Well, that’s just freaking great.
“As I’m sure you read in the documents I prepared for you, our Big-Little program helps younger students acclimate to Wickham’s culture by pairing them with a roommate from an upper year. This is hardly your first year, so you’ll be exempt from Big-Little social events, but as a transfer student, you’ll need all the guidance you can get if you hope to fit in. You’re lucky—Priya Shah is an excellent student. Very smart. Part of a group you should be keen to infiltrate.” She sends a pointed look my way.
Dammit. I’d been banking on having a safe haven to shrug off Belinda and just be Billie, but it looks like that’s not in the cards. I hate that Whitney knows I didn’t read the entire dossier, but I was a little busy learning the whole history of Wickham and oh, yeah—not puking my guts out all over the back of her nice, clean limo.
I clear my throat, determined to treat this woman like she’s on my side and not an enemy. “Anyone else you think I should talk to?”
She taps a perfectly manicured finger against her pursed lips, thinking. “I’m sure the boys will come sniffing around without any prompting. A new girl on campus always sends them into a froth.”
I do my best to keep a straight face, disgusted by her description. Doesn’t matter what age they are: boys, men, whatever you want to call them, always end up disappointing me. I’m sure the ones here are no exception. “Anyone I should watch out for?”
“Priya.” She laughs, the sound soft and lilting. “Oh, she’s ruthless. But if you stay on her good side, you’ll be fine.”
Sleep with one eye open. Got it. She sounds like a joy.
“Abigail Roth, Priya’s best friend, is extremely territorial. Don’t try to get too close to Priya. If Abigail views you as a threat, she’ll make your life miserable,” Whitney adds.
She steps around her desk and settles into the creaking chair, leaning back to consider me. “Perhaps I should warn you about one boy in particular …”
“Who?” I love a good warning against someone. Makes me want to get that much closer to them.
“Connor Wells.” She sighs and stares off into the distance, slowly shaking her head. “Emily’s older brother.”
Any urge to be contrary I might have felt comes crashing down around me at hearing the name from the article again. Emily Wells. Isla’s best friend in the whole world. They were inseparable. Hot shame rises up the back of my throat when I think about all the times I felt jealous of Emily’s closeness to Isla. Every time Isla told me stories about their antics, I wished Emily would disappear—wished I could take her place.
I never meant for it to happen like this.
I can’t blame myself for wishing I had a best friend like that. Someone I could tell all my secrets to. Laugh and giggle and stay up late with, talking about the boys we crushed on or the teachers who made our lives miserable. The girls who didn’t get it like we did.
Laid out like that, it sounds like all I ever really wanted was a sister across the hall instead of across the Atlantic.
“Connor hates Isla.” Whitney’s voice drips with genuine sadness for my sister, her lips trembling as if she’s holding back tears. Isla always described her stepmom as cold, so I startle at seeing real emotion on her face. But then again, Whitney basically raised Isla as her own since my sister was four years old.
“Did he hate her before he thought she shoved his sister off a cliff, or is this a recent development?”
Whitney lifts one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the charming way I manage to cut to the heart of the matter. “Unclear,” she says. “I confess I didn’t take much of an interest in the social politics of the student body before … well, before all of this.”
“Sounds like a douche,” I mutter.
“Just … be careful.” Her voice is tight, like she’s holding back something heavier, but then she clears her throat, and the concern falls away.
She pulls a key from the top drawer of her desk and hands it to me.
“Your room key. See Mrs. Brown on your way out for a printed schedule and a map.”
I know a dismissal when I hear one, so I retrace my steps to the receptionist’s desk and wordlessly accept the papersshe hands me, along with an umbrella she promises I’ll need regularly. But as I follow Mrs. Brown’s directions to my residence hall, Whitney’s words echo in my brain.
Then it hits me.
Connor Wells wasn’t mentioned once in any of the articles I read about his sister’s death.
A small thing to notice.
But small things have a way of mattering later.
CHAPTER FOUR
My dorm room is in East House, the farthest building on the east side of the campus. It’s three stories, and I’m on the third floor. Room 312. The one I’ll be sharing with the very smart, very ruthless Priya. The girl with the overbearing bestie.
