The Girls Are All So Nice Here Read online

  When she flapped her hands against her knees I noticed what was on her nails. Letters. Kevin, one letter on each fingernail, i dotted with a heart. I let my smile fall. She loved the idea of him. She didn’t understand who he really was and didn’t deserve him.

  “We should eat a bunch of junk food and watch something funny tonight.” She pulled on her bunny slippers and her face changed as she gestured at my suitcase. “Oh. Are you going somewhere?”

  “It’s a last-minute thing. My sister is going home for the weekend, so I thought I’d go too and surprise my parents. We used to go apple picking every fall, so we figured we’d keep up the tradition.” The lie was smooth, premeditated.

  The apple-picking part was true. My parents loved cheesy traditions, and they were rife in Pennington. The Pennington Day street fair, Easter eggs hidden in Kunkel Park, our annual tree lighting on Main Street, cookies and hot chocolate and my mom’s fourth-grade students singing carols, real wholesome community cheer.

  “Wow,” said Flora. “That’s so nice. I wish my parents wanted to do that stuff with us. They can’t even be in the same room together.”

  I had assumed Flora hailed from a family where everything was perfect, where Dad came home from work and the dog ran to the door to greet him and little Flora watched Mom get ready for a night out, dancing in a spray of Chanel No. 5. I figured the people who’d helped her move in were her mom and dad, the traditional family unit.

  “I’m sorry. I thought…” She hadn’t brought this up before. It was intentional, the lack of gory details. This was raw, the most undercooked I had seen Flora.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s been that way since I was eight. That’s when they split up. Poppy and I got used to the holiday shuffle after that. They both remarried and they’re civil now, but for a while it was like Poppy and I only had each other. Maybe that’s why fighting with her is so awful.”

  I could stay. I hadn’t done anything yet, and it wasn’t too late. I could meet my own Kevin, not the one who belonged to somebody else. I could abandon my daily assaults on Flora’s laptop to unearth Clarissa, write her off as a figment of Kevin’s imagination.

  When my phone went off, I expected it to be Sully, but it was a text from Hunter. Hey Amber, wanna hang out later? If I believed in signs from the universe, it would have been a glaring one. I could message him back, agree to hang out.

  But I didn’t believe in signs. The universe where I lived wasn’t in the business of giving me anything.

  I thought about Sully. About Hunter’s crooked dick. Sully’s face as she laughed about it. Sully’s face if I backed out of this weekend. We’d be over. Dartmouth was for me, but it was just as much for us. Sully wanted to see how far I would go. What I was capable of. I would show her.

  I put the phone down, finally electrified with the power I wanted. I wouldn’t respond to Hunter, and when I saw him on campus, I would pretend he didn’t exist.

  “I wish I was going somewhere this weekend.” Flora stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “I was originally supposed to see Kevin, but his frat is having some big party tonight, and he has to go.” She rolled her eyes. “I wish he came to visit more often. He told me he would, but so far he’s only come here once. At least he’ll be here for Halloween, and we’ll see each other at Thanksgiving.”

  “Yeah, I totally get it,” I said, but all I heard was Flora picking at his flaws, expecting Kevin to live up to an impossible standard.

  “Anyway, sorry to burden you.” She swished her hair back. “I’ll miss you this weekend, but I hope you have fun at your parents’ house. It’ll be good for you to see them, I’m sure.”

  It was my last chance to back out. But, just as I wavered, there was a knock at our door. I opened it to Sully, backpack slung over her shoulder.

  “You ready?” she said.

  A tiny sliver of hurt clouded Flora’s face, along with something else—anger, maybe, or disappointment. She thought Sully was coming with me to pick apples with my parents and wondered why she wasn’t.

  “Hi, Sloane,” Flora said, almost robotic.

  “Hey,” Sully said, her gaze dropping to Flora’s feet. Sully usually had a compliment for everyone. We were all beaut or darling or great tits. Flora was just hey. Sully knew that Flora was resistant to whatever alchemy she worked on the rest of us.

