“I know that you all skipped the meeting together-you, Phoebe, and Thad,” Claire said. “Everyone knows. It’s completely obvious. You’d better be careful.”
“What are you going to do, Claire?” Lauren said. “Tell on me to your mom? Ruin my chances to get into the Junior League? Maybe it’s a big surprise to you, but I really don’t care about any of it. For some of us, our world is bigger than all that.”
Claire looked shocked, then confused, before gaining her composure again. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said as she patted down her straight hair.
Lauren leaned against one of the sinks and looked at the large oak door to make sure no one had entered. “Claire, hasn’t it ever occurred to you that this group is about a lot more than philanthropy and social opportunities? Haven’t you considered that it’s a truly evil group that we’ve all been indoctrinated into, and that we won’t truly be free until we leave it?” Lauren took a breath. She knew she was getting into risky territory here.
“I think you’re crazy,” Claire said. “There’s nothing evil about the group. My parents have been members since they were teenagers themselves. They’ve never said anything bad about it. What happened last semester were tragedies, but we can’t let that bring the group down. Chin up, Lauren. It’ll get better.”
Claire clasped her purse closed and started to move toward the door before turning around.
“Look, Lauren, I like you.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Lauren said as she tried to control her sneer.
Claire ignored her tone. “I think you should know that you guys are all on secret probation. There was a word my mother used: Infidels. They’re calling the five of you ‘the Infidels.’ Anyway, I hope to see you at the next meeting.”
“I’d rather eat broken glass,” Lauren said. She had never gotten this angry at someone like Claire before, but somehow it was all bubbling to the surface now.
Claire smiled, as if she hadn’t even heard what Lauren had said. “There’s really no reason, Lauren, that you have to ruin everything for yourself.”
Chapter Eleven
The following morning, Phoebe woke up to a strange sound coming from above her. A rustling, then a squeaking.
She crawled out of bed and cautiously tiptoed in her bare feet up to the third floor of the town house. It was a floor she and her mother didn’t use much, except when Phoebe had been working on her art. Tatiana Lutyens-Hay, the sculptor friend they were house-sitting for, had a studio, and Phoebe had been storing some of her paintings and art supplies on the third floor.
When she reached the studio, Phoebe gasped, covering her mouth and stifling a scream.
The floor was covered in rats: huge, gray rats scurrying around the worktables and behind the file cabinets, crapping on the carpet and gnawing away at several of the canvases. Two of them ran between her legs, over her feet, and down the stairs.
“Mom!” Phoebe yelled, before remembering that her mother was staying with her boyfriend, Daniel, in Park Slope. Phoebe hadn’t minded her mother being away, until now.
She shut the door of the studio and ran downstairs to grab her phone. Who should she call first? Her mother? Nick?
Nick would be a better choice. Her mom probably wouldn’t believe her anyway.
She got him on the first try, grateful that he had set up a special ring for her on his phone.
“You what?” he said, still groggy. “Rats? Like real rats?”
Upstairs, the squeaking and scratching seemed to be getting louder.
“Yes!” she shouted. “Can you come over and help me? This is really freaking me out. I’ll call an exterminator.”
She grabbed her laptop, and after four tries, was able to get someone on the phone who could be there in half an hour. She put on shoes and waited in the kitchen.
Nick arrived twenty minutes later. He insisted on seeing the situation, though Phoebe didn’t want to go up there. Reluctantly, she followed him and peered through the cracked door. She could see why the rats were swarming. What looked like dog kibble had been dumped onto the floor, and the rats were gobbling it up. Someone must have snuck into the house the day before to dump the food and then released the rats early that morning. How could they have gotten in? Security at the town house wasn’t the best; there was a fire escape in the back, and Phoebe and Maia regularly left the windows unlocked. This had to be a major operation, though-there must have been at least fifty rats scurrying around the room.
Amidst the chaos, she could only imagine that the Society had done this to her. She felt like she was about to throw up as she thought of the implications of her suspicion.
“Did you get bitten?” Nick asked.
Phoebe grimaced. “I think I might have. I’m not really sure. Two of them ran over my feet.” She looked down. Inside the sneakers she had thrown on, her feet itched, though maybe it was only her anxiety causing this.
“We should get you to a doctor for some shots. After we get these little beasts out of here.”
The rats upstairs were too big to go under the door frame, but their squeaking seemed to carry through the entire house, a revolting, haunting echo.
“I don’t ever want to be barefoot again in this house,” Phoebe said. “This is so disgusting!”
The doorbell rang, and it was the exterminating team. They would be spreading traps and bait stations all over the town house, which would kill the rats, and then they would remove the bodies. The thought of it was vile.
It would also cost fifteen hundred dollars.
Nick handed over his credit card to one of the exterminators.
“You don’t have to do that,” Phoebe said. “My mom can cover it.”
“I feel like it’s my fault that it happened,” Nick said. “I shouldn’t have let you guys boycott the meeting.”
“You’re sure it was them?”
“Who else would it be?” Nick asked. “I’ve seen rats in New York City, but you usually get one or two in the basement, not a swarm on your third floor.”
“We all went along with it, Nick. It’s my fault as much as anyone’s.”
The guys started working on the problem, advising Nick and Phoebe that they might want to leave the house for a few hours. “I’ve got to warn you, you might want to call a cleaning service afterward,” one of the guys said. “We can get all the vermin out, but there’s still-well, there’s still everything they leave behind.”
“Like what?” Phoebe asked.
The guy made a face. “Rat droppings. They’re messy creatures.”
Phoebe sat down at the kitchen table and put her head into her arms, unable to process this last bit of information. “It’s like the worst part isn’t the actual rats-it’s that it gets inside your head.”
She started hyperventilating, as Nick tried to comfort her. “Let me get some clothes for you, and you can shower and change at my place. You can always stay there for a few days if you need to.”
“No, I don’t want to do that. We need to get this place cleaned up,” Phoebe said. “I feel like the longer we wait, the more nasty it’s going to get.”
“Should we just skip school?” Nick said. “I mean, you’re a mess.”
“I think we deserve it,” Phoebe said. “I know that I’m still completely exhausted.” It may have only been the third day of classes, but Phoebe felt a tiredness that ran so deep, she didn’t know if it would ever leave her.
Nick found a cleaning service that specialized in unusual situations, and within a few hours after the exterminators left, the studio was almost back to normal, though Phoebe’s paintings were still chewed up. Nick took her to her doctor, who gave her a series of shots, as she had a small bite on her foot.
By four P.M., they were sitting at a neighborhood cafe, having a late lunch that was little comfort. Phoebe picked at her croque monsieur, but found she wasn’t hungry.
“This whole thing is so messed up,” she said. “You really think this is their way of telling us that we can’t miss a meeting? Wouldn’t it have been easier to send a note?”