“Okay, some people care. But those people are dinosaurs. Morons. The world isn’t like that anymore.”
“Yes, it is. Flossie and Tarquin, and Oliver, and even David—the whole lot—they all play like they’re so egalitarian—hanging with us poor little Weston sisters, letting an American into the group—but when you really get down to it, they’ll always see us as outsiders.”
“Yeah, but Edward’s not like that. He doesn’t give a toss where Libby came from—or Georgie, or you, for that matter.” India’s voice becomes more impassioned. She seems to be waking up from whatever daze she’s been in for the past few minutes. “He just wants to surround himself with good people. He wants to have a group of friends he can trust—and it doesn’t bloody matter where they came from.”
I look at India in surprise. In the year we’ve been close friends, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard her raise her voice.
“What’s got you all riled up?”
“Believe it or not, I’m annoyed, too. Flossie came to lunch today and said she knew it was you, and everybody automatically believed her, just like that. They’re sheep.”
“You’re only realizing that now?” I say. “Edward’s the shepherd. You’re all just the flock.”
“Except Edward’s sleepwalking on the job. He’s miserable over Libby.”
“He should be.”
“I was trying to get Flossie to see reason, but she wouldn’t.”
“I’ll go talk to her,” I say. “Flossie’s loyal. I’ll get through to her.”
She nods. “I’m starting to realize that maybe our friends aren’t as loyal as I’d thought. There’s a traitor somewhere in our midst. Good luck rooting them out.”
“What do you want?” Flossie asks, crossing her arms. I’ve knocked on her door and am standing outside her room a few hours after our showdown in the dining hall.
“I want to talk, Floss.”
“I don’t think there’s much to say.”
“Come on,” I say. “You know me. You know I would never do that.”
We stare each other down.
“Fine,” she says, opening the door wide. “You’ve got five minutes.”
I walk inside, sitting down on her bed.
“So,” she says, looking at me like I’m a bug. “How’s the app? Seems like your social media following has shot through the roof. That’s quite the coincidence.”
“It. Wasn’t. Me. You think that’s my MO? Selling out my sister? Getting on Edward’s bad side? How dumb do you think I am? I thought you knew me a little better than that.”
Her face darkens. “Well, I’m sure you’ve had thousands of downloads, no?” I nod. Bill’s been sending me a flurry of texts all day—we now have more than sixty thousand people on our mailing list.
“You’re right. Nobody knew who I was before today, and now the entire damn country knows me and Selfsy.”
“Lucky girl,” she says. “Going straight to the top—isn’t that what you really wanted all along?”
“By throwing my sister under the bus? By betraying my friend? No.”
“I thought you came here to apologize, not to argue.”
“But I didn’t do anything. I don’t have anything to apologize for!” I feel like I’m talking in circles. Why is Flossie refusing to believe me?
She sighs. “I don’t think we have much more to say here, Charlotte. I wish you luck with the app. Really, I do. But I think this is all for the best. Our group doesn’t respect traitors.”
“Ugh!” I feel like stomping my foot in frustration. “I need a cigarette,” I say, as much to myself as to her.
“Denial isn’t very becoming of you,” she says. She opens the drawer next to her bed and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, handing me one. “But, here. Knock yourself out.”
“Libby doesn’t smoke, you know,” I say, trying to make small talk while I figure out how to get through to Flossie.
Flossie rolls her eyes as she places a cigarette between her own lips. “It’s so irritating.”
“I think it’s smart. We’re all going to quit someday—like, I’m not going to be thirty and smoking—but for Libby, that someday never has to come.”
“Okay,” Flossie says, shrugging. “That’s nice. Whatever.”
When she goes back into the drawer for a lighter, I catch a glimpse of something at the bottom of her drawer. It’s a small stack of square photos, piled on top of one another.
They’re Polaroids.
Oh. My. God.
Suddenly, everything becomes clear.
It’s Flossie. She’s the leak.
“What are those?” I ask.
“What?”
“In your goody drawer. Are those Polaroids?”
Flossie slams the drawer shut. She takes the unlit cigarette out of her mouth and tosses it on the table. “I don’t know. Probably. Look, Charlotte, this is getting old. You should go.”
My eyes narrow.
“I want to see them.”
“You’re acting crazy. I want you out of my room, now.”
“Show. Me. The. Photos.”
Flossie takes a step toward me, as if trying to scare me into backing down. “If you don’t get out of here, I’ll call campus security.”
I stand my ground.
She pulls out her phone, shaking it menacingly. “If you don’t get out of here, I’ll call the press.”
It couldn’t be Flossie. It doesn’t make any sense. She would have absolutely nothing to gain by selling Edward out.
And yet I know with every fiber of my being that she’s the leak.
I have only one shot to get this right. I pull my phone out of my pocket and start jabbing at it with both my thumbs, pretending to send a text. In actuality, I’m opening my voice memos app. I press record, praying this works, and shove the phone back into my bag.
“What are you doing?” she asks, sounding panicked.
“I texted India to come over. We’re sorting this out here and now.”
Flossie takes a step back uneasily, as if she’s not sure what to do.
I’m not sure what to do, either. I need to get Flossie talking—something I can play to Edward as proof of her betrayal.
“India will be here any second,” I say. “One word from me and she’ll see the photos in your drawer herself. India’s smart. She’ll know that it was you, not me.”
Flossie’s eyes narrow. She licks her lips. Finally, she says, “It’s your word against mine. I’ll tell India you planted them to set me up.”
“So it was you.”
She seems to be regaining her confidence. She reaches back for the cigarette on the desk, actually lighting it this time. “Congratulations. We have a winner.”
“But why, Flossie? Why throw me under the bus like that? I thought we were friends.”
She shrugs. “It’s not personal.”
“It’s entirely personal.” Now that we’re talking plainly, I decide to go for broke. “You contacted the Sun about me. How is that not personal?”
“I didn’t. They contacted me. I said no, at first. Obviously. I’d never talk to the press about Edward. But then I thought about it. The more I considered it, the more I realized I would be doing Edward the biggest favor of his life.”
“I’m sorry, you considered this doing Edward a favor?”
“Oh, please. He was making a fool of himself. First you, then Libby? What’s next—he’s going to take up with the gardener’s daughter at university?”
“You’re a snob.”