The Girls Are All So Nice Here

by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn

  “Yeah.” I felt myself relax. Sully wasn’t mad. She hadn’t accused me of picking Kevin over her. I could have them both.

  It was late, probably close to midnight. I could tell by the way people were dancing, slow and sloppy. The energy from earlier had dissipated, leaving a funk of spilled beer and body odor in its wake. When Sully passed me a drink, it sloshed all over my shoes.

  “So did he go down on you?” Sully asked. I shook my head, trying to make it seem like I didn’t care. I had no idea he was supposed to go down on me, but the way Sully said it made it sound like he should have. I’d misread the power dynamic, same as when Hunter wanted to make her dinner but wouldn’t bring me back to his room.

  “Oh well,” she said. “Next time. Did you blow him?”

  “No, I didn’t blow him.” My words were sharp. I didn’t want her to talk about it as if it were just another random hookup.

  “You were gone for a long time. He can obviously keep it hard for a while.” She sipped her drink. Her choker was missing. We weren’t twins anymore. “I got bored.”

  I didn’t think I’d been gone for very long, but maybe she was right. I didn’t wear a watch. It wasn’t like there was a clock on the wall. Maybe the sex had taken a lot longer. Maybe I only thought it was mediocre because I was drunk.

  “Sorry you were bored,” I said. “That explains the terrible finger fuck.”

  “Where is he now?” she said.

  “I’m not sure, actually. He went to find Flora. To break up with her. He told me he needs to deal with this. That must’ve been what he meant.”

  Sully led me back onto the dance floor. “Sure. That must have been it.”

  I tried to shake off her weird mood and focus on the fact that I had gotten what I wanted. Kevin and I had had sex. He wanted nothing more from me than time. Sully was a skeptic, but she was skeptical about everything.

  As we danced, Kevin reinflated in my head to Prince Charming proportions. I hadn’t seen the dates on his messages to Lisa, Tammy, Britt. They were probably from before he met me. Plus, he probably wasn’t sending them long emails every night.

  People started leaving in clumps, only stragglers remaining. Sully’s coke was gone. She must have snorted the rest of it without me, because her energy was almost manic, her eyes wild and unfocused. Her hands, when they landed on my shoulders, were clammy. She wanted to keep dancing, but my feet were numb in my shoes.

  “We should go.” The noise had died and I didn’t have to shout anymore. “My feet really hurt.”

  “Fine.” Sully huffed out a breath, like she was annoyed at me for ruining her fun.

  We walked home arm in arm. Home—I had no idea when Butts C, with its loudness and smells, hairspray and Marc Jacobs and beer, had become my home. Next year, Sully and I would be roommates, and I could pretend Flora didn’t exist. Flora, who would undoubtedly never speak to me again anyway. Maybe I could ask to be transferred to another room. Lauren and I could swap. Maybe it would be that easy.

  Something was different tonight. Butts C was lit up like a Christmas tree, noise strung out around it. There were two fire trucks and several police cars parked near the front entrance, blocking our way, sirens flashing like strobe lights.

  “Great,” Sully said with a yawn. “Somebody must have pulled the fucking fire alarm again.”

  That was when I saw them, being ushered out the door. The Butts C crew. Some of them in pajamas with blankets draped over their shoulders like capes. Some wearing their slutty twin outfits. Gemma and Sienna in green bra tops and jean skirts, faces red and blotchy. Dawn the RA in a bathrobe, rubbing her eyes. Lauren’s hair disheveled, her face a mask of shock. Lily in terry-cloth shorts, biting her lip. Clara was with a guy whom she had obviously been in the process of fucking, except his arm was around her and she was crying.

  Most of them were crying.

  I didn’t notice the police tape until we practically tripped over it.

  I didn’t see the stretcher at all. It was already in the back of an ambulance, which was already on its way to the hospital, even though everybody must have known there was no reason to take her there.

  A policeman held out his arms when he saw us standing behind the tape, staring at the whole scene like it was something out of a movie. Bright blue eyes, graying hair.

