My vision goes momentarily white. Maybe it’s the long draw of vodka cran I just took, or maybe it’s the cold, bitter fuel of my ambition, but for a second I hate Ethan. He doesn’t even care about becoming a journalist. Why did he make me fight him for the editor position? For what? Avery had to bribe the outgoing editor, Stina Perez, to get her to vote in my favor, which in turn made me owe Avery. Sure, in the end it didn’t matter, because Vasquez overwrote Stina to split the position, but still.
“Livvy, have you seen Emma?” Tyler appears from behind us, eyes heavy lidded and sweat on his brow. He smells like crisp night air and weed. It snaps me out of my rage haze.
“She’s in the lounge,” I reply, choosing not to comment on his using my nickname. It’s too familiar for him. “Let’s go find her.” I suck down the rest of my drink, then heave myself up and off the barstool with a wave to Ethan.
That’s when the screaming starts. Wild, high-pitched cries rise over the rest of the party sounds. Enough people stop talking for us to hear “YOU BITCH!” echo into the kitchen.
There’s no mistaking that voice. It’s Avery’s.
I beat Tyler to the scene by a few seconds, my bony-as-shit elbows finally coming in handy as I’m able to push through the semicircle of onlookers enjoying the fight. Avery’s half-on-top of Emma, who is crouched over, trying to protect her head and face from Avery’s freshly manicured, talon-like nails. Emma gets in a good jab to Aves’s stomach, but Avery retaliates with a swift kick to the backs of Emma’s knees.
Tyler falls in beside me, panting, eyes now alert. We give each other a short nod before rushing forward. He takes Avery, and I go for Emma.
Tyler wrests Avery away, lifting her by the torso up and off Emma, who falls forward into my waiting arms. Feistier than I gave her credit for, Emma twirls in my embrace, fists flying in the direction of Avery’s flailing limbs, but they don’t connect.
“Hey, stop it!” I shout in Emma’s ear. “Both of you!”
Emma’s gone limp now. I can hear her sobbing into my shoulder.
“Why can’t she just be happy for me for once?” she wails.
“You stole my spot, you bitch!” Avery retorts. Tyler’s barely holding on to her now, but I can see she’s accepted defeat. The physical portion of the fight is done.
A few of the lookie-loos snigger, and then the whispers start. Avery turns, shooting daggers with her eyes. “Yeah, you fuckers, I didn’t get into Harvard. You happy?”
“YES!” someone shouts from the back, setting off laughter and a few gasps.
For a second, I think Avery’s going to launch herself into the crowd, root out the culprit, and flog them. Instead, she narrows in on Emma.
“How could you? You’re supposed to be my friend. There are rules. One school per girl, so this very thing doesn’t happen! You. Took. My. SPOT!”
“Avery, I didn’t know, honestly.” Emma grips my forearm so tightly that I fear it might break. “You’re a triple legacy; I was so sure you would get in, especially with that SAT score!” Emma throws her a beseeching look. Avery scowls harder. “I wanted to see if I was good enough, and I wanted to maybe go together.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you!” Avery screeches. “I could kill you!”
I’m struck with a sickening déjà vu, an out-of-body sensation. It’s like Avery’s screaming at me. My secret turns acrid in the pit of my stomach.
Avery isn’t done. Her voice drops lower, her murderous focus on Emma more intent. “Don’t think I don’t know how you did this, you little snake. Does Tyler know? Maybe I’ll tell the whole school.”
Emma retreats as Avery advances, forcing me to step back as well. I can feel Em shaking. From fear or rage, I can’t tell.
“Hey, Aves, let’s go outside for a minute. Get some air,” Margot cuts in, touching tentative fingers to Avery’s arm, then gripping more firmly when Avery doesn’t haul off and hit her. “And maybe you should leave, Em.”
Emma shoots Margot an et tu Brute look. Then something in her shifts. She hardens like steel.
“I don’t have to go anywhere. I didn’t do anything wrong. Just ’cause someone wasn’t good enough to get in doesn’t mean I have to feel bad.”
Everything happens quickly. Avery grabs a Solo cup from a girl in the crowd, hurls it at Emma. Emma’s reflexes are on point, but I’m a second too late. I take a full cup of booze to the face and torso.
“Shit!” I yell, partly because it’s cold and partly because I’m pissed that my favorite dress is ruined. Sticky brown liquid stains my chest and drips down my body and onto the floor.
Avery doesn’t even apologize. She giggles. Then she grabs Margot by the arm, and they make a hasty exit.
“Liv, I’m so sorry—”
I cut Emma off. “Just stop. I told you this would happen. Listen to me next time.”
Her eyes go as dead as Avery’s did a moment before. “Fuck you, Liv.” And then she storms off, Tyler following after her, and I’m left alone in the middle of a goddamn crowd, the lights of their phones already eating up my humiliation. Screw this party. I push my way back into the kitchen and locate my coat and purse in the cupboard where Emma and I stashed them earlier. Stupid Emma. She’s tossed a bomb into our friendship circle, and now mine will have to remain inside my chest, ticking away until it blows up and probably kills me.
“You okay, Olivia? Want me to walk you home?”
Of course it’s Ethan. Of course he saw that. And now he’s staring at my chest, which makes my entire body heat from head to toe. It’s all far too embarrassing.
“No, I’m fine. Thanks for offering. See you tomorrow.” I swipe the vodka bottle, now only a quarter full, and make a hasty exit through the back corridor before Ethan can protest. He doesn’t follow me, and a swoop of disappointment stirs in the pit of my stomach. I fill it with another swig of booze.
The crisp coldness of pitch-black December nights is one of my favorite things in the universe. Claflin is two hours from any big city, which means brighter stars, darker nights. Immediately, I feel a degree calmer. The party is behind me, the din fading with every step. I tilt my head up as I walk the winding path around the back of Whitley, until I rejoin the main gravel thoroughfare that cuts through campus.
The path here is better lit, though the towering lights are positioned strategically and regulated by a timer so as not to disturb dorm residents’ sleep. Every two hundred feet or so there’s a pole with a blue box affixed to it—the campus blue phones. Pick up the receiver on any of them and you’re connected directly to campus security or can dial out to the police in town. It’s a relic of the pre–cell phone days, though who hasn’t had their battery die on them, so I guess the blue phones are still good to have.