Chapter 32 #2
So I’m surprised when she beckons me to the library later in the evening with a text that nearly sends me into cardiac arrest: I’m sorry Delaney, but I wrote the exposé.
I’m a sleep-deprived jumble of erratic nerves when I step through the doors. She’s not hard to find, seated at our usual table with her fingers poised over her keypad. When she spots me, her expression softens.
“I thought you had a right to know before we publish,” she says, then whirls her screen toward me.
How a Pathological Liar Became Ivernia’s Most Beloved Student
Every single muscle in my body freezes. The devastation is a physical, jolting lurch. I don’t need to read the subhead to know who she’s talking about, but the words stutter over my tongue anyway.
“W-what is this?”
“I told you there’s something off about Enzo,” she says.
“He’s not consistent, like, at all. His transcripts say he’s from Italy, so why does he go around saying he’s from London?
Or some small town that doesn’t even exist anymore?
His online footprint is scarce, but what does exist is some random podcast he did last year.
In fluent Italian. Except Enzo doesn’t speak Italian. At least, not when I asked.”
Panic spreads through my circulatory system. The worst part? She has every right to be suspicious. Her instincts are spot on.
“There’s more,” she continues. “I found his personal email address and asked if he had notes from Mr. Westergate’s class he could share with me, and he wrote back saying he’d send them later.
And when I asked Enzo about the email, he had no idea what I was talking about.
” Her eyes widen. “There’s some kind of weird scheme happening.
He must have a twin or a cousin or someone who switched places with him. This story? Is huge.”
I’d become so withdrawn from Analiese that I’d assumed she’d given up on William and moved on, but to uncover a scandal created by my own design?
It won’t only bring unwanted attention to William.
No, this type of scrutiny presents a thorough case for the school board.
And what if they figure out the real Enzo isn’t here and William, who’s been impersonating him, doesn’t exist in any official sense? Then what?
“You can’t publish this,” I blurt. “Because—the truth? Isn’t this.”
She tilts her head, curious. “What do you know?”
“He’s—” I search for the right words. “An English aristocrat born in the nineteenth century who somehow ended up here.”
“Hilarious, Delaney.” Her eyes narrow. She shuts her laptop. “Doesn’t matter. We’re publishing it after break.”
My lungs forget how to function. I’m close to hyperventilating. “Analiese,” I plead. “Don’t do this.”
“Why?” She studies me. “This is a real story. It gives me a competitive edge.”
“Not like this.” I flick my hand toward her laptop. “GPA and the shiniest, most polished applications, it’s not all that matters—”
“It’s not everything, sure, but it matters to me.
And it used to matter to you.” She stuffs her laptop in her backpack, clearly aggravated.
Her eyes rake over me. “Look at yourself, Delaney. I barely recognize you, let alone see you anymore. And I understand you’ve gone through something really terrible, but you won’t even let me in.
You’ve found new friends. A boyfriend, and yeah, maybe it’s upsetting to hear that he’s not who you think, but impersonating someone is dangerous and criminal.
Is that the kind of person you want to be with?
Because as someone who’s still fighting for this friendship, I’m telling you what you need to hear. ”
An unsettling pop of anger blisters in my heart. I’ve been more detached and avoidant, that’s fair, but this isn’t all on me.
“I feel like our entire friendship has always been based around you, Analiese. Your schedule. What you want to do, when you want to do it. Where we’re sitting, where we’re studying. Maybe I didn’t mind back then, but things have changed.”
“So this is my fault, is that it?”
Analiese hasn’t been fighting for our friendship, but truthfully?
Neither have I. We’re both in the wrong, because I could have tried harder to make an effort this year and didn’t.
I could have let her in on William’s secret and chose not to.
We’re different—or maybe I’m the one who’s different now.
Analiese doesn’t know how to operate at a level other than studying-related stress.
Meanwhile, I don’t know how to operate through my unexpected grief and the newfound understanding that maybe, just maybe, none of this will matter soon.
Not if we can’t figure out how to fix the giant problem William’s presence has caused.
“I don’t know if either of us have been fighting for each other,” I admit. “And that’s just how it’s been.”
She falters. Blinks. Hurt pools behind her eyes. I can tell it’s not what she expected me to say. I’m not sure it’s what I expected either, but it’s the truth.
“It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you,” I promise, softening. “And I’ll tell you everything soon, but right now I’m asking for more time. It’s a lot to explain. There’s so much at stake here. Just—please reconsider publishing it,” I beg. “Over break.”
There’s a fraction of a second when her shell cracks. Out seeps hints of the Analiese I’d grown to care for over the years. Her strong, unflinching drive and underlying sensitivity and raw relentlessness. Someone who’s also trying to do her parents proud. Who wants to be seen.
And then it’s gone.
She sidesteps around me. “I guess we’ll see.”
Despite every fiber of my soul willing my feet to move, to catch up to her and explain everything from the beginning, I don’t. If I make things worse, it puts William even more at risk. So I remain frozen in place, questioning my choices, and watch the door squeal shut behind her.