I can’t let Stacey take the fall for something I did, especially not now that I’ve found out how badass she is. Just to clarify, I wouldn’t let her take the fall even if she were a basic bitch, but the fact that she’s cool somehow makes it that little bit worse.
We walk back to Mather together. Stacey is going to show me how her virus works, but as we walk down the hallway, Beth pops her head out of her room and grins when she sees me.
“Where’ve you been? Why haven’t you answered our texts? Oh, hey, Stace.”
“Uh.” I check my phone. Sure enough, I have about half a dozen unread texts, all from Beth and Sam. “Sorry, I forgot to turn off silent mode.”
“Come on, we’re going out,” Beth says. She opens her door to reveal that she’s all dressed up—skinny jeans, an off-shoulder top, sunglasses, and a large Louis Vuitton carry-on bag.
“I’m not really in the mood,” I say. The last thing I want to do now is go out and pretend to have fun.
Beth sighs. “Nobody is in the mood, especially after what happened to Sophie. We need this, okay? We deserve a break from all the bad vibes here.”
I’m about to reject her again when I realize it’ll make me look really suspicious. I’ve been saying yes to everything, going along with all of Beth’s crazy escapades, and if I were to suddenly sit one out the day after Mr. Werner died, it’s going to look really bad. I take a deep breath, feeling exhausted, and nod.
Beth claps and goes, “Yay!”
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Stacey says.
“No,” I say. “Stay.”
There’s a weird pause, all charged, like all of us are surprised by what I’ve just said. Which I guess we all are. But as soon as I said it, I realize I mean it.
Beth shrugs. “Come,” she says to Stacey. “We’ve got plenty of space on the jet.”
“Yeah, they’ve got plenty of space—what?” I blink. “Did you say the jet? Is that like a new way of saying car?”
It is not. Less than an hour later, I’m clutching an overnight bag on the tarmac, staring up at a small airplane.
“Isn’t she a beaut?” Sam says. “I call her Bertha.”
It seems somewhat weird, naming something so sleek Bertha, but I suppose I know nothing about naming private jets. There are eight of us here—Sam, Grace, Beth, Stacey, Danny, the two Aidens, and me. Apparently, we’re off to Vegas because Grace’s parents are opening a new nightclub at the Bellagio. The last thing I want to do is spend the day partying, but I need to act normal. So Vegas it is.
The inside of Bertha is beautiful. There are sleek, white couches built into the sides with faux fur blankets thrown across them. A large coffee table is laden with champagne flutes, fruits, and gorgeous little cakes. Sam clears her throat and says, “Let’s make a toast to Sophie.” We all take a champagne flute and Sam pours out the champagne.
“To Sophie,” she says, when everyone’s glasses has been filled. “We were never close, but she was always kind to me and had the best makeup tips.”
“Same,” Beth says. “We never really hung out, but I used to watch her makeup tutorials on TikTok. She was so bubbly.”
“To Sophie,” Grace says.
“To Sophie,” we all say, then we drain our glasses. An air attendant appears with another bottle and starts to refill everyone’s glasses.
Despite the champagne loosening up my system, the sight of all the nice things still makes me feel ill. It’s so wrong that I’m able to sit in a private jet with my friends one day after the incident with Mr. Werner. I want to go back to my room, where I can pace endlessly and gnaw on my fingernails until they’re nothing but ragged stumps. But if I were to suddenly leave now, that would definitely look weird.
“You okay?” Danny says, sitting next to me. His face looks tight, and I feel a sudden jolt of guilt, as painful as a stab wound. He doesn’t know what I’ve done. He doesn’t know yet that his favorite uncle is dead. I lean into him and breathe in his familiar scent. He kisses the top of my head, which is such a sweet move, it makes me all teary-eyed. I shouldn’t be here. Not with Danny, not after what happened. But I want to be here. Not in the private jet heading for Vegas, but wherever Danny is. Which sounds unbelievably pathetic, I know, but I guess I’m feeling pretty pathetic.
“I’m fine. Just a bit shell-shocked, I guess. Can’t believe we’re actually going to Vegas,” I mutter, taking a sip of champagne. “Not that I’m ungrateful. It’s just surreal.”
“Get used to it,” Stacey says, plopping down across from me. “These kids like to travel. Last term, they were flying everywhere on Prince Danny’s jet. I heard he took them to Paris at some point.”