  “You’re going to have to stay back, girls.”

  “What happened?” I blurted out at the same time Sully said, almost defiant, “We live here.”

  The cop frowned. “Don’t go anywhere. We’re going to be questioning everyone who lives in this building.”

  “Questioning us about what?”

  He didn’t answer. Somebody barked something through the device on his belt and he picked it up and walked away. Sully’s hand slipped around mine and enclosed my fingers. Her thumb rubbed the inside of my wrist.

  “Ella!” I called when I recognized her back, her stupid Posh Spice haircut. “Ella, over here.”

  She turned around, sniffling, her eyes and nose red. She actually was sick. But no—this was different. She was crying, her entire face contorted. I stepped over the police line, dragging Sully behind me.

  “What happened?” I looked past her, to where everyone’s heads were haloed by flashing lights, like the black sky was dropping its own disco ball. The boys, mostly in boxers and sweatpants, offering their arms. The girls, crouching, leaning. All the girls except Flora, who wasn’t anywhere.

  “Amb,” Ella said when we were in front of her. She practically fell into me, resting her wet face on my shoulder. “She’s dead. She’s dead.”

  A dam didn’t burst behind my eyes. I didn’t cry. This was some kind of joke, some elaborate hoax, a hazing ritual the whole dorm was in on. These weren’t police officers. They were actors, probably Wesleyan boys, which explained why they looked so young. Nobody was dead. But I couldn’t find the words to actually say that.

  Ella was practically hyperventilating. I could barely understand her, but she choked out the name. “Flora. I saw her. I saw the—what she did.” She bent down and put her head between her knees, like she was going to throw up.

  I was going to throw up too, and I did, vaguely aware that Sully was still holding my hand, as vodka and beer burned my throat. The things we’d said. The things we’d done. The messages we’d sent.

  The last message I’d sent.

  It couldn’t have been what happened. My fingers, the phone. They weren’t murder weapons. It must have been something else. Kevin, maybe. I need to find her and deal with this. Where did he go after he left me?

  Sully pulled my hair back from my face and stroked it gently, whispering calmly in my ear. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it. We were together all night, okay? You didn’t leave my side.”

  She was here for me. She would keep me safe. I bit the insides of my cheeks and nodded until I believed it.

  NOW

  To: “Ambrosia Wellington” a.wellington@wesleyan.edu

  From: “Wesleyan Alumni Committee” reunion.classof2007@gmail.com

  Subject: Class of 2007 Reunion

  Dear Ambrosia Wellington,

  The birch tree signifies truth, new beginnings, and the cleansing of the past. Share your memories of Flora’s beautiful spirit and her reverberating impact on those who knew her. Flora’s positivity was a rare quality in a world that presents so many challenges, and the Flora Banning Memorial Foundation, created in her honor, strives to keep doing her good work.

  Sincerely,

  Your Alumni Committee

  “It’s not Flora,” Sully says. “Flora’s dead.” But she doesn’t sound so sure.

  The girl takes her spot beside Ella. She doesn’t smile. I finally let myself breathe because of course she’s not Flora. But she looks almost identical. Her eyebrows are a bit different, darker and thicker, and her mouth is wider. She’s willowy, like Flora, the same thin limbs and dainty collarbones. Younger than us, but older than Flora was when she died. She’s the girl
I see everywhere, Flora’s ghost chasing me around. Or maybe every girl has become Flora to me.

  No, I have seen this girl before. I’ve met this girl before. In Butts C, clinging to Flora, face mobbed with tears. In pictures on our wall, little girls with swan necks and sun-whitened hair. In news footage, holding Flora’s mother’s hand.

  “It’s her sister,” I say. “It’s Poppy.”

  “I didn’t know she had a sister,” Sully says.

  “She talked about her all the time,” I say. “You must have known.”

  Sully shrugs. “I had no idea.” Her nonchalance makes me wince, not because it’s mean but because it proves my crime was always worse. Flora thought I was her best friend.

