Only If You're Lucky

“She was the only one who never covered up before stepping back out. While the rest of us swathed ourselves in towel wraps or monogrammed bathrobes, self-consciously gripping the gap before ripping back the curtain and flip-flopping past the stalls in our shower shoes, she would just step out naked, brazen and beautiful, like she owned the place. And in a lot of ways, she did.”

Lucy’s bold behavior, which Margot admires, reflects the charisma and energy Lucy brought to Rutledge. The idea of asserting ownership is a quality that Margot envies, and this passage shows how Margot wishes she had the self-confidence to act the way Lucy does.

“Eliza, my best friend since kindergarten who asked me to sleep over the first day we met. Eliza, who dipped her finger in sunscreen and drew broken hearts on our hips so when we lay out in the sun and our skin turned tan, we could push our stomachs together and make them whole. Eliza, who pierced my ears in her closet and taught me how to dive; who blasted oldies in her parents’ convertible with the top dropped down the day she got her license, pushing eighty on abandoned back roads and letting her hair tangle in the wind.”

Margot’s fond memories of Eliza match her descriptions of Lucy. She sees both Eliza and Lucy as charismatic women whom she wants to emulate. The sudden beginning of both friendships is another similarity.

“Someone else who can slip into her skin; who can give me everything she once did—or, rather, someone who can show me who I am without her. Because the truth is, I’ve only ever been Eliza’s best friend, ever since that first day in kindergarten when we clicked so easily. And even though we were opposites—me, brainy and bookish, and her, wild and alive—I was the yin to her yang, the quiet sidekick who talked reason into her ear when she got the sudden urge to do something stupid.”

This passage sets up the dynamic in which Margot is the lesser half in her friendship with Eliza. Eliza is outgoing and popular, while Margot takes a more passive role, only stepping forward to stop Eliza from making mistakes or endangering herself. However, this role leaves Margot out of the spotlight and creates a desire to become more outgoing.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted, really: for someone to scoop me up and tell me what I’m supposed to be. My entire life, I’ve contorted so easily in the hands of others—my parents, Eliza—shape-shifting at any given second to be the thing that everyone else wants. So maybe that’s who I am: a chameleon that can take on the appearance of its surroundings. A master of camouflage to stay invisible and safe.”

Margot’s desire is essentially to eschew her personal responsibility and have another person mold her into the charismatic character she wants to be. Her parents are too bland, Eliza is dead, and Lucy is the newest option for Margot to emulate. Her comparison of herself to a chameleon removes the idea of an inherent identity for Margot, leaving only the capacity for imitation.

“Because they brought this upon themselves, too, the way they looked at us like part of their property. The way they treated us like things they owned; mere decorations that came with the house itself. The way they used us, dangled us like carrots. Hung us up like a neon sign flashing in the night: GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS. They deserve it all.”

Margot’s perspective on the Kappa Nu suspension foreshadows the sexual violence later in the novel. Reflecting on patterns of objectification and misogyny, Margot notes how the men of Kappa Nu used and disrespected her and her friends, making their suspension a meaningful punishment.

“I’m still a little quiet around the boys, sometimes on edge, but Lucy has been opening me up slowly like a finicky houseplant still learning to be loved. She’s been hatching me out of my shell—gently, gradually—but in a way I know would have made Eliza proud…and I’ve been starting to understand why Eliza wanted this, too, the thrill of it unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It wasn’t the parties or the games or the drinks she craved, I know that now, but the little things that appear in the moments in between: the way it feels to have someone recognize your face, know your name.”

Margot defers her own desire to be popular onto Eliza, realizing that Eliza wanted Margot to join her in the spotlight. However, Margot now relishes the feeling that Lucy provides, and this passage indicates that Margot’s true enjoyment derives from commanding Lucy’s attention, rather than the specific results of popularity.

