“You crazy bitch,” Margot put in.
I smiled as all five of them busted up laughing. “To Bri,” we all echoed, and drank. I winced at the familiar burn of the Fireball,then nodded at this morning’s issue of theCrimson,which was lying wrinkled on the coffee table.
“Is the stuff about Bri as bad as you thought it was going to be?” I asked Dagny.
“Worse,” Greer answered instead, flopping backward onto the sofa and plopping her feet into Celine’s lap. “I am actually completely beside myself over the way everyone is talking about her.”
“I know,” Celine agreed, squeezing Greer’s toes through her bright, fuzzy socks. “It sucks.”
“How are people talking about her?” I asked.
“Don’t act like you haven’t heard them,” Greer said, eyeing me from her still-prone position.
“I haven’t,” I said, which was a lie—of course I had, but I wanted to hear her say it. “I’m not the kind of guy people gossipto.”
“Oh, please.” Margot rolled her eyes.
“No, he’s right, actually,” Greer said with a small smile. “He’s not. It’s because his face is so punchable. It makes him hard to trust.” Then, before I could dig into whatever the hellthatmeant, she continued: “You know how people are. Like,Oh, it’s so sad what happened,but also, like, this fucked-up undertone of how she probably deserved it because she was a partier who liked to wear dresses that showed her underbutt. Which, she wasn’t even that much of a partier, compared to a lot of the people in this school!”
I wasn’t surethatwas true—after all, Greer herself had complained about Bri’s partying more than once, including the morning we found her. Still, it wasn’t like I didn’t take her point. There was a definite cautionary quality to the way people were talkingabout what had happened to Bri, anisn’t it awful but that’s what you getkind of smugness that made me a little uncomfortable. It was always surprising to me, the stories people told themselves about why someone else deserved whatever tragedies befell them. The stories of all the reasons they themselves would be safe.
“Nobody’s actually saying anything mean about her, are they?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Like, she didn’t have any actualenemies.”
“Enemies?” Celine looked at me a little strangely, her expression reflected almost exactly in the other girls’ faces. “No, of course not.”
“Everybody loved Bri,” Dagny said, “just like we did.”
“No, totally,” I said. “I guess I just meant—I don’t know.” I cringed a little. I was miserable at this kind of investigative work, interviewing people while trying to act like I wasn’t. Not that I was interviewing anyone. Not that I was investigating. “Just like, nasty ex-boyfriends or whatever. People who might be spreading rumors on purpose.”
“If anybody in this suite has a long list of jilted ex-lovers, it’s Greer,” Margot put in.
Greer huffed a laugh, her mouth dropping open. “Fuck off, Margot.”
“Love you!” Margot sang in reply.
Greer rolled her eyes. “All right,” she said, hauling herself up off the sofa. “Let’s get ready for this shit show, shall we?”
“Greer,” Dagny said, snorting, “Jesus.”
“What?” Greer shot back. “You know as well as I do she would have hated this! Like, some nondenominational prayer serviceand all of us holding candles or whatever. It’s a joke.” She shook her head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go dress in my mourning attire.”
She stomped off down the hall, swaying a little from the Fireball. I stood there for a moment, unsure whether or not I was meant to follow.
“She’s taking it really hard,” Margot said after a moment, breaking the moody silence. “I mean, we all are, obviously, but it’s worst for her.”
“Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “I can see that.” I jammed my hands into my pockets. “I’ll, uh. Let you guys get ready.”
I headed down the hallway, knocking lightly on Greer’s door before easing it open. She was prowling around the room in a bra and black tights, opening drawers and closing them again. I thought it was just nerves, or that she couldn’t decide what to wear, but all at once she straightened up and turned to face me. “My watch is missing,” she announced.
I frowned. “Your watch?”
“Well, my grandpa’s watch. My grandma gave it to me when I got my acceptance letter here. It’s a vintage Rolex, it’s a whole—” She waved her hand. “Whatever, it’s just going to make me sound douchey. Anyway, it was in my jewelry box, and now it’s…” She opened the box one more time, then closed it again. “Not.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the door. “Do you think whoever messed up your room took it?” In the chaos of everything that happened I’d never asked her whether it was actually Bri who’d been responsible that day, though judging by the look on her face now, I was pretty sure it hadn’t been.
Sure enough, Greer shook her head. “I—maybe?” she admitted quietly. “I don’t know. Hey, guys?” she called down the hallway toward the living room. “None of you have seen my watch lying around, have you?”
A chorus of “Nope” and “When was the last time you wore it” and “Did you check your nightstand, you know how you like to take off your jewelry when you drink” drifted down the hallway; something about their distraction, their lack of curiosity, made me wonder if possibly Greer hadn’t told them her room had been trashed.