  Poppy’s eyes scan the crowd, looking for somebody. Maybe she’s looking for us.

  “What if it’s her?” I practically whisper.

  I never considered that Poppy could be behind the notes. She wasn’t there. She had no cause to suspect anyone but Kevin. He was the only reason she and Flora ever argued. She even spoke out against him, in the media shitstorm that followed. Her statement to the press was tearful, a stark contrast to her father’s angry missive. She couldn’t even finish without sobs overtaking her speech. You took my sister away, and I’ll never forgive you.

  “It’s not her,” Sully says. “I mean, she barely looks old enough to drink.”

  She’s twenty-seven. Four years younger than us. Sully doesn’t know, but I do.

  “Thank you so much to everyone for coming,” Poppy says. Her voice is almost identical to Flora’s. High and airy, probably susceptible to bursts of giggles. Flora told me Poppy wanted to go to Wesleyan too. I told her she could come visit, stay with us for a couple nights. She would love it here.

  Flora told her sister about me, the girl who slept a few feet away. But she got it wrong.

  “My sister would have loved to be here for the reunion. And she is here, in spirit. It took me a long time to come to terms with what happened to her, and I always knew I wanted to do something to honor her memory. After I did my undergrad here at Wesleyan, I started this foundation to raise money for mental health awareness, so girls like Flora don’t suffer alone. It’s my mission in life to make sure women feel more supported. We’re in this together.”

  Poppy during the investigation, so certain. Flora would have left a note.

  “Flora was more than just a sister to me. She was my best friend. She would have done anything for me. Now it’s my turn to do something for her.”

  “See?” I hiss to Sully. “It’s her turn. This is a threat.”

  “There’s no way she could know it was us,” Sully murmurs, like she’s trying to convince herself.

  “Flora loved nature,” Poppy continues, her voice fraying. “Her dream was to have a house with a garden and a lot of trees. She had so much love to give, not just to everyone but everything. She took care of the earth. She took care of people. I wish I could have taken care of her. But this is the next best thing I could do. She would have wanted this.”

  Wanted what? I think. Adrian shoots me a bewildered look and I wonder if I said it out loud.

  “I encourage you, her former friends and classmates, to share your memories of Flora. To keep her legacy alive. If you’re able, please consider donating to the memorial foundation in her honor. But above all, listen to each other.” She blots underneath her eye with her fingertip. “Thank you to everyone for coming. Looking around, I can see exactly how loved my sister was.”

  People clap lightly. Ella embraces Poppy, then turns to the crowd, wires her mouth into a smile, and clears her throat. “Flora was genuinely kind to me when I got here. She made me feel like I could just be myself. I can’t even begin to stress how much that meant to me.”

  I stare at the grass under our shoes. I could have been kind to Ella, but somehow it was easier not to be.

  Ella continues. “Sometimes people can look like they’re totally okay, but they’re not. This is why it’s important to check in with your friends.

  “I want to open this up to all of you.” Ella focuses her gaze directly on me. “That’s why we’re here. To share and grieve together. I’m sure a lot of you have something to say about Flora Banning.”

  Gemma wanders into the center of the circle and starts telling a story about how Flora was there for her during her dad’s cancer diagnosis. Sniffles travel through the crowd, but Sully huffs out a frustrated breath.

  “Please. Her dad never had cancer. She’s just too embarrassed to say that Flora went with her to get tested when she thought she had gonorrhea. Gem told me Flora was a total prude.”

  It would have been easy to nod in agreement if I didn’t know Gemma’s dad died during our junior year. I shift uncomfortably, wishing I could be buoyed by Sully’s version of the truth.

  Lily shares a memory of Flora’s bringing her candy from Weshop when she was particularly stressed about a paper. Clara tells us Flora helped her end things with her toxic high school boyfriend.

  “Saint fucking Flora,” Sully snaps. “This is ridiculous.”

  But I’m wondering if maybe the girls really did love Flora. They were drawn to the very warmth they lacked. They let her be their personal sun, under which they could bloom without competition, the opposite of my mom’s sunflowers. That was why they formed a phalanx around her memory after her death.

