Four

The rest of the week passes normally—or as close to normal as I can get after finding a dead body in the library. I shelve books and go to class and mop floors in the evening. When my phone rings, it's bot scams, not nails on wood and screaming cicadas. The feeling of a phantom person walking at my side has disappeared. I'm ashamed to admit to myself that I miss her.

I think constantly about Meredith, the electric way she looked at me at the reading, then the way her eyes looked through me in the library, empty of life. I think about her more than I should, I know that. She even shows up in my dreams—sometimes alive and talking to me, sometimes touching my face, kissing me. Other times, she is dead—an Ophelia floating in a lake, surrounded by flowers; a rotting corpse in a casket, worms crawling through her eye sockets. In the worst of the dreams, it is my face on her dead body, my face surrounded by her long red hair, my eyes green like hers, open and staring at the library ceiling.

By now, news of Meredith's death has spread all over campus, and people whisper about her in hallways and in the cafeteria, speculating on how she might have died. Even Foster in the library puts down his Derrida to ask me what I think happened to her. I almost mention the tears on her cheeks, but it feels vulgar somehow, like revealing what color underwear she had on.

I already feel strangely guilty about her death, as if my wanting what she had somehow contributed to it. I wanted her life so badly, and now she doesn't have it either.

On Friday afternoon, the school holds a memorial service for her in the chapel. There are lit candles everywhere, white roses surrounding a picture of her. She looks softer in the picture than I remember her—nicer, happier, a girl excited to start college, beaming at her imagined future. She's even wearing a Corbin College sweatshirt, the black swan of the logo stamped onto spotless white. She doesn't look like someone who belongs in moody and secretive Magni Viri.

The contrast is especially remarkable with every single member of Magni Viri in attendance, all of them grouped on one side of the chapel. They don't wear any special uniform, but you can tell they belong together all the same. They feel like a complete organism somehow, a thing set apart.

Meredith's class—the remaining five of them—sit in the front row, their eyes red-rimmed, circled with sleepless purple. Azar and Neil sit close to each other while the chaplain speaks, Neil's arm around Azar, her head on his shoulder. I get only glimpses of the others: a Black boy with a serious face; a pale, tousle-haired person who might be a girl or a boy or neither, and a girl with long hair whose face I can't see from where I'm sitting. I imagine Meredith in the row with them, burning like a candle flame in their midst. It seems impossible that a girl like that could be so easily extinguished by death.

When the chaplain finishes speaking, she cedes the stage to a short, slight white man with a gently lined face, who introduces himself as Dr. Theodore O'Connor, the director of Magni Viri. I recognize him from his photo on the school's website. Everyone sits up a little straighter as he approaches the microphone, riveted by this rare appearance. So little is known of Magni Viri that, in students' minds, the academic society is a fragile tissue of speculation and suspicion. Students are always hungry to know more.

"Meredith Brown was a rising star," Dr. O'Connor says without preamble, his voice quiet but radiating deep feeling and authority. It's a surprising voice for so small a person. "At only eighteen, already she was a novelist producing some of the finest writing of any living writer today. Had we not lost her, I have no doubt that she would have taken her rightful place in the ranks of our most admired authors. She would be another Pulitzer or Nobel Prize winner for Corbin College to boast of. More important, she would have been a voice for your generation, someone to elucidate the peculiar struggles and values of your cohort. We have not only lost a precious human being in Meredith's passing; we have also lost literature the likes of which the world will never see again. We mourn the loss of Meredith's life, but we also mourn the loss of her genius, the loss of her contribution to the world. Meredith was the epitome of what we in Magni Viri strive for: brilliance, excellence, and achievement."

Dr. O'Connor's eyes land on me. "So I ask all of you to do what Meredith cannot: give your gifts to the world. Do not squander your talent, your energy, your genius. Whatever you have inside you, make the most of it, offer it up. Become someone truly great."

I am frozen under his gaze, which is steely and demanding but also complacent, as if he has no doubt that we will all rise up to obey.

When he looks away from me, my breath comes flooding back into my chest, my skin tingling. That is what I want, more than anything. I want to be great, someone who matters in the world—the next Daphne du Maurier, Shirley Jackson, Sarah Waters. Someone who writes the way Meredith did, someone whose books are still read long after she's dead. It seems impossible though. I'm not sure I can ever be more than a small, lonely creature grasping at the edges of dreams too big for me.