“‘The only thing that makes bad things bad are the consequences, right? Think about it. The fact that we’re all here right now means we’re all a little morally loose.’ She grins as she says it and everyone is quiet, looking around, suddenly feeling so exposed. I can’t help but flush as I take in the empty bottles we pulled from the bar; the liquor we drank that isn’t ours. The way we’re all sitting here in this place we don’t belong, acting like we do. She’s right, I realize. If there’s one thing Lucy’s taught me since the moment we met, it’s that once you bend one rule without consequence, it feels a lot easier to break the others.”

Lucy’s perspective on morality is skewed toward amorality, rather than immorality, as she thinks that any action is acceptable without consequences. Margot realizes that Lucy is gradually opening up the friend group to greater stretches of morality by coercing them into situations in which their very presence is immoral, such as breaking into Penny Lanes.

“‘You’ve never heard of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?’ I ask, with an incredulous stare. Everybody knows Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Even though this is the first time I’ve ever actually read the story, the characters themselves are so deeply saturated into society, it’s hard to imagine having never even heard of it: the eternal battle of good versus evil, the ability for one body to possess two entirely different natures.”

The introduction of Robert Louis Stevenson’s work into the novel bears specific relevance to Margot’s suspicion that Lucy is hiding some element of her personality. However, Margot seems more intent on maintaining a social persona than Lucy, who always acts with wanton abandon. Thus, it’s more relevant that Margot is reading the book and is fascinated by the fight between good and evil within one person because she’s facing that fight herself.

“‘But the boys can’t just come in here without asking—’ ‘Yes, they can,’ she says, cutting me off. ‘They own the house, Margot. They can do whatever they want.’ ‘They own the house,’ I echo, realizing, for the first time, what exactly that entails. I didn’t even have to sign a lease to live here. Levi isn’t just my neighbor anymore. He isn’t just some guy next door who looks through the windows or loiters out back. He’s more than that. He can do more than that.”

Lucy’s clarification in this passage exacerbates the already perpetual tension of sexual violence in the house. The fact that the men can enter their home at any time is a continuous violation of the barriers the women have against such violence, and Margot is rightfully concerned about other people, especially men, having unrestricted access to her home.

“The same feeling I had when I watched Eliza stomach-down on her bed, knowing that Levi was just outside, watching her in the dark. The same feeling that flared up every time she strutted down the dock, played with her bathing suit. The same feeling that’s screaming at me right now, flailing its arms. Begging me to acknowledge that something’s not right.”

Reiterating the threat of sexual violence, Margot gets a disturbing feeling when she thinks about Trevor, Levi, and Nicole on Halloween. Her memories of Eliza imply that Levi may have sexually assaulted or attempted to sexually assault Eliza, as Margot continues to express distress over Eliza’s sexuality.

“‘You can’t be serious,’ he says, his hands still holding the silverware, hovering in the air. I glance down at my plate, little threads of meat torn apart by the serrated blade, and force myself to look away. ‘Humans and animals are two completely different things.’ ‘Sure,’ Lucy says, taking another sip from her glass before twisting the skinny stem between her fingers. ‘Although, morally, I’d consider that subjective, don’t you think?’”

Given that Margot initially compares women to prey animals, this passage distinctly implies that the men don’t see women as their equals, which excuses any harm they do to women, including sexual violence. At this stage in the narrative, Margot suspects that Levi assaulted Nicole, adding another layer of tension at the Thanksgiving dinner.

“‘I don’t need him,’ she says at last, and I can feel her lean over, her hand holding something silver around her throat. ‘But he gave me this.’ I lean in, too, my nose practically touching her neck, trying to see through the darkness. She’s holding a necklace. The same necklace I noticed that day in the dorm, the one I’ve seen her wear every day since: a silver chain with a cluster of tiny diamonds arranged around her clavicle like a constellation of stars. ‘He said it reminded him of me because I was named after that song. Lucy in the sky with diamonds.’”

Lucy’s confessions about her family draw her closer to Margot, and the constellation necklace she wears becomes tied to Lucy’s father. The necklace, which reminds Margot of Eliza, is symbolically significant as a sign of charisma and power, but here, it shows Lucy’s vulnerability and need for affection.

