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“But you’re not super tight?”
Bellamy took another spoonful of peanut butter as she pondered the question.
“I mean, we’re not besties or anything, but we get along. Why?”
Hannah decided she needed to be more forthcoming if she expected to get any useful information out of this girl.
“Well, as you know, she and I have kind of become friends and I’m just a little worried about her with this whole issue with the nasty, threatening notes,” she explained. “I was wondering if you ever noticed anyone weird hanging out around her, like following her or staring at her, either here in the dorm or just around campus.”
“Are you like her bodyguard or something?” Bellamy quipped before seeming immediately chastened. “Sorry, that was obnoxious. I get that you’re just looking out for her. But I haven’t really noticed anything. I mean, you live on this floor too. Have you seen any weird people around?”
“Not really,” Hannah admitted, “but we live on opposite ends of the floor, so I wouldn’t necessarily notice someone over on this side.”
Bellamy stopped eating and appeared to consider the question more seriously. Hannah didn’t want to interrupt her thought process and sat quietly, pretending to take in the décor of the room. Bellamy didn’t seem like the edgiest gal around.
In addition to her kitten sweatshirt, her wall was covered with posters of what Hannah considered extremely tame pop culture iconography. There was one of the TV series, Fuller House, and another of the singer Lauren Daigle. On her nightstand were family photos. Above the bed was a crucifix.
“I mean, there’s always a weird dude or two hanging out,” Bellamy finally said with disdain, “but then I usually find out that one of the other girls on the floor invited him up, typically without going through the proper authorization. Usually he’s just another student I didn’t know, but that doesn’t make it any easier when I have listen to their moaning and thumping through the walls, which are paper thin, by the way.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that too,” Hannah said. “It’s a real adjustment.”
“That’s for sure,” Bellamy agreed, more animated now. “It’s hard to know if a guy I see on in the residence hall attends school here or is just some rando who walked in off the street. I swear, this place is so big that I’ll probably spend four years here and still only know ten percent of people.”
“I know what you mean,” Hannah said. “Did you go to a big high school?”
“No,” Bellamy said. “I went to a Catholic girls school. Our senior class had thirty-seven students. It’s been a bit of culture shock.”
“I wondered about that,” Hannah said, pointing at the crucifix, “you seem to have other priorities than partying the night away.”
“I’m a Religious Studies major,” Bellamy confirmed. “I almost went to a private Catholic college, but my parents thought I needed exposure to a different environment. They said I was too cloistered in my worldview, so here I am.”
“What do you think so far?” Hannah asked, trying to sound casual even though she could feel a strange tightness in her chest, as if her body was trying to tell her something.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Bellamy said, “but truthfully, I feel out of place. No offense. I don’t know what you believe, but I find all the drinking and casual sex a little much. That’s not why I’m here. I’m no party girl, like some people here.”
"I hear you," Hannah said, and suddenly she really did. The tightness in her chest faded away as she realized what had been eating at her. It was obvious to her now: Bellamy Betancourt was the one harassing Lizzie.
Bellamy obviously had access to their room at all times, making it easy to leave notes on the door. She wouldn’t need to go to the registrar to learn Lizzie’s schedule. She didn’t have to follow Lizzie to her car and parking spot because she’d probably gotten rides with her.
More importantly, it was clear that Bellamy was a “good” girl who despised bad girls. She’d admitted as much herself. The expression of loathing on her face when she talked about other girls in the dorm bringing guys back to their rooms was something to behold. Everything about how she presented herself—her clothes, her room design—reflected someone with a rigid personal philosophy, who didn’t have much patience with folks who were more relaxed in theirs.
What if she had somehow learned about Lizzie’s past, about the false allegation that she’d cheated on her boyfriend? How would she react to living with someone like that? Probably not well.
But how could Bellamy know enough about Lizzie's past—details like being called 'Eliza Do Everything'—to write those threatening notes? That wasn't common knowledge, and Lizzie wouldn't have volunteered it. Hannah was missing something crucial, some detail that would make this all fall into place. She didn't know what it was, but she was damn well about to find out.
She could feel her internal temperature rising and ordered herself to calm down. Getting vengeance against Bellamy wasn’t the priority here. Getting justice for Lizzie was.
Despite her best efforts, Hannah had a brief flash of herself grabbing the crucifix off Bellamy’s wall and jamming it in the girl’s neck, just as she had done to Ash Pierce with that knife two months ago.
But that wasn’t the answer here. There was another way. Still sitting on Lizzie’s bed, Hannah leaned over across the space between the two beds so that her face was less than two feet from Bellamy’s.
“So why did you do it?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Do what?” Bellamy asked innocently, though her eyes betrayed her. They grew wide and panicky.
“Why have you been harassing Lizzie?”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