The chaplain returns to the stage to ask if anyone would like to say a few words about Meredith, but no one moves. The only people who truly knew her are the members of Magni Viri, and it's clear they won't share something so intimate outside their own group. The chaplain closes the service with a prayer, and everyone files out in a stunned silence, moved by the loss of someone our own age, or perhaps by the forceful words of Dr. O'Connor.

When I break into the cool air outside, I feel like I've been released from a spell.

"Can you believe that shit?" someone behind me whispers. "Meredith Brown was not a fucking genius."

I glance back and catch sight of my roommate and her eternal sidekick, another Connecticut snob, named Korey.

"Absolutely not," Helena says. "She was in my Quantitative Reasoning class, and I swear the girl could barely do basic math. Like, I get it, math isn't everyone's strong suit, but she needed, like, remedial lessons."

"Well, she was in my Freshman Seminar, and her writing was okay, but it wasn't winning any Pulitzers," the other girl says with a laugh. "Magni Viri is so obsessed with itself."

Helena laughs too. "More like Mediocre Viri."

I shake my head and walk faster, to put some distance between us. Helena talks a big game, but I know Magni Viri is why she came to Corbin College, same as me. It wasn't that she needed the money; she wanted the prestige. Some girl boss Elon Musk type she's obsessed with is an alum, and Helena was sure she'd be chosen for Magni Viri just like her hero. Even after the semester had started and it was clear she'd never set foot in Denfeld Hall, she was constantly trying to make friends with the Magni Viri kids, who of course shunned her like only MV members can. I'm surprised she didn't launch herself at Dr. O'Connor after the service to beg for Meredith's open spot.

No matter how fast I try to walk, Helena and Korey outpace me with apparently zero effort. I hear every word of their horrible conversation, and as they pass me, Helena shoots a simpering smile my way and says to Korey, "College isn't for everyone, you know? I mean, no shame. It takes all kinds to keep the world turning."

I bite my lip, hating Helena even more than I thought possible. I'm still seething at her retreating back when someone taps me on the shoulder. I spin, startled.

It's an upperclassman from Magni Viri I recognize, a redheaded, freckle-faced boy with the beginnings of a beard. He looks like a mashup between a Victorian dandy and a banjo player in a folk band. There's a trans pride flag pinned to his suspenders.

"Tara?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows—also red—and smiling expectantly.

I nod, flustered.

"Sorry, I should introduce myself. I'm Quigg," he says, sticking out a freckled hand for me to shake. "Well, Seamus Quigg, but everyone calls me Quigg."

"Oh, Seamus like the poet?" I say stupidly, off-balance at being approached like this.

But Quigg smiles, blushing kind of sweetly. "Yes, exactly. My namesake. He's my favorite poet."

"I loved his translation of Beowulf," I say. "Sorry, did you want something?"

"Oh, yes! Um. Dr. O'Connor wanted to see you?" he says, the end of the sentence turning up like a question.

I squint at him. "The head of Magni Viri?"

"O Captain! our Captain himself." He smiles wryly. "Can you come—back to the chapel? Do you have time?"

I nod and follow him mutely, unable to imagine why the head of Magni Viri could want to talk to me. Is it because I was there when Meredith was found? Does he think I have more information? That must be it.

Quigg keeps up an easy patter of mostly one-sided conversation as we walk back to the chapel. He's nothing like I imagined a member of Magi Viri to be. He's not snobbish or secretive. He seems... normal. Nice.

"Do you like Magni Viri?" I ask.

Quigg blinks at me for a beat and then laughs. "Of course! Magni Viri is the best."

I feel a little pang of jealousy. "What's it... what's it like?" I ask, trying to keep the wistfulness from my voice.

He shrugs. "Oh, you know, like a big family. We have fun and fight and party and study and do pretty much everything together. You're never by yourself if you don't want to be."

"That sounds nice," I say, longing opening up in my chest, vast as an ocean.

"It is. I love it. I mean, there's a lot of pressure and competition too. All those type A overachievers all in one house, you know?" He laughs. "But it's good motivation."

"What are you studying?" I ask, suddenly wanting to change the subject. It hurts to hear about what I can't have.

Quigg's eyes light up. "Theater."

"Oh! I think I've seen you on the posters for Macbeth!"

"Yeah, that's right," he says proudly.

He's got the lead role of Macbeth himself, I realize. I would have figured Quigg for a comedy actor based on his easygoing personality and eccentric style. It's a big deal for a trans boy to land a role like Macbeth at a school like this. He must be an incredible actor. I think I can see it in the way he carries himself, the sense of pride in his voice and bearing.

I want to ask more about the play, but we're already at the door of the chapel. Everyone has cleared out after Meredith's memorial.

