Page 65 of Only If You're Lucky
That whiff of vanilla hovering like the ghost of her trapped in an empty room.
It was a pointless exercise. Lucy was never there. I was starting to accept it with a certainty that was startling, so much so that it’s hard to imagine how I never noticed it before—but the truth is, it’s easy to blend in in a place like this. Rutledge may not be big, but it’s sprawling. The classrooms are scattered across the city, historic buildings tucked into little cracks and crannies, disappearing into their surroundings so naturally it’s hard to evenknow what belongs to the college and what doesn’t. There are full sections of the school I’ve never noticed before, entire buildings I haven’t had a reason to step inside. Not only that, but I’ve seen the same handful of people in my classes for almost two years now, all of us trapped inside a bubble of our own making. Completely unaware of what goes on outside it. I rarely catch glimpses of Sloane or Nicole during the day, either, both of them retreating to their respective spaces and staying there until it’s time to come home again, and when I think about all this,reallythink about it, it actually seems shockingly easy to do what Lucy has done: to simply step into this place and blend in so seamlessly.
To convince us all she’s one of us.
“She’s still our friend,” I said to Sloane, the implications of it all sitting stubborn between us, refusing to sink in. “I mean, this doesn’t change anything—”
“Margot, it changes everything.” She gaped. “We’re living with a stranger.”
“She’s not a stranger,” I said, somewhat mildly, humiliation blooming in my chest at how natural it was for me to keep jumping to Lucy’s defense like this, no questions asked. Same as that first day outside the shed, listening to Sloane’s slander, the reflex to protect her was automatic, instinctive, like a mallet to the knee.
“Well, she’s not who she says she is, either.”
It’s still tempting, even now, to give Lucy the benefit of the doubt. Sloane hadn’t been with us that night on the roof; she hadn’t heard Lucy talk about her childhood, her past. The way things were and her desire to get away.
“I wanted a fresh start,”she had said.“I figured you’d understand.”
I did understand, and I was starting to convince myself that maybe it was simple: maybe Lucy moved to Rutledge on her ownbut didn’t have the money or the grades to get in. She started working at Penny Lanes, saw the way the students lived, and wanted that for herself, too. A chance at belonging, at friends. Not so different from any of us, really, so she met Sloane and Nicole on the lawn and felt at home in their presence; she was invited into their dorm, into their lives, and didn’t want to admit that she was somehow different, less than, because of her parents. The way she grew up.
Whywouldn’tshe fake it when nobody questioned her? Why wouldn’t she just go along with it all, simply pretend, like the rest of us, to be something she’s not?
We’re so close to the island now that I can see the other boats anchoring, swarms of boys hopping off and onto the sand, carrying duffel bags and coolers over their heads to keep them from getting wet. Girls sitting on the sides with their legs dangling off, taking swigs of vodka straight from the bottle. Salt water and wind turning their hair crimped and wild. I thought about skipping the party tonight, hanging back while the others left and using the free time to sort through my thoughts, try to find some answers. Sloane couldn’t get away with bailing without upsetting Lucas—that, and she didn’t want to leave Nicole by herself—and neither of us wanted to tip off Lucy, either. Alert her to the fact that something was wrong. We’re supposed to be sharing a tent, after all, the only two roommates who aren’t coupled up—and then I had an idea.
“Luce, can you come back here?” Levi asks, bringing my attention back to the boat. “I’m getting ready to anchor.”
I’ve never heard him use that nickname before and I watch as he pats the seat next to him while Lucy stands up, stepping over our stuff as she makes her way toward the back. Images of the two of them flash through my mind again: Lucy in his bedroom,sinking deep on his mattress. Long fingers winding through his hair as she pulled him close, her lips on his. She plops down on the bench next to him and starts poking around the cupholder, always curious and forever bored, before pulling out a rusted fishhook and using it to pick at her nails.
“Make sure you girls don’t wander away when you’re drunk,” Lucas says, a giddy anticipation sweeping through him now that the night is so close to starting. “There are animals out there.”
“What kind of animals?” Sloane asks, crossing her arms.
“Spiders,” he says, his fingers crawling their way up her leg. “Alligators, snakes.”
“Just stay on the beach and you’ll be fine,” James says, and I turn around, startled at how close he is. With everything else going on, I forgot he was even here.
“Wait until you see the stars,” Lucas continues, hugging Sloane close. “It gets so dark without the ambient light—”
“Fuck!”
We all turn to look at Lucy, her sudden scream startling us all. A stream of bright red blood has erupted from her nail, running down her finger, and I watch as she throws the fishhook back into the cupholder like it somehow sprang to life and attacked her on its own.
“Here,” Levi says, rummaging through various cubbies in search of something to stanch the bleeding. I watch as it leaks out in a steady gush, perfect little circles dripping onto the floor of the boat, the cushioned seat, Levi’s shorts. He’s distracted, simultaneously trying to look and steer as the boat hits a wave at a weird angle and slams back into the water, hard, almost sending Nicole to the ground.
“Butler!” Trevor yells. There’s a subtle slur to his speech ashe grabs ahold of Nicole’s thigh with his free hand. She winces, straightening herself on his lap. “Watch where the fuck you’re going!”
“I’m okay—” Nicole starts, but Trevor interrupts her, eager to keep fighting.
“Christ, dude, you’re going to kill us all.”
“It’s fine,” Lucy says quietly, touching Levi’s arm. “I got it.”
Levi peels his eyes from her and looks back ahead, through the windshield, purposefully avoiding Trevor’s gaze. I can see the tendons in his neck bulging, his jaw clenched tight like he has to physically restrain himself from snapping back. The tension on the boat is so palpable, so thick, and I realize, somehow for the first time, that it isn’t just between Lucy and us but the boys, too. Nicole and Trevor; Levi and me. This little group of us that was once so solid now warped and bending beneath the pressure of it all; little hairline fractures traveling slowly, threatening to burst.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low as I watch Lucy hold her finger, the slow glide of blood between her hands like the wax of a melting candle dripping to the floor.
“Fine,” she says. “A little blood never bothered me.”
I watch as she lifts her head, eyes on mine, before pulling her finger to her lips and sucking it dry, and I get the sudden sensation of looming danger, watching her like this. Like eyeing a funnel cloud in the distance as it inches closer, collecting strength. Like we’re all marching toward something big, something permanent, the slow simmer of the last eight months morphing into full-blown boil.
