THE PLAN
I walk from window to window trying to see what’s happening. Dr. Asolo has gone to fetch Becca. She won’t tell me why I’ve been pulled out of bed and marched to the attics but considering they’re bringing Becca, I have to assume we’ve been busted for the goings-on in the cabin. The tap, come back to bite me already.
I shouldn’t be surprised by this, but I am. I’ve had the sense that the school is proud of the secret societies. Not openly encouraging them, but doing nothing to stop them. Stomps happen regularly, and tonight’s tap hadn’t exactly been quiet. So why are we getting in trouble now?
The only real rule that’s inviolable is not lying and cheating. The rest of it—Goode certainly has a girls will be girls mentality. I’m familiar with the sentiment. It exists back home, too. The rules just don’t apply to certain kinds of people. The right kind of people, as my mother would say. If you have money, privilege, you can get away with most anything.
I am woozy from the alcohol, the Benadryl, the Ecstasy, sheer tiredness. Still feeling relatively cuddly toward Becca, though, even though I know I’m going to hate her when the already itchy rash comes up full force.
Why am I here? If we’re in trouble, shouldn’t we be in Dean Westhaven’s office?
I am so confused.
Finally, I drop into a tufted leather club chair and look around. What is this place? It looks like an office, there’s a desk with a typewriter and a stack of pages facedown, two chairs facing it—the one I’m in and its mirror mate—a thick, green-and-cream Oriental rug set at an angle. Fresh-cut flowers in a small square glass vase, lush, full-petaled pink roses, sit on the corner of the desk. English roses. Like from home, in the spring, when the gardens of Oxford burst to life. Bookshelves from floor to ceiling, but only two shelves are filled.
Spartan, but elegant, comfortable accommodations. Who works up here, in isolation from the rest of the students?
The dean, dummy. When you see her in the window, this is where she is.
A commotion in the hall and the door flies open. Becca stumbles through, eyes bleary, arguing, and Dr. Asolo follows behind.
“So, I was out of bed after hours, who cares?” She notices me, and her face changes. Gone is the compassionate friend, and in her place, the Mistress. A banshee, a furious, evil-tempered death-presaging spirit who will eat me alive. “Why is she here?”
She thinks I’ve outed them. She thinks I’ve told.
I duck down into my chair, legs drawn up to protect myself. “I—”
“Did you tell? You stupid girl, I will end you—”
“Stop it!” Dr. Asolo pushes Becca into the chair next to me. She lands with an oof. “Listen to me. A girl has died.”
“Fuuuuck,” Becca drawls, clearly assuming this is related to the tap, but I sit up, suddenly clearheaded.
“It’s Camille, isn’t it?”
“It is, unfortunately. She fell off the bell tower.”
The shock goes through me and I close my eyes, send up a silent prayer for my hateful roommate.
“You’re shitting me,” Becca says.
“Young lady, your mouth is going to get you in trouble. Knock it off.”
“Why are we here?” I ask. “And no, Becca, I didn’t say a word to anyone.”
Asolo’s shoulders drop, the stress and tiredness showing plainly on her pretty features. “Because the dean requested it. She knows about the tap tonight—no, don’t deny it, why else do you two stink of alcohol? I suppose she was concerned that Camille was a part of the tap. Becca?”
Becca is still slouching in her chair but answers immediately, and honestly. “No, ma’am. She wasn’t. We don’t normally tap sophomores—Ash is an exception.”
“Ash?”
“Camille wasn’t there. I swear it.”
Asolo waits a beat. Both of us say, “On my honor,” and she blows out a breath.
“Okay. You two stay here. Don’t leave until either the dean or I come to get you.”
She bustles out the door, leaving us staring after her.
“What the hell is going on?” Becca asks, curling deeper in the chair. “How did Camille get up to the bell tower? It’s always locked. I should know, we’ve tried to get up there enough times. Westhaven keeps the key under lock and key. Ha!”
I feel sick. Camille, dead? It doesn’t feel possible. She was so excited, so happy, and a few hours later, broken at the base of Main like a doll thrown from a height.
“I’m sorry I accused you, Swallow. That was wrong of me.”
“Becca, what you said to me the first day, about a roommate dying...”
“I was just trying to rattle you, Swallow. I had no idea she’d be dumb enough to go through with it.”
“She had an invitation to the attics tonight. Remember?”
“Yes. I remember. Like I told you this morning, it wasn’t me. I don’t know who sent the summons. We aren’t the only society who tapped tonight. Though no one sends a summons to do a tap. We try to keep who we bring in quiet. Didn’t you see her tonight?”
“She was in the room after dinner, yes. The last time I saw her was when she left at ten for the summons. She was so excited.”
I run a hand over my arm.
Becca is looking at me curiously. “Does it itch badly?”
“Yes. You’re a right cunt, you know that? The Benadryl is only sort of working.”
“It will be worse tomorrow,” Becca predicts, going to the window. “There’s a lot of activity out there.”
“I know. I couldn’t see anything, just the lights off the fire truck.”
“She must have gone off the back of Main, or else we’d see everything below. Was she bummed about something?”
“No. She was happy, excited. I mean, sometimes she cries at night, but—”
“Cries about what?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t think to ask?”
“I asked. She told me she was fine. I can’t exactly force it out of her.”
Heavy steps pass by us, and then above. It feels like the ceiling will collapse under them. I move out of the way, just in case.
“They’re up there looking,” Becca whispers.
“Looking for what?”
“I don’t know. A note? I can’t believe Asolo locked us up here.”
“She’s trying to protect you.”
“Asolo?”
“The dean. She’s trying to protect you. The police are on campus, and we were all drinking tonight. I hardly think they’d take it well, finding out the senator’s daughter was behind it, especially with an ambassador’s daughter dead. Not good press for the school and the dean.”
“I suppose you’re right. But you know nothing about this, do you, Swallow?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t think it’s me they’re trying to protect. You’re her roommate. You’re the first one they’re going to want to talk to.”
“Bugger.” I drop back in the chair, blow into my cupped palm. Though I’ve brushed my teeth, my breath smells like vodka.
“Yes, little Swallow. Bugger.” Becca looms over me. “You can’t say anything about what happened tonight. Not a word. You say anything and you’re out. Do you understand?”
“Becca, I—”
“I am your Mistress. I command you to keep your big fat mouth shut.”
“I can’t lie. They’ll kick me out.”
“You breathe a word about what happened during the tap and I will make you wish you had never come here. Am I clear?” Becca again looks like an avenging angel, fury written across her face, her mouth tight, her eyes dark.
“I’m clear, Mistress. What am I supposed to tell them?”
“I don’t care. But not a word about Ivy Bound, or we’ll all be screwed.”
“Oh, so you’re happy for me to lie, but not you? What sort of bullshit is that?”
“It’s a test, Swallow. One you don’t want to fail.”
I can hear them moving around upstairs. Soon they will come for me.
I am in an untenable position. Again.
Oh, Camille. What have you done?