Page 9 of Lucky Strike

I gave Tristan a wave. “Nice to meet you.”

“Bria, like the cheese?”

“That would be brie.”

Maeve scoffed. “Honestly, Tris?—"

“Well,Bria, make sure Maeve behaves herself,” he began in a sotto voice. “She got in trouble last year for?—”

“Mr. Kelly,” Mrs. Chatham said crisply. “That is quite enough. You’ve delivered your sister’s belongings, so it’s time for you to go back to Sterling.”

Dinner that night was a different affair. With the exception of a polite “hello” here and there, I was generally left alone, but tonight I’d lost count of how many people greeted our group. Maeve Kelly and her friends, it seemed, were very popular.

Delphine might’ve been Maeve’s oldest friend, but curvy, chatty Portia seemed to be her closest. She had perfect makeup and flawless chestnut brown skin, her tight, springy curls held back by a wide headband that matched Edenbrook’s emerald green. Delphine was pale, waiflike, and willowy. She had huge, blue eyes and a blonde, chin-length bob, like a flapper from the 1920s. Delphine was as reserved as Portia was friendly, and I got the impression she was waiting to see if I was worth the energy. We parted ways at a group of tables reserved for second years.

Maeve slid into the chair beside mine, waving to a girl across the room as the waitstaff began serving the salad. Edenbrook felt like another planet with its multi-course meals, fine linens, and porcelain plates. Thanking my server, I laid a napkin over my lap.

“Do you have siblings?” Maeve asked, drizzling balsamic vinaigrette over her spring greens.

“Just an older sister, Taya.” I picked up my fork. “She’s a freshman at Hofstra, in Long Island.”

“Lucky you,” she said. “I have two obnoxious older brothers.”

I chuckled, remembering the shenanigans in our room earlier. “You seem pretty close to Tristan.”

“We’re super close,” she said with a fond smile. “He’s still a pain in the ass, though, and so is Conlan. You’ll see.”

There was before Maeve,and then there was after. I’d never had a friend quite like her, someone so effortless to be around. We talked about everything, all the time, often falling asleep mid-conversation, hours after lights out. I appreciated the deep sense of belonging I felt with her, Portia, and Delphine, loved being part of a whole.

And Ma was right: Edenbrook was gorgeous. We ate lunch outside whenever we could, bringing our books to study in the sun. Portia introduced me to the wooded trails surrounding campus, and while we often hiked together. I went alone too, especially when Maeve was in ballet class.

Autumn came bringing crisp mornings and cloudless, blue skies. The campus gave up its greens for an extravagant show of scarlet and gold, and though I’d grown up in the Northeast, I’d never seen fall quite like this.

In November, Portia, Delphine and I were invited to Maeve’s Sweet Sixteen in Boston. We drove in from Edenbrook the night before and spent the next day at the hotel’s spa, getting massages and manicures. We got ready with Maeve in an enormous suite (which she’d nicknamed Suite 16), then went ahead to the party so her parents could present her officially.

If I hadn’t realized that the Kellys were wealthy, I certainly knew now. Maeve, who lovedA Midsummer Night's Dream, had gone with a Shakespeare themed masked ball. The entrance to the waterfront ballroom and all of its windows were adorned with flowering vines and twinkling lights, as were the real trees clustered around the photo booth. Banquet tables overflowed with finger foods (I couldn’t help but giggle at the “Hamlet & Cheese Sandwiches”), and servers dressed in period clothing served drinks with names like "Prospero’s Potion.” A towering cake dripping with yellow, pink, and purple flowers sat on asmall table by itself. It was more extravagant than most weddings I’d been to.

Back when we’d received our scrolled invitations, Portia playfully suggested we dress up asMacbeth's witches. But then Maeve came across a website selling dresses like the ones worn in the nineties film version ofMuch Ado About Nothing—another one of her favorites—and begged us to oblige. I’d paired my pale pink dress with a rose gold mask and baby’s breath in my hair.

The girls and I were goofing around in the photo booth when the music, which sounded suspiciously like theBridgertonsoundtrack, lowered. We popped out just in time to see the heralds at the door announce Maeve and her parents to much cheering. The DJ went off, kicking the music into high gear, and everyone crowded the dancefloor.

After dancing and eating for what felt like hours, I wandered out to the heated terrace overlooking the harbor. Except for a bartender serving a small group of adults, it was quiet.

Portia and Delphine had gone back to our suite for more rum—Delphine had sources—but I was still tipsy from our last escapade.

“Bria! There you are,” called Maeve. I turned to see the birthday girl coming my way, holding hands with a guy dressed all in black. “I wanted you to meet Callum!”

Ah, the famous Callum Barry. Maeve talked about him all the time—they’d been hooking up, on and off, since last year. His mask was animalistic, a little on the creepy side.

“Callum,” she said, bringing us so that we were face to face. “This is my roommate, Bria. She’s from New York, too. The Bronx.”

“Oh, yeah?” He pushed his mask up, allowing me to see his face. He was handsome, all messy dark hair and dark eyes. “I know people in the Bronx, around Pelham. What neighborhood you from?”

“Riverdale.”

“Nice.” Dismissing me with a smile, he returned his attention to Maeve and rested his hands on her waist. She was a tall girl, but his massive frame dwarfed her. “You said you had drinks?”

She nodded, pulling his mask back down. “Yeah, in my room upstairs.”

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