Authors: Sara Shepard
When he saw Emily, he brightened. “Hey. Told you I’d see you here, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.” Emily smiled shyly. “So, um, I just wanted to say thanks. For helping me yesterday.
And
the day before.”
“Oh. Well, it was nothing.”
Just then, Scott appeared with his yearbook camera. “Gotcha!” he cried, and snapped a picture. “I can see the caption now: ‘Emily Fields, flirting with the enemy!’” Then he said to Emily in a lower voice, “Although I thought he wasn’t your type.”
Emily looked at Scott questioningly. What was
that
supposed to mean? But he fluttered away. When she turned to Toby again, he was playing with his iPod, so she started back for her team’s side. She’d taken three steps when Toby called out, “Hey, you want to get some air?”
Emily paused. Quickly, she glanced at Ben. Still not paying any attention. “Um, all right,” she decided.
They walked through the Rosewood Day natatorium’s double doors, past a bunch of kids waiting for the late buses, and sat down on the edge of the Founder’s Day fountain. Water gushed out of the top in a long, shimmering plume. It was cloudy out, though, so the water just looked dull and white instead of sparkly. Emily stared at a bunch of pennies on the fountain’s shallow, shiny bottom. “On the last day of school, seniors push their favorite teacher into this fountain,” she told him.
“I know,” Toby said. “I used to go here, remember?”
“Oh.” Emily felt like a moron. Of course he did. And then they sent him away.
Toby pulled a package of chocolate chip cookies out of his bag. He held them out to Emily. “Want one? Pre-race snack?”
Emily shrugged. “Maybe half.”
“Good for you,” Toby said, handing her one. He looked away. “It’s funny how it’s totally different between guys and girls. Guys want to out-eat each other. Even guys I know that are older. Like my shrink, in Maine? One time, at his house, we had a shrimp-eating contest. He beat me by six shrimp. And he’s, like, at least thirty-five.”
“Shrimp.” Emily shuddered. Because she didn’t want to ask the obvious—
You had a shrink?
—she asked, “What happened after your, um, shrink ate all that?”
“He threw up.” Toby skimmed the surface of the water with his fingertips. The fountain water smelled even more like chlorine than the pool did.
Emily ran her hands over her knees. She wondered if he had a shrink for the same reason he’d taken the blame for The Jenna Thing.
A luxury bus pulled into the Rosewood Day parking lot. Slowly, members of the Rosewood Day band trooped off, still in their uniforms—red jackets with braided trim, flared tuxedo pants, the drum major in a goofy furry hat that looked like it would be really hot and uncomfortable to wear. “You, um, talk a lot about Maine,” Emily said. “Are you happy to be in Rosewood again?”
Toby raised an eyebrow. “Are
you
happy to be in Rosewood?”
Emily frowned. She watched as a squirrel ran circles around one of the oak trees. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I feel kind of wrong here. I used to be normal, but now…I don’t know. I feel like I should be one way, but I’m not.”
Toby stared at her. “I hear that.” He sighed. “There are all these perfect people here. And…it’s like, if you’re not one of them, then you’re messed up. But I think, inside, the flawless-looking people are just as messed up as we are.”
He turned his gaze to Emily, and her insides turned over. She felt like her thoughts and secrets were 72-point-font newspaper headlines, and Toby could read all of them. But Toby was also the first person who’d expressed something close to how she felt about things. “I feel pretty messed up most of the time,” she said quietly.
Toby looked like he didn’t believe her. “How are you messed up?”
A clap of thunder exploded overhead. Emily slid her hands inside her warm-up jacket sleeves.
I’m messed up because I don’t know who I am or what I want,
she wanted to say. But instead, she looked directly at him and blurted, “I love storms.”
“Me too,” he answered.
And then, slowly, Toby leaned forward and kissed her. It was very soft and tentative, just a little whisper across her mouth. When he pulled back, Emily touched her lips with her fingers, like the kiss might still be on her lips.
“What was that for?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” Toby said. “Should I not have…?”
“No,” Emily whispered. “It was nice.” Her first thought was,
I just kissed a boy Ali might have kissed.
Her second was that maybe it was messed up of her to have even thought that.
