know what I want from it, from this place. To walk back through that morning, retrace every step? Find something I missed?
“Olivia?” Ethan’s voice breaks me from my trance. He’s poised on the bottom of the stairs, ready to ascend.
“Right. It’s upstairs on the left.” I follow him up, and then we cut through the locker room. The steam room also features a hot tub, and Ethan’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.
“Does the girls’ locker room have one of these as well?”
“Yep.”
“I should have rowed crew.”
I look him up and down. “You’re tall enough.”
Ethan breaks into a dopey grin. “You checking me out?”
“Merely an observation.” I duck my head to hide a smile. “It has to be there.” I point to the only other door, tucked away in the shadows beyond the hot tub. We approach, but with the lights off it’s difficult to see the keypad. Plus, I’ve forgotten the code. Emma’s phone solves both problems, the flashlight blindingly bright as I refer back to the second code and key it in.
Ethan and I tumble into a lounge. The lights flick on automatically, on a motion detector. They’re low mood lights, but bright enough to illuminate the space. It’s swank—leather couches and armchairs, wet bar, big-screen TV with gaming system attached.
“Those assholes,” I mutter.
“What?”
“They knew about this place—or at least Emma did—and didn’t tell me. This is a hangout spot.”
“And probably a nap spot!” Ethan flops down onto one of the leather couches. He sighs into the supple black material, closes his eyes.
“You sure you want to lie on that?” I wrinkle my nose.
“Why?”
And Sierra says that I’m clueless. “This is a hookup spot.” I raise my eyebrows knowingly.
It takes a second, but awareness washes over Ethan all at once and he nearly falls trying to get off the couch. I walk the perimeter of the room. “I bet Tyler told Emma about this place,” I reason. He’s captain of the guys’ crew team. “And then she brought Beau here. Classy.”
“Or Beau was on the team, too?” Ethan suggests, starting to walk the perimeter of the room. It’s wall-to-wall shelves stuffed full with books, the kind with cracked spines and gold-embossed titles that clearly aren’t meant to be read. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know. Clues? We have to figure out who he is.” I hold up Emma’s phone for emphasis. Ethan crosses to the bar, starts to rummage through the supplies. I hear bottles clinking and join him. He’s poured an amber liquid into a glass tumbler. “Are you drinking?”
“You think I’m going to turn down the chance to steal expensive whiskey from the rich douches at this school?”
“Good point. Make it two.”
“Really?” But Ethan doesn’t wait for confirmation before pouring one for me, too.
“I’ve put up with a lot of bourgeoisie bullshit over the years,” I say as I accept the glass. “Fifth-wheeling luxury shopping trips and pretending to be fascinated by tales of spring break trips and summer vacations in Saint Moritz, Montenegro, Tokyo, Seoul, Paris, the Hamptons. No one gives two shits about how summer vacay went down in Lanham.”
Ethan’s gaze is keen. “You’ve been nursing that bitterness awhile, huh?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” I raise my glass to his, and we clink them together. A toast to the best and brightest of Claflin Academy. The progeny of the one percent.
“I never did think you fit in with them. You didn’t make sense.” Ethan narrows his eyes, thoughtful. Then he drinks.
His commentary slices through me, a dull knife opening old wounds. I hold my glass too tight, crystal etching grinding against my fingers. It’s meant as a compliment, but that doesn’t erase how desperately I wish I belonged. And with all the Ivies have kept from me, it’s glaringly clear that I don’t. I never will.
I toss back the whiskey in one go. A mistake.
I double over, hacking wet, heavy coughs between gulps for breath. The liquid burns and stings like a wildfire spreading from inside out.
“Whoa, Olivia!” Ethan slaps his hand on my upper back, trying to help, but all he does is disrupt my rhythm. I cough harder and reach for a nearby waste bin in case my dinner decides to come up with the whiskey.
“Hey,” I rasp, sucking in my first proper, deep breath in what feels like centuries. “Someone burned something in here.” Tentatively, I reach my hand inside, feeling the partially scorched remains of black fabric. Finally good to stand, I set the