The Ivies - Alexa Donne Page 0,85

a waterfall spray and programmable horizontal pulse features. The shampoos, conditioners, and body soaps have French names and smell incredible. Finally, freshly outfitted in clothing I haven’t spent ten hours sweating in, I make my way downstairs for dinner, taking in the house with less travel-frenzied eyes.

The theme throughout the house is white: white-painted wood, white marble floors in the foyer, blindingly white kitchen and bathroom fixtures. The kind of white only the rich can afford, with a daily housekeeping staff to maintain it. The house is bright and fresh, open plan, and both effortlessly chic and completely lacking in personality. It doesn’t feel like people really live here. Nine months out of the year, Avery and Tyler don’t.

Avery ordered some artisan pizza, reminding me that even pizza delivery is highbrow here. We sit at a dining table in the windowed alcove off the open-plan kitchen, with plates of pizza and glasses of soda and our laptops open in front of us at angles as we work on our essays between eating and gossiping. She doesn’t miss a beat.

“So, have you heard from Ethan? There’s something going on there, right?”

“He hasn’t responded since I texted him about putting him on the Ivies’ List.” There’s a hard edge to my voice that’s impossible to filter.

Avery knows this is her fault. She winces. “I’m sorry I told him. You know I was just really angry in the moment, right? And doesn’t he get that it didn’t even matter, since Vasquez overrode Stina, anyway?”

I shrug. “Guess it’s all the same to him.”

“Well, then he’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve you.”

“Thanks,” I say, and mean it. It’s exactly the right thing to say, something only a good girlfriend would say. We don’t hash it out any further; we both said and did things we regret, hurting each other. Plus, the pretending-to-be-queer-for-blackmail thing is too horrific to broach.

Pizza polished off and an hour gone by, we’ve done very little actual work, so we agree to a writing sprint—fifteen minutes and then we’ll check in. Avery gives up after eight.

“This is impossible.” She groans. “I want to write about Emma. I’m trying to. But a part of me thinks it’s a dick move, and nothing is coming out right. It’s this huge, life-changing thing, and every word I write sounds like trite bullshit.” She turns to me. “What are you writing about? Are you…?”

I grimace. I am. I nod. “Every time I give up and try to write about something else, it comes out sounding stupid. Like who cares about ECs and achievements when two weeks ago I found my friend dead in the rowing pool?”

“Right?”

We exhale twin huffs of frustration. Then Avery gets a glint in her eye.

“How much you want to bet every student at Claflin who’s applying RD is gonna write about Emma?” Avery gnaws absently on an uncharacteristically ragged fingernail. “They’ll steal our thunder if they apply to the same schools that we do.”

I stare agog at my friend and her Machiavellian musings. Is this really only about competitive advantage for college? I’m too shocked to say anything, and besides, before I can, Avery moves on.

“I’ll text Megan and ask her for tips.” She makes for the fridge to grab us a fresh batch of snacks.

I return to my Google Doc and delete every word I’ve written. Start fresh on something that has nothing to do with Emma. I am more than my friend’s murder.

Avery sees me off the next morning like a mom, making sure I get up on time, driving me to the station, even stopping for coffee along the way so I am caffeinated. It is eight o’clock and I’m expected at the FBI office in Chelsea by ten.

“Party starts by eight!” Avery calls out the car window as she drops me off at the Wellesley Square station. “Don’t be late.”

I wave her off. Thanks to the holiday, the train isn’t packed, so I manage to get a seat. I get off at South Station to switch trains up to Chelsea, where I alight into the frigid cold. The FBI building is a few blocks away.

I’m too hot in my peacoat after a brisk walk, but I make it. The building looms above me, eight stories of sleek black steel and white concrete with hundreds of windows that reflect a gray, cloudless sky. I have to check in first at the security gate and then again inside in the wide, high-ceilinged lobby. The room is staid, corporate,