“I couldn’t survive without at least three cups a day. But, yeah, you may be right. It’s probably not that good for you.” I shrug. “Life’s too short to worry about that, don’t you think?”
“Besides, if you’re really worried about toxins, you should give up wine, too,” Flossie points out.
“Now that’s stupid,” Alice says.
“Whatever. How are you feeling now?” Flossie asks me. “Better?”
I frown. “I’m fine. Nothing a handful of paracetamol and some water couldn’t cure.”
“Coach went pretty hard on you.”
“Yeah.” I pause, debating whether to complain or apologize. “But I deserved it.” Flossie nods, and I see a hint of respect on her face.
“How’s Edward?” Flossie asks. “He seemed annoyed after the game.”
“I haven’t seen him. I texted him, but he hasn’t texted back.”
“Hmm. That’s odd. What about Libby? Have you spoken since last night?” she asks, lowering her voice. “She has a lot of nerve, if you ask me.”
“What do you mean?”
Flossie and Alice exchange looks.
“The party?” Flossie says. “Weren’t you upset by the way she was hanging on Edward?”
“She wasn’t hanging on him—they were just talking. I was drunk and wasn’t seeing clearly.”
They look at each other meaningfully.
“If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
“It’s not really our place . . . ,” Flossie says.
“We’re just looking out for you . . . ,” Alice says.
“It’s the kind of thing I’d like to know . . .”
“But I’m sure we’re wrong . . .”
My heart starts pounding. “Let me get this straight. You think there’s something going on between the two of them—for real?”
They exchange another look.
“What do I know?” Flossie says, shrugging. “I wouldn’t be comfortable with it, but . . . I could be totally off base.” She doesn’t look convinced.
The room gets more crowded as other girls stop by, but I barely hear the chitchat about classes and other students.
“Did you see Marcy Lawrence in chapel last week?” Alice says. “I think she was stoned.”
Sara Gibson looks around as if the room is bugged. “I heard she’s not just smoking weed. I heard she’s doing real drugs.”
“What—like cocaine?” Flossie says. “That’s so naff. Nobody does coke anymore.”
“Other things, too, though,” Sara says, nodding and sipping her wine. “Like Molly.”
As everybody slips into a conversation about party drugs, I’m completely zoned out. I feel humiliated—clearly everybody’s been talking about Edward and Libby behind my back.
My mind is racing through all the possibilities.
If Libby and Edward are hooking up behind my back, I will never forgive them.
“And don’t even get me started on heroin,” says Sara as Libby comes in the room. “It’s trendy now, if you can believe it.”
Libby looks shocked. “What kind of conversation am I walking into? Heroin at Sussex Park?”
“Don’t be stupid,” I say, frowning at her. “Sara’s talking about teenagers in bad towns. Nobody here is doing heroin.”
“How was I supposed to know what you were talking about? I just got here.”
I roll my eyes. “Have some wine,” I say, thrusting the bottle toward her.
Flossie and Alice exchange another look.
“So, Libby, where were you?” Flossie says.
“I was doing homework—I’m drowning in it.”
“Alone?” I ask, studying her face carefully.
She looks confused. “Yeah. Why?”
“Have you seen Edward?” Flossie asks. “He hasn’t texted Charlotte back all day.”
“Oh.” She flushes, turning to me. “I saw him in the library when you texted. He had to go to Windsor at the last minute, but I wouldn’t take it personally, Lotte—he seemed really stressed about everything.”
My heart sinks as my face burns, too—blushing deeply during tense situations is a family trait we share. Libby and Edward? It can’t be true. Can it? “Okay,” I say coldly.
“Are you feeling better?” Sara asks. “I heard you were a wreck on the hockey field. Everybody’s talking about it.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” I snap.
Sara turns to Libby. “I love your dress!” I glare at her. She’s clueless.
“Oh, thank you so much.” Libby fans out the black-and-white polka-dot skirt.
“I don’t recognize it,” Flossie says. “Where’d you get it?”
“I bought it online. Do you like it?” she asks anxiously. “I probably should have asked Charlotte before I purchased. I was taking a risk. It looked like a dress I saw in Elle.”
“Cute.”
“Good.” She looks pleased. “Fashion doesn’t come as naturally to me as it does to all of you.”
“I don’t know,” Flossie says, taking a sip of her wine and exchanging a look with me. “This all seems to be coming rather naturally to you, indeed.”
After everybody leaves, I try to get some maths homework done, but I can’t bring myself to concentrate. I keep looking at my phone to see if Edward has replied.
Nothing. He’s never gone this long without responding. I’m clearly not a priority.
And what is this nonsense about him rushing off campus but still having time for a cozy chat with Libby? It takes two seconds to respond to a text.
How dare he ignore me?
The fury inside me is coming to a boil. Sooner or later, I’m bound to explode.
thirteen
Every Monday morning, the entire school congregates in the chapel for mandatory convocation. Teachers make announcements. Clubs put on skits to bring attention to their fund-raisers or to drum up membership. Students make impassioned pleas for the social justice cause of the moment.
Once again, I’m running late, so I text Libby to go on without me. I’m so hurried that I barely have time to apply makeup, swiping an eye-shadow brush back and forth across my lids and making a quick slash with my eyeliner. Before I enter the chapel, I remind myself to calm down and take a breath. I run my fingers under my eyes to make sure there’s no smeared eyeliner or goop in my inner corners, and then smooth my damp hair back, slicking it into a neat ponytail.
My humiliating performance on the field against Norfolk feels like a distant memory. Instead, I’m laser focused on one thing: confronting Edward. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m determined to talk to him today. He should be comforting me and making sure I’m okay after yesterday—not ignoring me. We never spend any time together anymore and I’m sick of this hot and cold.
No guy treats me this way. I don’t care if he’s a prince.
I sneak into the chapel, finding a seat in the back. Master Kent walks to the front of the lectern, jabbing the air with his pointer finger as he addresses the student body.
“This year,” he booms in his plummy tones, “we’ll be taking up the theme of giving back. It’s critical to think of your fellow humans—less a responsibility and more of a privilege for most in this room.” He gives a rousing speech about the importance of charity, both in our local community and the world at large. He flashes his megawatt smile throughout the speech.
As Master Kent talks, I scour the room for my friends. They’re all seated together a few rows up. Edward is next to Libby.