by Sara Shepard
“Any friend of Chloe’s is a friend of mine,” Mr. Roland pivoted toward the exit. “It’s nice to see her meeting people so quickly. Nice seeing you, Emily.”
He tucked his briefcase under his arm and strode around the puddles toward the steamed-over door to the locker rooms. Suddenly, Emily felt a million times better. Whatever she’d thought she’d experienced in the Rolands’ house yesterday was all in her head.
Someone sighed behind her, and Emily turned around. Her gaze darted to the long bank of windows that led to the outside. The sun had set, dyeing the sky midnight blue and bathing the landscape in silhouette. And then she saw something next to her Volvo wagon in the parking lot. Was that a person? Skulking around, peeking through the passenger-side window?
Another flip turn splashed her legs, and she stepped back from the pool’s edge. When she looked out the window again, the sky was suddenly pitch-black, like someone had pulled a curtain over it. Emily couldn’t see anything at all.
Chapter 12
Finn Dining
On Tuesday night, Aria rang the doorbell at the Kahns’ house, a redbrick mansion with white columns, a six-car garage, various porticos and turrets, and an eleven-acre backyard that had been the site of many infamous parties. Tonight, the Kahns were hosting another party, although Aria doubted it would feature body shots or illicit hookups in the Kahns’ photo booth. It was a traditional Finnish smorgasbord to welcome Klaudia to the U.S., and judging by the number of cars in the long, circular driveway, it looked like the Kahns had invited everyone in Rosewood and several towns beyond.
Mrs. Kahn flung the door open and beamed. “Tervetuloa, Aria!” she said jovially. “That’s Finnish for welcome!”
“Uh, tervetuloa,” Aria echoed politely, trying to get the intonation correct . . . and trying not to gawk at Mrs. Kahn’s outfit. Normally, Noel’s mother was the epitome of horsey couture: Ralph Lauren riding pants, cable-cashmere sweaters, sleek Tod’s boots, and diamonds on her fingers and in her ears that were probably worth more than both Aria’s parents’ houses combined.
“Isn’t my outfit divine?” Mrs. Kahn crowed, spinning so the skirt flared out. “It’s the traditional Finnish costume! Have you ever seen anything so colorful? I’m half Finnish, you know. Perhaps my ancestors dressed just like this!”
Aria nodded and smiled dumbly, though she doubted Finns dressed that way unless they absolutely had to. Who wanted to look like a Grimm fairy-tale character?
Then Klaudia stepped into the foyer. “Aria! We’re so happy you make it!” Noel was right behind her. Klaudia looped her arm around Noel’s shoulders like they were a couple.
“Uh, I wouldn’t miss it.” Aria stared pointedly at Noel, thinking he’d break from Klaudia and walk across the foyer to join her, his girlfriend. But he just stood next to Klaudia with a stupid grin on his face. Klaudia turned and whispered something in Noel’s ear. Noel said something back, and they both chuckled.
Prickles rose on Aria’s skin. “Is something funny?”
“It’s . . . never mind.” Noel waved away Aria’s question.
Tonight, Klaudia wore a marled sweater dress that was at least two sizes too small. Her blond hair spilled down her back, and she wore wet, glossy lipstick that drew the eye straight to her mouth. Every guy at the party stared at her—including Mr. Shay, the elderly biology teacher at Rosewood Day who Aria had always thought was legally blind.
But then Noel slithered around the knot of adoring male admirers and wrapped his arm around Aria. “I’m glad you’re here.” It made Aria feel slightly better, especially since Klaudia was watching.
“Ooh, delicious!” Klaudia chirped when she reached the table. About ten guys scrambled to help her, as if she were an infant incapable of making her own plate. Mason Byers offered to spoon up Klaudia a bowl of soup. Philip Gregory asked if Klaudia wanted some sausage—nudge, nudge. Preston Wallis and John Dexter, who’d graduated from Rosewood Day but were going to Hollis and still some of Noel’s closest friends, retrieved napkins for Klaudia and poured her a mug of cider.
The girls were a different story, though. Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe shot Klaudia dirty looks from the kitchen island. Lanie Iler, who was standing near Aria in the food line, leaned over to Phi Templeton, who wasn’t nearly as much of a dork as she used to be when Aria, Ali, and the others made fun of her in seventh grade, and whispered, “You know, she’s not that pretty.”
