Page 8 of Gilded Fake

I close my eyes and hang my head. “I know.”

“I’m not mad about it, but you could have told me sooner,” she says. “If there’s ever anything you want to talk about…”

There are a million things I want to talk about, but she’s not a therapist. She doesn’t want to hear about how I lost my brother even before he died, how he changed as much as we did once the Dolces took us in, how the boy I grew up with slipped away until I didn’t even recognize him anymore, but I still miss him so bad I don’t know how I get out of bed some days. Or how alone I felt at home even with two sisters there who looked like my best friends at school, or the things her boyfriend did to all of us that turned us into the monsters we are.

So I just lift my head, nod, and smile. “Heard.”

*

When I step into the office, I’m surprised to see Rylan still sitting there, sulking. “What are you doing here?” he demands, glowering at me.

“Oh, you know,” I say, batting my eyes at him in mock innocence. “Just offering to testify on your behalf if they need a witness.”

“A witness to what?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

“To what kinds of things you’ve been doing since you started here,” I say, lowering my voice and sliding into the chair next to him so the receptionist won’t overhear.

“What the fuck, Lo,” he snaps. “You’re trying to frame me for that dickhead just because he went down on you?”

“How do you know that?” I ask, and then his words in the hallway earlier come back, and the realization dawns. “You were watching?”

“Not by choice,” he snaps. “That fucking scumbag locked me in the storage room. You know there’s a peephole in there.”

“You didn’t have to spy on the girls’ locker room,” I point out. “I mean, it’s not like he was twisting your arm behind your back.”

I let my words sink in, and Rylan scowls at the reminder. I have to hand it to Colt, that’s some karmic level retribution. There’s a certain beauty in the simplicity, even if it twists a knife deeper into my heart to know that yesterday was all for show. I try not to think about that show, the one Rylan got from the other side of the wall.

Like Cotton got last year…

Last year, when everything was different, when I was queen and my sisters still talked to me and my brother was still alive…

Mr. Montgomery bursts into the office, providing a welcome distraction before I can spiral. “Rylan,” he thunders. “What is this I hear about them finding illegal substances in your locker? I gave you a credit card. What do you need money for? And this better be good. I got called out of work!”

I hide a smile and stand to go talk to the receptionist and offer to help if they need witnesses. From the sound of it, Mr. Montgomery’s not going to fight the expulsion though. I don’t know the guy well, despite living next door to him for a few years. He’s usually quiet and keeps to himself except to participate in the obligatory neighborhood events—Christmas lighting with the yearly chosen theme, Superbowl watch parties, Fourth of July cookouts, and neighborhood Easter egg hunts and trick-or-treat for the little kids.

Other than that, all I know is that he lost his wife a long time ago, and he doesn’t spy on girls when we swim in his pool, so he’s decent compared to some of the other dads like Mr. Dolce. Not sure how his son ended up such a creep, but then, you never know what goes on behind closed doors. I know better than anyone that what you see is not always what you get.

Rylan goes to sulk in a chair in the corner, ignoring his stepdad, and Mr. Montgomery comes to the desk to ask when the Headmaster can see him.

“I’m sorry you’re dealing with this,” I say to Mr. Montgomery when the receptionist goes to check if they’re ready to see him. “You know, it’s not all Rylan’s fault. This school is tough—especially the elite. You probably remember a little bit of what that’s like. You’re a founding son too. Not everyone’s cut out for that, and they kind of pulled him in. I don’t think he was prepared for how brutal it is.”

Mr. Montgomery looks a little surprised I’m talking to him, like he’s not sure what to do with himself. “You’re right,” he says at last.

“I mean, he’s under a lot of stress,” I say. “With how hard the classes are on top of that, and the secret society… I don’t know if he’s in it, of course. But he’s more the sensitive type, a musician, and to be lumped in with all those athletes… I know when we were dating, he always felt inferior. And the breakup’s been hard on him. Is he okay?”

“I—I think so,” he says, glancing at Rylan, who’s slumped in a chair with his arms crossed, glowering at the wall.

“He threatened a guy in the hall,” I say. “He said he was going to kill him. It was Colt Darling. I don’t think he’d do it, of course, but Colt’s family has been through so much. In fact, they had their own problem child. Maybe Sullivan’s dad could give you some insight.”

“Uh, thank you,” he says, shifting uncomfortably.

“I’m just saying, if he’s a danger to himself, there are places he can get the help he needs,” I say. “You don’t have to do it yourself. Cedar Crest has a troubled teen program. I know a couple of the Darlings have been in there, so they must have the best care.”

Mr. Montgomery looks so relieved when the Headmaster calls him back that I almost laugh. When I walk out, there’s a bounce in my step. I just went to talk to the admin, but planting that seed was so much better.

And even if Mr. Montgomery thinks I’m crazy and nothing comes of it, I know there’s one less creep to worry about in the halls of Willow Heights. And now that I don’t live next door, I never have to see Rylan Woods again.

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