  “Come on.” Sully gestured to my suitcase. “You’re lugging that giant thing all the way to—”

  “Pennington,” I finished, noticing her smirk and grabbing the handle. “It’s really not that much stuff.”

  “I hope you guys have a good time,” Flora said, waving with her Kevin fingers. Our door had barely closed when Sully snorted and said, “I had bunny slippers when I was, like, eight. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

  Flora’s parents got divorced when she was eight, is what I didn’t say. What mattered was what I actually said.

  “Me too.”

  NOW

  To: “Ambrosia Wellington” [email protected]

  From: “Wesleyan Alumni Committee” [email protected]

  Subject: Class of 2007 Reunion

  Dear Ambrosia Wellington,

  Let’s face it: you came to Wesleyan for the education, but chances are, the killer parties were your real learning experience. Tonight will be no exception. We encourage you to stay after the reception to continue the fun you’re bound to be having.

  Sincerely,

  Your Alumni Committee

  I know Felty is watching me, the same way I feel Flora’s eyes on me, wondering what I’ll do next. It’s like a time warp straight back to Dorm Doom, everyone noticing my missteps. Exactly what I wanted when I started at Wesleyan, but for the absolute worst reason. The spotlight I ended up under was more like a torch.

  The whispers, the ACB messages, ticker tape in my head. I saw her in the bathroom. I saw her with him. I swear it was her. I saw her running from the Butts after.

  I stick close to Adrian’s side, sneaking glances around for Felty but landing on everyone else instead. Lauren and Jonah are talking to someone who looks vaguely familiar—Hunter, of the crooked dick and inability to learn girls’ names. His arm is around a tiny black-haired woman, and when she brushes a thick fringe of bangs off her face, I realize she’s Clara from Butts C. She gives me a tentative wave, which I return with a forced smile. Even all these years later, something inside me stiffens. None of them ever picked me, even the ones I didn’t want.

  I don’t see Sully—or more, I don’t feel her. I know, with a sick rush of disappointment, that she isn’t here. Her absence takes up more space than anyone else’s presence.

  “Babe, you’re not being very social.” Adrian gestures around. “Aren’t we here so you can catch up with these people?”

  “I’ve already said hi to everyone I cared about.” It’s technically not a lie. I keep talking before he can say anything else. “There’s Monty.” I point to the bar, grateful that Monty’s heavy drinking makes him predictable. “Why don’t you go talk to him? I have to go to the bathroom.”

  I make sure before actually leaving that he’s deep in conversation with Monty and not talking to anyone he shouldn’t. On the way into Hewitt, I get ambushed by Tara Rollins, who thinks now is an ideal time to plan a potential girls’ trip with Hadley and Heather. In my peripheral vision, I keep glimpsing Flora’s white-blond hair, but when I turn, she’s not there. I’m sure everyone has been approaching her tonight, forlorn eyes and artificial smiles. I won’t be one of them. She doesn’t want to hear from me.

  When I finally get to the Hewitt bathroom, I duck into a stall and text Billie. I forgot how much I hate these people. This was such a bad idea.

  LOL comes back almost instantly, along with a smiley face with its tongue sticking out. I’m sure it’s better than my night. The kids won’t sleep and Ryan is in front of the TV as usual.

  I’d trade if I could, I write back. Seriously, being here has made me sick.

>   Maybe you’re pregnant, she says. Billie’s canned reply to everything. If I have a headache, I’m pregnant. If I don’t immediately reach for the bottle to refill my wine, I’m pregnant. If I don’t want to go for sushi, I’m pregnant.

  I’m not, I type back.

  Boooo, Billie writes. It’s funny, how she always wants me to be pregnant, even as she tells me what a horror show her kids are. She assumes Adrian and I have been trying. As much as Billie acts like a free spirit, she would think it was vile, what I did. That the day after I made a big show of getting on board with being a mom and flushed my birth control pills down the toilet, I went out to the pharmacy, refilled my prescription, and hid it in my purse. That was six months ago. I know I should feel guilty, but I would feel guiltier actually going through with it. Some people aren’t meant to be mothers.

