Nobody in Particular(55)
And now for the kicker, we have this video of Danni playing piano, uploaded by Molly, but filmed by Rose. And listen to the tone of Rose’s voice as she speaks. If that’s platonic, I’m next in line to be queen.
My theory is: Rose and Danni are seeing each other, and Molly is taking it badly. Possibly because she’s jealous of their closeness, or perhaps she had a crush on Rose. That’s why she’s suddenly not ever seen around Rose! It does beg the question, though: Why is she still friends with Danni? Is she being the bigger person? Or is it a case of keeping your enemies close? What do you all think?
Luckily, the post has barely any engagement. Still, rage bubbles up within me as I read the last paragraph. Secret feelings between me and Molly? It’s the biggest rot I’ve ever read. And why hasn’t Oscar’s death been brought up as a potential reason for Molly’s change in behavior? It seems, if one goes by Occam’s razor, to be a much more reasonable explanation than the arrival of Danni Blythe, no?
“This is ludicrous,” I say with conviction. “Honestly, what have you called me up about? Someone who’s obsessed with my family read into me looking at a friend of mine, and this constitutes a crisis?”
“Not a crisis, no. Just something to keep in mind. If, perhaps, you’re being less discreet than you thought…”
But I’m hardly listening at this point, because I’m so relieved. This is all utterly baseless. Yes, this person, along with those who made the teasing comments on Molly’s video, has stumbled across the truth, but that’s exactly what it is. A stumble. Half of their “evidence” involves clips and photos from well before there was anything to speak of between Danni and me. We haven’t slipped up.
“It seems to me that the anonymous tipper and this poster are likely one and the same,” I say. “They were probably lying about being a Bramppath student.”
“Perhaps,” William says, but his tone is doubtful enough to make me uneasy.
“Is there anything else I should know?” I ask.
“No. I’ve told you everything I know.”
But if what he knows is so limited, why take it seriously enough to call me in the first place? What isn’t he telling me?
After hanging up, I make a beeline for Danni’s room. To my dismay, I find her door propped open by a shoe, which means she’s in the shower. It’s what we all do. Our key cards are susceptible to water damage, and the tiny shower cubicles here have a nasty habit of soaking everything we bring in with us, including things placed on the tiny bench provided for storage. We even have to throw our towels and clothes over the door to keep them dry.
Luckily, there’s only one shower in use on this level, so once I close the bathroom door behind me, I’m quite confident in calling out Danni’s name.
“Rose?” she asks. “Hold on. One second.” A moment later, she opens the cubicle door a crack, poking her head through. She has a towel wrapped tightly around her, and her dark blond hair, darker still from the water, is soaked and plastered to her forehead and neck, greasy and slick with shampoo or conditioner. She smells of cocoa butter.
“I just got a call from William at the palace,” I tell her in a low voice. “Someone told him we’re involved.”
She swings the door open. “What do you mean?” she asks.
I step closer, so she can hear me better over the roar of the shower without me needing to raise my voice. “Someone who claims to be from Bramppath told him. They didn’t present any evidence, but—”
The bathroom door handle starts to turn, and I freeze. I’m standing with half of my body inside Danni’s shower cubicle, talking to her while she’s soaking wet and wearing only a towel, and while I’m certain—or mostly certain—partially certain—that the anonymous informant is lying, what if they’re not? What if somebody at Bramppath already suspects we’re involved with each other, and that somebody happens to walk in on us like this?
I should spring backward and close the cubicle door. It’s by far the most rational move. There’s nothing all that suspicious about speaking to a classmate through a cubicle door, after all. The issue is, William’s tone has me on edge, and I feel watched by the walls themselves, and adrenaline isn’t a fan of the rational. So, to my dismay, it’s my central nervous system that chooses my next step for me, and it decides to fling me into the cubicle to hide from whoever’s entering.
The thing about these cubicles is they’re awfully small. Danni was barely avoiding getting her towel soaked while talking to me as it was. The space is not designed for the water to be running while students dry off. So, when my panic sends me launching past Danni, the only place to go is directly under the shower head. Still fully clothed in my uniform. I gasp instinctively as a powerful stream of hot water gushes over me, and clap my hand over my mouth before it escalates into a howl.
Danni lunges forward to turn the tap off—something that didn’t occur to me in my shocked state—but it’s too late. I’m soaked through. My clothes aren’t dripping onto the tiled floor so much as they’re waterfalling.
Next to us, another cubicle door closes, and the shower turns on. Danni looks over, and then back to me. Her mouth has twisted into a very interesting shape, as though she’s trying valiantly not to burst out laughing.
“What the hell did you do that for?” she mouths, and I jut out my lower jaw. Why does she think I did it? Because I wasn’t thinking, obviously.