THE SLIGHT
I’m gritty-eyed with lack of sleep and bone tired. Because of the emergency convocation, I wasn’t at Becca’s door at seven as instructed. But I sat with Becca in the chapel, watching her hands. She needs to file her nails, they are ragged and broken after last night’s excesses in the cabin.
When the convocation ends, I calmly follow Becca to the arboretum. A cigarette is offered and accepted with a nod. There are no words. There is no touching. I honestly don’t know what to say. I don’t know what she wants. And I’m too tired to explain myself, to smooth her ruffled feathers.
Becca, too, looks exhausted. Halfway through the smoke, she says, “This is going to be a massive clusterfuck, you know.”
I’m not sure if she’s speaking rhetorically, but I wade in. “Camille’s suicide? Yes, it’s quite a mess.”
“No, stupid. Having cops on campus. They’re going to be looking at everything. I’m supposed to meet someone tonight. I’ll have to reschedule.”
I’m surprised to feel a random spark of jealousy. “Someone like who?”
“Just someone. I’ll have to warn him off.”
“Oh, you mean Rumi? I know he’s providing you with—”
Becca turns on me, eyes blazing. “Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth. How stupid are you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, you are sorry. God, Ash. You’re going to get us all kicked out if you don’t start acting smarter. I really thought you were different. You’re supposed to be a genius rebel. I thought I could trust you.”
“You can, Becca. I’m no rat.”
“You’re not much of anything as far as I can tell. And in case you have it in that pretty little head to say something about last night, if you say anything to anyone, I will bury you. Am I clear?”
Becca takes one last huge drag from her cigarette and drops the butt on the ground. She walks off, leaving it smoldering.
Mic drop.
I squat down and put it out, scraping it through the earth. My fingers come back sticky with Becca’s lip gloss. I run my finger over my lower lip, smearing the remnants on my mouth. It tastes like cherry and old cigarettes.
I take a last drag of my ciggy, put it out, and bury the butts. I can at least help cover our tracks.
Becca is almost out of the arboretum now. The leaves are starting to fall, and there’s a clearing toward the school where I can see people coming into and out of the forest. I can catch up to her if I get a move on.
I start after her but pull up when another girl steps out of the woods. I can’t see who it is, but Becca talks to her for a moment, hands her something. I hurry forward but by the time I catch up, Becca is alone again.
“Who was that?”
Becca ignores me, strides out of the forest and up the path to the dining hall. I catch her by the door.
“Becca—”
“Just shut up, okay. Keep your mouth shut and we will all be fine.”
Becca storms into the building, and I trail behind, uncomfortable being ignored. At the table, I start to pull out my chair, but Becca puts a hand on my arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Having breakfast, like normal. Though I don’t know if I can eat.”
Becca tosses her head like the Thoroughbred she is. She is a different person now. Cold. Aloof. Mildly aggravated and disgusted, like I’m a hair that’s landed on her fork.
She waves a derisive hand in dismissal.
“Fly away, little Swallow. You missed your appointment this morning, so you don’t get to sit with us anymore. Go play with your own friends. You aren’t welcome here.”
I feel my jaw begin to fall, snap my teeth together so hard they click. Becca has already taken her seat and is immediately flanked by the twins, one of whom pushes me rudely as she scoots by for the coveted chair to Becca’s left.
Tears threaten, but I blink them back and head to my old table with Vanessa and Piper and the rest of the sophomores. As I approach, they start shooting me looks. It’s clear they’ve been talking about me. They saw Becca’s little power play. They have closed ranks. I am no longer one of them.
The seat where Camille normally holds court looks so empty, so out of place. Because so many have crowded the table today, it is the only open spot. I stop behind it. “May I?”
After an interminable moment, Vanessa nods and I sit, fiddling with a piece of my ponytail. My arm feels like it’s on fire, and I force myself not to scratch. The will it takes not to claw my skin to shreds is Herculean.
“Are you okay?” Piper asks.
“Yes. It was a long night.”
Laughter, loud and harsh, filters over from Becca’s table.
“Becca pissed at you?”
“She thought it would be better for me to sit with you today. A show of solidarity because of Camille.” The lie flows from my lips as easily as my breath.
Breakfast is served. I push the eggs around my plate, unable to eat. The girls are talking about Camille, primarily, but there are a few who seem nonplussed and are planning their attack, how they’ll usurp the juniors when they try out for the fall play, Sophocles’s Antigone. It is only in the past decade that the school dropped the requirement to have the play done in its original Greek.
I hear a name that makes my radar prick up. Rumi. Who’s talking about Rumi?
It is the table next to me. Girls who live on the other side of the sophomores’ hall.
They are whispering in a staccato shorthand; I only catch every other word.
“Do you...think... I mean, he did it?”
“Who else could... Someone... Rumi stole the keys.”
“Come on, guys. You’re... It’s stupid... Like Camille would fuck a townie.”
“Well, the dean—”
Raucous laughter drowns out the rest of the conversation. The seniors, amusing themselves.
“How inappropriate,” Vanessa sniffs. “It’s like they’re happy about it. Oh, someone died, how sad, at least we get out of classes. Fucking bitches.”
While I agree, I tune out Vanessa’s complaints. I can’t help but cast glances toward Becca as the laughter continues. I try to catch Jordan’s eye, two tables over, but she is engaged in some sort of conversation with her roommate and doesn’t look up. A few other faces from that side of the dining hall look vaguely familiar. Relief washes through me.
None of the Swallows of Ivy Bound are sitting with their Falconers. This must be a part of the hazing. Open rejection.
Lovely.
“Why did she do it, Ash? Do you know? You were the closest to her.”
This from Dominique Rodrigue, a sophomore who lives at the end of our hall, right by the kitchen. We haven’t spoken more than ten words all term.
“I really wasn’t. And I don’t, Dom. I don’t know anything.”
The whispering chatter at the adjacent table begins anew, drawing me back. What does Rumi have to do with Camille? I’ve seen nothing, nothing, to indicate they even knew each other. Hell, Camille warned me away, said he was dangerous. A pedophile.
I can hardly believe that was yesterday. Yesterday, Camille was alive and warning me away from Rumi. Yesterday, Becca and I were friends. Yesterday, I was still protected. Safe.
I can’t do this. I can’t sit and eat and pretend it’s all okay. Can’t gossip and can’t laugh. But to get up and leave now will draw every eye in the place.
Camille did this to herself. So why do I feel so very responsible?