The silence is a heavy thing, suffocating.
“You should eat.” Hawthorne makes a plate for me, picking a little of everything, before she shoves it into my hands. I fumble to catch it and she holds my wrists steady, looking at me from under translucent lashes. “Are you all right?”
“I’m never all right.” I take the plate without thanks—it’s just reparations for not saving me from that fucking awful conversation. When I curl up on the couch, far away from where Hawthorne was sitting, she doesn’t seem to take the hint and joins me.
“You make her so angry,” Hawthorne says with a quiet sense of awe. “I don’t think you realize how much you do.”
“I think I’m well aware of the strength of her rage,” I mumble around puff pastry.
“I don’t think you are,” says Hawthorne. “You unbalance her. Make her feel like she’s out of control. There’s nothing she hates more than being out of control.”
Well, I suppose we have that in common.
“Why me? Why not… Penthesilea? She should be back by now, but she’s still downstairs with him right now. She’s winning. Not me,” I insist.
Hawthorne purses her lips. “Come on now, Adina. You’re both favorites. Pen’s performing better in the Finish, but up until the Ride he’s liked you better. We’ll see if that holds,” Hawthorne says with a quiet sigh. She squints down at the ground. “Pen’s always been just… nice. Since we were kids. She never cried. She always shared. She was never ‘it,’ even when it was her turn during tag, because Esme liked to be ‘it.’？”
“More reason for Esme to focus on her instead of me. Penthesilea’s a pushover,” I say, and almost immediately, it doesn’t feel right.
“I don’t know. I’ve known her my whole life,” Hawthorne says quietly. “But I don’t know her, if you get me? I think only Pierce knows her. He’s like a dragon, sometimes. Hoards his treasures.”
“He’s not scary like a dragon.”
“Oh, give it time.” Hawthorne laughs to herself, shaking her head. “There’s nothing worse than a boy who is lovely and knows it.”
I turn to stare at her, flattening my expression to hide my irritation. “Why are you here?”
“I thought I’d keep you company,” Hawthorne tries.
I snort. “I meant in the Finish, but we both know in a choice between my company and Esme’s, you’d choose Esme’s. You always have.”
“You’re right,” Hawthorne sighs. “But… Esme snores.”
This is much easier to believe than Hawthorne choosing to spend time with me.
“I don’t agree with everything Esme does, you know,” Hawthorne says softly.
“Then why do you let her get away with all of it?” I ask. “What she did… what she’s doing. What she’s planning.”
“Planning,” Hawthorne scoffs.
“It has to be her. She told those girls that Pierce is helping me. That’s why they’re all after me when I didn’t even know what this was days ago.” It makes sense. I remember the way Jacqueline had stared so viciously at me at the start of the Ride, the poisonous words that Esme had probably whispered in her ear, just enough to make Jacqueline decide without having to be told.
“Maybe. But Esme doesn’t plan. Everything she does is by instinct. That’s why she needs me. To stop her from falling off the edge of the cliff.”
“She’s getting very dangerously close to that cliff, Hawthorne. There’s only so much bullshit that anyone can put up with, and only so many girls left,” I snarl.
“I love her,” Hawthorne says simply. “That’s why I’m here.”
That startles me right out of my rage, makes it dissipate into nothingness.
“Oh… like, you love her or… you love her?” I ask, hoping that my awkward emphasis is enough to communicate what I really mean.
Hawthorne presses a hand over her mouth to smother a giggle. “She’s more than just my best friend. She’s my soulmate. She was my first kiss; we practiced together so that we didn’t come off inexperienced. She was there for my first boyfriend. She was there for my first heartbreak. She’s fought people for me. I’d do anything for her. Be anything for her.”
“I really doubt that she’d repay the favor,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Hawthorne squints, like she’s searching for something. And then her expression smooths into a smile. “Esme and I used to attend Lake Bryn Mawr together when we were kids. It’s an all-girls camp in Pennsylvania. When were eleven, we were sent to different cabins for the first time. Esme pitched a fit, but I… I didn’t say anything at all. I’ve always been quieter.”
“Does this have a point?” I ask, tired.
“God, you’re impatient. I’m getting there,” Hawthorne scolds. “The girls in my cabin didn’t like Esme… or me by association. She’s always been Esme. So they tormented me. Spilled paint in my bag, left frogs in my sheets, tripped me into the mud at the bottom of the cabin steps, every day. Once, they locked me in the equipment shed overnight. There was a storm. It was freezing. I was sick for a week. I didn’t say anything. But Esme knew. And one day… I came back to the cabin and Esme was there. With the three other girls. And for a moment I thought they got her, too. But those girls got to their knees. They crawled to me. And I tried to accept their apologies, but Esme said, ‘No, they’re not done yet. Let them beg.’ They begged all summer. I forgave them on the last day. They never bothered me again. We were never separated again.”
Hawthorne smiles, like Esme did something sweet for her. And maybe she did. But all I can picture are three girls—maybe cruel, definitely stupid—crawling because Esme demanded it of them.
“And so you allow her to do whatever she wants?” I whisper.
“Esme has never made me feel weird or… out of place. You think she sees me as a follower, but I’m her equal. We’re partners,” Hawthorne murmurs. She isn’t looking at me; instead, she’s staring into the vaulted depths of the ceiling, then looking at the dark mouth of the door, beyond which there could be eight prowling monsters.
“If you were really partners, when I got into Yale… why did you let her talk to me that way? Why did you let her do that to me?” I ask, and I can’t help the way my voice cracks. I finally turn to look her in the eye. “I thought we were friends.”
Hawthorne is gracious enough to look ashamed. “Adina…”
“There’s no defending what she did, Hawthorne. I know… I know I started the rumors. And that wasn’t right. But you all… made me feel so small. Belittled my achievements. Made it seem like I got what I had because of what I am instead of what I’ve done. And then… when Esme thought it was Toni, you were both so cruel. She called her needy and nosy, and an ‘uppity, social-climbing cunt,’？” I insist, flinching as I repeat the moniker that still rings in my ears. “And because I defended us, you all lied and said I started the fight. Do you understand what that means, Hawthorne? I lost my scholarships. I lost my acceptance to Yale. The basis for my entire future.”