by Sara Shepard
Kay sank into her hip. “I’ll back you up. C’mon. This is an easy one.”
The crowd shifted, creating a clear path to the bouncer. The few sips of rum Emily had taken burned in her chest. Adrenaline pumped through her body, making her feel tingly and alive.
Rolling her shoulders back, Emily snaked through the crowd and stopped at the dingy black door next to a stack of Marshall amps. The bored-looking bouncer, who could have been a body double for Vin Diesel, leafed through a motorcycle magazine. Emily glanced over her shoulder, and Kay gave her an encouraging nod.
“Excuse me,” Emily said sweetly, touching the guy’s elbow. “Do you mind if we go in for a sec? I’m Rob Martin’s girlfriend, and I want to see him before he goes on.”
The guy lowered the magazine and squinted at her. His eyes scanned Emily’s reddish-blondish hair, her toned swimmer’s shoulders, and her thin waist. Emily was glad she’d snagged a pair of skinny jeans from Beth’s suitcase and paired them with one of the few snug-fitting T-shirts her parents hadn’t banned. Her fingers curled around the bill Kay had handed her. After a moment, she pushed it into the bouncer’s palm. Then she slid her fingers up his wrist and squeezed his bicep. “Strong,” she said in a voice that she couldn’t believe belonged to her. “I bet you can bench a ton.”
Miraculously, the bouncer smirked, stepped aside, and unlocked the door for them. Emily slipped through the door, and Kay followed her. The door slammed shut again, muffling the sound from the crowd. The dark hallway smelled like stale beer and sweat.
“Oh my God.” Emily clapped her hands over her mouth. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“You rock.” Kay grabbed her shoulders and shook them excitedly. “I couldn’t have done that better myself. And the bicep-squeeze? Priceless!” Then she clutched Emily’s wrist. “Come on. Let’s go crash their party.”
Their footsteps rang out on the concrete floor. They reached a heavy, sticker-plastered door next to a glowing red EXIT sign. “I bet this is it,” Kay whispered. She pushed on it gently. “Hello?”
“Yeah?” called a guy’s voice from the other side.
Kay nudged the door open with her foot. Four tall, youngish guys blinked at them from ratty folding chairs and lumpy couches. One of them wore a slim-fitted suit, and the others had on vintage T-shirts and jeans. They all held open cans of beer, and they were watching Flight of the Conchords on a tiny computer screen propped up on an overturned milk crate. There were posters all over the walls for other bands that had played here—John Mayer, Iron & Wine—and a bizarre collection of Benjamin Franklin memorabilia, bobble heads and figurines and a life-sized Ben Franklin cardboard cut-out.
“Who are you?” Fitted Suit stared at Kay and Emily.
“I’m Kay.” Kay sauntered into the room. “And this is Emily. We thought you boys could use some fun.”
Fitted Suit nudged the other band members. All of them canvassed Kay appreciatively. “I’m Rob,” Fitted Suit said, holding out his hand.
“I know,” Kay said. She pointed to the others. “And you’re Yuri, Steve, and Jamie.”
“So you guys are fans?” the guy named Steve asked.
“Clearly.” Kay breezed over to a small table in the corner, which held several bottles of liquor and some mixers. Without asking, she poured herself a drink. “Why doesn’t someone turn up the music? Doesn’t dancing help you loosen up before a show?”
The band members exchanged a glance, then Rob leapt up and put an Adele song on the stereo. Instantly, Kay started swaying back and forth to the music, beckoning the guys to dance, too. For a while, they just grinned at Kay, but then Rob got up and twirled her around. The guy named Jamie sat on the couch next to Emily. “Do you two sneak backstage often?”
Emily felt suddenly shy, like she used to when Her Ali dragged her to Rosewood Day parties and made her talk to guys. “Not really. But I hope you don’t mind.”
Jamie waved his hand dismissively. “Our manager keeps us locked in here. It gets so boring. Your friend’s something, huh? Totally . . . infectious.”
Emily turned and watched Kay spinning around the room. If Kay were an infection, Emily hoped she’d catch it. Kay’s body moved so gracefully and fluidly that it was hard for Emily to tear her gaze away. She’d always wanted to be someone like Kay, a girl who could charm absolutely anyone, even if she didn’t know them. She tried to picture Kay at Rosewood Day. She’d probably have everyone in her back pocket, just like Their Ali.
