When I pointed out her perfect hair, she snorted.
“Yeah, well. My mominsistsI stay up late to put it in curlers at nightandwake up early each morning to make sure it falls exactly right, so. It better be fucking perfect.” She whispered the curse word, as if someone might smite her for daring to say it.
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry, that actually sounds...awful. But can’t you just tell her you did and not do it?”
“And risk her wrath if someone mentioned one of my curls was wound tighter than usual?” She gaped at me, as if flabbergasted by the question. “Girl, you are not from here. That’s not how it works.”
Izzy shot me a sympathetic look before appealing to Angela. “I told her about my mom and family drama, so Quinn knows that much, at least.”
My brow furrowed. “So, wait. All your moms are like that?”
“Oh, yeah.” Izzy nodded. “Honestly, the worst is Vivian’s mom. But it’s all varying degrees of the same thing from there.”
“Well, I guess that explains a lot.”
“You have no idea,” Izzy said, seriously. “But see, Angela, I told you. Quinn is good people. And Quinn, Angela is the only person here I trust with even a five-foot pole, so take that for what it’s worth to you.”
Angela looked me over. “I thought you seemed cool when you showed up at the Maiden Appeal and put that”—again, she dropped her voice—“asshat, Merle, in his place. So, good. I’m glad I wasn’t wrong about you.”
“It still blows my mind that they care so much. Your parents. I mean, I guess I get its tradition in some ways, but your hair?” I arched a brow. “Is there a secret to solving escape room clues based on hairstyle that I don’t know about, or what?”
Angela pursed her lips. “You know it’s not about that. Or, looking like you do, you should know.” She eyed me up and down, lingering on the tan over my exposed arms and legs.
“My father is a prominent, successful, and filthy rich man, Quinn Everly. But he’s half Black.Justlight enough that my mother was allowed to marry him. And he’s worked twice as hard for twice as long to get where most of these other guys’families got by luck.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Or nepotism.”
“Damn. You all fit in so well together. At least, it seemed that way at the Maiden Luncheon.”
She snorted. “Appearances can be deceiving. You’ve seen that much by now, I’m sure.”
My mind jumped to Elaine, and then Max. Everything I’d thought about them when I first arrived and the way they turned out to be totally different. “Yeah, I have.”
“Right. And so, even though my father earned his place here, the Camelot Society doesn’t likedifferent. My mother, while she claims to love him, spends more time making sure I fit in than showing love to either of us. So, you do the math on why she wants my hair to look just as good, if not better, than these other girls’.”
“I didn’t know it was like that for any of you,” I admitted. “I’m sorry. I—Honestly, I misjudged a lot when I first got here.”
“Yeah, well. It’s not totally your fault.” She brushed her nails on her sweater and flicked her gaze away like none of it really mattered, enough though it clearly did. “I’m a perfectionist and so type A I want to be put together every day. Good thing, right?”
“Yeah…Just like I don’t really care about making friends or wanting to fit in here. Good thing, too, I guess. Huh?”
She smirked. “So, you do get it.”
“I get that it’s exhausting fighting for approval we’ll never get, acceptance we can never really earn even while they dangle it in front of us. I mean, I could win The Quest, but it’s not like everyone is going to rush to welcome me into your club with open arms. That’s why I stopped caring, right?”
Her expression shifted into a genuine smile. “See. I knew I liked you. And maybe, one day, when we really don’t give a shit, we’ll come back here and toast to it.”
“Deal.”
The next morning, when Landon escorted my group to the first trial, more of a “murder mystery box than an escape room,” according to him, I remembered an important life lesson.
There were two types of people in a group project: the ones who didn’t do anything but claimed credit for the work, and the ones who carried the group and did everything without extra recognition. And I got to see which of the two categories the other Ladies fell into.
Unsurprisingly, Elaine fell into the first.
One of the cabins had been converted into an FBI-style interrogation room. The kitchen and bedroom had been blocked off, the couch and oversized chair removed, and the coffee table swapped out for a larger forensics table.
I huddled around it with the three other Ladies in the group while Elaine leaned against a wall off to the side.
Her posture mirrored Landon’s, who stood by the door and smiled each time I huffed in Elaine’s direction.