"He's waiting for you in there," Quigg says, nodding at the intricately carved door of the chapel. "It was really nice to meet you, Tara. I hope to see you again soon." He gives me a little wave and saunters off with his hands in his pockets.

I swallow and pull open the heavy oak door. My footsteps echo across the foyer and into the nave. At the sound of my steps, Dr. O'Connor stands from a pew in front, waiting for me with his hands clasped behind his back, a pleasant, neutral expression on his face. Meredith's picture still smiles at the room from behind him, so I feel like I'm walking toward the both of them.

A strong floral smell surrounds me, both familiar and strange. It must be coming from the white roses at the front of the room. My head swims, and my stomach aches.

"Tara," Dr. O'Connor says when I'm only a few yards away. "Thank you so much for taking time to speak with me." I expect him to offer a handshake like Quigg did, but he keeps his hands clasped behind his back.

"Hello," I say, trying and failing to smile at him. He's a small man, but even off the high stage, he's still imposing somehow, exuding a crackling, brilliant energy.

"Please, have a seat," Dr. O'Connor says, gesturing at the first pew. He sits down a few feet away on the same bench, so we're both facing toward the front, where Meredith watches us with bright, happy eyes. It's deeply unnerving. Did he choose this location on purpose? Did he hope to rattle me? If so, he's succeeding.

As if he's read my thoughts, he says, "I apologize for the strange meeting place. I have another engagement on this side of campus in a few minutes. It was merely convenient to meet here, though perhaps in poor taste."

He glances at Meredith, and a sad look passes over his placid expression. "You must be wondering why I wanted to speak with you," he says.

I clear my throat. "I assume you want to know more about the night I found Meredith in the library," I say.

"Well... no, actually. That was a strange coincidence—a very strange coincidence," he amends. "Your finding her and what I'm about to tell you aren't connected at all."

I stare at him, too puzzled to venture a guess.

"Tara, I'd like to offer you a place in Magni Viri," he says abruptly.

"Excuse me?" I'm so shocked I nearly laugh. I squelch the urge, but my lips turn up into an incredulous smile despite my efforts.

He chuckles. "You were originally in the running for a spot. It was practically a coin toss between you and Meredith."

"Are you serious?" I ask, my throat nearly closing up. I think about how he described Meredith as a potential Pulitzer Prize winner, the voice of a generation. I think about the effortless way she performed her story at the reading. How could there be a coin toss between a girl like that and me?

He nods. "Oh yes. It was a very narrow thing."

What if the coin had landed on heads instead of tails? My first semester of college would have been so different. No Helena, no janitorial shifts, no lonely meals in the cafeteria. I would have had friends, stability, a place to belong. Just like Meredith had before—

But it wasn't a coin toss. It was a choice that Magni Viri made.

"Why Meredith, then?" I ask through the tightness in my throat, flushing with shame as the question escapes me. She's dead and yet I'm still jealous of her.

He cocks his head at me, apparently surprised that this is what I'm curious about. He smiles. "Let's not get caught up in comparisons. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you have a place in Magni Viri if you want it. You can move into Denfeld Hall on Monday if you like."

I open my mouth and close it again. I don't know what to say. This is the last thing in the world I expected to happen to me today. Somehow I don't trust it.

A dim and distant part of my brain is screaming at me that this is everything I have wanted since I first learned of the existence of Corbin College, that I need to stop dawdling and give the man an answer. But Meredith is staring at me from her photograph, and I can't help but think of the last time I saw her, dead on the library floor.

"What happened to Meredith?" is what finally comes out of my mouth.

"She had a brain aneurysm," he says quietly. "It ruptured."

I nod. That makes sense, I think. It explains her appearance. But it doesn't explain the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Was she happy in Magni Viri?" I ask.

"No," Dr. O'Connor says. "No, I don't believe she was."

I meet his eyes, surprised by his candor.

"I do not believe Meredith Brown would have been happy anywhere, in any circumstances," he adds. "You see that sometimes in people of genius."

"I'm not a genius," I say quietly. "I'm the first person in my family to go to college. I—I'm struggling here."

"I know," Dr. O'Connor says, his voice kind. "That's why you belong in Magni Viri. We need you, and you need us. We can help you achieve your potential. You won't have to work on the janitorial staff anymore. You won't have to worry about where the money's going to come from. You will have the support you need, the structure, the community." He pauses. "You have no idea what you are capable of becoming, Tara, but we have a pretty good idea. That's why we're offering you a spot. We see greatness in you. We want to help you achieve it."

