Nine Liars (Truly Devious, #5)(8)

She wanted to say something to Peter about her growing fear of the future, of being without the rest of them, of all the changes, of not being flanked by the Nine at all times. She wanted to grab him and press her face into his chest. She wanted to hold on to all her friends and never, ever let them go. And from the look on his face, he felt exactly as she did.

There was a flash of light followed by a tremendous crack in the distance. The sky opened and the rain came all at once. Instead of taking this moment for its romantic value and inviting Peter to meet her right now, on the floor, what she said was:

“Do you think we’ll still play?”

And that was that. All the tension dispersed. His whole demeanor changed. She had ruined the moment.

“I’m sure we will,” he said, handing the lighter back to her. “See you downstairs.”

He left Angela alone with her dreary thoughts, plus a bonus of embarrassment and disappointment. She needed to get herself together. This misery wouldn’t do. This week was going to be incredible, the most fun they’d ever had, and they’d had a lot of fun. She would make a point of revisiting the moment with Peter. Maybe that would be her project for the week.

She distracted herself by going to the mirror to examine the bald girl who looked back at her. She still wasn’t used to it, even after two weeks. Angela hadn’t meant to cut off all her hair. She had simply woken up one morning with vague memories of a game of truth or dare and all her hair was in the kitchen sink. She laughed in front of the others and cried in her room, not because she hated it but because she didn’t recognize herself. It wasn’t so bad. Maybe she loved it. It was tough, decisive. There was a little hair sprouting now, a soft fuzz. She liked the way it felt.

Another knock. This time, the door opened before she could call out. Rosie popped in.

“Ange,” she said in a low voice, shutting the door behind her. “I need to talk to you for a moment.”

“What’s Jules done?”

“Not everything is about Julian,” Rosie replied, shutting the door. “Jesus.”

“Tell that to him. He’ll faint from shock.”

Usually, Rosie would flop back on the bed to have a chat; tonight, she sat on the edge, her expression grave.

“What’s wrong?” Angela asked. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know. I mean . . . I’m fine. It’s just . . . I saw something. Something I didn’t understand. But I think I might understand it now. It was in the paper. And now that I’ve seen the photos . . .”

“What are you on about?” Angela said, sitting next to her.

“You won’t believe me,” Rosie said. “I don’t believe me . . .”

Before Rosie could say anything else, there was another knock and Sooz joined them. She had a bottle of champagne and three water tumblers tucked under her arm. Rosie shook her head at Angela, indicating that she should say nothing about the conversation they’d been having.

“I’m furious at you,” Sooz said to her friends.

“What?” Angela said. “Why?”

“You don’t have a drink. Sebastian’s family left us six crates of what he’s calling third-rate champers, which means it’s better than anything we’ve had in a while. You look sad, and I won’t have it. Julian’s caused enough trouble.”

Rosie put her hands over her face and stifled a scream.

Sooz popped open the champagne, causing it to foam up and spill onto the bedspread. She filled the tumblers and passed them out. The warm champagne went right to Angela’s brain, creating a pleasant warm fizz behind her eyes.

“No long faces,” Sooz said. “This week is for us and we’re going to have a good time. Now drink up like good girls and come with me. Anyway, it’s time to play the game.”

Whatever Rosie had been about to say, she had decided to hold for the time being. Much as they all loved Sooz, everyone knew she wasn’t great at secrets. She didn’t seem to believe in them as a concept. Everything was to be shared—her possessions, her thoughts, her body. It’s what made her such a good performer and generous friend, and what made her a bit of a nightmare if you were trying to keep something to yourself.

“You’re right,” Rosie said. “Let’s go and play the game.”

“There’s a good girl. Come on. Let’s go.”

As they followed Sooz out of the bedroom into the dark hall, Rosie gave Angela a tug on the arm to hold her back for a moment.

“I’ll talk to you after,” Rosie said to Angela quietly. “Come up and meet me here after the game.”

“But what’s it about? What’s going on?”

Rosie shook her head.

“Not now,” she replied. “It’s too important.”

Over the years, these words would replay in Angela’s head. If only she had pulled Rosie back into that bedroom, waited a few more minutes to go downstairs, sat her back down on the wet bedspread and made her explain. If only she’d listened to her gut for once, maybe things wouldn’t have happened the way they did. Her life—all their lives—would have been different.

But Angela did not do that. She followed Sooz and Rosie down the steps of Merryweather, past the family portraits and the landscapes, to where the others were waiting.