by Sara Shepard
Mike leaned into her again, and Hanna savored every second of their kiss. Then Mike pulled away and poked Hanna’s side. “So, Ms. Stalker. What did you dig up on Colleen, anyway? Anything good?”
The between-classes music stopped, and when Hanna looked around, she realized that most of the students had cleared out of the halls. She licked her lips, considering spilling the beans, but suddenly, it didn’t matter that much. Exposing a secret was only important when you felt threatened by someone—when they made you feel insecure or had something you wanted or made you scared—and Colleen didn’t make her feel any of those things anymore. She wasn’t like A, looking for revenge.
“Nah, nothing good at all,” she chirped, taking Mike’s hand and pulling him down the hall. It felt freeing to no longer be Colleen’s A.
The only thing that would make everything perfect was if her A was gone, too.
35
ANY CLUB THAT DOESN’T WANT SPENCER AS A MEMBER . . .
That afternoon, Spencer sat at the kitchen table with her parents. Her dad was staring at his phone, and her mother was sipping a glass of iced tea. It was almost like old times, when her parents were still together. But Mr. Pennythistle was there, too, leaning against the kitchen island, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done, Peter,” Spencer’s mom said, twisting a napkin between her hands. “The last thing this family needs is more scandal.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Mr. Hastings said. “I wanted to protect all of us, and Spencer’s spot at Princeton.” Then he gave her a stern look. “I still don’t understand what you were thinking, though. Someone had a gun, Spencer. What if you’d been caught in the crossfire?”
“Haven’t you been through enough?” Mrs. Hastings jumped in. “What do we have to do, lock you in your room until you go off to college so that you don’t get in any more trouble?”
“I said I was sorry,” Spencer mumbled. She’d gotten this same lecture three times now.
The doorbell rang, startling Mrs. Hastings so much that she nearly dropped her coffee mug. “Who could that be?” she grumbled.
“I’ll get it.” Spencer rose from her seat, zipped up her sweatshirt, and padded for the door, praying it wouldn’t be that cop with more questions. A blond head moved back and forth behind the window. Spencer halted in her tracks. Was that . . . Harper?
She pulled the door open. Cold air swirled into the hall. Harper had her coat buttoned up to her neck, and the tip of her nose was bright red. Her eyes were red, too, as though she’d been crying nonstop. The corners of her mouth turned down, and for a few long seconds, she didn’t say a word, just glared.
“Uh, why aren’t you at Princeton?” Spencer asked cautiously.
Harper’s eyes blazed. “Because I’m on academic probation. Because of you.”
Spencer glanced over her shoulder to make sure her mom wasn’t listening. “What do you mean?”
Harper sank into one hip. “Isn’t it obvious? The disciplinary committee blamed me for throwing a party with drugs.” A sinister look washed across her face. “Funny, though. I recall you telling me about bringing a batch of brownies that had a few special ingredients in them. You seemed pretty proud of yourself, in fact.”
Spencer held up her hands in a whoa gesture. “I didn’t spike them with acid! It was someone else!”
An ugly snort came out of Harper’s mouth. “Right. You’re going down. I’m going to make sure you won’t be welcome at Princeton next year.”
Spencer’s stomach twisted into knots. Going to Princeton seemed like it would be an amazing new start, an escape from Rosewood, and she’d been so excited about her friendship with Harper and the other girls. But as long as A was in her life, she’d never be able to move on. A would follow her wherever she went. Those text messages, photos, and videos would still come fast and furious, even if she went to China. Even if she went to the moon.
Videos. Suddenly, a light flipped on in her head. “Don’t go yet. I have something you should see.”
Spencer marched into the foyer and found her iPhone in her bag. Then she marched triumphantly back to the open door. Harper was still standing on the porch, looking annoyed.
Spencer shoved the phone into Harper’s face and pressed PLAY. The clip of Harper trashing the Ivy House came into view. First she yanked the curtains off the walls and slashed them up. Next she pulled the stuffing out of the pillows. She knocked books off shelves, smashed a vase, and decorated a painting with a mascara wand.
Harper’s face contorted. “This isn’t me.”