“Toby?” a voice interrupted them. A man in a leather jacket stood under the natatorium awning, hands on his hips. It was Mr. Cavanaugh. Emily recognized him from summer swim team, years ago…and from the night Jenna got hurt. Her shoulder muscles tightened. If Mr. Cavanaugh was here, was Jenna? Then she remembered that Jenna was at school in Philadelphia. Hopefully.
“What are you doing out here?” Mr. Cavanaugh put his hand outside the awning, feeling the rain, which had just begun to fall. “Your relay’s soon.”
“Oh.” Toby jumped off the wall. He smiled at Emily. “You going back in too?”
“In a sec,” Emily said weakly. If she tried to use her legs right now, they might not work. “Good luck with your race.”
“Okay.” Toby’s eyes lingered on her for another moment. He looked ready to say something else, but he broke away, falling into step with his dad.
Emily sat on the stone wall for a few minutes, the rain soaking through her jacket. She felt strangely fizzy, like she was carbonated. What had just happened? When her Nokia announced that she had a text, she flinched and dug it out of her jacket pocket. Her heart sank. It was who she thought it was.
Emily, how about this picture of you for the yearbook instead?
She clicked on the attachment. It was a shot of Emily and Maya from Noel’s photo booth. They were looking into each other’s eyes longingly, inches from kissing. Emily’s mouth fell open. She remembered hitting the button in the booth to start the photos—but hadn’t Maya taken them when they left?
You wouldn’t want this to get around, would you? said the line of text under the photo.
And—of course—it was signed,
A.
15
SHE STEALS FOR YOU, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY HER
Mona emerged from the Saks dressing room in a square-necked, sheer green Calvin Klein dress. Its full skirt fanned out as she twirled. “What do you think?” she asked Hanna, who was standing at the racks right outside.
“Gorgeous,” Hanna murmured. Under the dressing room’s fluorescent lights, she could tell Mona wasn’t wearing a bra.
Mona posed in the three-way mirror. She was so skinny, sometimes she dipped down to an enviable size zero. “I think this might be better with your coloring.” She pulled at one of the straps. “You want to try?”
“I don’t know,” Hanna said. “It’s kind of see-through.”
Mona frowned. “Since when do you care?”
Hanna shrugged and looked through a rack of Marc Jacobs blazers. It was Thursday evening, and they were at the designer department of Saks in the King James Mall, frantically searching for Foxy dresses. A lot of prep school and out-of-college-but-living-in-the-estate-with-the-’rents girls attended, and it was important to find a dress that five other girls wouldn’t be wearing.
“I want to look classy,” Hanna answered. “Like Scarlett Johansson.”
“Why?” Mona asked. “She’s got a big ass.”
Hanna pursed her lips. When she said
classy
, she meant
subtle
. Like those girls in those diamond ads who looked sweet but had the words
fuck me
airbrushed into a strand of their hair. Sean needed to be so entranced by Hanna’s virtue, he’d reject his V Club vows and tear her underwear off.
Hanna picked up a pair of peep-toe, camel-colored Miu Miu shoes from the sale shelf just outside the dressing room. “I love these.” She held one up for Mona to see.
“Why don’t you…?” Mona nudged her chin down to Hanna’s bag.
Hanna dropped them back on the shelf. “No way.”
“Why not?” Mona whispered. “Shoes are the easiest. You know that.” When Hanna hesitated, Mona clucked her tongue. “You’re still freaked about Tiffany?”
Instead of answering, Hanna pretended to be interested in a pair of metallic Marc Jacobs sling-backs.
Mona pulled a few more things off the racks and went back into the changing room. Seconds later, she emerged empty-handed. “This place blows. Let’s try Prada.”
They walked through the mall, Mona typing on her Sidekick. “I’m asking Eric what color flowers he’s getting me,” she explained. “Maybe I’ll match my dress to them.”
Mona had decided to go to Foxy with Noel Kahn’s brother, Eric, who she’d hung out with a few times this week already. The Kahn boys were always a safe Foxy date—they were good-looking and rich, and society photographers loved them. Mona tried to coax Hanna into asking Noel, but she’d waited too long. Noel had asked Celeste Richards, who went to the Quaker boarding school—a surprise, since everyone thought Noel had a thing for Aria Montgomery. Hanna didn’t care, though. If she wasn’t going with Sean, she wasn’t going with anyone.
Mona looked up from her texting. “Which spray-on tan place do you think is better, Sun Land or Dalia’s? Celeste and I might go to Sun Land tomorrow, but I think they make you look orange.”
