I catch Sierra checking her phone every few minutes. She’ll bolt soon if I don’t act fast.
“Hey, I was wondering….What’s with you guys being so anal about the timeline? None of us saw Emma after the party, right?”
Sierra’s hand stills, pencil poised precariously over her notepaper. “No. Why would you ask me that?”
“Uh, because the detective is asking, and we had an emergency meeting to go over the timeline.”
“We just wanted to get on the same page. You’re being paranoid, Liv.”
Her words echo. Familiar. When I asked them why they went into Northampton when they knew I had homework. When I asked if they went to a room party without me. Late brunches and early dinners and movies in Avery’s room.
You’re being paranoid, Liv. We didn’t purposefully exclude you.
I wasn’t paranoid then, and I’m not now.
But I smile, laugh it off. I am good, agreeable Olivia. “Yeah, sorry, the detective just has me spooked. She’s kind of scary.”
“I’m glad my dad called in our lawyer, then. Speaking of, I gotta go. I have a prep call in twenty minutes. Catch you later?”
“Sure, dinner?”
Sierra hesitates, then closes her textbook with a snap. “I was gonna order pizza and cram some more in my room. Rain check?”
“Definitely.” My teeth hurt as I force a pleasant tone. I let her go, pretend everything is A-OK, even though I know that when I head out to the dining hall for dinner and knock on Sierra’s door, she won’t be there. Avery’s Audi will be missing from its usual spot. My friends are a war council, and I’m not invited.
* * *
—
The Ivies aren’t the only ones skipping dinner at the dining hall. It’s half-empty when I roll in at six, enabling me to grab some primo options without the line. I order a custom stir-fry and head into the table area like it’s the first day of school all over again. Awkward with a tray and unsure where to sit.
Then I spot Seth Feldstein, also alone. Hot shame and the thrill of the hunt wash through me at the same time. I know Seth is the perfect person to talk to, but I’ve also been fastidiously avoiding him for, oh, the last two years. Too hard to look him in the face after what I did. But he’s an easy mark, an ideal place to start if I’m going to piece together Emma’s last movements. Because I’m going to find out why my friends are lying and try to save my own ass from being a suspect.
And I’ve gotten nowhere on my own so far. Before dinner I checked everywhere—Instagram, TikTok, even a Hail Mary on Facebook—for posts from the party. Most people’s photos are from early in the night, everyone’s faces pristine and their eyes bright before a long night and alcohol ruined them. Very little from later in the night is public. I need access to people’s phones, to their apps, so I can check their archives manually.
Enter Seth.
I throw my shoulders back and stride over. I can be confident, flirty. I know what Seth likes.
He’s spooning Cap’n Crunch into his mouth, even though it’s dinner, while staring down at his phone. His shirt is rumpled, like he found it crumpled in a ball at the bottom of his closet, which he probably did.
“Mind if I sit here?” I don’t wait for his permission, though he grunts it while I’m midsquat. “Have you finished your paper for AP Brit Lit?” I ask. It’s as good a conversation starter as any. Our papers are now due Saturday.
“Nope. I spent all yesterday writing supplements.”
“Oh, for regular decision?” He side-eyes me, like why am I even here and what do I want? Touché. “I didn’t get into Penn,” I offer. “Well, I was deferred. I’m in the same boat. There goes my Christmas holiday, right?”
“You’re really thinking about college applications after what happened?”
Ouch. I twirl lo mein noodles onto my fork. “I don’t really have a choice. I have to apply somewhere. And Emma…I want to know what happened. I left the party early. You were there, right?”
“I live in Whitley, so yeah.”
“Did you…see her? Late in the evening, I mean. I left at like ten. Did you see her fight with anyone?”
“Uh, other than Avery? You were there for that.” Seth shifts uncomfortably. “Why are you asking me? Aren’t the police looking into all of this?”
“Did they question you?”
He shakes his head. “Not me, but a few of my friends. They told them the same thing I’ll tell you: Emma was drinking, like everyone else. She was with Tyler some of the night, with your friends other times. It’s not like I kept tabs.”
Seth’s hackles are up. Shit. I backpedal and play innocent. “Sorry, I only thought maybe you saw her before she died, could tell me she had a good time at the party. I really miss her. I’m sorry to bother you.” I move to get up, but Seth clears his throat and motions for me to stay.
“No, I’m sorry. I get you. It’s sick what happened. Here. Claflin is supposed to be safe.” He cradles a glass of soda between his hands. Takes a sip. “Look, Emma wasn’t my favorite person in the world, considering, but I’m sorry she’s dead.”
Considering? Dammit, that means he knows. Though, of course he knows. He’d be a moron not to have figured it out. But my part in the ruse? I look at him through my lashes, subtle. No ire seems to be coming my way. In fact, the next thing he does is apologize.
“Sorry, I know they’re your friends, but to be honest, I never got why.”
“What does that mean?” It comes out a screech without my meaning it to.
“One of these things is not like the others,” he singsongs like a Muppet.
I scowl and cross my arms over my chest. “Because I’m poor?”
Seth laughs. “I was going to say nice, but poor works, too.”
“I’m not nice,” I say. It comes out petulant. What a horrible thing to say to an ambitious woman. Nice gets left in the dust. Nice doesn’t catfish Seth Feldstein for three months to help Emma land the captainship of the FIRST Robotics team. But I’m not going to tell him that. It’s my dirty little secret, the worst thing I’ve done as an Ivy. Seth can just continue hating Emma for that. After all, she did put him on the List. Ingrid is on her.
“All right, fine, not a backstabbing bitch, then. Whatever the opposite of that is, that’s you. I don’t think you know half of what your friends have done. We all talk, you know, about what the Ivies get up to behind our backs. Your name doesn’t come up very often. And if you’re asking me what happened later that night at the party, that means your friends aren’t telling you shit.”