Chapter 16 #3
looking for George, Josephine begins to receive letters again. She writes back to George urging him to tell her where he is
so she can find him. She comes across a medic who says he can help her, but his reasons are selfish and she doesn’t fully
trust him.
I haven’t written the ending yet.
“That’s okay—neither is mine,” Sasha replies. I start to mark up her story, thoroughly impressed with the writing, and really
loving the plot, when she interrupts me. “Who does she choose?” she asks.
Her question feels loud in a quiet room full of working students and startles me slightly, causing my pen to slip over a word.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your story—who does she choose? The medic or the soldier?”
I look around for peering eyes and ears, specifically Annica’s. “Probably the soldier.” I lower my voice when I say it, and
go back to writing.
“Why is she so mean to the medic who is helping her? She basically just met him. She doesn’t even know him.”
“Because the medic has his own agenda; he doesn’t care about his cousin.”
“They’re cousins?” she asks, confused.
“No, I didn’t mean to say that. I just meant the medic doesn’t care about the soldier.”
“It seems like he cares about the main character, though.”
I sigh with annoyance. “He doesn’t.”
“That’s not what it sounds like, especially when you wrote—”
“You don’t know him,” I interrupt, a little bit too abrasive.
“Okay . . . sorry,” Sasha says. I sigh, feeling rattled and embarrassed for snapping at her like that. She starts to mark
up my paper, and I go back to hers.
When I get back from class, Adrienne isn’t here. Part of me is relieved, because I have no idea what to say to her. I thought
about it on the entire ride back to Pembroke today, but all I could come up with was How could you? Unless she really doesn’t know that he’s the same professor I was seeing last year, but how could she not? I never showed
her a picture but I told her his last name, and surely she could connect the dots. The longer I think about it, the more irritated
I become. She has to know.
I go right to my room without even showering the stench of sangria and bar off from the night before and print Adrienne’s picture and name. I add it to the suspect board with string tying her to Holland. And then I lock my bedroom door.
I can no longer trust her.
Later that night we all meet up at the boys’ house for some type of surprise that Wes claims to have. We come to find that
it’s a weekend away at his family’s resort, all expenses paid. And the kicker? Marissa can’t go that weekend.
“This is perfect,” Asher says once we’re alone in his bedroom. “This is the opportunity we needed.”
“We need to talk about Miles and Adrienne,” I tell him. “What am I going to do? What if she’s helping him?”
He rubs his hands together, plotting. “With Marissa not going, this is perfect for ushering you into phase two.”
I sit on his bed while he paces. “Asher, are you listening?” But he doesn’t acknowledge it. I sigh, giving in. “What is phase
two?”
“Phase two is where Wes finally gives in and realizes he wants to be with you. He’ll dump Marissa, and you two can be together.
Phase three will be where you ultimately have him in your clutches and you make sure he stays here with you after graduation
to pursue some other venture.”
I play with a strand of my hair, thinking about this double-edged sword in front of me.
I want Wes to love me naturally, not because we tricked him into doing it.
The further this goes along, the more wrong it feels, but if I tell Asher that, what does that mean for me and all my secrets?
Are we close enough now that he would let me out of the deal without any repercussions?
Are we close at all? I start to feel ridiculous for any and all of the conflicting little thoughts that pop into my head about him.
We are not friends, we never were. Maybe I just need some distance to remind myself of that.
Before I can get up to leave, I hear Asher’s door open, and someone comes up the stairs. Sam steps into the room with his
hands on his hips and looks between the two of us.
“Why did you two want to see Bryce last weekend?” he asks in an accusatory tone. “Did you know something bad was going to
happen to him?”
I look at Asher, unsure of what to say. So Asher replies, “We didn’t say that.”
Sam narrows his eyes at us from under shaggy black hair. “Yes, you did.”
“No we didn’t,” Asher says again. “When did we say that?”
“When you asked me if you could get into the society. Are you really trying to convince me that you never said that?” He waits
for an answer, but we don’t give him one. He goes on, “I thought it was odd but wasn’t going to ask. And then I remembered
that Sloane used to date him. Is he not like the third or fourth ex-boyfriend of yours to die in a few short months?” he asks
me. I can feel the blood drain from my face. “Look,” Sam says. “The police are hounding all of us to give them a complete
list of everyone who came to this party. I didn’t tell them you two were there, but I need to know what is going on. Did one
of you hurt Bryce?”
“Sam, no, of course not,” I say. “But . . . you can’t tell the police we were there either. I can’t get in trouble this year
with the police. My mom will pull me from Pembroke.”
Sam purses his lips, likely debating whether or not he believes me. He’s not one for arguments or confrontation, and I feel
that we have him on our side until Asher opens his mouth.
“Did you enjoy the orgy?” Asher asks. My eyes snap to him, and I wonder if I heard him right. If he really just asked that.
Sam’s face turns a crimson red. “What?”
“We saw you,” Asher says. “In the back of the room, with all of those guys. That could stay between the three of us, if you never tell anyone we were there.”
Sam grits his teeth. “That—that wasn’t me.”
Asher crosses his arms. “And we never said anything about Bryce.”
Sam looks between the two of us, his mouth open like he may argue, but he closes it and turns on his heels to leave.
“Asher!” I reprimand him when the door shuts—no, slams—at the bottom of the stairs. “How could you do that to Sam!”
“Do you want to go to jail? Because once again, you look like a suspect, and the only thing keeping you from an orange jumpsuit
is me. I didn’t feel good about blackmailing Sam either but it had to be done.”
I shake my head, walking to the door. “I have to go home.”
“Back to Adrienne?” He raises a brow. Oh, so he was listening. I turn to look at him, but I don’t have anything to say. “We’re
both so close to getting what we want,” he says in a low voice.