“So many nights, I wake up with a jolt to the glow of some old movie playing in the background, the sticky sensation of cotton mouth on my tongue. Turning to the side to see the three of them curled around each other like plaited roots, eyelids twitching in the dark and the twinkle of Christmas lights hung haphazard around my bedroom as I’m left wondering what I did to find myself here. How I’ve gotten so lucky with this second chance I know I don’t deserve.”

Margot’s romanticization of her friendship with Lucy, Sloane, and Nicole reflects her desire to fit in and be accepted. Her additional comment that she doesn’t deserve close friends hints at her guilt over her fight with Eliza, which ended her last meaningful friendship.

“A twinge of embarrassment that I’m still trying so hard to understand her, my best friend. Still attempting to read through the lines of the things she told me, separate the truth from her little white lies—but even then, it was pointless. Even then, Eliza only showed the world the face she wanted it to see: carefree and fearless, bold and brave. Everything else stayed hidden, secret, so I suppose her death should be no different.”

As Margot tries to make sense of the envelope she found in Eliza’s room, she realizes how little she knew of Eliza’s secrets. Although they were best friends, a barrier existed between them: Eliza didn’t feel comfortable opening up to Margot. Margot realizes that she still has not gained any clarity on Eliza’s life.

“Because before I was with Maggie, I was with Eliza. I hadn’t lost her yet. We were still best friends, still doing everything together. We were still counting down the days until Rutledge when we could both finally be free…but was I happy back then? Was I, really? I don’t actually know. I never tried to change the things I didn’t like about myself, fix the things that needed to be fixed. Instead, I just latched on to Eliza, zeroing in on all the places she was full where I was hollow and hoped that if I lapped them up for long enough, they’d pool their way in and fill me up, too. ‘I want to be different,’ I say at last, the only way I know how to put it.”

Margot realizes how she’s dependent on Lucy, just as she was on Eliza and Maggie, for a sense of identity. Although she claimed earlier that she wanted to be a bolder person, she expresses more agency in this passage, envisioning shaping herself into the kind of person she wants to be.

“We held fast, doe-eyed and innocent, and it was easy, really, because that’s all we are to him: underestimated always. Just children, just girls. ‘Have you talked to anyone in her classes?’ I can still hear her so clearly, stone-faced Sloane, chiming in with the perfect response while Nicole and I bit our tongues, tasted blood, a blend of terror and triumph pumping through our veins as we tried so hard not to laugh. ‘Lucy doesn’t go to class.’”

In this moment, Nicole, Sloane, and Margot relish that they have successfully tricked Detective Frank into believing they’re innocent. Continuing the comparison of women to deer, Margot likens their eyes to doe eyes, highlighting how the tendency of men to see them as weak or incapable serves their own purposes in evading suspicion.

“‘She’s not a stranger,’ I said, somewhat mildly, humiliation blooming in my chest at how natural it was for me to keep jumping to Lucy’s defense like this, no questions asked. Same as that first day outside the shed, listening to Sloane’s slander, the reflex to protect her was automatic, instinctive, like a mallet to the knee. ‘Well, she’s not who she says she is, either.’ It’s still tempting, even now, to give Lucy the benefit of the doubt. Sloane hadn’t been with us that night on the roof; she hadn’t heard Lucy talk about her childhood, her past. The way things were and her desire to get away. ‘I wanted a fresh start,’ she had said. ‘I figured you’d understand.’”

Margot makes a distinction between Lucy’s lies and the person Lucy is in this passage, telling Sloane that Lucy is still the person they know and love, though she isn’t physically in the situation they expected. Critically, Margot realizes that Lucy never really lied to her, and even her comment to Sloane about not liking her roommate isn’t necessarily a lie.

“Thinking about the last full memory I have of last night: her and Levi together in the sand. Lucy’s hand on his thigh and the way Levi had pushed it, standing up with that look of disgust on his face. Her voice in Penny Lanes as she talked about murder with a cool indifference; the two of us in the kitchen, my chattering teeth. Her head cocked and curious as I muttered my confession, that inky black truth. ‘It feels good, doesn’t it?’ she says at last, her voice so low I’m not even sure if it’s real or if I’ve somehow imagined it. Imagined it all. ‘To finally get what you want.’”

