of Ethan’s warm presence beside me. I’m shocked he hasn’t run away.
“Thank you for your help with Autumn. How’d you get her to change her mind?” I ask.
He shifts closer. I get a whiff of his piney aftershave. “Doughnuts and free Drake tickets,” he deadpans.
“Ha, ha,” I retort. “Even you’re not that Canadian.” I know he’s dodging the question. I wait for him to continue. After a time, he does.
“After Sierra did, um, what she did—though I swear to you I did not know the reason Autumn didn’t make varsity—anyhow, I built her a recruiting website for crew. Posted some video clips, a few articles I’d written about her for the Ledger, and her stats. She said it helped her get college coaches’ attention.”
I’m quiet for a long time. “I’m not proud of it, you know?”
Ethan rests his head on my shoulder. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”
My phone buzzes, breaking us apart instantly. It’s a text from Avery.
Yes!!! My room, 8. Bring snacks. I’ve got the booze.
Ethan leans over to take a look. “Guess you’ve got a date with a snake.”
I am buzzed on a 2008 vintage pinot noir from Avery’s secret stash of wine, which includes bottles that cost more than every item of clothing on my body combined. Avery tops off my cup, though it isn’t even half-empty, and we clink the hard plastic together like fine ladies. Or tipsy sorority sisters.
Avery is leaning against a wall of pillows on her bed, laptop on her lap, and I’m sitting perpendicular to her near the end. Her calves are propped on top of mine, and they provide a perfect shelf for my own laptop.
My contribution to the evening’s proceedings is a jumbo bag of cheese puffs from the school market. Avery hogs the bag, crunching on pieces in steady succession, sucking neon-orange cheese dust from her fingers reverently.
She doesn’t look like a killer. Or a saboteur supreme.
We’re on hour two of writing essays…or attempting to write essays. The wine helps until it doesn’t; we keep taking detours, Avery sharing a piece of gossip on someone, me worrying about paying for college. And thrumming in the back of my mind are today’s revelations about Avery and my so-called friends. I know I should just ask her about what Autumn said, but I’m not even sure where to start.
Hey, Aves, did you hook up with Stina, then blackmail her?
Why have you and our other friends been performing truly heinous acts of sabotage behind my back?
That’s what’s really bothering me. Carving me up from the inside out. That they don’t trust me.
The sting of exclusion leaves behind a gentle, familiar ache. Then I question myself: Why would I want to be included in such vile acts? Is fitting in that important to me?
Maybe, the tiniest voice inside me whispers.
My mom’s voice rattles around my head, too: I don’t like how you get when you’re up there.
Me neither. But this is all I have. Claflin and the Ivies. I have to know who my friends really are. Maybe if I start Avery off with some small talk, I can work up to the big stuff.
“Are you looking forward to the holiday?”
Avery snorts. “Not really. Megan sent me a deadline schedule for my essays. It’s pretty brutal.”
The one nice thing I can say about Avery’s essay coach is that she refuses to do any of the writing for her or Tyler. She sets deadlines, and Avery has to meet them, like homework. Avery is a talented writer, but I know Tyler has struggled. Though even the best of us struggle. For the aspiring journalist in the group, I sure am sucking at my supplements tonight. Everything’s coming out stilted and trite.
“How’s it going for you?”
“Writing is hard.” I faux sob. “I wish I didn’t have to do these stupid applications.”
“You and me both.”
“Shit. Sorry. That was insensitive,” I say, expecting Avery to snap back, but her response is kind.
“No, don’t worry about it at all. We’re both nursing ED rejections. Or deferral in your case. Whatever. Solidarity.”
I burn with shame. Avery is not the only bald-faced liar in the room.
“Are you still, uh, trying to talk to Harvard?” I prod at Avery’s motive. She takes a swig of wine.
Avery makes an affirmative noise into her cup. It buzzes, like a bee is caught inside. “My mom is petitioning the admissions department to move my app to regular decision now that, uh, Emma can no longer