I gape at Danny. “You have a private jet?” What is this world?
He looks down at his knees. “Sort of? But it feels wrong to use it when I’m on such bad terms with my parents, since it was a present from them.”
“Jeez,” I mumble, taking another gulp of champagne. Just when you think you know how rich Draycott kids are, they reach into their deep, deep pockets and brandish a private plane.
“So, um.” Danny pauses and glances at Stacey, who’s just sitting there, looking at us.
“Sorry, did you guys want to be alone? Am I being a third wheel?” she says.
“No,” I say, the same time Danny says, “Sort of?”
I frown at him.
“Sorry,” he says, quickly. “It’s just, I kinda want to talk to Lia alone for a bit. But I promise I’ll leave her to you girls afterward. Uh, if she wants. I mean, she can make her own decisions, obviously, I didn’t mean—”
“Stop talking,” Stacey says.
“Okay.”
“Why are men,” she says, as she leaves.
Danny ruffles his hair, which is massively adorable. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. What did you want to talk to me about?”
He takes my hand. “I just—I wanted to apologize properly for the whole thing with my uncle.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I jeopardized your future, and I just—”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now.” I don’t mean to sound quite as harsh as I do, but talking about it with Danny, knowing what I’ve done, knowing what he’ll soon find out, is unbearable.
Danny looks surprised then sheepish. “Yeah, of course. We’ll forget about it and have fun.”
Have fun. That should be easy, given we’re off to Vegas. But I remain out of it, part of me still trapped in the woods with Mr. Werner. When we land in Vegas and are greeted with a limo, I can’t summon up the energy to get all excited. More champagne is poured inside the car, and I drink deep, hoping to forget Mr. Werner and Orange Point and that branch sticking out of his eye. Even when we arrive at the hotel and are whisked into the most gorgeous lobby I’ve ever seen, I’m still haunted by the ghost of Mr. Werner.
The rest of the evening passes in a whirl. Maybe I’ve had too much champagne. I can only remember the day like snippets from a movie—walking into a huge, luxurious suite, more bottles being opened, clinks of glasses, everyone laughing and having a great time. No longer thinking of Sophie. I guess none of them were close to her, so her death isn’t too hard to get over, but still.
I blink, and I’m at the nightclub, wearing yet another one of Beth’s slinky dresses, holding a sticky-sweet cocktail. The music is so loud, it thuds through my entire body. I can’t tell if I’m bopping along to it or if it’s just the beat shaking me.
I feel sick. I don’t know if it’s the flying, or the alcohol, or the loud music. Or the killing. I just want to go somewhere and lie down. Someplace I don’t have to pretend like I haven’t just killed someone.
Someone touches the small of my back, steadying me, and I turn to see Danny there. He looks like what coming home feels like.
“Danny.” Tears spring into my eyes again. I need to tell him. I thought I could keep it inside me, but I can’t after all.
“You okay?” he says.
I shake my head. There’s a huge lump in my throat and I can’t speak.
“Come on.” Danny puts a steadying hand on my back and guides me out of the club. I can’t begin to describe how good his hand feels on my back.
Outside of the club, though, we run into Stacey, who’s leaning against the wall, looking at her phone. She glances up when we come out, her eyes wide. “Have you guys seen DD?”
I groan. “Oh god, what are they saying about me now?”
Stacey levels her gaze at me. “My dear, sweet Lia, it may behoove you to know that the entire app does not revolve around you.” She grins. “This is so much more awesome than the usual petty bullshit on there. They found a hand.”
I blink. “The app found a hand?”
“No, dummy. Some hikers did. Look!” She brandishes her phone at me. DD is awash with posts about a disembodied hand found at the nearby national park, just “a ten-minute drive from campus, guys!”
Bile rushes up my throat. I push Stacey and Danny aside and lurch into the nearest bathroom, barely making it into the first cubicle before I start heaving into the toilet. My kris pendant slips out from under my top and dangles underneath my face, getting splashed by vomit, which just makes me cry because the sight of it makes me miss Ibu.
Someone knocks on the door. “Lia, you okay?” Stacey says.
Obviously not.
“Open the door. I’ll give you a hand.”
A hand. Like the one they found in the national park. My stomach twists again, and I go back to dry heaving into the toilet. Something nudges my foot, I turn to see Stacey pushing herself through the gap under the door into the cubicle.
