“It’s funny, Abigail, because I can’t decide whether you’re an unbearable bitch because you’re miserable, or if you’re miserable because you’re an unbearable bitch.” I shake myhead. “I just … can’t figure it out.”
“Yeah, Abigail. You need to learn how to keep your mouth shut.” Freddie’s comment feels like a warning.
Abigail glares at me for a long, quiet moment before she turns to Priya, muttering, “Fucking bitch.”
My mind instantly flashes to the Polaroid I found and the vandalism on my closet mirror. Both included that particular phrase. Is it a signature Abigail set-down? Is she the culprit?
I’m leaning toward a big hell yes.
“Ignore her, Belinda.” Arlo smiles, his entire body swaying to and fro, as if he’s a slender tree in the wind. “Abigail gets off on bullying everyone at Wickham at some point or another. She’s just power trippin’ because you’re new.”
“New Yorkers have such a reputation for being harsh, but Wickham is by far the least friendly place I’ve ever been,” I announce.
“I hate hearing that,” Sophia murmurs, her disappointment thick.
“You make up for it.” I pat her arm, and she beams at me.
Abigail pipes in again. “You two make me sick.”
“You’re just mad Sophia wouldn’t help out your girlfriend,” Connor says to Abigail. “She probably saw right through you two.”
I frown, confused. What is Connor talking about?
“Mr. Art Merit Scholar over here doesn’t have to worry about a thing, while other students who are far more deserving struggle to—” Priya jabs her elbow into Abigail’s side, silencing her.
Interesting.
“Far more deserving,” I parrot. “Gosh, Abigail, I didn’tknow you cared. I assume you’re talking about me?” I ask, resting my hand against my chest like a prim southern belle. I’m trying to bait her, and the spark in her eyes tells me it’s working.
She rolls her eyes. “Your fancy American GPA is stellar. You have nothing to worry about.”
Freddie changes the subject and starts talking about someone grabbing more drinks while I sit there, muddling over what Abigail revealed. Bringing up my GPA and calling it stellar. How does she know? Abigail has obviously had a look at my transcripts … which are completely fake. My real transcript shows my GED scores, which are pretty impressive if I do say so myself. I have no idea what Peter’s identity-creating goons put in Belinda Winters’s transcript, but it must be, ahem,stellar.
The more important takeaway here? Abigail has a penchant for a phrase used to deface both a picture and my bedroom mirror. And she has access to my records.
I don’t like it. Not one bit.
…
Later, after everyone has left the hot tub, I remain outside by the pool, draped in a pile of thick towels and stretched out across a lounge chair. Connor, also covered in towels, is on the one next to mine. Sophia went into the pool house to change into her dress, and last I saw, she was back inside with everyone else.
Connor and I are the only ones by the pool.
“Can I ask you something?” My voice is soft in the otherwise still night. Strains of music drift from within the house, as well as the dull roar of a crowd in conversation with itself. Despite us being at a party, I feel like we’re the only two people in the world.
“Depends.” Connor reaches out and grabs hold of my lounger, pulling me closer to his. “Is it something dirty?”
I burst out laughing, shocked. “You wish.”
“You’re right. I do.” He offers me a sly smile, and I return it.
“It’s about your sister.” His smile fades. “But I don’t want to upset you.”
“No. You won’t.” He blows out a harsh breath, staring straight ahead. “Ask away.”
“Was Emily a good student?”
His exhale comes more slowly this time, like he’s keeping a bubble afloat and doesn’t want to pop it. Or maybe like he needs the time to answer. “Not particularly. She always struggled in school. And it didn’t help that the curriculum at Wickham is so rigorous. But the last couple of months, she seemed to be doing better. I know Isla was helping her. They studied together constantly.”
