Once inside, Ash bumps her arm against mine, reminding me she’s there. It’s more reassuring than obtrusive, and I find myself desperate to spill the tea.
There’s something refreshingly friendly and open about Ash. She doesn’t seem the type to stab anyone in the back.
“Between us?” I ask, breaking down.
Her sparkly blue eyes lock with mine, and she nods.“For sure.”
“So, I applied—actually, it’s more like I’m pledging—this woman’s club. Anyone who makes it through the initial screening is assigned an upperclassman mentor from the club. Mine used me nonstop as a personal assistant, which I accept. It’s probably standard practice. But in return, she was supposed to help me prepare for things. Like after getting to know me, she suggested the theme for my second-phase essay, which was helpful?—”
“Essay?” Ash’s brows crinkle as she makes a face of distaste. “What kind of club assigns essays?”
“One that takes itselfveryseriously.” My tone is grim, though to be fair, I’m not pissed at the entire club, just Clare fucking Duffy. “It was formed like a hundred years ago in answer to the male-only clubs on campus. It’s called the Briar Club, and it leads the nation in the number of alumnae in high-ranking government positions and corporate C-suites.”
I sigh, dropping my head back against the elevator wall. “My mom—a U.S. congressman—was a member. She wanted this for me. And my family expects me to get in. If I don’t… Well, it won’t be good.” I grimace, thinking about warnings I’ve gotten about not measuring up to Allendale standards.
“Oh, wow.” Ash reaches over and squeezes my arm, her grip surprisingly strong.
We’re close to the same height. I’m five-five. She’s probably five-seven. But she’s willowy like a fairy, and I’m built like a mortal who occasionally eats a cheeseburger and fries.
“You said she wanted this for you? Past tense?” Ash tilts her head as she studies me. “You lost your mom?”
I actually lost two moms, but I’d never admit that out loud to another GU student. “Yes, my mom died.”
“My dad,” she says, touching her chest. “I was little.” She shrugs her slim shoulders and then shakes her head. “Anyway, I heard a rumor GU is trying something where they match up freshman roommates with similar major life events.”
“Really?” For some reason, the idea hits me in the gut like a punch. My background and family circumstances are my own business.
“Sorry.” Ash grimaces sympathetically. “Does that make things weird and morbid?”
“No. But if they’re running a psychology experiment with us as subjects, that is not cool. Seems like we should be able to opt in or out of that kind of matchmaking.”
“Yeah, big institutions are sketchy. Especially this one.” She blows out a breath. “I knew that going in.”
In the dining hall, which is full of fall wreaths that create cravings for pumpkin spice, Ash spots the shelves of small plastic containers of Nutella and lets out a gasp. “Look at these!” She grabs two containers and a small bag of pretzels. “Are these on the meal plan?” The amount of wonder in her voice is comical.
A slow smile curves the corners of my mouth. “Haven’t you been in any of the dining halls?”
“Not really.” Her focus remains locked on the shelves. “Wow, I am so happy right now. Say what you will about their sketchy psych experiments, but the bougie GU dining halls are aces.” Ash makes herself a coffee and congratulates herself on going to a school where peppermint mocha creamer is readily available before turning back to me. “So finish your story about the fucking bitch.”
“There’s not much to tell.” I pour coffee into a to-go cup, adding nothing. The dining hall uses good beans, I’ll give them that. “I played the part of this woman’s minion for weeks. And then when some guy she’s interested in paid attention to me, she dropped me as her advisee.”
Ash’s brows rise. “That’s bullshit.”
“I know.” The bitterness in my voice isn’t something I even try to hide.
Ash gulps down some coffee and licks her lips.
“It’s a problem if I’m on her hit list. I probably need to reach out to try to smooth things over.” My fists tighten reflexively at my sides. I’d rather swallow broken glass than grovel, but a “big picture” view of my life might call for it.
“Can I say something about this?” Ash’s voice is gentle and earnest. Exactly what I probably need at the moment but not what I want. I’m craving outrage, emphasis on the rage.
“I guess so.”
“When I was little, one of my so-called friends stabbed me in the back. She invited me to Disney World and got me all excited and then said she couldn’t take a friend after all, because their travel plans had changed. The truth was that she took another girl instead, for a completely bullshit reason having to do with jealousy. I was so upset. I was fucking seven and thought I was going to meet Elsa from Frozen. And then I wasn’t.” Ash grits her teeth like the betrayal still stings and I find myself leaning in, surprised by her sudden ferocity—and loving it.
She taps a fingernail against the side of a Nutella container. “Anyway, my brother told me something that has always stuck with me. Scott said, ‘This is good. Now you know she’s not your friend. You can stop wasting time on her and get on with finding real ones.’ Of course, at the time, I was a crybaby—‘But I wanted to go to meet Elsa.’ And he said, ‘You are going. When school’s out,I’lltake you. Fuck that little traitor.’”
My jaw drops, and I choke out a laugh. “He actually said ‘fuck that little traitor?’ About a seven-year-old girl?”
