After a long, awkward pause, she steps aside. Her room is, as usual, neat. Like, startlingly neat. The way the bedsheets are folded and tucked in you’d think there’s a trained hospital nurse making it. She’s got no notes lying around, no textbooks strewn on the floor or jeans hanging over her computer chair. I guess it makes sense for an RA. Someone who’s got this much of a handle on their own room can surely be trusted to keep an eye on others’ rooms, right?

“I’m sorry, Danni,” she says.

Is it okay? Honestly, I don’t even know yet. This all happened because of her. I was outed because of her. She’s cost me my place at the school. She might have cost me Rose. All because, what? She didn’t think it was necessary to check in with me first before making out with me?

I just keep wondering, over and over and over. Did she kiss me without checking because she was that sure I’d want to? Or because she was sure I’d say no if she asked?

“Do you know who took that video?” I ask. “My memory’s really blurry.”

She leans against her desk and gestures toward her desk chair for me to sit. I stay standing. “A couple of Ashford guys,” she says. “They were trying to film themselves, I think. Or the party.”

“Do you have names for me?” I ask.

She raises an eyebrow. “Gilbert Carlton and Charlie Upwey. They’re friends with that Edmund guy you went skating with that time. You gonna get them for it?”

I’m not sure what I’m gonna do.

Harriet must like what she sees in my expression, though, because she smiles like a villain. “Good.”

For the first time something occurs to me. Harriet wasn’t out before this, either. I’ve been so preoccupied with resenting her and dealing with the online backlash, all of which seems to focus on me alone, that I missed that. I feel a surge of guilt. We’re not even letting her sit with us at meals. She and Florence have had to go off on their own. At least I have more than one person on my side at the moment.

“It’s been a shitty week,” I say.

She pushes off from her desk, takes a few unbalanced steps toward her bed, and falls backward on the mattress, crumpling up the perfect sheets. “Yeah. I’m sorry about … all of that.” When I don’t reply, she continues in a weird voice. “The headmaster told me what they’re doing to you. I hate him. I hate everyone right now. I’m waiting for it, you know? For the first person to come out and admit that they’re judging me.”