Spencer scoffed. “Nice try.” She snatched the phone from Harper before she could delete the clip. “I don’t want to do this, but if you tell on me, I’ll tell on you. I doubt Ivy looks kindly on vandalism. And you don’t have any solid proof about my brownies being spiked, only what I told you when we were high. I, on the other hand, have this video. You could get in worse trouble than you’re already in.”
The confident look on Harper’s face faded. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and her face turned purple. “Fine,” she finally spat. “But don’t you dare think you’re getting into Ivy. I may be on probation, but I still have pull there. And I’m going to make sure they stay far, far away from you.”
“I don’t really care,” Spencer said, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could even though Harper’s words hurt her. “I don’t like any of you, anyway.”
Then she slammed the door in Harper’s face, feeling tears well in her eyes. Everything felt so screwed up and wrong; the perfect plan for her life had fallen to pieces. She was supposed to join Ivy. It was supposed to be her hookup to an amazing future. The Ivy girls and guys were supposed to be her instant friends, people she’d know forever. Now, the only person at Princeton who’d speak to her was Reefer.
She shifted her weight. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. She thought about how goofily into her Reefer had been at the Princeton dinner. How excited he’d gotten when he made her smell his homegrown pot. She didn’t have to put on airs when she with him. She didn’t have to compromise her principles to win him over.
Reefer was the nicest person she’d met at Princeton so far. If she was really honest, those Ivy kids were kind of . . . bitchy. And snobby. And superficial. Did she really want to hang out with them?
Spencer wiped away a tear and started back toward the kitchen, feeling strangely content. She’d be okay on her own. Maybe Reefer was right about Eating Clubs being stupid and elitist. Not that Reefer was right about everything. And not that it meant she liked him.
As she passed her dad’s old office, she smiled to herself. Okay, maybe she liked Reefer a little. At the very least she owed him an apology. And who knew, maybe she’d even accompany him to an upcoming Occupy Philly rally or something, too. Just to be nice.
36
SAFE AND SOUND
“Okay, GPS says five hundred more feet to the exit.” Emily glanced at the media console in the unfamiliar Audi sedan. “Turn here, turn here!”
“Em, I saw it coming from a mile away.” Hanna steered the car off the highway at an exit marked CHESTNUT HILL and gave Emily a worried smile. “You okay?”
Emily slid down in her seat and picked at the skin around her thumb. It was a few hours later on Monday evening, and they’d all piled into Hanna’s stepsister’s car to go to the Bakers’ new house together. Needless to say, Emily was jittery. What if she got there and the Bakers had moved again? What if she got there and the baby was gone?
It was the worst thing Emily could think of. A could still have Violet. She could still be living a nightmare.
Could A be Real Ali, after all? Had she set up Gayle to look like the villain, stealing the cash from Gayle’s mailbox, sending Spencer texts when she was at Princeton, maybe even steering Gayle toward Hanna’s dad’s campaign? Had Real Ali lured the girls to Gayle’s house in hopes of hurting them? Did Ali really have such little respect for human life?
Of course she does, a little voice in Emily’s head said. All of a sudden, her blood began to boil. This wasn’t a tragic story of a messed-up girl Emily could rescue—it was a story about a psycho bitch who wanted to get Emily any way she could, even if it meant harming an innocent child. If Real Ali was A, then Emily would do everything in her power to bring her down.
It was a weird revelation. On one hand, Emily felt empty inside, like someone had just stolen a vital organ from her. On the other, she suddenly felt clear-eyed and steady, as if she’d gotten LASIK and could see everything properly for the first time. It made her feel even worse for setting Real Ali free, though. Maybe she’d brought all this on herself.
The light turned green, and Hanna passed a Barnes & Noble and a Starbucks. Emily’s phone beeped, and she jumped. A text from Isaac had come in. I’ve thought about things, and I want to talk, it said.
Emily stared at the words as they pulled up to a stop sign. Was this a good message . . . or an awful one? Isaac’s angry, disgusted expression at Gayle’s house had lingered with her. He had to be mad, right? Had he already told his mom? Had Mrs. Colbert already told everyone else? Was she going to become the shame of Rosewood in mere days—hours?
