Ali backed up. Her forehead wrinkled. “No. No way.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” Ali brushed her long blond hair over her shoulder. A freshman boy nearby double-taked and dropped his biology textbook on the marble floor. “Honestly, Spence? Melissa’s probably just jealous. You both have another sister now…and I like you better.”
A warm, comforting feeling seeped into Spencer’s bones as Ali said her good-byes and headed down the art wing. Spencer cut through the lobby toward homeroom, but when she passed Steam, a rack of today’s Philadelphia Sentinel made her stop short. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
The Polaroid Aria had found last night was splashed on the front page, the blurry, spooky eyes gazing straight at Spencer. Spencer recognized the face immediately.
Melissa.
18
TWO FASHIONISTAS, ONE CUNNING PLAN
Even though it was barely four o’ clock on Friday, Rive Gauche, the French bistro in the King James Mall, was teeming with well-dressed, well-groomed prep school girls. Gorgeous leather purses were slung over empty seats, and large, glossy shopping bags embossed with luxe designer labels were tucked under tables. Waiters dressed in crisp white shirts and skinny black pants swirled around the diners, delivering bottles of wine and crèmes brûlées. The air smelled like clarified-butter-drenched escargot and wonderfully greasy Belgian fries.
Hanna sighed with pleasure. She hadn’t been to Rive Gauche in a while, and she’d missed it. Merely standing in the lobby of Rive Gauche gave her an extreme sense of well-being. It was like instant therapy.
The hostess led Hanna and Ali through the dining room. Both girls toted heavy bags from Otter. They’d spent the past hour and a half trying on almost everything in the store. For once, it wasn’t all about Ali twirling in front of the three-way mirrors in size-two dresses and twenty-five-inch-waist skinny jeans while Hanna slumped on the couch like an ugly, pimply manatee. Today, Hanna looked just as beautiful in high-waist trousers, wrap dresses, and slinky shifts. Ali had even asked Hanna for some fashion advice on light denim—she had been locked up in a hospital for three years, after all, and was out of touch.
The only teensy annoyance was when Hanna remembered the last time she’d been in Otter’s dressing room with a friend—Mike had taken Hanna there on her first date, and he’d picked out all kinds of skanky, waytoo-tight outfits for her to try on. She’d mentioned Mike briefly to Ali, asking if Naomi and Riley were behind the Skidz thing. Ali said she didn’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise her.
Ali and Hanna plopped down in a booth. Ali pulled a silk scarf out of her Otter bag and wound it around her neck. “I want everyone to come to the Poconos house tomorrow after the Valentine’s dance. We can get drunk, go in the hot tub, reconnect….”
“That would be awesome.” Hanna clapped.
Ali looked uncertain for a moment. “Do you think the others will go for it?”
“Spencer and Emily definitely will,” Hanna answered. Aria, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop talking about some old wishing well. “Ali said it was the inspiration for the well on her flag,” she’d whispered urgently to Hanna last night on the phone. “Did she ever tell you about a well?”
“No, but who cares?” Hanna had answered, not understanding where Aria was going with this. So Ali had a secret wishing well she kept all to herself. Who cared?
“We’ll have to pick up alcohol and snacks,” Ali said, ticking the items off on her fingers.
Hanna imagined a trip to the Poconos. They’d play drinking games and tell secrets. They’d climb into the hot tub, clad in string bikinis, except this time Hanna wouldn’t self-consciously cover her chubby stomach. Back in the day, Hanna had been plagued by the worry that she was the joke of the group, the girl who was always on the verge of being ousted. But there was a new Hanna in town—a pretty, skinny, confident Hanna.
A skinny waitress with a French twist and high cheekbones flitted to their table. Hanna handed back the menu without looking at it. “We’ll get moules frites.”
The waitress nodded and left, pausing to check on a table of Quaker schoolgirls by the window.
Ali whipped out her iPhone from its cracked leather case. “Okay. On to Operation TTBD—Take Those Bitches Down.”
“Great,” Hanna chirped. She was so ready. Kate, Naomi, and Riley had strutted around school today, telling everyone that all Hanna’s couture was as fake as the DVF fashion show tickets. And that morning at breakfast, Kate had complained to Hanna’s father that Hanna had dragged her all the way to New York as a joke, making her miss the Hamlet rehearsal. As usual, Hanna’s dad believed Kate. Hanna didn’t even bother to defend herself. What was the point?
“I’ve figured out the perfect thing to do.” Ali tapped her iPhone’s screen. “So at the sleepover the other day?”
“Yeah.” Hanna shoved her Otter carrier bags under the booth.
Ali started pressing buttons on the phone. “Well, before you got home, we were buzzed on rum, and they all wrote love letters to their crushes.”
“Love letters? Really?” Hanna wrinkled her nose. “That’s so…”
“Seventh grade?” Ali rolled her eyes. “I know. Anyway, you should’ve seen the letters they wrote. Really juicy stuff.” She leaned across the table, her mouth so close that Hanna could smell her strawberry lip gloss. “I stayed out of it, of course, because as Courtney, I haven’t been here long enough to have a crush on anyone yet. But right before I left, I stole the letters and scanned them on the machine in your mom’s old office. They’re all on my phone. We can print them and pass them out at the dance. Valentine’s Day is all about unrequited love, after all!”
