Page 51 of Dirty Liars
Maybe that’s why it comes as something of a shock when she corners me in the bathroom the morning we’re set to leave for Thanksgiving break. One minute I have my face in the sink, the next I look up and she’s standing over my shoulder looking back at me in the mirror like some demon in a horror flick.
It’s no wonder I shriek.
“My god, Victoria, don’t sneak up on people like that.”
She just stares at me for a moment, waiting for me to turn off the tap and turn around to face her.
“How long are you going to keep this up?” she asks.
It takes me a second to find the words to respond. “Sorry, what?”
She arches an eyebrow at me. I can’t help but notice that something about her even looks different. Dark circles peek out beneath two layers of concealer. Her hair isn’t as shiny as it once was. Unless I’m mistaken, her skirt’s gotten just a little too tight. I guess Queen has learned what it means to eat your feelings.
“I want to know when you’re going to stop acting like the victim here,” she says. “We both know youknewthere was alcohol in the punch. No one’s that stupid.”
“Wow.” I ball up the paper towels in my hand and slam them into the trash. “You know Victoria, I actually felt bad for you this whole time. All I wanted was an apology … but this is low, even for you.”
I whirl on my heel, ready to storm out of there, but she catches me by the sleeve. I’m ready to shake her off, but her nails dig into me and keep me here. She holds her other hand out to me and waves a chipped, broken set of acrylic nails in my face.
“Do you see what they’re doing to me?” she says, her voice choking back emotion. “They’re bullying me.”
I shake myself free and turn back to face her. “You mean like they bullied me?”
She purses her lips. “That was different.”
“Was it?”
I’m about to go again, but Victoria lunges forward and grabs my arm again. Her other hand flies up to cover her mouth as she chokes out a sob.
“Wait!” She lets go of me but takes a moment to compose herself. I can see an inner struggle going on. “I’m sorry,” she says, finally. “I can handle being blacklisted. I can handle being ignored. But Please, Sadie, for the love of god … call them off.”
I don’t believe her apology is genuine. I don’t think she really believes she did anything wrong. But I look at her, pitiful, groveling, and I know the pain of being unable to walk from one class to the next without one of Astor’s boys trying to knock the books from your arms or the very wind from your lungs.
She sees me thinking, and she blurts out, “I just thought it might be more fun for you if you … you know … had a little punch. That’s all. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you were on drugs. I promise.”
She makes it sound like I was strung out on heroine.
But still …
I press my hands to my face and let out a sigh. “I think you know this has nothing to do with me,” I say, looking back up. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
Astor can tell something’s up the moment I get to English Lit. He leans across the aisle and stretches one arm across the back of my chair. Where before he would have been careful not to touch me, he lets one hand trace circles around the slope of my shoulder as he asks me what’s wrong. It doesn’t matter if Mr. Davis sees anymore. Like Chris so rightly put it that day, I’m untouchable now.
His brush makes my skin tingle, but I just subtly shake my head and glance towards Victoria seated at the front of class.
“Later.”
I whisper for him and the boys to meet me at the boathouse for lunch, and then dive back into my studies.
Wills and I walk down to the boathouse together after math. His arm is around my waist, and every time we walk over a knotted root in the grass he likes to pick me up a little so I don’t trip over it. The way his fingers dig into my ribs tickles, so I’m red faced from laughter by the time we meet the other boys sprawled out on the floor inside.
I wriggle out of Will’s arms and peel my coat off to leave it on the floor. One of them had the good sense to crank up the heat in here now that it’s getting so cold outside. We only have a few more days of active sailing left before we have to spend the rest of our class indoors, reading about boats instead of actually sailing them.
Wills has gone to the window, and I know he’s thinking about the same thing. I’m going to miss what sailing class has become lately; little dates out on the water with nothing but the bobbing ocean beneath us and hot totties smuggled in thermoses.
Blair jumps up and gives me a quick kiss before helping me down onto the piles of old sails he’s arranged as a sort of cushion.
I’ve barely sat down before Astor’s turned his sharp eyes on me. “If this is about forgiving Victoria, you can forget it. What she did to you …”
