Page 4 of The New Girl

Chapter Three

The bar was a bust. Aesthetically, it was gorgeous. Everything I could ask for in an upper class college-town drinking establishment that was about two hundred years old. Smoky wood paneling, dim lighting, a long glossy oak bar with leather stools and glinting glasses hanging upside down overhead. Crowded and noisy, jostled by dozens of good-looking people who were making loud, fascinating conversation while clutching glasses of beer and wine.

Imogene found a guy from her stage fighting class and made for him like a basset after a fox. She shot me a backward glance of encouragement and pointed me in the direction of a guy wearing a jacket and black glasses.

I approached and attempted to make conversation before I was sidelined by a girl who talked much faster than I did.

I removed my blouse, exposing my arms and cleavage and waited for someone to buy me a drink. My budget wouldn’t stretch to overpriced beer–not if I wanted to eat this week.

I was approached by a couple of boys from the swim team and one guy who majored in political science. I did my best to captivate and hold their interest but all three moved on when they saw someone they knew. Not one offered to buy me a drink.

After about an hour of this, I pulled on my duffle coat and beret and waved good-bye to Imogene who was deep in conversation with a tall, broad-shouldered man. She waved back and then I was outside in the sharp September chill, wishing I had my tights back.

The streets were empty. St. Swithins College is the primary employer in Spallin, New Hampshire; a college town near the Canadian border. When the college closes up for the day, so does the town. The library is the one place on campus that never closes. Since I wasn’t getting laid, I might as well study. Going back to my dorm room and Alexis Bancroft’s scorn was more than my bruised ego could handle on a Friday night.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I crossed the park where they used to hold public hangings. It was unofficially called the Green and used as a shortcut from Main Street to the college. The cement path was bordered by giant maples and oaks that were in full color as October approached.

Not that I could tell. The streetlights didn’t illuminate much on the Green.

I sucked in a breath and exhaled. It was quiet at night alone. In the summer, the Green would be packed with students lounging on blankets, having picnic lunches. It was idyllic here. Lonely, but idyllic.

A neglected notice board was ahead, erected long ago before smartphones and social media under a roof to protect the student news, bulletins, and posters from the elements. I paused to scan the tattered and yellowed notices that had been left behind and one notice caught my eye.

It was not yellowed or torn by the wind. It was new. Whoever tacked it to the board had done so recently.

Meeting

Friday, September 30

1219 Braeside Lane, 2nd Floor

9:00 p.m. sharp.

Latecomers will not be admitted.

All that glitters is not gold.

I took a picture of it with my phone and checked the time. It was 8:49 p.m. Braeside Lane was on the other side of The Green, then down a side street and behind a bank of shops. If I hurried, I would make it on time. It was Friday night and I had nothing better to do. A meeting of what? I expected a book club or a poetry slam. Something reassuringly academic after the debacle at the bar was just what I needed.

“What’s the password?”

The face behind the wrought iron grate in the door eyed me coldly.

I checked the image on my phone. “The notice didn’t say anything about a password–wait–is it ‘all that glitters is not gold’?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m telling you.”

Like magic, the door swung open. I looked back at the steep stairwell I had just climbed, wondering if I should turn around and go home instead. This was too weird to be a book club.

“Phone, please.” The gatekeeper held out his hand imperiously. “You’ll get it back at the end of the meeting.”

“Really?” Astonished, I handed it over. “Phones are not allowed?”

No reply or explanation, only a direction to leave my coat on one of the pegs and take a seat with the others.

We were in a room that was either a former Masonic hall or was still in operation and rented out for gatherings such as this one. Symbols were inlaid on the hardwood floor and velvet drapes covered the windows. Yellow globes hung from longchains from the ceiling casting a dull glow over the assembled gathering.

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