Then again, it was going to come out sooner or later. The police had already tracked Emily’s parents down in Texas, telling them she had witnessed a murder. The first flight they could get was tomorrow morning, and they’d be back by the time Emily returned from Gayle’s funeral. Even though the cops hadn’t revealed Emily’s secret, her parents would ask questions. Maybe it would be better if this secret was out in the open. She had to be the one to tell them. All she could hope was that they didn’t murder her.
“Em, this place is adorable,” Aria murmured. Emily looked out the window. They were driving down Main Street in Chestnut Hill. It was full of funky bakeries, quaint restaurants, antique furniture stores, and upscale boutiques. A huge library with a big children’s display in the window was on the left, several old stone churches were on the right, and side streets boasted beautifully restored old houses with station wagons and swing sets. Families walked strollers and dogs up the sidewalks. Kids raced around a baseball field.
A hopeful smile crossed Emily’s face. This place did seem nice.
“Turn right, and you will have reached your destination,” the GPS proclaimed. Hanna put on her turn signal and pulled into a parking space on the street. The girls got out and started down the sidewalk, looking at each of the old houses as they passed.
“There it is,” Aria said halfway down the block, pointing at a house across the street. “Number 86.”
Emily swallowed hard and dared to look. The house in question had white siding, black shutters, and a big front porch. There was a green watering can on the steps, daffodils peeking up in the flower beds, and a fruit wreath on the door.
“It’s really nice, Em,” Spencer breathed. “Nicer than the old place, even.”
And then Emily saw something that made her heart leap. There, through the split rail fence in the backyard, was a detached garage. Its door gaped open, revealing two plastic trash cans, a ten-speed bicycle, and a running stroller. There was a kiddie swimming pool in the shape of a frog propped up against the wall. Emily pressed her hands to her mouth, feeling tears come to her eyes. Kid things. Could her baby still be here?
As though in cosmic answer, the front door to the house swung open. Emily yelped and ducked behind Spencer. A familiar man with a thin build and sandy hair came out first. “You got her?” he said to someone just behind him.
“Uh huh,” a woman’s voice said.
Emily peered around Spencer’s shoulder just in time to see Lizzie Baker step onto the porch and pull the door shut. Lizzie looked fresh-faced and happy, wearing black yoga pants and Nike sneakers. In her arms was an apple-cheeked, bright-eyed, grinning seven-month-old girl in a pink corduroy dress and black patent Mary Janes. She waved a rattle around in her hand and let out a loud coo. Her hair was the exact reddish-blondish shade as Emily’s.
“Oh my God,” Emily said, tears coming to her eyes. It was her baby. Violet. Looking beautiful and happy and better than she ever imagined.
“Em,” was all Aria said. Spencer grabbed Emily’s arm and squeezed. Hanna leaned into Emily’s shoulder and let out a happy sniff.
Violet was safe—safe! It was all that mattered. She could handle her parents. She could handle Isaac. She could handle everyone else in Rosewood, too. Everything was going to be—well, not okay, but manageable. If something had happened to the baby, she would have never forgiven herself.
She turned to the others. “I’m good now,” she whispered. “Let’s go before they see us.”
They moved to leave, when suddenly Mrs. Baker stopped short, noticing Emily. Instinctively, she held Violet a little tighter. Her husband turned to see what his wife was looking at, then paled too. Swallowing hard, Emily held up her hand in a tentative, I-don’t-mean-any-harm wave. After a moment, the Bakers waved back. Then they said a few things Emily couldn’t hear. After a moment, Mrs. Baker crossed the street toward Emily, Violet in her arms.
“What are you doing?” Emily cried, panicking. When she looked up, Spencer, Aria, and Hanna were drifting away. “Don’t leave!”
“You’ll be fine,” Spencer encouraged, scampering around the corner.
Emily turned back and watched as Mrs. Baker stepped up on the curb and hitched Violet higher on her hip. The two of them stared at each other for a beat. Emily had no clue what Mrs. Baker might say. How dare you? Get the hell out of here?
“Wow,” Mrs. Baker blurted. “Heather. Hi.”