  Sully and I hated that a girl like that existed. We were too cynical to believe in her goodness. But maybe Flora actually was that nice. Maybe I aligned myself with the wrong person, and a girl died because of it. Nausea rises, sudden and acute.

  “I have to go.” I turn away, ignoring Adrian’s concerned “Where are you going?” and Sully’s outstretched hand. I shove my way out of the circle and break into a run on High Street. I need to get away from campus, no matter how bad it looks. No matter what they all think. I run away from the noise, from the starbursts of alumni and graduates everywhere. Nobody can stand in my way.

  Except for the last person I want to see right now. The last person I ever want to see. Felty, looming with his hands on his hips, like he has been waiting for me. I do think he has been waiting. For a very long time.

  “You went,” he says. “Did you get to share a favorite memory? I’m sure you have lots to choose from.”

  “What happened was a tragedy.” I keep my chin raised. “I’ll be making a donation to the memorial foundation.”

  He doesn’t break eye contact. “You think I was hard on you. And I was.”

  I never thought Felty would apologize. I didn’t think he was capable of I’m sorry. But this sounds like a lead-up, an introduction. His eyes bore into my face.

  “I wasn’t hard enough.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  He shakes his head, more like a twitch. “All that, and you never even got what you wanted from it, did you? You never got the guy. Or the career. I guess I should be happy about that, but it isn’t enough.”

  “You aren’t allowed to talk to me like that.” My voice breaks. “I’ll report you for harassment.”

  He laughs now, not loud and booming, but quietly, which is more disconcerting. “To who? And tell them what? If you want to rehash the past, please do. I’m more than ready to play that game. Your file has never left my head.”

  Your file has never left my head. Maybe I was right when I thought it was Felty. I picture him now, hunched over that card stock. Our case was personal to him. He couldn’t save his sister but he could make it right through Flora Banning.

  “You wanted to get us here this weekend. You want something to happen.”

  He loops his thumbs into his belt. “There’s a lot I want to happen. But I didn’t have to do anything to get you here this weekend. I knew you’d be here. You wouldn’t be able to resist coming back to see what you’ve done.”

  My jaw trembles and I remember that night, how I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering. I turn to leave.

  “Ambrosia,” he calls after me.
“You’re wrong. There is no us. Just you.”

  Now I’m running, my wedge sandals making thunk noises on the sidewalk. Sully and I went over our story so many times, diligently, the same way we once memorized monologues for class. We have to stick to the same story. Those were her words. We sat across from each other and repeated the same lines, staring into each other’s eyes.

  I didn’t turn on her.

  But maybe she turned on me.

  There is no us. She said that, and Felty somehow knows.

  I slow to a walk through Andrus and up Foss Hill, but I don’t stop at the Nics to see what might be waiting there for me. I head straight for V Lot and get into our rental car, then use my phone to pull up directions to the Super 8. To the only person who can give me the truth about that night.

  Even though I can never do the same for him.

  THEN

  Kevin was the one who found her, but nobody felt sorry for him. It was already his fault.

  “He might as well have cut her wrists himself,” Ella said when we were in the Butts A lounge, huddled together on couches, the boys with their arms around us. I leaned against Sully, our hands knotted together. “I hope he rots in hell.”

  Gemma wiped her face. “I thought they had this perfect relationship. Does anyone know what happened?”

  “Amb, you must know something,” Lily said. “Did they break up?”

  “I don’t know anything.” My tone was curt. I was already sick of being asked.

  “So they had a fight?” Lauren passed me the flask of vodka that was being shuffled around without looking at me. “And that’s why she—”

  When she did meet my eyes, there was anger in hers. Anger, and something else. Suspicion. Maybe I was paranoid, but she had been there. She’d seen me and Sully. She knew we were looking for a boy I thought was in love with me.

  Ella jumped in. “Why else would she? He let her leave that party drunk and alone. He must’ve known she was really upset. If he would have been with her, she wouldn’t have—”