And look at it now, doing just that. The secret club she’d hoped for with her mom had never materialized, and neither had the special closeness, but at least this part was turning out exactly like her mother promised.
Across the basement, Heather descended the staircase once more, her mascara back in place, nose no longer red. Courtney, resenting the regal bearing of Heather’s shoulders, made her way over. But before she could say anything, Heather gave her a triumphant look—the kind a villain in a movie wore when they’d hatched an evil plan.
“I thought about what you said, and you’re right,” Heather said. “I’m going to get even with Jack, and I know just how. Hooking up with someone else won’t hurt him. So I’m going to talk to his parents. Next weekend.”
Courtney blinked, taken aback. “Parents’ Weekend?”
“Yes,” Heather said fiercely. “I’m going to tell them everything. His parents love me, and they’re so religious they’ll never forgive him. He’s always cared what they think, no matter how much he denies it. We’ll see how he likes having his life ruined.” She looked around the room. “I need a drink. I have several hours of my life to forget.” Heather turned, gripping her. “Before I get drunk… Don’t let me talk to Frankie, okay? I can’t tell you why, but promise me.”
Courtney was opening her mouth to ask Heather why anyway—or, frankly, to tell her that no matter what Jack had done, nothing justified getting his parents involved—when she realized Heather had given her the perfect opening.
“Here,” she said instead, thrusting her cup at her. “I got you this. Bottom’s up.”
“Thank god,” Heather said, taking the beer and chugging it. She wiped her mouth. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Chapter 21
Now
I’d always thought the sight of Courtney Minter cowering on the ground, confessing her sins to an angry mob, would make me feel better than it did. Now that it was happening, she looked so small and pathetic, her twig-legs drawn up under her, perfect face in her bony hands, that it was hard to see the traces of my legendary nemesis.
Instead, watching her, one thing was crystal-clear: Courtney Minter was not a happy person—or, a healthy one. Yes, she’d done something terrible. But for all the days of her life, Courtney was going to have to live with herself, locked in the cage of her body with nothing to keep her company but her own brain. And that was a severe punishment if I’d ever heard one.
Caro did not share my sympathy.
“You drugged your best friend to get her out of the way so you could be queen of a fraternity party?” Caro’s face was so red you could see it, even in the dim light from the lamps.
Looking at Courtney, I felt an uneasy stirring in the pit of my stomach. If I hadn’t been so consumed with winning a prize greater than Sweetheart, it could’ve been me that night, stewing in the shadows, gutted by Heather’s first-place win, Courtney’s runner-up status. The insidious voice whispering, Jessica Miller, the Phi Delt president’s girlfriend—and not even second in line for the crown.
I recognized myself in her.
“I know you’re mad, Caro, but keep your voice down.” Mint looked around. “We don’t want to attract unwelcome attention.”
“Oh, no. Like from the cops?” Caro threw her arms out. For a second—it could have been the lighting—she looked like a gold cross, burning bright against the night. “Jail’s exactly where we should send her. Courtney, you’re the reason Heather couldn’t defend herself that night. You might not have stabbed her, but you basically tied her hands behind her back. And you were willing to let Coop take the fall. How do you live with yourself?”
“It was supposed to make her go to sleep, that’s all. How could I have known?”
Courtney’s hands trembled in a way that was deeply familiar. “After she died, I was broken. I didn’t eat for a week. And the only way I could get out of bed was to think…well, she would have been killed anyway. Someone wanted to stab her. It was only a coincidence both things happened the same night. I told myself it didn’t matter and made myself forget.” Her voice dropped to a painful, throaty whisper. “I should have won Sweetheart in the first place. It was meant to be mine.”
“‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,’” Eric said, his voice ice.
I made myself forget. The black hole at my center stirred. A flash of memory: Two hands, covered in dried blood.