  I stare at my phone. My period actually should have arrived yesterday, but I’m used to its being a day or two late. I take my pill at the same time every evening, always diligent, never forgetting, just like I have every day since I was sixteen.

  There’s a chiming sound—an incoming text message, but not to my phone. The chime comes from the stall beside me. I ignore it, until the phone starts ringing.

  But it’s not a ring at all. It’s a song.

  The opening bars to “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.”

  I stiffen, my skin tightening like concrete. Flora, snatching her phone apologetically. Sorry, it’s Kevin again. But it’s impossible. Kevin couldn’t be calling her.

  “Flora?” I practically whisper. There are no shoes under the door. Nobody answers.

  The phone stops ringing and I push my door open, then step in front of the stall next to mine. I nudge the door ajar with my boot. The phone sits neatly on the toilet paper dispenser.

  I should leave it there. But it’s a silver flip phone. Nobody has a flip phone anymore. I pick it up and open it, which is exactly what she wanted me to do.

  Because the image on the screen was meant for my eyes.

  I slam the phone down and dart out of the stall, grappling for the bathroom door, tearing into the hall. When I’m back in the courtyard I don’t lose myself in the crowd. I run back to the Nics. I need to know if Sully is there. I need to tell her what I just saw.

  I’m about to barge into the room when I hear a voice. I walk in quietly, the same way I used to tiptoe past sleeping Flora when Sully and I thundered back from a party at three a.m. The inner door to Sully’s room is closed, but a harsh bark makes me jump—Sully’s laugh. She’s talking to someone. I hold my breath, listening with my ear to the door.

  “She has no idea,” Sully says. I don’t hear another voice—she must be on the phone. “She doesn’t suspect a thing about us. I know her.”

  She has no idea. I know her. There’s only one person she could be talking about.

  Me.

  My bag is sitting on the bed where I left it. I could grab it and go. The fear building like a headache is telling me I should, but I need to know who Sully is talking to, who is the newest member of her sacred us.

  Somebody replaced me, and I know what Sully demands from the people she lets get close.

  I back away and silently leave the room. Outside the Nics, my heart almost stops when I see Flora, wearing the same headband as earlier. It’s like she knew I would be here.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to say.” I swallow. “I’m not the only one who was involved.”

  She doesn’t have a response, just the same icy smile. She holds me responsible, and she’ll never forgive me. She’ll never talk to me again. I walk faster. Away from her, away from Sully and whoever was on the other end of that phone call.

  I’m almost back at Hewitt when I see him, a shadow with a lit cigarette, a habit I never expected he had. Felty doesn’t say a word to me. I pass by him, keeping my eyes on the ground. It’s only when I’ve slunk away, gratefully unnoticed, that he speaks.

  “Miss Wellington.” His voice is the same, low and clear. “I thought I might see you back here this year.”

  I freeze. I don’t have the perfect thing to say, and it doesn’t matter anyway.

  “I trust that life has been kind to you,” he says. Now I turn around, my shoe dragging a semicircle in the dirt.

  “Things are good.” I try to disguise the shake in my words. “How about you?”

  He doesn’t answer, just asks another question. “Will I be seeing you tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think so,” I answer, defiant. I know what he really means, but I won’t acknowledge it. “I have a pretty busy schedule.”

  I can’t read his expression. He lets the butt of his cigarette hit the ground and rubs his boot over it. Felty smokes and litters. I doubt he’s as righteous as he wants people to think.

  “That’s too bad. I’m sure I’ll see you around this weekend. Maybe we could grab a coffee. Like old times.”

  “I don’t think so. My husband and I have a full day tomorrow, then we’re leaving Sunday morning.” My husband, the best possible shield, proof that somebody cares enough to protect me. A sense of warmth for Adrian shudders through me.

  Felty’s eyes bore into mine. He’s too intense, always was. “You owe her that.”

  I cross my arms, my leather jacket riding up around my wrists. “What did you say?”

  “I said, I understand that. What did you think I said?”

