BadApple: ok
SilverSwan: you’ll do that?
BadApple: yes. She didn’t do anything wrong.
SilverSwan: she carries our DNA
BadApple: so what’s the initiation?
SilverSwan: theres actually nothing that says a girl can’t join. I think it was assumed. WHPA was a boys school when it was founded. So no girls.
BadApple: knew it!
SilverSwan: entry requires fulfilling challenges, a gauntlet, n swearing in
BadApple: that sounds like a gang
SilverSwan: Maybe on the other side of town
I’m finally fully convinced he’s not Mr. D. It’s a relief that for once someone doesn’t know my whole life, where I live, that I’m poor trailer trash. This guy thinks I’m some good Samaritan who helped Lindsey, but he also thinks I’m a Dolce girl, some rich bitch who parties with Willow Heights kids because I’m one of them, not because I’m Royal’s plaything.
BadApple: n why can’t a girl do that?
SilverSwan: there r certain things u have 2 do that most girls wouldn’t do
BadApple: I’m not most girls
SilverSwan: its not fun. Just fyi
BadApple: wait that’s it? Ur not going 2 tell me what I have 2 do?
SilverSwan: can’t. swore an oath.
BadApple: u just told me about the initiation
SilverSwan: ur allowed 2 tell prospective recruits what it takes 2 become a member. The challenges used 2 b chosen by the alumni members, tho it was pretty much the same sorts of things 4 each recruit. Not allowed 2 tell u what they entail.
BadApple: who chooses now? D boys?
SilverSwan: Dolces exiled all the Swans n put their friends in place. We don’t attend the meetings or initiations anymore. I couldn’t tell u what they’d make u do even if I hadn’t taken an oath of secrecy.
BadApple: ok. thank u. this was really helpful. I appreciate it.
SilverSwan: it was a debt.
BadApple: debt paid.
Even though it’s Sunday, and Royal doesn’t do Sundays—at least not with me—I head that way later. I try not to think about what Dixie said, that he takes Lo to the Hockington on Sunday afternoons, spoiling her with a fancy hotel. Because I went and let myself care, my ridiculous heart keeps sending pictures to my brain that mostly feature bubble baths in heart-shaped tubs with champagne and chocolate covered strawberries that they’re feeding each other.
Meanwhile, I get fucked in the ass in a ditch on the side of the road.
This is why I don’t date. My heart has zero chill and even less coping skills.
But I’m a girl on a mission, defective heart or not. So I take Mom’s truck and head over that evening, though I’ve also been told I’m not welcome at their house. I park by the side of the road, scale the fence—making sure to smile and wave at the camera—and drop onto the gravel on the other side. Then I head for the Dolces’ white mansion.
The house beside theirs, which was mostly still standing last time I came, is now a charred pile of rubble. Guess someone decided to finish the job of burning it down once and for all.
I shake my head and jog up the Dolces’ drive to the front door. When I knock, a stranger opens the door, an older guy in a suit who I’ve never met. “Um, hi,” I say, suddenly wondering what the fuck I’m doing. “Is Royal in?”