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She snorts. “Of course there’s no Trip.” She turns, stiff-shouldered, her hands balled into fists. “I made up a boyfriend because you seem like someone who likes a challenge—like I’d only be interesting if you could steal me away.”
My eyes dart back and forth. Alexis’s mouth is moving, but she’s making no sense.
She goes on. “I’ve been tailing you for weeks. I saw you paying your tuition in cash a few days ago. I’ve seen you and Sienna Manning together. I knew there was something up with you that wasn’t totally kosher. I knew you were getting the money illegally, I just didn’t know how. But I thought he gave youtons.”
I’m standing by now, backed up so far from the couch that my spine is pressing up against the stone wall in the outdoor kitchen. My brain scrambles. Alexis can’t be usingmymethods. Recording someone’s confession—that’smyrole, not hers. I run my hands up and down my arms, trying to feel if I’m still awake, stillreal.
Alexis is...me? I’ve been duped by another version of myself?
My hip bumps into the brickwork around the gas grill. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t.” Alexis holds up her phone; the video recording is still running, the time ticking away at the top of the screen. “Did you forget I have this on you? What will people think if they hear you got the murdered guy to pay your tuition? Did you tell the police any of this?”
My breath catches in my throat. Of course I didn’t tell the police, but it’s not like I did anything. It’s not like Ikilledhim. “I’ll tell them,” I insist. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.” She crosses her arms. “You really think they’ll accept you at Aldrich if they find out you’re the skanky scammer from the wrong side of the tracks?” She throws back her head to laugh. “It’s pretty clear you want to bepartof Aldrich, Raina, but if people know who you really are, they’ll never let you into the inner circle. It’s happened before. Check the hack—admissions rejected people with better records than you. After I release this video, they’ll look at your file and stamp it with a big redNo.”
My jaw drops. It chills me how good she is at this—better than I am, even.
“What do you want from me?” I repeat, my knees shaking.
Alexis waves her phone. She’s stopped the video. On the screen is a freeze-frame of my profile; I look scared and drawn, almost skeletal. All at once, I notice that the fire has died out. The cool, close, fragrant air billows around us. I want to run. I want to scream. These were the same words I used with Dr. Rosen, the same bargaining chips. Do I deserve this? Is this karma? My penance?
Alexis tilts her chin, slips her phone back in her pocket. When she takes my hand, it’s almost kind and loving... but I know better. “You and I are going to team up,” she says smoothly. “We’re going to scam someone else as a team. And this time, it’s going to work.”
24
KIT
WEDNESDAY, MAY 3, 2017
I squint in the dim, dingy light of the Saloon. It’s a bar right next to the giving department’s building; I can see the parking lot from my office window. But I’ve never actually been here until now. The high-top tables are chipped and worn, the leather banquettes have what looks like a layer of grease to their upholstery, and signs for local beers hang on the walls. People, mostly men, have gathered around the TVs over the bar.
I choose a booth at the back near the bathrooms. One of the twenty TVs isn’t playing sports, and I notice the closed-captioning on the news:Authorities may have tracked the Ivy Hacker to socialist “hacktivists” in New York who want free higher education for all.
My father pops onto the screen.Aldrich University President Alfred Manning Not Connected to Any Hack Scandals Thus Far,but Noted for Erratic Behavior.What doesthatmean? I’ve barely gotten to speak to my father about all the stress he’s under aside from the trading of e-mails on certain press releases I need to communicate to the donors. Most evenings, he’s at meetings, or dealing with detectives, or addressing the board, trying to put out fires. Normally,I’dbe in on some of these meetings, as so much of Aldrich’s activities are thingsthe donors want to know about, but it seems George is doing the bulk of the work.
I lean forward, trying to hear what Marilyn O’Leary is saying to the reporter. “Alfred Manning is fine,” she insists. Her lipstick is a weird shade of orange. “He’s understandably stressed by the situation, personally and professionally.”
And then, inevitably, the reporter reminds the viewers of Dad’s ties to me: “President Manning is also dealing with the death of his daughter’s husband, Greg Strasser.” The picture of Greg and me in Barbados pops on the screen. I slide down in my chair, covering my face with my hair.
“What’s the matter?” Willa slides into the bench across from me.
I glance toward the TV. “Oh, you know. I’m just on the news again.”
Willa wrinkles her nose. “They’re saying Dad seems exhausted,” she says. “Do you think we should be worried?”
“Marilyn says he’s fine.”
Willa snorts. “Marilyn’s probably the one who planted the story in the first place. Something about her rubs me wrong. I think she’s after Dad’s job.”
I ponder this for a moment, trying to imagine Marilyn O’Leary, a blond, slightly haggard, with a take-no-shit, Kellyanne Conway–thing going, taking over as Aldrich president. It makes me a little ill. Marilyn tried to date my father about ten years ago, when the stuff with my mom was still fresh. She threw herself at him. Acted completely ridiculous. I was surprised when, after he rejected her, she gracefully backed down. She’s always struck me as one of those rat-sniffing terriers, stopping at nothing to dig for what it wants.
Willa looks disdainfully at the plate of fries I’ve ordered. I figure I’m going to get a lecture about trans fats, but then she sighs, plucks one from my plate, and stuffs it into her mouth. “Thanks for meeting me on your lunch break.”
“It’s not like I was busy,” I mutter. “What’s going on?”
Willa’s throat bobs as she swallows another fry. “I thought you might want to know about some of the questions I asked Raina Hammond.”
