Page 58 of Twisted Lies

Chapter 27

Astrid

A large brown box arrives at the school post office with my name on the label, and this time, I go to pick it up myself. I don’t feel comfortable with housekeeping going in and out of my room, even though they do it every day to change the sheets. I carry the large cardboard box in both my arms, barely able to see the path under my feet leading to the dorm. My key is in my pocket, and I’m about to juggle the box when the front door opens. Charlotte glides out and holds the door open with one hand. I mutter thank you and hoist the box up the stairs. Unfortunately, Charlotte follows me into the building.

“You can’t expect to come into the dorm with a Nordstrom box and not treat us to a show-and-tell,” she giggles with delight as if I’m Santa loaded down with her toys.

I can’t see her smile, but it’s in her voice. My date with Bryce must be common knowledge among those who count in the hierarchy. After all, Charlotte practically suggested it and definitely orchestrated it. I fumble against the locked door to my room as Charlotte nimbly plucks the box out of my arms. Wren appears out of nowhere like the bitch was summoned out of thin air, and so does that girl Gemma who rooms next door to me. She’s the one that only speaks to me when I accidentally walk in on her when she’s using our joined bathroom.

“What did you buy at Nordstrom, Charlotte?” asks Wren, attracted to the box like a beacon. How many more girls will appear?

“Not me,” Charlotte corrects her, “Astrid, my protégé.” She laughs throatily. “Let’s hope it’s not another costume.”

Fuck her. I whip the door open and freeze in the doorway. When I told Roni to try again, I didn’t think they would right away. Her head lifts off her pillow, and our wide eyes connect as she yanks her sheet over her naked breasts. A large hump that I assume is Terri is moving around under her blanket between her legs. I leap backward out of the room and shut the door quickly, hoping I’m the only one who saw that.

“My room’s a sty.” I fake a giggle that borders on hysterical. “Why don’t we open it in your room, Charlotte?”

Charlotte smiles proudly and pushes the box into a startled Gemma’s arms. Finally, I’m acting like one of the girls and not a weirdly independent introvert. I sense I better go along with it. Charlotte leads the parade of girls to her door while Gemma teeters down the hallway carrying my box. Once on her desk, Charlotte opens the box with a letter opener that slices the tape easily. Charlotte pulls out a large dress box, and giggling, pulls open the lid.

“Ooh,” she gasps with big blue eyes that compete with her bright smile. “Astrid, how yummy.” She holds my black dress up for inspection. She clutches the dress to her chest as she gawks at me. “Look at you buying real clothes.” She holds the dress out again. “And tasteful.”

“Very tasteful,” Wren hums her approval, “Clean lines, no sequins or feathers.”

Gemma giggles, holding out a hand to feel the fabric. “It’s a good weight.” She glances over at me. “The hem won’t ride up, and it will always fall back in place when you stand.”

Okay, that was useful information. I hold out my hand, and Charlotte hands me my dress. I hold it up under my chin and admire the way it sways as I look at it in the full-length mirror on her closet door.

“The hem’s a bit long,” Wren sighs, “I hope you don’t plan on cutting it off.”

I smile tightly as they giggle, but what else can I do? I decide to take the teasing as long as it doesn’t intensify, but my jaw tightens like a vise. I rise up on my tippy-toes, and the extra show of leg solves the hem problem.

Charlotte pulls the pumps out of the shoebox and frowns. “Is this your size?” she asks, pointing to the label on the box. “Your feet are so large.” Pulling a shoe out of the box, she frowns. “They’re amusing if you work at a bank.” The other girls laugh. As if they’d work anywhere, and I doubt they’ve even been in a bank.

I take the shoe out of her hand, but I get what Charlotte is saying. In real life, the shoes have a slight shine that doesn’t match the matte dress.

“Gemma, you have large feet.” Charlotte narrows her gaze on her follower. “What heels do you have?”

Gemma sputters. “I have some black pumps but haven’t worn them yet.”

Charlotte places her hands on her hips. Her expression is a strange mixture of annoyance and expectation—irritated that her wishes have to be spelled out. “Go get them, Gemma, so we can see.” Charlotte’s bottom lip stiffens when Gemma hesitates. “We share what we own here, remember?”

Gemma avoids our collective gazes as she hurries out of the room. I wonder if the girl plans on returning. By the time I look at the box again, Charlotte has unwrapped the evening purse and is modeling it over her shoulder for Wren.

“Astrid, go try the dress on.” She tosses the purse onto the desk and pulls out another box. “I want to see it on you.”

I hesitate, wondering what will happen when I walk away from my stuff. Eventually, I step into the bathroom. I don’t close the door entirely. I leave a crack open so that I can see the two of them in the mirror’s reflection just in case they do something shitty like shove something wet and sticky into my purse.

I slip the dress on quickly, not really bothering to smooth it down, and step back into the room. Wren smiles, and that’s the only time she’s done that while looking at me. It’s because of Charlotte, who rules the dorm with a diamond will that can smite you from twenty miles away. Charlotte clasps her hands together as if I’m a discovery like a cool restaurant or a puppy in someone’s purse. I feel nauseous.

“Astrid, you look beautiful.” Charlotte sighs. “Spin around.”

I turn once, but Charlotte stops me, pulling the zipper up on my dress. With care, she hooks the back of my dress closed and then smooths down the skirt along my hips. She turns me again, and if it weren’t for that weird conversation, I’d actually think she’s pleased to see me look so good. Gemma returns with her shoes and looks startled to see that I actually look like a person and not a troll. She hands them to me as she eyes the dress.

“You look very nice,” says Gemma. “Where are you going again?”

Charlotte shoots Gemma a look that would shatter bulletproof glass. “Astrid has a family function,” answers Charlotte, “and that’s all we need to know.”

I look down at the shoes in my hand, uncomfortable not knowing what they think, and then Gemma makes a small gasp. “I’m sorry,” she says.

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