I check the time—10:45 p.m.—so cutting it fine on curfew. What could he need to talk to me about that we can’t discuss tomorrow?
I find Avery leaning forward at an awkward angle, trying to spy my screen. “What’s that?” I’m grateful Ethan didn’t text anything of substance.
“Oh, Ethan has a question about something. For the Ledger. He wants me to come over to Whitley, but I really don’t want to get dressed.” We’re rocking pajamas and fuzzy socks. My makeup, at least, is still on.
“You should go! I’m hitting a wall anyway on these things. I want to let them sit overnight before I send any of them to Megan.”
I envision myself going back to my room, getting dressed, bearing the cold to trek over to Whitley. I don’t want to do any of it, except for the warmth at the end of the tunnel—Ethan. And I’m terribly curious what the urgency is.
“Fine.” I extricate myself from the sprawl of Avery’s limbs and pack up my laptop. I sway on my feet, remembering that, oh yeah, I’ve drunk half a bottle of wine. My blood zings with possibility, lips tingling from the phantom sensation of would-be kisses. What if Ethan has romantic intentions for such a late-night summons?
I rush back to my room, put on dark-wash jeans and one of my newest and most flattering tops, just in case—purple and teal, with a plunging neckline. Then a frisson of terror streaks through me, and I add a black button-up cardigan as a modesty shield. My winter gear goes on top, and I’m out the door in ten minutes.
I tap into Whitley, making my way to the lounge. It’s comparatively staid, now that the party layout has been replaced with a school-sanctioned study area. I find Ethan pacing in front of the television, his eyes scanning the floor, mouth moving as if he’s reciting something to himself. I call his name and his head snaps up, smile so electric it sends a pleasant ripple of shivers through me. But then his gaze turns serious, and he beckons me closer.
“Hey, it was easier to meet here, but let’s go up to my room.”
My heart stutters in panic. He’s already leading me toward the stairs.
“This is very ominous, Ethan. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“In a minute. Don’t worry.”
We turn left at the landing, and he leads me four doors down. His room sparks some serious déjà vu. The furniture echoes the pieces in my own double back at Bay: sand-colored wooden desk, bed frame, dresser set arranged from left to right, but Whitley has been standing for over a hundred years, so all the other room features are rustic and charming. A lush, deep cherry wood hugs frames of both door and windows, and there’s a patch of exposed brick on the outward-facing wall.
I peg Ethan’s side immediately, the right one, where a Toronto Maple Leafs flag makes it painfully obvious. To fill otherwise blank wall space, there’s also an abstract art print and a movie poster. Some old Scorsese film about gangsters. His roommate’s side is cluttered with posters of shiny cars, big-busted women, a different Scorsese film about gangsters, and a giant bulletin/dry-erase board crowded with class assignments and schedules. There’s no roommate to be seen. I gesture at that side of the room.
“He’s studying for AP Bio. He won’t be back until late. We need the privacy.”
“Ethan, what the hell is going on?”
He leads me over to the bed, giving a sweeping gesture for me to sit. I do, and he pulls out his desk chair, arranging it catty-corner to where I am. He leans close, even though we are alone.
“Sorry for the cloak-and-dagger. Also, you look really nice. That top is aces.”
Ethan ducks his head to hide the flush in his cheeks, without success. Meanwhile, I go warm and bubbly all over.
“Anyway, after dinner I talked to a few people and got some more intel on the Ivies for you. Specifically, I got Seth to spill.”
Acid pushes up my throat as Ethan throws me a solemn look. Then he turns to his laptop and pulls up our tracking document. Next to Seth’s name and under Margot, Avery, and Emma’s columns he writes Catfished.
Relief floods through me as I release a breath. He’s pinned it on the other girls. He doesn’t know it was me. Now it’s time to play dumb.
“Catfished?”
“Seth thought he’d met a girl named Ingrid from Wheatford Prep on a subreddit. They DMed, emailed, texted for months, including some pretty intense sexting.” Ethan grimaces. “He showed me and everything. So, Ingrid insists on meeting for the first time in person to…you know, and it has to be the Saturday of some huge FIRST Robotics competition. Seth chooses love over academics and then gets stood up, and Emma ends up team captain. Once Ingrid stopped returning any of his messages, Seth pieced together that she’d had an uncanny habit of keeping him busy during FIRST building sessions…so that’s why he hates you guys. I get it, though. If someone did that to me…”
It’s surreal to hear my own sabotage told to me like a story. Only I know that Ethan and Seth are missing a few pieces. Yeah, Emma put Seth on the board, but Avery and I created Ingrid together. We’re the writers in the group. Ingrid was like my own personal smutty RPG. I burn red hot to think Ethan read some of my sexts.
“You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve been drinking. I think it’s catching up with me.” Wine will excuse my flush, surely.
“Wish you’d brought some over. After plumbing the depths of humanity today, I could use it.”
“Ha, no way I could sneak off with any of Avery’s private store. She takes her French reserves very seriously.”
“Speaking of, how did it go? Find anything out from Avery?”
“Not much, honestly. It felt normal. Maybe too normal? I can’t tell anymore, though, looking at that.” I gesture at the Ivies’ ledger. It’s beginning to fill up. “Maybe I never could.”
Ethan points to a single word hovering under Avery’s name at the bottom of the sheet. “Who did she get expelled? I know it wasn’t Emma, but that’s a damn good motive for murder.”
I squirm under Ethan’s too-earnest gaze. This one has been bugging me. “It’s Kaila Montgomery,” I say. “She got expelled sophomore year, but it had nothing to do with Avery. Kaila called in a fake bomb threat to get out of exams.”
Ethan arches his eyebrows. “That sounds oddly similar to the Ivies’ tactics.”
“Well, I know that now,” I mumble. “It just seems extreme, is all. The only thing I could come up with that Avery benefited from with Kaila’s leaving was that she had been the runner-up in the student body elections. So, technically, it’s how Avery became junior class president.”