“I knew it. You’ve been snooping around like some asshole Nancy Drew,” Avery hisses. “Or what? You’re trying to win a Pulitzer or something?” She rips the Ledger in half, as if to demonstrate how ridiculous the notion is.
“I knew you were pumping me for information.” Margot bristles. Like I’ve really put her out.
“Liv, I told you to drop this.” Sierra doesn’t sound angry. More sad. Resigned.
And then Avery comes back in with venom. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Me? Why are you such two-faced fucking liars? All the shit you’ve pulled over the years behind my back? Bomb threats, spiking protein shakes and coffee, sleeping with girls to blackmail them…And you’re lying about what happened after the party! Exchanging covert texts and burning hoodies in secret back rooms? How are you shocked that I’m digging? Someone on campus murdered our friend, and frankly, you guys look guilty as fuck.”
“You think it’s one of us?!” Margot cries.
Avery shakes her head. “You’ve lost it.”
Sierra’s eyes flick behind me to the crowd. Now they’ve heard all of this. I’ve come this far only to blow it at the final hurdle. My rage high fades into the searing burn of humiliation. What have I done?
Then I feel a light touch on my arm. I wrench my arm away violently.
“Olivia…” Ethan’s eyes flick from me, to Avery, to the crowd. He worries his lip. Guilt.
“You printed it,” I practically whisper. “How could you? I told you!”
“I didn’t think—” His voice comes out feeble. Good, let him feel bad.
“You didn’t believe me. Didn’t trust me. Thought I was, what, paranoid? Crazy?” I hold a beat, catch a flash in his expression. “You think I’m like them?”
“You are like us.” Avery simply has to chime in. “Ethan, you know the only reason you got co-editor is that Vasquez threw a wrench in the works after I did what I had to do to get Olivia the job. And you should ask her about Ingrid. Or ask Seth. You’re a hypocrite, Livvy.”
That’s all she has to say. Ethan goes from contrite to wounded. I want to scream, to explain that I didn’t mean to, that I loved being co-editor with him. It worked out for the best! And the catfish thing…it was stupid, years ago. But it’s enough. He sees me for what I am. As petty and ruthless as any Ivy. So I do everyone the courtesy of leaning into my reputation.
“Fuck you, Aves.” I flip her the finger. Turn around slowly and share it with the crowd. “Fuck all of you!” All they’re missing is popcorn to enjoy my life imploding as entertainment.
My feet can’t carry me out of there fast enough. I get in my run, all right, flying back to Bay at a breakneck pace until I collapse onto my bed in sobs. Finally, after snotting up half a tissue box, I retrieve Emma’s decoy Wheat Thins box and dine on stale crackers as I try to wrap my brain around what the hell I’m going to do next.
My phone buzzes from across the room. My heart leaps. Ethan? I betrayed him, ages ago, but he betrayed me, too. We’re square.
But when I pick up my phone, I see it’s not a text. Instagram DM. Kaila’s response chills me through.
Bingo. Though Tyler got shitty scores, so no clue why Emma used him. He’s pretty but kind of dumb. And don’t forget she used your log-in for the IDs, so if the cops find out, you’re on the hook. Watch your back.
She’s right.
Emma gave me the perfect motive for her murder.
I do not want to go to the memorial.
Ghostly light flickers through the window in my room. I peer surreptitiously through the curtains to the path and lawn below. Tyler’s picked the edge of the lake for his ghastly display, right in front of Bay, so there’s no escaping it. But I want nothing more than to hide in my room.
Yet I bend over to retrieve my boots, slip my feet inside, and start to lace up. Emma’s phone hangs heavy in my coat pocket. It doesn’t matter that I’m all on my own now, that everyone hates me. Ethan hates me. I’ve come this far, and I’m running out of time. Someone from the atrium will tell Detective Cataldo about the things I said. She’s going to ask questions. I have to come with solid evidence. There are still so many tangled threads.
I have to go to the memorial.
I’m pulling on my coat when a scratching sound stops me halfway across the room. Fear grips my insides. What if it’s Avery here to exact her revenge? The scraping picks up again. A key in the lock? I barely manage to consider hiding when the door creaks open. Mrs. Russo’s mouth forms an O of surprise.
“Olivia! I thought you’d be at the memorial already. Hello.”
“Uh, hi,” I say as we do an awkward dance at the door. I’ve only met Emma’s mother a few times in passing on move-in days. Polite but cool. It’s worse now.
“I caught you on your way out. I won’t keep you.”
It’s the conclusion to a conversation we haven’t had. “Oh, right, yes,” I stammer. “I was heading down. For Emma. Are you going?”
Mrs. Russo shakes her head. Her chestnut hair is tucked into a perfect chignon. “Charles is bringing up a few boxes. For her things.” She grimaces.
“You’re packing tonight?” I can’t help the panic in my tone. It’s too soon. I don’t even know who Emma is anymore. Was. They can’t take her away.
Mrs. Russo nods. “We decided it didn’t make sense to make another trip after the holidays. Better to get it all done now.”
She’s efficient. Type A. Like her daughter. I search her face, looking for Emma. Wondering how far the apple fell from the tree. Or did Emma rot off the branch all on her own?
Mrs. Russo surveys Emma’s side of the room, takes a shuddering deep breath. Then, like an animatronic, she springs back to life with the typical strong-mom veneer. “The memorial is a lovely gesture; I’ll have to send a card. You go on. I’ll get to work here. We’ll be gone once you’re back.” She steps away from the door and sweeps a hand out.
I have no choice anymore. She ushers me out the door with a sad smile, and I trip along the hall to my doom.
Or maybe it’s my reckoning.
* * *
—
It’s a pitch-dark New England winter evening lit only by two hundred glittering candles. Claflin has dimmed the harsh glow of the streetlights for effect. Lack of floodlights provides me better coverage as I make my way into the throng of students. No one’s picked me out yet. I don’t see the Ivies or Ethan.