end of the week it becomes clear that no one is. Reporters and political blogs are mocking the insincerity of it all, and Connally's numbers are going down in the polls. Everyone is snarking that Tanner looks like the unwilling, angry participant in his father's political machinations, nothing like his sweet cherubim younger sisters.
So the senator ups the ante. He brings his son up on stage during one of his town halls and makes an announcement, Tanner standing uncomfortably and reluctantly at his side, hands stuffed in his pockets.
"My son here has a troubled past, and we've done our best to show all of you that he's moved past it. But we haven't done enough, I realize—because we haven't told you the truth. The whole truth."
He motions his wife up onto stage, and she takes the place next to him. Eva Connally is a petite blonde woman with delicate features. It's strange that I never noticed it before, but Tanner looks much more like his father and almost nothing like his mother, from the dark hair to the tanned skin.
"You see," Senator Connally continues, "when Eva and I first got married, we wanted very badly to have children. But God had different plans for us. We weren't able to have biological children, but we were given a gift instead: the chance to adopt."
He pulls Tanner close to him, the younger Connally's face oddly still and emotionless next to his father. Tanner is usually so animated, either in joy or rage, but he looks completely blank as his father reveals his origins on live television.
"After a few years a miracle happened, and my wife got pregnant with twins: our girls. But Tanner was a miracle in his own way, and we named him after me because he was, and always will be, our beloved gift from God and my firstborn son." Soft sighs of appreciation from the audience at this. "So when one of his peers, who knew about the adoption, called him an 'unwanted bastard,' well, it got to him. As I imagine it would get to any one of us. But he's learned and changed since then, and we hope you'll give him a second chance, just as God gave him a second chance when he gave him to us."
It's all very schmalzy, religious, and hollow. But the audience eats it up, and so do the polls. Within a few days Senator Connally's numbers are way up, and in the evening after a particularly grueling class, I hear the sound of a helicopter landing outside.
The senator's son is done apologizing. He's back on campus, and ready to rumble.
Just in time for the Hallow's Eve Festival this weekend.
"So, Brenna, how is recruitment coming along for scare team A? Tell me we'll have the best ghoulies and goblins at our haunted house. I have to beat what my sister did in her first year here."
It's the Rosalind lunch meeting about the Hallow's Eve Festival, the traditional yearly dance and haunted house festival where all the first year girls show off their skills—both the frightful and the sexy kind. Georgia and Piper are, of course, going as sexy cats or sexy nurses or sexy whatever; I don't think they've nailed a final theme.
I'm just glad that they've mostly left me alone ever since Georgia gave up on getting Tanner back and decided to go all-in on her new beau Ferdinand Von Hassell, also known as Hass, heir to a San Francisco real estate fortune. She seems to have decided to pretend as if our feud never existed—new boyfriend, new enemies.
I turn towards Holly to answer her question. "I've recruited four girls so far. I'm working on a fifth, but I might need your help with that."
"Oh?" She cocks her head to the side. "Sasha has her five. I was expecting you to have yours as well by now."
Wincing a little at her rebuke, I lick my lips and tentatively try to explain. "The thing is, I wanted someone really good at special effects makeup on our team. And I found someone. But she doesn't live in Rosalind Hall."
The girls perk up at this. Piper asks, "Do you mean Mariana Marks?"
Sasha gushes, "She does the best fake wounds. They're all over her Instagram."
"Exactly!" Turning to Holly, I observe, "She'd be absolutely perfect for my scare team. I have a fallback girl if she doesn't say yes, of course, but I was hoping maybe you could talk to her. Aren't you two friends?"
"We are," she concedes. "I can get her to meet with you in our room today after classes, and you can try to recruit her to your team. She would be a great asset. Well done, Brenna."
It's a relief to have Holly approve of my choice. She's been tense about this party, even more than the Blind Ball at the end of the semester, which is the traditional big affair every year. I chalked the tenseness up to the fact that she's living in her sister's shadow, but after overhearing a few of her phone conversations when the music in my bluetooth earbuds wasn't loud enough to block them out, I've realized that she's been fighting with Cole.
If Fate were to smile on me and turn his girlfriend against him, it would be the best thing possible.
Especially now that enough time has passed this semester that I'm running low on fancy makeup and fresh highlights. I'm due for another shopping trip to town, but this time I don't have Georgia's credit card to sponsor me—a card she's complained was canceled after her father found the charges I wracked up on it and didn't buy her excuse that it wasn't her who spent that money.
I need to find another way to keep up my new looks, fast.
Or I won't be a member of the inner circle for much longer.
It's not something I go looking for.
I don't even have to move anything on top of her desk.
I hurried back to our room after class, so I could have time to reapply my makeup before Mariana shows up, and now I'm standing in front of Holly's desk, staring at her mail. Unlike me, she gets a lot of it, most junk.
This particular envelope is a credit card offer.
Heart pounding, telling myself I'm being a bad person—and an idiot on top of it—I reach out and snag the envelope. It trembles in my fingers as I run them
across it, feeling for the telltale shape inside.
There's a card already in it. One no doubt tied to whatever bank accounts she shares with her parents. It's not hard to open up the envelope and discover the offer inside, complete with instructions on how to instantly activate it.
I feel sick just looking at it, but I can't seem to put it down—and I don't want to get caught with it in my hands. So I hurry to the bathroom, shut the door, and flip on the overhead fan just in case Holly comes home early.
This is something I shouldn't do. The sort of line that can't be crossed. It was one thing to pick up Georgia's credit card off the floor and get revenge for her catty comments by charging a few things to her account. Holly has been so nice to me; she's done nothing to deserve this.
But at the same time, it's not like it'll hurt her. She can just call and cancel the card when the first bill comes in. Her parents have the money and then some. They won't go into financial ruin—not like my mom, who's working two part-time jobs a week and barely has time to speak to me on the phone anymore. Our calls are full of long, pregnant silences as she closes her tired eyes and rests for the brief moments she gets.
She doesn't even have a credit card. With her lack of credit and employment history, she can't get one—and wouldn't be able to pay more than the minimums if she did have one.
Holly did tell me to get new makeup. She's complimented me on how much nicer my skin looks: refreshed, glowing, without dry spots and clogged pores from the cheap stuff I was using. She raved about my makeover. It's like she wanted to pay for it.
I know what I'm doing is wrong. I'm not even supposed to know the last four digits of Holly's social security number. I just saw them in the records office when I was fetching something for Mrs. Reynolds and remembered them because they're the same as the birthday I used to share with Silas: 1108.