Hanna shrugged, feeling a pang of jealousy. Mona should’ve been going tanning with her, not Celeste. She was about to answer, when her own phone rang. Her heart sped up a little. Whenever her phone rang, she thought of A.
“Hanna?” It was her mom. “Where are you?”
“I’m out shopping,” Hanna answered. Since when did her mom care?
“Well, you need to go home. Your father is stopping over.”
“What? Why?” Hanna glanced at Mona, who was checking out the cheapo sunglasses at an esplanade kiosk.
She hadn’t told Mona that her dad had visited on Monday. It was too weird to talk about.
“He just…He needs to pick something up,” her mom said.
“Like what?”
Ms. Marin let out a flustered snort. “He’s coming over to get some financial paperwork we need to settle before he gets married. Is that enough explanation for you?”
A prickly sweat gathered on the back of Hanna’s neck. One, because her mom had mentioned what she hated to think about—that her dad was getting
married
to Isabel, and he would be Kate’s
father
. And two, she’d sort of thought her dad might be stopping by to see her, specifically. Why should she go home if he was coming for another reason? It would look like she didn’t have a life. She checked her reflection in the Banana Republic window. “When’s he coming?” she asked.
“He’ll be here in an hour.” Her mother abruptly hung up. Hanna snapped her phone closed and cradled it between her hands, feeling its warmth seep into her palms.
“Who was
that
?” Mona singsonged, linking her arm through Hanna’s.
“My mom,” Hanna said distractedly. She wondered if she’d have enough time to shower when she got home; she reeked of all the different perfumes she’d sampled at Neiman Marcus. “She wants me to go home.”
“Why?”
“Just…because.”
Mona stopped and eyed Hanna carefully. “Han. Your mom doesn’t just randomly call to summon you home.”
Hanna stopped. They were standing in front of the entrance to Year of the Rabbit, the mall’s upscale Chinese bistro, and the overpowering smell of hoisin sauce wafted into her nostrils. “Well, it’s because…my dad’s coming over.”
Mona frowned. “Your dad? I thought he was—”
“He’s not,” Hanna said quickly. When Mona and Hanna became friends, Hanna told Mona that her father was dead. She’d vowed never to speak to him again, so it wasn’t exactly a lie. “We weren’t in touch for a really long time,” she explained. “But I saw him the other day, and he has business in Philly or whatever. He’s not coming over today because of me. I don’t know why my mom wants me there.”
Mona put one hand on her hip. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Hanna shrugged.
“So when did this happen?”
“I don’t know. Monday?”
“Monday?” Mona sounded hurt.
“Girls!” interrupted a voice. Hanna and Mona looked up. It was Naomi Zeigler. She and Riley Wolfe were coming out of Prada, black shopping bags slung over their perfectly spray-tanned shoulders.
“Are you shopping for Foxy?” Naomi asked. Her blond hair was as lustrous as ever and her skin glowed irritatingly, but Hanna couldn’t help note that her BCBG dress was last season’s. Before she could answer, Naomi added, “Don’t bother with Prada. We bought the only good stuff.”
“Maybe we’ve already
got
dresses,” Mona said stiffly.
“Hanna, you’re going, too?” Riley widened her brown eyes and tossed her shiny red hair. “I thought maybe since you aren’t with Sean…”
“I wouldn’t miss Foxy,” Hanna said haughtily.
Riley put her hand on her hip. She was wearing black leggings, a frayed denim shirt, and a fugly black-and-white striped sweater. Recently there had been a paparazzi shot of Mischa Barton wearing the exact same outfit. “Sean’s so beautiful,” Riley purred. “I think he got even cuter over the summer.”
“He’s totally gay,” Mona said quickly.
Riley didn’t look worried. “I bet I can get him to change his mind.”
Hanna clenched her fists.
Naomi brightened. “So, hey, Hanna, the Y is awesome, huh? You’ll have to take the Pilates class with me. The instructor, Oren?
Gorgeous
.”
“Hanna doesn’t go to the Y,” Mona interrupted. “We go to Body Tonic. The Y is a shithole.”
Hanna swiveled from Mona to Naomi, her stomach fluttering.
“You don’t go to the Y?” Naomi made the most innocent face she could. “I’m confused. Didn’t I see you there yesterday? Outside the elliptical room?”