“He’s why she ditched us on New Year’s,” Ava says, hurt.
“Is that what you’re really mad about?” I sputter. “That I missed your bullshit elitist New Year’s party?”
Ava’s mouth is a hard line. “So that’s what you think of me.”
“Come on, Ava.”
“You can say it,” she says. “You think I’m spoiled and bratty and that I’m as big a monster as my father. That’s what Heller said.”
“So, youwerewith him that night,” I say.
“Tell the truth for once, Goldie,” Ava says. “You tell your truth and I’ll tell mine.”
Imogen looks at me, her face a world of hurt. “Come on, Goldie.”
It’s her voice that breaks me, and the story tumbles out, hot and quick. I tell them about falling for Heller, about following him to the New Year’s party and taking the blame for what happened. I tell them about the aftermath—how we drove to Stu and Mellie’s house in Connecticut with a box of brownies and asked them to right all my wrongs, even though theyweren’tmy wrongs. I tell them about working for Stu and Mellie, holed up in the winter cabin watching old episodes ofThe O.C.as my eyes glazed over, pushing papers around, grading sleepaway camp admissions tests for kids who would one day run the world.
I tell them about school and how I became a leper, how Heller began ignoring me and my whole world collapsed. I tell them about skipping class, about failing, about having my college acceptance rescinded. I tell them about my mug shot on the desktops, about my humiliation, my depression.
I tell them about Cal showing up at camp, about how he knew I wasn’t behind the wheel and how his guilt drives his desire to know the truth. I tell them about sneaking into the clerk’s office,the ID badge and the emails Heller sent to newspapers. I tell them I first thought Cal hurt Heller—then maybe Jordan Adler—and that both those theories were dead wrong.
I tell them about Sally Burke and how Heller waswithher, how Cal found a letter from her saying she was sorry—for what I don’t know.
I tell them that I’ve never felt more alone and that I don’t know how to come back from this.
I tell them everything I’ve been holding inside until there’s nothing left except my empty chest, heaving and open and laid bare for them to see.
When I finally look up at their faces, Imogen’s eyes are wide and watery and she has one hand over her mouth. Ava’s face is still and somber, and she blinks a few too many times.
Imogen speaks first. “How could you keep this from us?”
Finding the words feels impossible. How am I supposed to explain that I thought they wouldn’t understand? That I isolated myself from them on purpose because I felt like I wasn’toneof them. And then I found myself in a web of lies so tangled, I knew I would need a knife to get out, and that sitting there, trapped under the mess, was easier than breaking free.
But how do I say all that? How do I tell mybest friendsthat the three of us let each other down in ways we’re only now starting to realize?
I don’t have long to wonder because Imogen launches herself at me and wraps me in a hug so tight it knocks me over. Her sobs are muffled as she cries into my shoulder, her tears damp against my skin.
“Imo,” I say.
But then she pulls back.
“I have a secret, too,” she says, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. Imo inhales deeply like she’s gathering strength. “I didn’t get into USC,” she says. “I didn’t get in anywhere.”
“What?” Ava asks, leaning forward, resting her palm on Imo’s knee.
Imogen nods, tears slipping down her face. “I thought I was a shoo-in, but...” She shakes her head. “I didn’t apply anywhere else.” She looks up then. “I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my parents. I told them I got in and was deferring, but I don’t have any other options. This is it.”
“Oh, Imo,” I say.
“It’s not as dramatic as what you’re going through,” Imo says. “But still. I don’t know why I couldn’t tell you both. I was scared of what you’d say, I guess.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulder. But then I look at Ava. She’s not crying. Not a lip quiver or a single tear. She’s looking at me with a cocked head and a bewildered expression.
“Holy shit,” she says quietly.
“What?” I ask.
“This is way more fucked up than I thought,” she says.
