Syd hada class earlier than our Montrose class on Monday mornings, so Jane and I always just met her there, taking our time in the morning and having a bigger breakfast at the caf.
Or at least we usually did. Jane’s stomach was still shaky after puking up the pizza—and Saturday night’s alcohol—late last night. And my appetite had seemed to vanish.
I couldn’t stand the thought of being one of those girls who couldn’t function because some guy didn’t call when he said he would. But I had a gut-level fear that that was exactly what I’d become.
Jane’s phone buzzed and she swore as she glanced at the caller ID. We kept walking across campus, but she took the call.
“Yes?” she said, not exactly snapping, but certainly not a “hey, s’up” either.
“Mmm-hmm,” she answered to whatever was being said. I had a suspicion that it was either her mother or father, simply by the way her shoulders tensed and her gait sped up, like she was trying to walk away from the caller.
I swim a few times a week and walk everywhere on this campus, and yet I became winded trying to keep up with Jane. And then I thought that maybe she was trying to ditch me, that she wanted to take this call in private. I slowed down, letting her get ahead of me.
But apparently that wasn’t what she’d been trying to do, because she stopped a few yards in front of me, waiting for me to catch up.
“It’s never gonna happen,” she was saying when I reached her. “I know what she said, but I’m saying no. I can do that, you know. I am over eighteen now.” She listened for a moment, not moving, still standing even though I’d caught up to her. People streamed around us on the walking path. Some were kids I knew, and they gave me a nod while looking at Jane, who was becoming more and more agitated.
“Yes, youcando that. And you know what? Go ahead. I’m calling your bluff. I don’t give a shit if I have to wash dishes to pay my way through community college. In fact, I’d almostratherdo that than—”
Yep, definitely one of her parents. My guess was her mother. When her father called, Jane didn’t get as…bitchy with him.
“Go right ahead. I’m sure the dress will look amazing on another one of Betsy’s bridesmaids. Lord knows they’re probably fighting over that spot at the altar.”
So, not her mother. No way would Jane’s mother have anything to do with Jane’s half-sister Betsy’s wedding plans.
Not that she wouldn’t want to.
Jane was the love child (her mother’s words—Jane said bastard) of Pandora Winters and Joseph Stratton. No shame in being born out of wedlock, of course. But the kicker was Joseph Stratton was married with two kids and running for president at the time he had an affair with the flighty, New Agey Pandora (not her real name, by the way, Jane told me).
It became public even though Pandora, for a while, claimed Jane wasn’t Joseph’s baby. Stratton and his wife tried to bluff through it, tried to weather the storm. My father, at the time Stratton’s top political consultant and campaign manager, did damage control. One guy on the campaign even said Pandora’s baby was his.
But it all came out, as these things always do.
Stratton withdrew from the presidential campaign and entered the private sector. He acknowledged Jane when she was about one, much to Pandora’s delight and leading to the demise of his marriage (also to Pandora’s delight). Though Joseph never started back up with Pandora (to her dismay).
I knew none of this at the time, being only nine months old myself.
My father went on, being kingmaker to other politicians, but apparently always staying in touch with Joseph Stratton.
I found this all out when my father sat me down and said I was going to Bribury, would be Jane Winters’ roommate, and that I needed to keep her on the straight and narrow.
I’d spent that whole night googling everything I could about Jane Winters (not much), Pandora Winters (a ton!), and Joseph Stratton (a ton and a half!).
And then I’d done what I’d always done, and said yes to my father. Not that it was really a choice, but it still felt like I was keeping a little control that way.
“Yeah, well, I am totally serious on this, Joe,” Jane said now, confirming it was indeed her father on the phone. “It is nonnegotiable. And if you push on this, I’m going to skip the wedding altogether.” She listened, and after a moment gave a terse “goodbye” and clicked off.
“Un-fucking-believable,” she said as she looked around her, as if surprised to find herself in the middle of campus. “He is such a piece of shit.” She started walking toward the building we were headed to, checking the time on her phone. “Shit, now we’re going to be late,” she said, picking up the pace.
We weren’t going to be late, but I only said, “It won’t matter, Montrose is always late anyway.” I hoped that throwing her the memory of delicious Montrose might get her out of the mood her father’s call had put her in.
“Right, right,” she said, but the cloud over her followed us on the rest of the walk.
“Are you going to tell me what he said?” I asked as we made our way into the doors of Snyder Hall, where our class was five minutes from starting.
She looked closely at me. “That depends. I mean, I want to, Lily, I really do. But just where do your loyalties lie? Are you my friend first, or your father’s spy?”
“I’m not his spy,” I said, pissed.