“Em!” Kay called from the makeshift dance floor. “Come dance! This is my favorite song!”
Emily stood, pulling Jamie up with her, too. Both of them moved into the circle and let Kay swing them around. Soon enough, everyone was singing the words to Adele. Kay lifted her cell phone above the group and snapped picture after picture, pausing to type in captions or send a text. Kay caught Emily’s eye across the group and winked, and Emily winked back. And as the song hit its third refrain, Kay shot Emily a covert smile.
“You’re amazing,” Emily whispered to her as they passed mid-spin.
“You are, too,” Kay whispered back.
A faint giggle echoed in Emily’s ears. Emily whipped around, suddenly on high alert. For a second she was certain she’d see someone peering through the window in the door that led to the stage. A blond someone, perhaps.
But to her great relief, no one was there.
Chapter 10
OH, AMOUR . . .
As the fifties-era bubble-shaped clock in her bedroom clicked from 3:59 to 4:00 P.M. on Saturday afternoon, Aria rolled over on her bed and leafed through yet another copy of French Vogue, pretending she was in a hotel suite on the Left Bank of Paris instead of in her father’s house in Rosewood. She had cotton balls wedged between each bare toe from the pedicure she’d given herself, and next she was going to soak in a long, hot bubble bath. She had six other activities planned, too, all to fill the weekend hours without Noel.
Eyeing her laptop on her desk, she sat up and listened for the sounds in the house. Byron and Meredith had taken baby Lola to an infant swim class, and Mike was most likely at one of his friend’s houses. Satisfied that no one was around to randomly burst into her room and see what she was doing, she dragged the laptop to her bed, touched the click wheel to wake up the screen, and typed in the web address for the Tabitha Clark Memorial page.
As usual, Tabitha’s pretty smiling face popped up. A few new pictures had appeared on the site: one of Tabitha when she was in about seventh or eighth grade, sitting on a beach, the burns apparent on her arms and legs. Another was a shot of her a few years later, standing in what looked like a sleek hotel lobby next to a giant potted cactus someone had adorned with two plastic eyes, a nose, and a mouth. There were dark circles under her eyes, but her smile looked happy.
Aria felt a wave of nausea and looked away. You killed her, a voice needled her from deep inside her brain.
Her cell phone, sitting next to the bottle of blue-black Essie nail polish on her bed, buzzed. NEW TEXT MESSAGE. Aria’s insides twisted. When she rose and looked at the screen, the text was from a number with a 917 area code, not A’s usual CALLER UNKNOWN or jumble of letters and numbers. She opened it up.
Look out your window.
A shiver snaked up her spine. All at once, the house felt too empty and silent. She crept toward her large bedroom window, parted the curtains, and prepared to peek into the front yard.
A dark-haired figure stood on the lawn, a cell phone in his hand. Aria blinked hard, taking in the familiar rumpled jacket, pointed chin, and pink lips. Surely it was a cruel trick of the light. But then, the figure looked up, noticed Aria’s face at the window, and grinned broadly. He held a poster board over his head. Printed on it, in sloppy red letters, was I MISSED YOU, ARIA!
“Holy shit,” Aria whispered.
It was Ezra Fitz.
“Brie, arugula, and sun-dried tomato for you.” Ezra pulled a wax paper–wrapped sandwich out of a picnic basket. “And”—he paused bashful
ly—“McDonald’s chicken nuggets for me.” He glanced at Aria. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
Heat rose to Aria’s cheeks. She’d once happened upon Ezra eating chicken nuggets in his office at Rosewood Day, but she wondered if he meant the statement in more ways than one.
Ezra removed the rest of the basket’s contents one by one: a container of ripe, juicy green grapes, a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips—Aria’s favorite—and a bottle of champagne with two plastic glasses. He arranged everything on the large boulder they were sitting on and craned his neck up at the bright blue sky poking through the trees. “I was hoping we could eat during sunset, but I guess I’m a little off.”