  I’m not going to argue. When I walk away, I’m afraid he’s going to yell after me. He doesn’t.

  Felty wanted me in a very different way than any of the boys I met at Wesleyan.

  He wanted me behind bars.

  THEN

  Wesleyan to Dartmouth was basically a straight line down I-91, a drive that MapQuest told me would only take two and a half hours. The car belonged to a DKE boy named Lewis whom Sully hooked up with sporadically because, as she told me, he gave oral sex without just expecting it in return. The farther away we got from Wesleyan, the more real my mission became.

  “Thank god we decided to do this,” Sully said. “Campus is so boring. I barely have a pulse anymore.”

  “Yeah,” I said, my stomach knotting more each second.

  I had considered emailing Kevin to tell him I was coming. Maybe he didn’t like being surprised. But it had to be unexpected—I needed him to see that I wasn’t like Flora, pushing him to bridge the gaps. I wanted his reaction to be big. I drummed my fingers on my legs as Slipknot’s album Iowa, which Sully loved, screamed at us through the speakers.

  “So Kevin,” Sully said, turning down the volume. “Tell me the real story. You met him, like, two weeks ago and decided you were in love with him? Do you guys have a bunch of phone sex, or what?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s not like that. I mean, we send emails.”

  “Emails,” Sully said. She made it sound like a venereal disease. “Wait. So you met him once and haven’t talked to him since?”

  “We talk. Our emails are really personal. He tells me things about himself.” I raked my fingernails across the cuticle of my thumb.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I tell you everything.” Her voice dropped, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear the hurt in it.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t think—I guess I didn’t want to talk about it until I knew what it was.” I left out what I wanted to say. I was afraid it would change us. There was a long silence before she finally replied.

  “It’s easy to hide behind a computer. You can say anything. Just be careful. I don’t want a guy to fuck you around.”

  “He isn’t,” I said. But she had a point. It was her favorite hobby, taking phones from the boys she hooked up with and sending messages that were bound to get them in trouble. She did it with a hand over her mouth, unable to contain the laughter that spilled out.

  “But he has a track record. He’s cheating on Flora with you, right?”

  “No.” I dug my hands into my knees. “It’s not like that. It’s emotional, not physical.�
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  She cleared her throat. “And you’re sure you’re the only one?”

  A bud of dread burrowed into my gut like an insect. I didn’t know how to answer the question. I wanted to defend Kevin, but I suddenly wasn’t sure at all.

  “Relax.” Sully laughed and tugged on my arm. “I didn’t mean anything by it. But if he screws you over, I’ll have to kill him.”

  I laughed too, even though I couldn’t tell if she was joking or serious.

  She drummed her fingers on the wheel. “I mean, hopefully he’s better than the idiots we’re stuck with. The last Buddy I fucked basically begged me to stay over in his room. Then he said he’d make me dinner. Yeah, no. I don’t want your shitty microwave nachos, Hunter.”

  “Hunter? You slept with him again?”

  “I was procrastinating. That always makes me horny. I won’t be fucking him again, though. He’s so needy. And men think we’re the ones who get emotionally attached?”

  I was grateful for my sunglasses so that she couldn’t see my eyes. Hunter didn’t even want me in his room—when we’d had sex, he’d come to my room when Flora wasn’t there, almost like the times I snuck Matt in and out of my parents’ house before they returned from their infrequent dinner dates. Hunter had told me, My roommate’s always there, sorry, Amber. But he had no issue remembering Sully’s name or making room for her. My personal Holy Grail, casual sex, was a sham. The real power didn’t come from being wanted. It came from not wanting anything back. It came from not wanting anything, period.

  What I understood was that the less Sully cared, the more people around her bent themselves in half to show that they did. And I desperately wanted to crack her code.

  “Thanks again for doing this,” I said quickly, although the churning in my stomach made me wish I weren’t going anywhere.

  “Are you kidding?” Sully leaned back, practically vibrating in her seat. “Did I not tell you I get bored easily?”

  It was my mission, but now I was the one being pulled along. I was a passenger, in more ways than one.