Margot thinks that Lucy has killed Levi, and Lucy now taunts Margot about it. However, Lucy is approaching Margot because she thinks that Margot killed Levi to get revenge for Eliza’s death. In each case, both women suspect each other because they fundamentally misunderstand the situation.

“Was she trying to comfort me, a metaphorical hand squeeze as she sensed me backing away, retreating into myself the way I did on Eliza’s death day? The same as a gentle knock, a cleared throat, another invitation to Penny Lanes in an attempt to pull me back out? Or was she trying to warn me, threaten me, somehow remind me that whatever happened that night on the island is something the two of us are in on together.”

The distrust between Margot and Lucy continues to grow as Margot reflects on Lucy’s emphasis that they need each other. Although Margot feels that this could be a sign that Lucy wants to help and protect her, it could be a threat that Lucy will also enact violence against Margot if she tries to reject Lucy.

“It’s funny: I’ve spent my entire life being anonymous, but now I finally know what it’s like to be them. To be Lucy, to be Eliza, to be the kind of girl who attracts stares. The one who elicits whispers, rumors swirling around me like a thick mist of perfume. No longer a castaway or a sidekick but a part of the pack, a piece of a whole. We’re a unit now, inextricably linked. A clique that feels a little bit jarring, a little bit off, when one of us tries to venture out on our own, Lucy’s aura still clinging to us like a spider’s thread, sticky and strong.”

Margot finally has the attention and popularity she desired, but she still links that feeling of desirability to Lucy, connecting her to herself and her friends. Margot’s true desire wasn’t to be with Lucy or Eliza but to become them, taking over the position they held in their respective social structures.

“‘Margot,’ she says, and I lift my head, eyes on hers. Wondering how to word all the things I so desperately need to know. Because Lucy is a liar, yes, but I realize now that’s not even the problem. The problem is she’s been honest, too, and I have no idea how to tell what’s real and what’s not. What’s the truth, sprinkled in so carefully, so casually, and what’s nothing but an outright lie.”

The issue Margot encounters here is the same issue she addressed to Sloane earlier, in which Lucy’s life, while different than they anticipated, isn’t in direct conflict with the friendship that Margot, Sloane, and Nicole built with her. Thus, it’s hard for Margot to reconcile the desire to betray Lucy and the lack of a direct betrayal from her.

“‘I wanted you to do something,’ she responds. ‘Why?’ I ask, imagining Lucy watching as I roamed. Knowing what Eliza was doing just around the corner and spotting that can, kicking it hard. Making a noise so I would find her. ‘Because we’re the same,’ Lucy says. ‘You and I are the same, Margot. Spending our lives wanting people who never wanted us back.’”

Lucy claims that she and Margot were both rejected. However, Margot’s rejection wasn’t as complete as Lucy’s. When Eliza reached for Margot, it was to preserve the friendship, and Margot rejected Eliza. In this situation, Lucy is manipulating Margot more by identifying a common desire, knowing that Margot doesn’t see herself as the perpetrator of Eliza’s death.

“I feel myself nodding, agreeing, because I know she’s right. Lucy saw what happened between Eliza and me. She could have placed me at the party; she could have come clean about everything. None of our secrets would have been safe with her alive, dangling them over us the way she always did. Playing with us like another one of her games, her entire life an illusion she simply created and pretended to be true. The irony of it is that Lucy is the one who helped me see it, the necessity of her death: talking about murder with such indifference, one scale rising while the other one falls.”

Margot’s nod here, much like her nod in her previous conversation with Lucy, shows her own malleability. Her comment regarding the irony of using Lucy’s own moral logic to justify her death reflects the impact that Lucy had on Sloane, Margot, and Nicole, which they then felt necessitated her death as a witness and accomplice. However, Lucy’s moral beliefs indicate that she would have been more likely to help Nicole evade arrest than to turn her in.