The Mary Shelley Club by Goldy Moldavsky (ebook reader for manga TXT) 📕

of water, something dragged my attention away. Bram’s clique was there, with Lux notably absent. Trevor, Lucia, and a dickwad named Tanner were holding court by the Steinway in the living room. They were so much younger than the adult guests, but they already resembled them, playing dress-up in their suits and couture gowns—a dress rehearsal for the next generation of masters of the universe.

Freddie tried to pass by them quickly, but Tanner stepped in front of him, picked lint off Freddie’s shirt, and proceeded to laugh about something. This exact moment was what Freddie had been dreading. It wasn’t the uniform or that he’d never done this before; it was that no matter how well he could blend in at Manchester, in the real world, they were the ones in suits and he was the one in a uniform. Freddie’s biggest fear was being realized tonight. And he was doing this just to help me.

I made a beeline for the group. “Hey, someone was asking for more canapés in the … I want to say music room?” Freddie didn’t look like he knew what a music room was, but he gave me a grateful look before disappearing. By now Bram’s circle was, mercifully, too engrossed in conversation with an older guest to even notice me.

“There’s rumors, but nobody knows who he is,” Lucia was saying.

“Do you think it’s someone from your school?” the older man asked. Instead of a suit or dress shirt, he wore a beaten leather vest over a threadbare shirt that looked like it was out of a value bin but probably cost more than my wardrobe. If I’d had to guess, I’d have said he was one of the writers from Mr. Wilding’s publishing house. “It would make for a great book.” Definitely a writer.

“No way,” Trevor said. “No one at Manchester is capable of that.”

“They’re calling him the Masked Madman at school,” Lucia said.

I’d been about to keep circling but that glued me in place. I grabbed the glass out of Trevor’s hand even though he hadn’t asked for a refill and poured as slowly as humanly possible, my ears perked.

“I quite like the alliteration,” the writer said. “The Masked Madman of Manhattan’s Manchester Academy.”

“Prep,” Lucia corrected.

“It’d need to be changed for publication.”

Lucia’s eyes sparkled as she inched closer to the writer. “Can I be in it?”

The writer gave her a roguish grin and I almost threw up in my mouth.

“So this Masked Madman has been terrorizing students?” the writer asked.

“Some people think it’s a prankster,” Tanner said.

“It’s more than just a prankster,” Lucia said.

“Some people who were at that loser Pinsky’s cabin claimed they saw a bunch of people in masks,” Trevor said. “But I heard there were drugs there that night, so who even knows.”

“So did that girl kill herself,” the writer asked, “or do you think the Masked Madman pushed her?”

“Killed herself,” Trevor said. “Saundra was probably on drugs, too.”

“Saundra was not on drugs.”

The whole group got quiet and turned to look at me. I’d pierced their bubble, disrupted their willful ignorance of those meant to be neither seen nor heard. I was the ottoman who’d just spoken English.

A blush rapidly rose up my cheeks, but I couldn’t let them talk about Saundra that way. She had worshipped these people, and this was how they remembered her? They were discussing murder theories like they were golf stats. Saundra didn’t die so a bunch of rich jerks could use her name as cocktail party fodder.

Tanner picked up the conversation a little too loudly, eager to pretend I didn’t exist.

“My money’s on Gunnar Lundgarten being the Masked Madman,” Tanner said. “That dweeb has anger issues.”

“What about Thayer Turner?” Lucia said. “He’s always pulling pranks in class. Look at him now. What is he even doing?”

We all swiveled to see Thayer across the room, laughing at something so hard that he was resting his forehead on a woman’s shoulder. When she moved away uncomfortably, he nearly toppled over. I left Bram’s group and hurriedly cut across the room. I sidled up to Thayer, catching the tail end of his conversation.

“Such a tragedy, what happened,” one of the men said. “A life cut so short.”

Talk of what had happened to Saundra was catching like fire. Now that everyone was well and boozed up, the boring subjects of business and board associations had been replaced by the much more exciting world of teenage death.

“It was officially ruled an accident,” Thayer said.

“I heard there were kids running around that night wearing masks,” another man said. “There are rumors—”

“Officially ruled an accident by the police!” Thayer said, and laughed. “So they can’t pin anything on us. The club’s untouchable!”

I nearly dropped my tray, but it wobbled enough to send its lone remaining tumbler to the floor. The splintering crash silenced everyone around us.

“Oooh, butterfingers,” Thayer said. A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “Butter fingers. But her fingers. Butt fingers.”

He was long gone. The broken glass would have to wait. I clamped the tray under one arm and grabbed Thayer’s elbow with the other. I ignored Dan’s murderous stare and didn’t stop walking until I’d taken Thayer all the way up the stairs to the study. I pushed him onto the couch.

“Frisky,” Thayer said.

“What the hell was that out there?”

“What? I was making conversation.”

The door swung open, revealing Freddie balancing a tray in one hand. He quickly closed the door behind him. “What’s going on? I saw you guys heading up here.”

“Thayer’s drunk and talking about the club.”

“It’s called a recruitment strategy. You’re welcome.”

Freddie shoved his tray at Thayer. It was half-empty but still had plenty of little canapés. “Eat those and sober up.” He was already across the room, unscrewing one of the water bottles on the bar cart. He came back and handed that to Thayer, too.

The door swung open again and Dan poked his head inside. “What are you guys doing in here? People are parched! And I had to clean up a broken glass.”

“I’ll be