“That’s ages.Pleasecome and live with us next year.”
“We’ve discussed this,” I said. “And isn’t your house full?”
“I’d bump Salinger for you. Turns out, he thinks the moon is fake.”
“A History major thinks the moon landing was fake?”
“No, the moon—and he can’t make drinks for shit.”
I took a sip of my cocktail. For our senior year, Faraday had snagged a gorgeous Victorian at the edge of campus, the home of the retiring dean of students. She’d interrupted the faculty bidding war, paying an enormous sum for one year’s rental.
The house was beautiful, but the stairs creaked and Faraday’s friends kept party hours. Better the single-sex corridors of Lavernick Hall, the floors silent, everyone in bed by two.
I didn’t even have to lock my door.
“You haven’t mentioned why you’re here, Faraday.”
“Do Ineeda reason to hang out in your room when you’re not around?”
“Yes.”
She waved her free hand, searching for words. “It’s complicated, dear. The sort of thing better discussed while drunk.”
I took another sip. “I think you’re there, dear.”
“It’s my brother.”
“Marlow, or Oscar?”
“How do you remember everyone’s name? It’s uncanny.”
“Because I love you.”
Faraday rolled her eyes, but she lapped up any sign of affection. The Wilbert-Lees were more prone to intrafamily lawsuits than sentiments. When she called medear, I mirrored her, and she mirrored me back. A wearisome loop, but it worked.
“Marlow was careless. Dad’s old business partner convinced him to sign something. Now our CallHome shares are deluded.”
“Diluted,” I said. Since their father’s death, Marlow had dumped most of the Wilbert-Lees’ money into their most profitable endeavor, a company that gouged prisoners’ families for phone calls. A dollar a minute added up.
“Whatever.” Faraday’s eyes began to twitch. “We’re in trouble, Jessica. Things will go away. The horses, Paris, my house next year. Maybe even my tuition!”
I made an astonished sound. When bad things happen to rich people, you must pretend there’s been some kind of mistake.
“The partner was being misleading when he made Marlow sign those documents. And I thought, maybe…”
I took a slow drink, waiting for Faraday to finish.
“Your crowd,” she finally said. “The legacies, the calm people.”
“Calm?”
“None of you gives a shit. I mean, you dress well and get good grades. You use the right forks, the right grammar. But deep down, you don’tcare.” Faraday knuckled her eyes, growling at the world. “God, I wish I didn’t care.”
“Faraday,” I said. “Are you asking me to fix this?”
“Notyou, Jessica. You’re my friend and that’s messy.” She sat up straighter, finally looked me in the eye, a brave little girl facing the monster in her closet. “But yes. It needs fixing.”
A second shiver of completion went through me. Two and a half years of trains to Boston, of sneaking flasks of whiskey to Faraday’s dying father, of thank-you notes for makeup I didn’t use, and here she was asking for help at last, on the very same night as my blooding.
