Page 50 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
“If only that were true,” I say.
The class erupts then and I can feel their excitement in my toes. By the time class ends, the lecture hall feels like a beating heart, alive and engaged. I don’t know if teaching is it for me or if it’s just the first stop on the road of post–law school life, but I forgot how good it feels to have a group of people hanging on your every word.
Sure enough, Dr. Wallace is shooing me out of class, but I don’t even care because my students are crowding around me, continuing the conversation, and I think I even catch a slight furrow in the great professor’s brows that hint at jealousy. I smile at him prettily.
My students scatter as I make my way down the hall and I feel downright smug. I preen at the thought of telling Bram what a good girl I was today. Maybe I’ll be rewarded—
“You’re a hard woman to find.”
I stop on the fourth step up to the department offices and turn around.
The woman in the suit leans against the banister at the bottom of the stairs.
My first response is fear. Who could possibly need to find me? I haven’t violated any of Gentry’s NDAs. I’m pretty sure the banks don’t send out reminders in human form when your loans are about to come due. And Stale Doughnut Boy has retreated into sullen apathy (without any more gotcha livestreams).
After I realize I have no one to hide from, I stand a little taller with my shoulders pinned back.
“I’m not lost,” I tell her as I double back down the stairs but remain standing on the bottom step so I can maintain an equal height with her.
She smiles then, and the way her lips widen is unsettling in a way that I am deeply intrigued by. “Maddie, I would like to speak with you. Perhaps we could grab a coffee if you’re free?”
“Are you from a cult or something? I’m not interested unless you do the sort of polygamy where the women get to have multiple marriages.” I start to walk back up the stairs when her next question stops me in my tracks.
“Have you ever thought about running for office?”
And then I laugh, because I have to. I have to laugh at the idea of something that would hurt too much to actually want.
She doesn’t share my sense of humor, though. “Political office is funny to you?”
I pull my fingers together in front of my face and take a deep breath as an attempt to reset my demeanor.
“Ma’am—I’m sorry. I don’t know your name—”
“Veronica Balentine. Now you know my name.”
“Okay, well, I don’t know you, Veronica, or why you think this is a good idea, but I’ve spent the last four years of my life in focus-group purgatory and I don’t plan on making a second trip.”
She digs her fists into her pockets and scuffs her heel against the carpet but says nothing, and I am way too satisfied with myself for having silenced Ms. Veronica Balentine.
“That life wasn’t for you,” she says once I’ve reached the landing halfway up the staircase. “You were just some boy’s chess piece. Trying to fit into a mold that would eventually suffocate you.” She drums her fingers against the banister, plotting her next move. “I’m going to go sit in that student union coffee shop for the next two hours. If I don’t see or hear from you, I’ll assume I have your answer.”
ISAT INthe adjunct office for one hour and forty-seven minutes. Most of that time was spent staring at the blinking cursor in the Google search bar. With thirty minutes left on the clock, I’d typedVeronica Balentineand hit Enter.
There was approximately one photo in the image search of a much younger Veronica who seemed to give as few fucks as present-day Veronica. The search results were lacking, and if I had to guess that was on purpose. Veronica’s name was only rarely mentioned in a handful of articles, where she was named as an adviser or consultant and once as a reliable source.
Penelope Pike and her firm were not under-the-radar people. They had a website, to start. But she and her firm also gave the occasional interview and were routinely reported on. But Veronica Balentine—whoever she might be—seemed to work in the shadows. And like her wolfish grin, that was enough to force me to stand up and walk my ass over to the student union.
As I sit down across from Veronica in the far corner of the Viper’s Den,*she checks her phone. “I really expected to leave after two hours only to run into you on my way out of the building, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Madelyn Claire Kowalczk?”
“I’m only here because your existence is basically scrubbed from the internet and I’m curious how anyone accomplishes that in the age of live-streaming your cat’s birthday party and digging a tunnel under your house.” I’m also curious to know how someone like Veronica even got my name to begin with, but I’m not showing all my cards at once.
“I like you,” she tells me, and then leans forward, her elbow on the table and her chin cradled in her hand. “Speaking of live-streaming, that was quite the impression you made. What was it you referred to the student as? Astale doughnut?” She glances up and down the dark green silk blouse that I’d been told not to wear to a fundraising event because it read as a somber color. “You look much more put together today sans coffee stains. Though we will have to do something about those roots.”
Instinctively, I touch a hand to the crown of my head. I know I should at least try to cover the dark roots at home, but I’ve noticed that the new growth feels smoother. Healthier.
“I guess the perk of getting off social media earlier this year is that I don’t have to witness myself go viral.” I’ve never been one of those people who only saw the evils of social media, but after the breakup with Gentry, it was impossible to scroll through my feed without seeing someone we mutually knew or even tagged posts with Gentry himself. It should come as no surprise that I didn’t retain custody of any of our friends. Calling them friends in the first place is probably a misnomer. Everyone in Gentry’s circle existed to serve a purpose, and without Gentry, I had nothing to offer.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say you went viral. At least not outside the Astra University social media ecosystem. For what it’s worth, I scoured that kid’s online presence, and he really is a stale doughnut.”