“She’s in my English class,” Phi answered, rolling her eyes. “She barely knows how to read English. I thought people from Europe were, like, fluent.”
Aria hid a smirk. She would have thought Razor scooter–obsessed Phi would be sensitive about making fun of others.
“If James keeps looking at her, I’m going to kick her ass,” Lanie continued through her teeth, spearing a sausage and plopping it on her plate. James Freed was her new boyfriend.
Someone tapped Aria on the shoulder and she turned. Klaudia was right behind her, staring at Aria with her large, blue eyes. “Hallo, Aria,” she said. “I eat you?”
At first, Aria thought she was serious—it was just the thing a fairy-tale villainess might say. Then Klaudia peered nervously into the crowd. “So many people, and I only you know!”
“What a lovely idea!” Mrs. Kahn appeared from out of nowhere and clapped a hand on Aria’s shoulder. “You two should definitely eat together! You’ll love Aria, Klaudia.”
“Oh.” Aria fiddled with the bat-wing sleeve of her silk blouse. Wouldn’t Klaudia rather eat with her male entourage? But it wasn’t like she could say no with Mrs. Kahn standing there.
After spooning a few more bites of vegetarian goulash on her plate, Aria led Klaudia to the bay window seat. They were quiet for a moment, taking in the party. The popular girls from Rosewood Day had moved to the long table in the breakfast nook, still giving Klaudia—and Aria, by association—the evil eye. A nearby cluster of adults Aria didn’t recognize were out-boasting one another about where their kids had gotten into college. Through the archway to the living room, Aria caught sight of Spencer and a boy she didn’t recognize, but she knew better than to wave.
The postcard haunted her. Even sitting here, in Noel’s kitchen, she kept peeking at her cell phone, terrified of a new text.
Could A seriously be back? What if A really knew the horrible thing she’d done?
Aria turned to Klaudia, trying to shake the awful thoughts from her mind. “So how do you like Rosewood Day?”
Klaudia dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “So big. I get much lost! And people give directions, and I’m like . . . oof!” She pretended to wipe sweat off her brow. “My old school in Helsinki? Six rooms! Thirty people in our class! Nothing like this!”
“I know what you mean.” Aria swallowed bite of beet and turnip mash. “The high school I went to in Reykjavik only had about a hundred students. I knew everyone within a couple of weeks.”
Klaudia lowered her fork. “You did school in Reykjavik?”
“Yeah.” Didn’t Noel tell Klaudia anything about her? “I lived there for almost three years. I loved it.”
“I go there!” Klaudia’s smile broadened. “For the Iceland Airwaves festival!”
“I went to that, too!” The Iceland Airwaves festival was the first concert Aria had gone to. She’d felt so adult traipsing onto the grounds, passing the hippie tents selling temporary tattoos and dream catchers, and inhaling the smells of exotic vegetarian cuisine and hookah pipes. During one of the many Icelandic bands’ sets, she’d met three boys: Asbjorn, Gunnar, and Jonas, and Jonas had kissed her during the encore. That was when Aria knew moving to Iceland was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to her.
Klaudia nodded excitedly, her blond hair bouncing. “So much music! My favorite was Metric.”
“I saw them in Copenhagen!” Aria said. She would have never pegged Klaudia for a Metric girl. Music was one of those things Aria hadn’t been able to talk about with anyone here the way she had in Iceland—all the Typical Ros
ewoods, as she called them, never ventured to listened to anything not on the iTunes Most Downloaded list.
“I loved! So much—tanssi!” She squinted, trying to think of the English word, and then bobbed her head back and forth as though she were dancing.
Then, setting her paper plate on the windowsill, Klaudia pulled out her iPhone and flipped through pictures. “This is Tanja.” She pointed at a foxlike Sofia Coppola look-alike. “Best friends. We go to Reykjavik concert together. I miss so much. We text every night.”
Klaudia flipped through more photos of her friends, mostly blond girls; her family, a gaunt, makeup-free mother, a tall, rumpled father who she said was an engineer, and a younger brother who had messy hair; her house, a modern box that reminded Aria of the house they rented in Reykjavik; and her cat, Mika, which she cradled like a baby in the same way Aria cradled her own cat, Polo. “I miss my Mee-mee so much!” she cried, bringing the picture to her lips and giving the cat a kiss.