Ali brought up the images on her phone and waved the screen in Hanna’s face. Kate’s letter gushed about how she had a secret crush on Sean Ackard, Hanna’s ex, vowing to attend V Club sessions with him. Riley’s love letter was to Seth Cardiff, a stocky swimmer. Apparently she loved how he looked in his tight Speedo. Naomi’s letter was to Christophe Briggs, the flaming senior director of the Rosewood Day drama club, saying she wanted a crack at “turning him straight.” Each girl had signed their love letter with a red-lipstick kiss. They must have been wasted when they wrote them.
Humiliating.
“Sweet.” Hanna high-fived Ali.
“So until the dance, I need to pretend Naomi, Riley, Kate, and I are still BFFs. They can’t know we’re talking, otherwise it’ll blow the whole thing.”
“Of course,” Hanna agreed. It would be such an appropriate, satisfying repeat of the first time Ali ditched Naomi and Riley, just before the Rosewood Day Charity Drive in sixth grade. Hanna would never forget the mortified looks on Naomi’s and Riley’s faces when they’d realized they’d been replaced. So satisfying.
“Why did you ditch Naomi and Riley back in seventh grade anyway?” Hanna asked. It was something she and Ali had never discussed—Hanna had been too afraid to bring it up, worried that it might jinx her friendship with Ali. But that was years ago, and they were finally equals.
The double doors to the kitchen swished open, and a waitress emerged carrying a tray of dishes. A muscle near Ali’s mouth twitched. “I realized they weren’t really my friends after all.”
“Did they do something to you?” Hanna pressed.
“You could say that,” Ali mumbled vaguely.
A group of girls a few tables over flipped through a copy of Us Weekly, gossiping about a starlet’s botched plastic surgery. An old married couple shared a piece of molten chocolate cake. A steaming plate of mussels and fries appeared in front of Hanna and Ali. Ali dove in right away, but Hanna hung back for a moment, trying to figure out what Naomi and Riley had done.
“The letter thing is an awesome plan.” Hanna grabbed a fry from the top of the pile. “It’ll be like the famous Will Butterfield note!”
Ali paused, a shiny mussel shell between her thumb and forefinger. There was a wrinkle between her eyebrows. “Huh?”
“You know,” Hanna encouraged. “The time you found that note Will Butterfield wrote to his math teacher and got Spencer to read it over the morning announcements? It was classic.”
The haze slowly dissolved from Ali’s eyes and her lips curved up. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” Her smile quickly wobbled into a frown. “Sorry. It just seems so long ago.”
Hanna popped a mussel into her mouth, wondering if she shouldn’t have brought it up.
“It’s cool,” Hanna said, patting Ali’s arm. But Ali’s attention was elsewhere. Hanna followed her gaze to the mall atrium. Someone was crouched behind the burbling fountain, staring at them. Hanna’s stomach seized. There was a flash of blond hair and Hanna thought about the Polaroids Aria had found. That face in the window. Now the news was saying that Billy might not be guilty of any of the murders. It was like a nightmare coming true.
Hanna sneaked a peek at Ali. “Who is that?”
“I don’t know,” Ali whispered back. Her hands quivered.
Hanna held her breath, watching, waiting, but then a group of kids passed, blocking her view. By the time they’d bounded into Banana Republic, whoever had been watching was gone.
19
THE BIGGEST QUESTION OF EMILY’S LIFE
Sheets of cold rain pounded on the roof of Emily’s Volvo wagon as she turned into Ali’s new neighborhood. The development’s duck pond, with its quaint wooden gazebo and rickety footbridge, was silent and still in the cold, wintry darkness. Emily had already envisioned sitting with Ali by the duck pond’s edge in the springtime, holding hands and blowing dandelion seeds across the grass. She’d imagined riding bikes with Ali around the winding streets of the development and camping out in her big backyard, waking up every few hours to kiss. And she’d pictured pulling up to Ali’s house tomorrow to pick up Ali for the Valentine’s Day dance, Ali descending the staircase dressed in a gorgeous red silk gown and red satin heels.
Hopefully she wasn’t getting ahead of herself.
After her conversation with Carolyn at the diner, Emily had decided to ask Ali to the dance today at school. Problem was, she hadn’t seen Ali anywhere. She wasn’t at Steam with Naomi, Riley, and Hanna’s stepsister-to-be, Kate. Emily didn’t pass her in the hallways between third and fourth period on her way to chemistry. She hadn’t shown up at gym, either. During sixth period, jittery to the point of feeling sick, Emily asked for a hall pass from her ceramics teacher and roamed the school, peeking into various classrooms, hoping for a glimpse of Ali’s face. The dance was the next day. She was running out of time.
The DiLaurentises’ porch light was on, and the family’s BMW was in the driveway. Emily took a few deep breaths, staring at the traffic light beyond Ali’s street. If it turns green in the next five seconds, Ali will say yes, she said to herself. She slowly counted to five. The light glowed red. Best two out of three, she decided.
