“I know about you. And Abigail. That you two are … together.”
Priya’s face crumples, and she collapses onto the edge of her bed, crying. She covers her face and sobs into her hands. “Please don’t tell anyone. That’ll destroy everything, if word gets out about us.”
I almost want to tell her lots of people must’ve figured thisout by now, and that maybe if it’s a secret they shouldn’t make out in unlocked rooms at house parties, but I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I go over to the bed and sit beside her, slipping my arm around her shoulders and giving her a one-sided hug. “I won’t tell. I promise. Though I don’t get it. Would your parents be upset that you’re … gay?”
“No, of course not,” Priya says, like the very thought of someone not being accepted for their sexuality has literally never occurred to her. “They wouldn’t care. That’s not the point. Not really. It’s because Abigail is a fifth-generation Legacy and I have no family history at Wickham. I’m the first to make it in, though my older brothers each applied. Twice. But if I nail that top spot, my younger brother and sister will have easy entry to both Wickham and the Legacy List. This could set our future family—my kids, and my siblings’ kids, andtheirkids—on a path to excellence. Opportunities like this don’t come along often. That’s why I need to do whatever it takes to ensure I’m number one. And why I need to keep certain parts of my life … quiet.”
I give her another gentle squeeze, doing my best to hide my shock at her admission. There’s a tremendous amount of pressure piled on Priya, and I don’t know how she does it all. In her shoes, maybe I’d be taking illegal prescription drugs, too. No wonder she’s stressed and anxious and bitchy all the time.
The longer I console Priya, the more my imagination goes into overdrive. Did Emily figure out what Priya was doing and confront her? Selling tests, taking drugs, her relationship with Abigail … a roommate wouldn’t have to bethatobservant to figure out what Priya is doing. Could that have pushed Priyato commit … murder? Maybe that’s why Priya’s stressed. She’s hiding a tell-tale heart in the wall, like in that Edgar Allan Poe story. Murder is an even bigger secret to keep than selling tests, and that already seems to be sending her anxiety into overdrive. Killing a person would get to anyone eventually, even if it was an accident.
I decide to broach the subject carefully.
“It must be really tough to keep this from everyone.” I release my hold on Priya’s shoulders, and she wipes the tears from her face, sniffing loudly. “Like your old roommate? Did she know about it?”
“Oh, Emily was oblivious. It was her best friend who figured me out first.”
Wow. Okay. That’s interesting. “You mean the girl in the coma? Isla?”
Priya nods. “Yeah, and she was kind of a slag about it, too. She threatened to out me to administration.”
“Seriously?” My brows shoot up. Look at how principled my sister is. She was so offended by Priya’s little side hustle, she was ready to destroy it without hesitation.
“Yes, seriously. Isla told me if I didn’t give her a discount on the tests for Emily’s classes, she would send Headmaster Harrington an anonymous tip about mybusiness.” Priya’s voice drips with disgust. “She always had cash to pay for the tests, and sometimes she’d even pay me more than I’d charge her, so after a while I didn’t much care what she said, but still. It was still shitty of her, you know?”
I think of the cash in that old hoodie pocket in Isla’s closet. She must’ve kept it on hand for the sole purpose of purchasing those exams. But why would Isla be the one to buy them forEmily? Up until her father was arrested, Emily should’ve had her own money.
“So wait a minute … Isla was buying tests for Emily? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does if you knew Emily. Little Miss Perfect.” Priya scoffs. “She would have sooner failed out than cheated. But it’s not like having the test means you don’t need to study. You still have to. Having access to the old tests just makes things … easier. No.Less hard.”
Priya’s phone buzzes, but she ignores it. It’s been buzzing with notifications for the last few minutes. I don’t actually have to wonder who it is. Who else would text nonstop but Abigail?
“You should check your phone,” I suggest when it buzzes yet again. “Someone really wants to talk to you.”
A sigh leaves Priya, and she grabs her phone, frowning at the screen. “It’s Abigail, of course.”
“Of course.” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but it’s difficult.
“She’s headed to the dining hall for dinner.” Priya lifts her gaze to mine. “Want to join us?”
I’m taken aback by her invitation, and I wonder if she’s adhering to the old standard,keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
I don’t necessarily view Priya as an enemy, especially not after what she revealed to me. I have a better understanding of her now, though I still think she’s kind of the worst.
“I need to do a few things first, but you go on ahead.” I smile at her, not wanting her to feel uneasy about our conversation. “And I meant what I said earlier. Your secrets are safe with me.”
Priya stands, the relief written all over her face. “Thank you, Belinda. I-I appreciate it.” She takes the time to run a makeup wipe under her eyes, fluff her hair, and just generally put herself back together. With her fingers on the door handle, she stops and turns back to me. “I know we haven’t exactly gotten off on the right foot. I suppose I’m … defensive. When it comes to new people. I think you can understand why. So I guess what I’m trying to say is … I hope we can be better acquainted going forward.”
I give her a nod, confident that’s as close to an apology as Priya can possibly get without bursting into flame. When she closes the door behind her, I throw myself across my narrow bed, rolling over so I’m staring up at the ceiling. Every day, more information is revealed, which is what I need to figure out who could’ve hurt Isla and Emily.
But I don’t feel any closer to discovering the truth. Not really. Because it feels like everyone at Wickham is up to no good.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My phone dings with a notification—a text from Connor. I smile when I see his name.