Aria giggled. Klaudia turned to the next photo in the stack, a shot of her friends in ski gear on top of a mountain. “Oh! This is Kalle!” She said it like Kah-lee. “We ski every weekend! Who will I ski with now?”
“I’ll ski with you,” Aria volunteered, surprising herself.
Klaudia’s eyes brightened. “You ski?”
“Well, no . . .” Aria forked the remaining goulash on her plate. “Actually, I’ve never skied in my life.”
“I teach you!” Klaudia bounced in her seat. “We go soon! So easy!”
“Okay.” Come to think of it, Noel had mentioned that his family was thinking about going on a ski trip for the long weekend at the end of the week. Surely Klaudia would be invited, too. “But I’d like to teach you something in return.”
“How about that?” Klaudia pointed at the pink mohair scarf wound around Aria’s neck. “Did you neuloa?” She rotated her hands around, pantomiming knitting.
Aria inspected the scarf. “Oh, I knitted this years ago. It’s not very good.”
“No, is beautiful!” Klaudia exclaimed. “Teach me! I make presents for Tanja and Kalle!”
“You want to learn to knit?” Aria repeated. No one, not even Ali or the others, had asked Aria to teach them—it had always been Aria’s weird thing. But Klaudia didn’t seem to think it was weird.
They arranged to meet on Thursday at a ski supply store so Aria could get proper gear. As they rose to check out the desserts, Aria noticed Noel staring at her from across the room with a surprised smile on his face. Aria waved, and so did Klaudia. “He your boyfriend, right?” Klaudia asked.
“Yeah,” Aria answered. “For over a year.”
“Ooh, serious!” Klaudia’s eyes twinkled. But there was nothing envious about her demeanor.
Mr. Kahn appeared in the doorway. Aria hadn’t seen him in weeks. He was always traveling on important business. Now, he was decked out in a brown loincloth, what looked like a bearskin coat, black boots, and a massive horned hat. He looked like Fred Flintstone.
“I’m ready for the feast!” he bellowed, raising a club in his left hand.
Everyone cheered. The Rosewood Day girls in the corner tittered. Aria and Klaudia exchanged a horrified look. Was he serious?
“Save me!” Klaudia whispered, hiding behind Aria.
Aria burst into giggles. “Those horns! And what’s with the club?”
“I don’t know!” Klaudia held her nose. “And Mrs. Kahn’s skirt smell just like hevonpaskaa!”
Aria didn’t exactly know what the word meant, but just the sound of it made her double over with giggles. She could feel the stares of the bitchy girls across the room, but she didn’t care. All at once, she felt so grateful Klaudia was here. For the first time in almost a year, Aria had someone to laugh with again. Someone who really understood her in a way that the Typical Rosewoods couldn’t.
For a moment, it even made her forget about A.
Chapter 13
Seduction and Secrets
Spencer stood at the back of the Kahns’ smorgasbord line, eyeing the food spread. Some of this crap looked like cat vomit. And who in their right mind drank soured milk?
Two hands grabbed her shoulders. “Surprise,” Zach Pennythistle said, waving an uncorked amber-colored bottle in her face. Inside was a greenish liquid that smelled like nail polish remover.
Spencer raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”
“Traditional Finnish schnapps.” He poured a few slugs into two foam cups from the stack on the table. “I snuck it from the bar cart when no one was looking.”
“Bad boy!” Spencer shook her finger at him. “Are you always so deviant?”
“It’s why I’m the black sheep of my family,” Zach teased, lowering his dark eyes at her, which made Spencer’s insides whirl.
She was thrilled Zach had accepted her invitation to the smorgasbord party tonight. Ever since the dinner at The Goshen Inn on Sunday, she couldn’t stop thinking of their fun, flirty banter. Even after they’d sat down at the table with the rest of the family, they’d continued to shoot one another feisty looks and secret smiles.
They drifted through the living room and set up camp on the Kahns’ stairs. The party was getting raucous, with a bunch of Rosewood Day kids Irish-jigging to the polka music in the Kahns’ enormous living room and some of the adults already slurring their words. “I usually don’t peg Harvard boys as the black sheep of their families,” Spencer said to Zach, picking up on their previous conversation.