“No, this is amazing,” Aria gushed, hiding her trembling hands under her thighs. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. Twenty minutes ago, after ripping the cotton balls from between her toes and changing from her stained Hollis sweatshirt into a vintage silk blouse she’d gotten in Amsterdam, she’d sprinted down the stairs and flung open the front door. There was Ezra, the guy she’d pined after for so long, the guy she was sure was her soul mate even after he turned out to be her teacher, standing with his arms outstretched. “I’ve missed you so much,” he had said. “When you wrote to me, I had to come right away.”
“But I wrote to you for months,” Aria had replied, remaining rooted to her spot on the porch.
Ezra had looked stricken, saying he’d never received any correspondence from her. He added that his email account had been hacked a year ago, and it had taken him a while to get things sorted out—maybe some of his emails had gotten lost in the ether. Normally, Aria would have thought it was a lame guy excuse, but Ezra looked so apologetic that she believed him.
Then, Ezra had scooped her up in his arms, carried her off to his beat-up Volkswagen Beetle, which was parked at the curb, and told her he wanted to take her out on a date—right then and there—to make up for lost time. Of course Aria agreed.
Now, they were at St. Mary’s Creek, a beautiful old park along a glittering stream with lots of jutting boulders, mini waterfalls, and a quaint bed-and-breakfast that served the best pancakes in all of the Main Line. Even though the weather was a pleasant fifty-something degrees, ideal for rock climbing or a hike, there wasn’t a single other person around.
Ezra popped the champagne cork and poured two glasses. “You look amazing.” His wolfish blue eyes rose to hers. “I’ve been thinking about you so much—I should have never left so abruptly without making plans for us to see each other again. Especially after all that happened with your friend. I wanted to reach out to you, but I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.”
“I would have loved to hear from you,” Aria whispered, meaning it with all her heart. “And you look amazing, too.” She took in Ezra’s appearance. His gray checked blazer had a hole in the elbow, the white button-down was wrinkled, and his chinos were frayed at the hems. His hair was long and ragged, too, and there were hollows in his cheeks. He was still adorable, but he looked like he’d spent hours in the car. “You didn’t drive all the way from Rhode Island just to see me, did you?”
“Oh, I didn’t end up settling in Rhode Island, though I would have driven from there to see you.” Ezra dipped a nugget in barbecue sauce and popped it in his mouth. “I stayed there for a little while, but then I moved to New York City.”
“Oh!” Aria couldn’t temper her excitement. “Do you like it there? I applied to a bunch of schools in New York.”
“I love it.” Ezra got a dreamy look on his face. “I have this tiny apartment in the West Village. Every night I watch the cars stream up Sixth Avenue. I love the energy. The creativity. Being around so many different people at once.”
“That’s exactly how I feel about New York, too,” Aria gushed, loving how she and Ezra were always on the same wavelength.
“I could absolutely see you living there.” Ezra took Aria’s hands. Touching him felt like walking into an old, cozy house. “Maybe you could come and visit me sometime. Look at those colleges you applied to.”
Aria stared down at his big hands in hers, utterly speechless. She half expected to hear the far-off giggle she associated with A, but all she heard were tweeting birds and the rushing stream.
She must have been silent for a beat or so too long, because Ezra pulled his hands away. “God. I’m an idiot. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”
“No!” Aria shook her head emphatically. “Well, I mean, I don’t now. I did, though, while you were gone. It’s not like I knew you were coming back.” She let out a self-conscious laugh.
“Let me guess. Noel Kahn?”
Aria’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”
Ezra chuckled. “He had it bad for you in English class.”
“We didn’t have that much in common, though,” Aria said quietly, staring at a silvery fish swimming below them in the stream. “And . . . you don’t have a girlfriend, right?”
A smile spread across Ezra’s face. He cupped Aria’s chin in his hands. “Of course I don’t. Why else would I come to see you?”
Aria smiled shyly. “How long are you staying?”
“How long do you want me to stay?”
Forever, Aria wanted to say.
“I’m bunking with a friend outside town. He says I can stay as long as I like.” Ezra pushed a piece of Aria’s hair behind her ears. “Tell me everything about what’s going on with you. How’s your family? They split up, right? How’s that going? And what did you mean in your email when you said you felt lonely? Are you okay?”
