India raises her hand slightly, as if calling for silence.
“Well, it takes two,” Georgie mutters quietly, chastened.
My shoulders fall. All the fight has gone out of me.
“I shouldn’t have lost it in public,” I say. “I couldn’t help myself.”
India nods. “Nobody’s perfect.”
“How bad was it?”
“Bad.”
I remember the shocked look on Edward’s face. “I don’t think anybody’s ever spoken to him like that.”
“It may have been a first,” India says.
“Are you going to text him or go over there?” Flossie asks.
“Huh?”
“Edward.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“When you apologize to him,” she says slowly, as if talking to a five-year-old.
“Um, I’m not apologizing to him.”
Flossie’s eyebrows nearly fly off her face. “Are you insane? But what if he cuts you out?”
“Then he bloody cuts me out. He should be apologizing to me. I wouldn’t have needed to lose it on him if he’d just treated me like a human being in the first place.”
Flossie nods slowly. “Actually . . . you may be right. He’s been totally ignoring you in favor of Libby. Screw it. Why should you apologize to him?”
“My mother never apologized to my father,” says Alice. “Of course, they’re divorced now.”
India shakes her head, rubbing her hand across her eyes as if she’s exhausted by this turn of events. “You’ve got balls, Charlotte. I’ll say that much for you.”
“What about Libby?” Georgie asks me.
My sister’s stricken face flashes in my head, and I feel ashamed. “I think I really hurt her feelings.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand, right?” says Alice. “She’s so dependable. She’s Libby.”
“Maybe,” I say, pulling out my phone. I start to craft an “I’m sorry” text, but India puts her hand on my arm.
“Nothing has happened between them.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know. You should apologize to her in person.”
I leave my cup of wine and stand up, dusting off my bum as I make my way to the door. “If I’m not back in an hour, send a search team after me,” I joke.
I walk upstairs one flight, knocking on Libby’s wooden door.
There’s no answer, so I knock again.
“Libby? It’s Charlotte.”
“Go away,” she says, her voice teary.
I ignore her, opening the door. She’s curled up in a ball on the bed.
“Go away,” she repeats.
She looks so vulnerable, her thin body shrunken into itself. Her face is pressed into the pillow, her glossy brown hair billowing around her head as if to protect her from insults and hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sitting next to her and putting my hand on her back.
She flips over, turning to face me. Her cheeks are red and her nose is puffy. Her white pillowcase has streaks of black mascara on it. For a second, I think about how this means she’s wearing mascara now. “I didn’t do anything,” she says, sniffling. “Edward and I are just friends. You must know that.”
“I know,” I say soothingly.
“I would never go after your boyfriend, Charlotte.”
“I shouldn’t have accused you. I was jealous. I snapped. You’ve been spending time together, and he and I aren’t, and this year is really starting to get to me. I’m mad at him, not you.”
“The last thing I’d want to do is make you uncomfortable or overstep boundaries, Lotte,” she says, sitting up. “I wish you’d talked to me about it first so I could have taken a step back. I’m sorry.”
“It’s got nothing to do with you. I’m just being a cow.”
“Maybe a little bit,” she says, smiling through her tears. “Tiny cow. Baby cow.”
“I wanted us to have the best year ever, and now look at us. Me single, with everybody thinking I’m a crazy person, and you collapsed in tears looking like a hot mess. We’re a pair.”
Libby laughs, crying a little bit at the same time.
I reach out to play with her hair like when we were kids, plaiting a braid on the side of her temple. It’s thick and strong between my fingers. “I was a jerk.”
“No, you weren’t,” she says. “It breaks my heart to think that you were suffering in silence because of me.”
“It really threw me for a loop—him confiding in you and not me.”
Libby looks sad. “I’m sorry, Bug. I should have tried harder to see it your way. I get why it was hurtful.”
“Thanks, Button.” I almost ask her yet again to tell me what Edward said, but I decide to let it go. It’s beside the point.
We’re both silent for a minute. “So, what are you going to do about him?” she asks.
I sigh. “I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”
“Did you really want to break up? Were you serious?”
I consider the question. “You know what? Yes. I was serious—I am serious. We barely saw each other. We’re not into the same things. And apparently he doesn’t even feel comfortable enough to confide in me—” I put my hand up as Libby starts to say something. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty. It’s just the truth. I can’t be in that kind of relationship. I guess I’ve realized I’m not built like that.”
She nods. “You have to be true to yourself.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s just . . .”
“What?”
“Look,” she says. “You have a good thing going this year. Your friends love you. But everything revolves around Edward—he’s like the sun to them. It would be a shame to throw it all away because of your pride.”
I fiddle with her hair, taking it out of the plait and then rebraiding it. I see Libby’s point. Even if I don’t want to get back together with Edward romantically, I should still try to smooth things over. I’ve spent all this time building foundations and creating new friendships.
“Have I ever told you how smart you are?” I say, leaning on her for a hug.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks. “You seem really calm considering you guys just broke up.”
“Honestly . . . he’s boring. I know I kept saying it wasn’t about him being a prince . . . but that’s not true. If he’d just been any old hot guy, I probably would have lost interest after three weeks. Although he is a dynamite kisser, so maybe not.”
She blushes.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, patting her arm. “Next! Who’ve you got for me, Sussex Park?”
I’m putting on a good show: of course my pride is wounded. Of course I’m a little sad about breaking up with Edward. But it’s not like the two of us were going to get married.
We’ll just be friends, and I’m sure everything will be fine.
I pull my jacket around my body as I walk across campus to Stuart Hall. The weather has changed and it’s seemingly dropped fifteen degrees overnight. Winter is in the air.
As I stand outside Stuart Hall, I look up at the dormitory. There are only a few lights on in the dark: most students are probably still at the dining hall, or maybe at the library. I’ll get in trouble if I’m spotted in the boys’ dormitory, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.