“It’s Emily, actually,” Emily said. “Emily Fields.”
Mrs. Baker laughed nervously. “I know. I saw you in an old copy of People at the pediatrician’s office. I couldn’t believe I didn’t realize it was you.” Then she picked up Violet’s hand and made her wave. “I guess you know who this is. We named her Violet.”
“Hi, Violet.” Emily almost couldn’t get the words out. “She looks wonderful. Is she . . . happy?”
Mrs. Baker pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Well, she can’t talk yet, but we think she is. We’re happy, too.” A bashful look came over her face.
“You moved,” Emily pointed out.
Mrs. Baker nodded. “Yes. Shortly after—well, you know. We thought people might ask questions. We decided it was better if we moved someplace where no one knew us.” When she raised her head and looked at Emily again, there were tears in her eyes, too. “We don’t know why you changed your mind, but we can’t thank you enough. We hope you know that.”
It felt like she’d injected Emily with sunlight. She wiped away a tear, looking again at Violet’s goofy, gummy smile. “I can’t thank you enough.”
A double beep of a car unlocking sounded across the street, and Mrs. Baker turned and signaled to her husband, who was loading up a Honda SUV. “I’m telling everyone about the baby,” Emily blurted. “But I’ll never tell them about you.”
Mrs. Baker nodded. “We’ll keep your secret, too.”
They gave each other a meaningful look. There were so many other things Emily wanted to ask about Violet, but maybe it wasn’t her place to know. She’d given up the right to be Violet’s parent. All she could hope for was that the Bakers gave her baby the best life possible. All of the money in the world couldn’t have made a better life for Violet than the one the Bakers were giving her.
Emily kissed the top of Violet’s fuzzy head. “Keep her safe, okay? Keep her locked up every night. Never let her out of your sight.”
“Of course we will,” Lizzie said.
“Good,” Emily said. And then she awkwardly turned and walked as quickly as she could back to the girls, afraid that if she didn’t get away fast, she’d never be able to leave Violet’s side again. She looked back once, watching as Lizzie made Violet wave again. A sob rose in her throat. She thought about A looming somewhere close, just waiting to snatch Violet away. She couldn’t
bear the thought.
Swallowing hard, she stared at the traffic on the main road. If the next car that passes is blue, Violet will be okay, she thought. If it’s red, A will do something horrible to her.
She heard a growl of an engine and shut her eyes, afraid to see what the future might hold. She’d never cared so much about anything in her life. Just as the car was passing, she opened her eyes and saw a Mercedes hood ornament. She let out a long sigh, tears coming to her eyes once more.
The car was blue.
37
A STRANGER IN THE CROWD
The Rosewood Abbey was an old stone building in the middle of town with gorgeous stained-glass windows, a bell tower, and pristinely manicured gardens. Mourners in black crammed the lawn, giving Aria an eerie sense of déjà vu. The last time she’d been there was for Ali’s funeral a year and a half ago. And now, on this sunny Tuesday morning, she was there to mark another death: Gayle’s.
Emily and Spencer, who’d ridden with her, stared at the church silently as they pulled into the parking lot. They’d all come as a favor to Hanna—her dad was forcing her to go because Gayle had meant so much to his campaign, and she was too creeped out to go alone.
Hanna’s Prius rolled up next to them. Hanna cut the engine, got out, and greeted the others. Then she looked around with a shiver, her gaze narrowing in on the weeping willow tree next to the front path. “That doesn’t bring back good memories,” she said in a foreboding voice.
Aria knew exactly what she meant. It was under that willow that they’d received a threatening note from the very first A. I’m still here, bitches, and I know everything.
Now they were in the same position. New A was still here. New A knew everything. And none of them knew where or when A would strike next.
The Abbey’s nave was even more crowded than the lawn, the air humid and stuffy with bodies and the noise level deafening. Hanna’s father stood by the doors, talking to a reporter. A bunch of people from the Rosewood Rotary Club chatted near the holy water. Naomi Zeigler and her parents stood quietly in a corner, looking at the program. Aria wondered how Naomi’s family knew Gayle.
