NOW
To: “Ambrosia Wellington” a.wellington@wesleyan.edu
From: “Wesleyan Alumni Committee” reunion.classof2007@gmail.com
Subject: Class of 2007 Reunion
Dear Ambrosia Wellington,
There’s no better place than Foss Hill to take in the view, and our festival this afternoon is not to be missed. Sure, this reunion is all about revisiting the past, but there are ways of finding out what the future holds too (see one of our expert tarot card readers)—and it may not be what you expect!
Sincerely,
Your Alumni Committee
I need to tell Sully about the mug. If she doesn’t believe me, she can go back and see it for herself. But when I spill into our room, breathless, I can’t say a word, because Sully is with Adrian. Not just talking to him—she’s behind him with her hands in his hair and he’s laughing, his eyes cast up.
“What are you doing?” Fear buzzes at the base of my spine.
“Sully was trying to get rid of my hangover,” Adrian says. “Apparently there are all these pressure points in your scalp that release the toxins. She might be onto something. I swear, I’m feeling better.”
Sully hasn’t moved her hands. She’s staring at me, hair swishing against Adrian’s neck, challenging me to find something wrong with what she’s doing. That’s her—always blameless, an expert at shifting the weight to somebody else.
“Fine. Adrian, can we talk for a minute?”
“I’m meeting up with some people anyway,” Sully says, releasing her grip. “I’ll see you guys at Foss. If we even find each other. It’s going to be a madhouse.”
As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Adrian and rest my hands on his shoulders, claiming back my territory. “Look, I think we need to leave. I’m not feeling well at all. It’s better if we just head home. I’m not going to be any fun.”
He stands up and wraps his arms around me. “I think that’s a bit extreme. You’ve been kind of off since we got here. Do you not like me talking to your friends?”
“Of course not,” I say into his chest. I hate how he has made it all about him—he’s right in a way, but not the way he suspects. “Just be careful with Sully. She’s not… she’s not always someone you can trust.”
“Chill, babe,” he says, his mouth humming against my neck. “I’m just being friendly. What do you not want me to know?”
“Nothing. She’s just kind of difficult.”
He shrugs. “She seems fine to me. Why don’t you take a nap and see if you feel better when you wake up? We’re having such a good time.”
I grit my teeth. It’s typical Adrian. We’re having such a good time. His stock line whenever I want to leave and he isn’t ready to call it quits on a party.
“I can hang out with Justin and Monty. You don’t need to worry about me feeling abandoned or anything.” He tries to pull away, but I hug him tighter, not wanting him to see my face. Trust me, I would say if I were honest. That’s the last thing I’m worried about.
I could insist that we leave now, which will inevitably end in a huge fight. I can stay here and let him go to the festival alone and hope that no incriminating details find their way into his ears. Or I could go with him and pretend everything is okay, knowing that whoever is behind the note and the mug will probably be watching me.
It’s not really a choice. I’m trapped. I try to banish the ugly thought that I might have been summoned back here for that very reason. So I could never leave.
Foss Hill is packed with bodies, with music and noise, harsh sun nestled in gauzy clouds. I squint from behind my sunglasses and shiver despite the rising heat. I’m straddling two worlds—my comfortable one, with Hadley and Heather beside me, drinking wine on a blanket, and the other one, Butts C girls standing in a clump, catching up. Hads and Heather seem happy to spend the entire weekend as a trio, almost like it’s another girls’ trip, but I can’t let my guard down. Just when I start to feel safe is always when the world shows me its claws.
Adrian pinballs between Justin and Monty and the husbands of the other girls. He’s currently locked in a conversation with Jonah Belford—they’re talking about stocks, something Adrian pretends to have firsthand knowledge of, even though I’m the one who takes care of our finances. I keep one ear on his conversation and another on Gemma, who is regaling the girls with the details of her Hollywood Hills bungalow and her casual friendship with Jason Statham.
The only girl from our floor at Butts C not sitting with us is Flora. I know she’s here—I feel her gaze, still holier-than-thou—but I refuse to look up and truly see her.
“What a night, right?” Lauren brings her plastic cup to clink against mine. “I haven’t drunk that much in years. Actually, I barely drink at all anymore. It’s not responsible with the kids. But they’re with my parents, so I think I deserve to let loose.”
“Sure.” I swirl my wine around, not even wanting to drink it. “What dorm are you guys in, anyway?”
“We’re in the Nics. How about you?” The way she looks at me makes me think she already knows.
“Us too,” I say.
