Chapter 9
NINE
GWENNA
I don’t remember falling asleep. But when I wake up, Morgan is staring at me.
“There she is,” she says. “Good morning.”
I don’t respond, just slowly, very slowly, push myself up to sitting, careful to keep the arms of my sweatshirt taut at my wrists.
“Um,” I croak. “Hi.”
“ Hi ,” Morgan repeats emphatically. She blinks. “Do you…want to explain what happened last night?”
I rub the side of my forehead.
A fight. Two mean girls. Four boys, coming to my rescue…sort of? Including Morgan’s stepbrother, which what the fuck ? —
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say.
She purses her lips, crosses her arms, sits back in her bed. She’s got on purple silk shorty pajamas, a matching set. “I asked you first.”
Fair enough. I blow out a breath, scratch the back of my head. Hard to think before coffee. “Um…Elena hates me, I guess.” I shrug. “I really don’t know.”
“Why? ”
“I mean…” I chew the inside of my cheek. “I think she likes that guy Lanz? On the team?”
Something flickers in Morgan’s honey-colored eyes. Intrigue. Agreement.
So I go on.
“But I guess she doesn’t want anyone to know. Or…something.” I lift my hands and drop them against my bedspread in defeat. “Isn’t this the kind of shit we’re supposed to leave in high school?” I wonder aloud.
“You would think,” Morgan says drily. She studies her nails. Nods. “That tracks.”
Tracks? With what? I think. But Morgan doesn’t elaborate.
“I don’t much care for Elena,” she says airily. “She’s been going all moony over him since the start of the semester. Like she doesn’t know all of the fencing squad is uninterested with a capital U.”
I shiver, thinking about that part of last night.
And now that it’s reentered my brain, I can’t not think about it.
“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “About that.”
“Hm?” Morgan looks up.
“The…all of them?” I say. I don’t even know how to describe it. “Showing up like that?”
“Oh,” Morgan says, as if she’d somehow forgotten about it. “ That. Yeah. It’s part of their whole code. Very chivalrous. They always have to come to the defense of a woman in need. Isn’t that cute?”
I blink. “Code?”
She nods. “That, and the no dating thing. And a few other rules. Personally, I think they take it all a bit seriously, but…” She scrunches up her mouth. “They have their reasons, I suppose.”
Elena’s face flashes into my memory.
And risk our winning streak? How could you say that ?
“Must be working,” I say .
Morgan frowns. “Working?” she repeats. And for the first time all morning, there’s a little edge to her voice.
I’m not sure where I stepped in it, but I clarify quickly. “Like, they always win their fencing…matches? Right? So it must be working.”
“Ah.” Morgan relaxes. “That they do,” she murmurs. “That they do.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Well, thanks for…defending me,” I say suddenly. “And for lending me the clothes,” I add. “I appreciate it.”
Morgan smiles beneficently. “Of course. What are roommates for?”
I’m…not sure , I think. But maybe this.
“You looked great, by the way,” she adds, pushing her way off the bed and up to her wardrobe. “If you’re ever lacking appropriate attire, just holler.”
Something about the way she says it pings a memory in my mind.
And dread fills my stomach.
I sink back into the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Morgan notices, and almost jumps when she sees me lying prone. “What’s wrong? Are you diabetic or something? Do you need orange juice?”
I frown. That’s random. “No, I…” I blink hard. “I just remember I have my swim test tomorrow.”
“Ah,” Morgan says. “Okay.” I can tell by her tone that she doesn’t see the issue. And—fair point. I can’t blame her. “So you’ll go to your swim test. It’s a pain in the ass, don’t get me wrong, but…you can swim, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, but…I don’t even have a swimsuit.”
That’s not the problem. That’s not even close to the problem. But I’m not about to share more about what is.
“Why do we even have to have a swim test?” I mutter .
Morgan turns back to her wardrobe.
“One of those campus legend things, I think,” she says, picking out hanger after hanger. “The founder had a daughter who drowned, tragically young and beautiful, blah, blah, blah, and so one of their conditions for funding the university was that every student had to know how to swim.”
A beat of silence passes. Then Morgan unceremoniously dumps the heap of clothing in her arms onto the bed.
“Here. Take your pick.”
My eyes widen at the array of options before me. Swimsuits. All of them bright, many of them embellished, and none of them especially modest.
“Oh,” I say. “Um…” I scratch the back of my neck.
“You hate them,” she says. “You think I have terrible taste.”
“No,” I say quickly, although to be honest, it’s not the least tacky collection of swimwear I’ve ever seen. One of them, at least, has a high neckline, a sort of turtleneck situation…and very low-cut bottoms.
Morgan folds her hands on top of the bathing suits. “Then?”
I breathe out. What’s the most reasonable way to phrase this?
The least…suspicious?
“I just…don’t like showing that much of my body,” I say. “Is all.”
I fold my arms over my chest, almost on instinct.
Morgan, to my surprise, nods. “I respect that,” she says, and I actually believe her. She shoves the bright tangle of nylon and hangers to the side. “Here. I’ll do you one better.”