"It sounds too good to be true," I say, still too shocked to feel anything approaching happiness or gratitude.

"Well, you will have to work very hard. You will have to meet and exceed grueling standards. Magni Viri is no walk in the park," Dr. O'Connor says.

"But you think I can handle it?" I ask.

"Of course."

"Why?" I don't know why I'm fighting this, why I'm not grabbing this opportunity with both hands and screaming my acceptance. But a part of me isn't convinced. A part of me needs to know. "My grades in high school were very good, but it's not like I went to a prestigious school. My test scores were high in verbal but average in math. I haven't won awards or published stories in important magazines. I'm like a hundred other students at Corbin."

He chuckles again. "I thought you might need some convincing. A surprising number of our students are unable to see their own potential." He turns toward me on the bench and meets my eyes again. "Tara, the things you see as weaknesses are the very reasons we want you. I read your application essays. I know what you've been through. I know how hard you've had to fight. And I know how badly you want to achieve your dreams—how badly you need to achieve them."

My cheeks heat up, remembering what I wrote about my mother in the personal essay. I've often wondered if I was too open and that's why I didn't get into Magni Viri, that maybe they thought I was too trashy for the program. I talked about my mom's temperamental boyfriends, the evictions, the constant, unrelenting weight of responsibility I felt for her. After I'd pressed Submit on my application, I felt immediate shame and wished I hadn't been so transparent. And Dr. O'Connor read all that.

I can't help it, I put my burning face into my hands.

He pauses, and I feel his eyes on me. "What's your deepest, most audacious dream, Tara, the one you are embarrassed to say aloud? You don't have to tell me, but at least think it to yourself."

I sigh, but the dream appears instantaneously, a thing so potent I can almost taste it. I look up at him again. "I want to be a novelist," I say quietly, "a successful one, the kind that can make a good living from writing. But that's not practical for—"

He holds up a hand, shakes his head. "So many of the people who achieve success in this world only do so because of who their parents are, because they are privileged, because the world expects them to be successful. Then there are ones like you. You claw your way up to places where others have been lifted.

"Now we want to make that climb easier for you. We want to see how high you can go when there isn't a hundred-pound pack on your back weighing you down. Let us do it." His eyes are earnest, intense. "There is this spark in you, a spark that the world would callously stamp out without realizing what it had lost. But we want to fan that spark into flames, into a wildfire. We want to watch you burn."

For the first time during our conversation, I fully understand that I'm being offered the spot in Magni Viri that I started dreaming of the moment I learned about the program. The spot I was denied. Whether Dr. O'Connor is deluded about my abilities or not, I would be beyond foolish to pass up a place in Magni Viri. It would solve every single problem I have.

And beyond the practicalities, I want it, and badly. I want to walk the corridors of Denfeld Hall, to go arm in arm with this school's brightest, most ambitious students. I want to be chosen, to be special, to be part of something great.

"I understand if you need time to think about it," Dr. O'Connor says.

"Yes," I say, my gaze drawn to Meredith's picture in its frame of white roses. It's hard not to feel like he's offering me something that still belongs to her. Her green eyes seem to bore into mine, accusing. But it's not enough to dissuade me, not with a prize like Magni Viri on the table. With a shudder, I turn away from her and focus on Dr. O'Connor once more. "I mean, no, I don't need time to think. I accept." I make myself smile at him. "Of course I do."

"Wonderful! I'm so glad you're going to join us," he says, his eyes twinkling with genuine pleasure. "I had hoped you would agree, so I came ready with your paperwork. You can give that to the RD when you move into Denfeld on Monday." He passes me a manila folder, which I accept and open with numb fingers. On top is an acceptance letter on Magni Viri letterhead, welcoming me to the program and detailing the financial arrangements.

"Oh," I breathe, shocked by the numbers on the page. Magni Viri will cover everything my grants and scholarships don't, and there's even a small stipend for books and personal expenses. No more need for loans. No more worries about debt.

Dr. O'Connor stands and steps into the aisle, making room for me to exit too. When we leave the solemn atmosphere of the chapel and break into the evening air, he reaches out to shake my hand. "I promise, Tara, Magni Viri is going to change your life."

To my shock, after a lifetime of wariness and pessimism, I find I actually believe him. A thrill runs through me, a hot bright ribbon of pure elation. Even Meredith's staring green eyes can't subdue it.

I'm going to be a member of Magni Viri. I'm going to get a true shot at my dreams.

"Thank you," I answer. "I think so too."

But I don't feel like my life is changing. I feel like it's finally beginning. Like all this time I've been waiting for Magni Viri to come calling.