“Sully hasn’t changed much,” Clara says. “Does anyone know what she’s up to now? I lost touch with her when I did my MFA.”
“No idea,” says Gemma. “She said something about acting, but we’ve never crossed paths.”
“Not surprising,” Lauren says with a derisive snort. “She thought she was so talented. I remember when she’d get coked up and convince guys she was an heiress. She was always somebody else. Does anyone know who she actually is?”
That was lobbed at me, underhanded, exactly what I expect from Lauren. I don’t give her a reaction, instead looking into the crowd, directly at the girl everyone is talking about.
Sully watches the band, swaying her hips lightly, as if the music is for her alone. Every so often she looks back at us, like she wants to make sure she isn’t missing out on anything.
“You know who looks incredible? Ella,” Lily says. “I barely recognized her.”
“I know, right? We were texting before coming here and I told her to go for it and go blond. She said she always wanted blond hair.” Lauren pushes her own hair off her face. I make a mental note that they’re friends. They could have written the notes together. Lauren was the ringleader back then, the one who left SLUT Post-its on my dorm room door and wrote on the ACB junior year, AW is pathetic trash, she’s so evil she’s barely human, even though I could never prove it.
“She had a hard time,” Gemma says. “It’s good to see her doing well.”
“Yeah. She was actually really mad at Flora,” Lauren says, louder now, aware that more people are listening. Just then, Adrian and Jonah stop their conversation and turn toward our group.
“Who’s Flora?” Adrian hugs me loosely from behind.
All eyes on me. Everyone waiting for my explanation. When I don’t have one, Lauren does. “She was Amb’s roommate freshman year.”
“Cool,” Adrian says. “Where is she?”
She’s over there, I want to say, and point to her blond head, cresting over the crowd like part of the sun, right beside the tent where they’re giving out temporary tattoos. But if I do, he’ll insist on marching over there, where he’ll inevitably gawk at her perfect face.
I wait for my world to detonate, but it doesn’t. The girls have turned away from us, breaking off into little satellites, casting their eyes at me every so often. It’s a move I’m familiar with. Nothing solidifies a group like casting someone out and having a common enemy.
I know what they’re saying. I can’t believe she didn’t tell him. That poor guy.
“I don’t think you’ll meet her this weekend,” I tell Adrian. Or ever. I turn around and search for Sully in the crowd, but she’s not watching the band anymore, and I don’t see her near any of the tents. I scan Andrus for her—tomorrow, it will be clogged with graduates and parents, never-ending rows of chairs and cheers.
I look behind us, back toward the Nics, just in time to see her emerging from a thicket of men in cargo shorts. I have to decide if I’m more desperate to know where she’s going than I am terrified to leave Adrian here without me. But I always choose her.
“I’ll be right back,” I mumble, and before I can lose sight of her, I take off, clutching my half-full cup of wine.
She’s walking down the paved path past the observatory, heading for Hewitt and McConaughy Drive. I keep a safe distance behind her, trying to stay hidden behind people dotting the space between us. Then I realize where she’s going. Toward V Lot, where we parked yesterday.
She’s leaving.
I stand back as she darts across Vine Street, her purse flapping at her side. She doesn’t have her luggage, which means something scared her enough to make her take off without it, or her plan is done and she’s wiping the mess off her hands like dust.
“Sully,” I yell. A rumbling truck drowns out my voice. I cross the street as soon as traffic clears, dropping my sloshing cup on the road. I didn’t make her answer to me then, but now I’m not letting her get away without an explanation.
She jumps into the passenger seat of a rusty brown truck parked in the lot. There’s somebody in the driver’s seat already—a man, broad shouldered. He’s wearing a red baseball cap, so I can’t see his face. Sully’s hands are immediately in the air, like they always were when she really needed to make a point, as if by taking up more space she could prove anything to anyone. As if she needed to.
Now the man seems to have deflated, with no fight left, slumping against the wheel. He takes his hat off and slides his hand through his hair before putting it back on, and it’s in that one second, maybe two, that I know who he is. A scream splits my head in half.
Sully is with him. Sully is in his truck. He’s here. Of all the people who shouldn’t have shown up this weekend, he’s at the top of the list. There wouldn’t even be a list without him.
Another sick thought unfurls like a flag. He was the one she was talking to last night. She has no idea. The two of them, with their own plan. Sully wouldn’t do that to me.
My brain commands the rest of me to leave, but my body doesn’t get the message. I turn around too late. Because now they’re both looking straight at me.
Sully and Kevin.