Aria pressed her hand to her chest, touched by his interest and concern. “I’m fine,” she said, suddenly meaning it. “Actually, I’d rather hear about you first. What are you doing in New York? Going to grad school? Do you have a job? I bet it’s something fabulous.”
Ezra’s throat bobbed. “Well, I did have a job at a nonprofit for a while, but then I was laid off. So after that . . .” A bloom of red appeared on his cheeks. “I did some writing. And, well, I wrote a novel.”
“A novel?” Aria’s jaw dropped. “As in a complete, start-to-finish book?”
Ezra laughed bashfully. “That’s right. But I don’t know how good it is.”
“I’m sure it’s amazing!” Aria clapped. “What’s it about? When’s it going to be published?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Ezra glanced at his backpack, which sat behind them on the rock. “But if you’re interested, I have the manuscript. . . .”
“Of course I’m interested!” Aria said. “I’d love to see it!”
Ezra pressed his lips together, as if weighing the decision. “No agents are representing me yet. It might never even get published. The book industry is a little harder to crack than I thought.” He let out a bitter laugh Aria had never heard before.
“Am I going to have to tackle you to see this thing?” Aria teased.
“Okay, okay.” Ezra undid the straps on his backpack and pulled out a sheaf of dog-eared papers held together by a blue rubber band. The front page said See Me After Class, by Ezra Fitz in boldface.
“I can’t believe you wrote this,” Aria whispered reverently. “Is it about a teacher?”
Ezra grinned mysteriously. “Maybe.” He pushed the pages toward her. “Do you want to read it?”
“Yes!” Aria flipped through the ruffled pages. “I know I’m going to love it. And . . . thank you.” She looked up at him, feeling a rush of emotion. “For everything. Coming back. This picnic . . .”
Aria trailed off, and they stared at each other for a few long beats. Then, Ezra inched forward on the rock until their bodies were touching. As soon as he wrapped his arms around Aria’s waist and touched his lips to hers, she felt a whoosh of pleasure. The kiss deepened, and Ezra shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on a rock next to them. Aria slithered out of her pea coat.
“Ahem,” someone whispered.
Ezra and Aria pulled apart, breathing hard. A group of old women, clad in hiking
gear and fanny packs and carrying walking sticks, had emerged from around the bend and were staring at them with disgusted looks on their faces.
“Sorry!” Ezra called out, quickly buttoning up his shirt.
The women sniffed and headed toward the B&B, balancing expertly on the rocks. Ezra shot Aria a mortified look and covered his mouth with his hand. “That was like being caught by my grandma,” he whispered.
“Or the school librarian,” Aria giggled.
Ezra gathered her in his arms and looked deep into her eyes. “Let’s hope we get caught lots more times.”
Aria felt a swirl of complete and utter happiness. Then, she leaned forward and kissed Ezra softly on the lips. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Chapter 11
SUMMER SCHOOL REUNION
Later that same afternoon, Spencer pulled her Mercedes coupe into her family’s driveway after a long study session at the Rosewood Public Library. “But screw your courage to the sticking place, and we’ll not fail,” she recited. It was from the speech where Lady Macbeth convinces her husband to kill Duncan, the king. “When Duncan is asleep, whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey . . .”
Then her mind went blank. What came after that?
She shifted into park. This was infuriating. She’d mastered all the lines of The Taming of the Shrew in tenth grade when she was studying for the PSATs, volunteering for the Rosewood soup kitchen, playing field hockey, and juggling six honors classes. As much as she loathed giving Beau the satisfaction of coaching her tomorrow, maybe she needed it.
Inhaling a chakra-cleansing, yoga-fire breath, she pulled her Madewell duffel coat around her and grabbed her gold Dior handbag from the passenger seat, a gift she’d gotten herself for getting into Princeton. When she slipped out of the car, she nearly collided with a black Range Rover parked off to the left. She scowled at its shiny chrome wheels, souped-up navigation console, and cheery bumper sticker on the back that proclaimed proud parent of a st. agnes honor student. Mr. Pennythistle owned a fleet of vehicles, but a Range Rover wasn’t one of them. Which meant there were visitors.