Zach sat back, frowning. “Where’d you hear I was going to Harvard?”
Spencer blinked. “Your dad said so at dinner. Before I found you at the bar.”
“Of course he did.” Zach took a long drink of his schnapps. “To tell you the truth, I’m not entirely sure Harvard and I are a match made in heaven. I have my eye on either Berkeley or Columbia. Not that he knows that, of course.”
Spencer raised her glass. “Well, here’s to getting what you want.”
Zach smiled. “I always get what I want,” he said meaningfully, which sent more tingles up her spine. Something was going to happen between them tonight. Spencer could just feel it.
“Is that booze?” cried an outraged voice. Zach’s sister, Amelia, emerged from around the corner with a plate full of food.
Spencer sighed and shut her eyes.
Did Amelia even want to be here? A hideous scowl had settled over her features as soon as she’d stepped through the Kahns’ door. When Mrs. Kahn put on a traditional Finnish folk dance song, Amelia had actually winced and covered her ears.
“Want some?” Zach pushed his cup toward Amelia. “It tastes like peppermint patties, your favorite!”
Amelia moved away, making a face. “No thanks.” Her idea of party wear was a striped Brooks Brothers button-down tucked very tightly into a denim pencil skirt that fell to her knees. She looked exactly like Mrs. Ulster, Spencer’s substitute Calc II teacher.
Amelia leaned against the banister and glowered at the Rosewood residents. “So are these people your friends?” She said friends like she might have said bedbug-infested mattresses.
Spencer surveyed the crowd. Most of the Rosewood Day senior class had been invited, as well as a smattering of the Kahns’ society friends. “Well, they all go to my school.”
Amelia made a dismissive uch. “They seem really lame. Especially the girls.”
Spencer flinched. Other than Kelsey, she hadn’t hung out with St. Agnes girls in ages. But she had been to a couple of their parties back in middle school; each clique named themselves after a European princess or queen—there were the Queen Sofias of Spain, the Princess Olgas of Greece, and the Charlottes of Monaco, daughter of Princess Carolina. Hello, lameness?
Zach drained the rest of his drink and set his cup on the stairs. “Oh, these girls look like they might have some dirty little secrets up their sleeves.”
“How can you tell?” Spencer teased.
“It’s all about watching people, noticing what they do. Like when I met you a
t the restaurant on Sunday—I knew you were in the bar area because you were escaping from someone. Taking a breather.”
Spencer gave him a playful slap. “You’re such a liar.”
Zach crossed his arms over his chest. “Wanna bet? There’s this game I sometimes play called She’s Not What She Seems. I bet I can suss out more secrets than you can.”
Spencer flinched for a moment at the name of the game. For some reason, it reminded her of the postcard they’d received last night. Even though Spencer pretended it didn’t matter, flickers of anxiety threatened to ignite inside of her. Could someone know about Jamaica? A lot of people had been staying at the resort—Noel, Mike, that group of kids from California they’d gone surfing with, some party-crazy boys from England, and of course the staff—but Spencer and the others looked up and down the dark beach after everything had happened and hadn’t seen a soul. It was like they were the last people on earth. Unless . . .
She shut her eyes and swept the thoughts away. There was no unless. And there was no new A. The postcard was just a big coincidence, a lucky guess.
A bunch of girls on the Rosewood Day newspaper staff flitted into the living room with plates of meatballs, potatoes, and sardines. Spencer turned back to Zach. “I’ll play your little secrets game. But you realize I know these people, right? I have a home-court advantage.”
“Then we have to pick people you don’t really know.” Zach leaned forward and gazed around the room. He pointed to Mrs. Byers, Mason’s mom, who was decked out in head-to-toe Kate Spade. “Know anything about her?”
Amelia, who had been watching them both, groaned. “Her? She’s as generic as they come! Soccer mom, drives a Lexus. Snore.”
Zach clucked his tongue. “That’s where you’re wrong. She looks like your regular upscale suburban housewife, but she likes her boyfriends young.”
“What makes you say that?” Spencer asked incredulously.
“Look.” Zach pointed at how Mrs. Byers was eagerly filling the cup for Ryan Zeiss, one of Mason’s lacrosse teammates. Her hand lingered on Ryan’s shoulders for a long time. Too long.