“Jeez Louise,” she says, gathering my hair behind my head. She tugs at a hair band on her wrist and uses it to tie my hair back. “What’s going on with you?” Her eyes narrow. “Is it…morning sickness?”
“No! God.” I wipe my eyes and nose and flush the toilet before pushing past Stacey and coming out of the cubicle. I find Grace there, openmouthed. Great.
“Are you okay?” Grace squeaks.
“I’m fine.”
There are a couple of women at the sink area, and they both subtly edge away from me. Can’t blame them. I’m a mess. My face is puffy and colored with red splotches, and there are flecks of vomit stuck to my hair. The two women finish reapplying their lipsticks and walk briskly out, their noses wrinkling. I turn on the cold tap and splash water onto my face. It’s freezing cold and feels wonderful.
“When was the last time you had your period?” Stacey says.
Grace’s mouth opens even wider. “Oh my god, you mean—”
“I’m not pregnant,” I snap. I take a mouthful of tap water, swill it around, and spit it out. “Danny and I haven’t. You know.”
Stacey’s brows disappear in her hairline. “Seriously? Damn, I thought Danny has more game than that.”
I gargle more water.
“So what’s going on?” Stacey says.
Grace raises a hand to her mouth. “I think I know.”
“You do?” I say, looking at Grace. She has this horrified expression on her face. Oh my god. I think she does know. “Wait. Please, don’t—”
“We need a moment alone,” Grace says to Stacey and actually grabs Stacey and starts pushing her toward the door. “Give us a minute.”
I’ve never seen Grace so decisive. She knows something. Maybe she saw me stealing inside Mr. Werner’s car on Friday. Maybe—
She closes the door and rushes back to me.
“Grace—”
“Throwing up doesn’t work, you know,” Grace says.
I stop. “Huh?”
“Throwing up. The whole bulimic thing. You’ll still get fat.”
“I—what?”
She opens her purse and takes out a pen. “Give me your hand.”
I’m way too dumbstruck to resist as Grace grabs my hand and writes something on it. I glance down. She’s written two words: Blueseed.com and Woot1212.
“Go to this website. It’s a handicraft shop, sort of like Etsy. Look for this particular seller. He sells bracelets, key chains, that kind of crap. Each item represents a different drug. Like, if you see a key chain with Mary Jane shoes, that means it’s marijuana. Cuff links with the letter E is for ecstasy, and so on and so forth. You’ll figure it out.”
“What—” What the hell is going on, and what does this even have to do with my supposed eating disorder?
“Get the necklace with the little Coke bottle pendant. That’s cocaine,” Grace says. “It’ll suppress your appetite. You’ll lose weight in no time. Not that you need to lose weight.”
I can’t help myself. I look at Grace, and this time, I feel revulsion. Rage. Sophie’s just died on campus from a drug overdose, and here she is, telling me to go take drugs so I can look skinny. A huge part of me wants to shriek at her, grab her by the shoulders, and shake her.
“I don’t think you should be doing drugs,” I manage to bite out after an eternity. The words thud out dully. “I mean, after Sophie…”
Grace’s eyebrows rise, her eyes going wide. “Oh, don’t worry, this seller is legit. Their drugs are so pure. They’re totally safe.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you hear? Sophie died from taking laced drugs. Whoever sold her the drugs had cut them using some bad shit. I think they said it was like, meth or laundry detergent or whatever. Really bad street stuff. That’s why if you’re gonna do drugs, be smart. Only buy from sellers you can trust. This shop is run by someone in town. So it’s basically a local business. You just pay for the stuff, then the seller will drop it off somewhere on campus. Totally convenient.”
What the fuck? Be smart? Drug dealers you can TRUST? Grace isn’t even operating on the same wavelength as I am. I blink down at my hand, wondering if I’m dreaming.
Luckily, a knock on the door jerks me out of my swirling thoughts. “There’s a huge line out here,” Stacey calls out.
“We’re done,” Grace chirps.
I close my hand into a fist and hide it behind my back as we walk out. The last thing I want to do is to continue having a conversation about freaking drugs. I think I might actually lose it then. I know Grace is only trying to help, but I can’t shake off the feeling that there is something really messed up about Draycott, something that goes even deeper, beyond Mr. Werner selling grades to students. Something tells me that Draycott is rotten, all the way to the core, and nothing I do can ever fix it.