For the last two weeks, Ariana had been holed up at the Philmore Hotel waiting for Briana Leigh's body to be found at the bottom of Lake Page, where Ariana and her former Brenda T. roommate, Kaitlynn Nottingham, had dumped it. In the meantime, she had spent hours perfecting Briana Leigh's signature, memorizing the welcome packet sent by the Atherton-Pryce Hall admissions office, and tying up loose ends--canceling Briana Leigh's phone, which had been stolen by Kaitlynn right after the girl had betrayed Ariana; writing a breakup letter to Briana Leigh's fiancé, Teo; and securing a fake ID for herself, since she knew everyone at APH would have one.
Thanks to all that time with her nose buried in the APH map, Ariana knew that the campus was laid out in a series of circles,
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extending outward from the fountain, which was at the exact center of the grounds. The inner buildings--tall and stately, constructed of red brick with white columns and ivycovered entryways--were the classroom buildings, the chapel, the dining hall and student center, and the administrative offices. Just beyond those, forming a wider circle, were the eight dorms--boys' to the north, girls' to the south--all of them three-story colonial-style homes, each with ten dorm rooms, two common-area bathrooms, and a lounge on each floor. The outermost c
ircle was a bit more imprecise and formed by the gymnasium, the athletic fields, the theater, the arts building and the Pryce Building, which stood on the bank of the Potomac, grand and imposing, like a stern grandfather keeping an eye on the grounds. There was also a ninth dorm, Wolcott Hall, which had been built just down the hill from the Pryce Building, high enough to overlook the campus, but not high enough to appear more important than Pryce. In the brochure, it had been described in the same terms as all the other dorms, with the exception of one important adjective: "coed."
Ariana had never heard of a coed dorm on a prep school campus. She was, therefore, intrigued about its existence. But the housing office had not placed her there, and she could find out more about it in time.
"Cornwall's through here." Maria tipped her head to the side toward the surrounding buildings. Her long gold earring just grazed her shoulder as she turned around. Her uniform looked like it had been fished from the bottom of a duffel bag. Wrinkled shirt, frayed blue jacket, tie balled up and shoved into the breast pocket, pleated
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plaid skirt with a falling hem. And yet, she was the most beautiful and self-possessed of the three. "Follow us."
"We're all in Cornwall too. For now," Soomie offered up as they walked away from the fountain at the center of campus. "It's the oldest dorm on the grounds, which means, of course, that it was a boys' dorm for about two hundred years. Which means it still smells like sweaty socks."
Maria rolled her eyes. "It does not. You just have sensitive nostrils."
"No, your olfactory senses have simply been destroyed due to hours in the studio with dozens of perspiring dancers," Soomie shot back.
"Are you saying that /smell?" Maria asked, laying her fingers delicately to her chest.
"Oh, no, Ria. You're all roses all the time," Soomie replied with a touch of sarcasm, earning a narrow-eyed look from Maria.
"Maria is a ballerina. It's her thing," Brigit explained to Ariana. "What's your thing?"
"You already asked me that," Ariana said.
"I know. But you didn't answer," Brigit replied, her expression openly curious.
Ariana thought back to Easton Academy. To her poetry and her stint as editor of the literary magazine. She had loved writing back then, but she hadn't put pen to paper in over a year. All thanks to Dr. Meloni, her psychiatrist at the Brenda T. He had stolen all her poetry journals and laughed at her work--right in her face. Since then, Ariana had been unable to write a line. The man who was
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supposed to help her had effectively taken away her one emotional outlet. Her blood began to boil just thinking about it. Thinking about him.
Calm down. It's over. You never have to lay eyes upon that man again, she told herself, taking a deep breath. And don't forget, your and Kaitlynn's escape got him fired. So there's justice in that, at least.Still, thoughts of Kaitlynn brought up a whole new wave of unpleasant emotions. Fear, humiliation, the sting of betrayal. Ariana's former best friend was still out there somewhere, and she was the only person who knew Ariana Osgood was still alive--that she had not, in fact, drowned herself in Lake Page and that the body the police had found was not hers. But she took a deep breath and let it go. Kaitlynn had no idea where Ariana was. She couldn't hurt her. Not anymore.
"I think I'm still looking for my thing," Ariana replied calmly.
"Interesting," Soomie said. Ariana blinked. She was very aware of the fact that that was the second time that one word had been used to describe her. Soomie regarded Ariana for a long moment, as if she was trying to glean some sort of information from her face. A tiny knot tightened around Ariana's heart. Then Soomie suddenly looked down at Ariana's feet. "Love the shoes, by the way. Gucci?"
"Thanks. And yes. Good eye," Ariana said, impressed. She was always noticing people's footwear as well, and she felt a potential kinship with Soomie. "So, is fashion your thing?"
"Not exactly. Details. Details are my thing," Soomie replied, eyeing Ariana coolly.
Ariana smiled. Perhaps Soomie was a kindred spirit.
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"Nothing gets past Soomie," Maria added in a pointed tone.
The smile instantly fell away from Ariana's face and the knot around her heart tightened excruciatingly. Was she trying to tell Ariana that she was still being evaluated? Or perhaps it was worse. Perhaps she and Soomie had already figured out somehow that Ariana was hiding something.
Don't let them get to you. Don't let them see you sweat.