by Sara Shepard
“Whoa,” Spencer whispered. No wonder Mrs. Byers always volunteered to be the team’s travel mom.
Then it was Spencer’s turn. She looked around the room, trying to locate her victim. Mrs. Zeigler, Naomi’s polished mother, glided across the cheerful black-and-white checkerboard floor. Bingo. “She gets secret Botox treatments,” Spencer said, pointing.
“Oh puh-leease.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “All of these women get Botox. Some of the kids probably do, too.”
“. . . under her arms,” Spencer added, remembering how, a few years ago, Mrs. Zeigler always had visible sweat stains on her T-shirts whenever she raised her arms to clap for a field hockey goal. This hockey season, however, those sweat stains had magically disappeared.
“Nice.” Zach whistled.
They went around the room, making up more secrets. Zach pointed to Liam Olsen and said he was cheating on his girlfriend, Devon Arliss. Spencer zeroed in on a Goth-looking caterer and said she was a huge Justin Bieber freak and French-kissed his portrait every night. Zach said that Imogen Smith looked like the type who’d secretly had a sexually transmitted disease, and Spencer hypothesized that Beau Baxter, her hot, reclusive costar in Macbeth, had affairs with older women. And then Amelia pointed halfheartedly at someone in the crowd. “Well, she looks like the type who hooks up with teachers.”
Spencer squinted at who she was talking about and almost gasped. It was Aria. After the girls started hanging out again, Aria had told Spencer and the others everything about her affair with Ezra Fitz, her English teacher. How could Amelia know that?
Then Amelia turned her beady little pea eyes on Spencer. “So what’s your secret?”
“Uh . . .” A chill ran up Spencer’s spine. Suddenly, Amelia seemed weirdly intuitive, like she already knew. Jamaica. How I got into Princeton. What I did to Kelsey. There were definitely a few things Spencer had done she wasn’t proud of.
Zach rolled his eyes. “Don’t answer her. We all have some secrets we don’t want to share—including me.”
Shortly after that, Amelia wandered off into the party to talk to a couple of girls she recognized from candy striping. The party devolved into a giant drunken Finnish clog dance, with the cheesy polka music blaring and Aria and the new exchange student girl dancing wildly at the center.
A glass and a half of schnapps later, Spencer and Zach were still playing She Isn’t Who She Seems.
“Sean Ackard’s a serial masturbator,” Spencer posited, pointing.
“That woman in the head-to-toe Gucci buys all her designer clothes on Canal Street in New York,” Zach countered.
“Celeste Richards loves the smell of her own farts.” Spencer giggled.
“That new Finnish girl is actually a drag queen.” Zach wailed.
“Lori, Kendra, and Madison are into orgies!” Spencer cried, referring to the three soloists from masterworks halfheartedly clogging in the corner.
She was laughing so hard tears flowed freely down her cheeks, probably smearing her mascara. She and Zach had moved closer on the steps again, their legs touching, their hands brushing often, their heads occasionally lolling onto one another’s shoulders.
Eventually, the party began to break up, and everyone started for home. The two of them collected Amelia and piled back into Zach’s car. Spencer took control of Zach’s iPod and blasted St. Vincent, singing along to “Actor Out of Work.” Amelia sat in the back and sulked.
Zach pulled up to the Hastings curb and yanked up the emergency brake. Spencer turned to him, both sad that the night was ending and jittery because this was the moment she’d waited the entire evening for—the goodnight kiss. Surely Zach would get out of the car and walk her to her door—away from his sister.
“You know, we never figured out a wager for your little Secrets game,” Spencer said in a silky voice. “And I think I won—I definitely figured out more secrets than you.”
Zach raised a brow. “Au contraire. I think I deserve the prize.” He leaned closer to her, and Spencer’s heart pounded hard.
Amelia groaned loudly and jutted forward from the backseat. “Would you guys stop flirting? You realize we’re like one romantic date away from becoming stepsiblings, right? If you two hooked up, that would practically be incest.”
Zach stiffened and moved away from Spencer. “Who said anything about hooking up?”
Ouch. Spencer shot Amelia the nastiest glare she could muster. Way to ruin the moment.
When she turned back to Zach, he pecked her politely on the cheek. “Call me. We should do brunch at the Rosewood Country Club. Tons of people have secrets there.”
“Uh, absolutely,” Spencer said, trying not to sound disappointed.
She walked to the front door, avoiding the patches of snow and ice on the sidewalk. As she fumbled for her keys, her cell phone chimed. She pulled it out, hoping it was a text from Zach. Can’t wait to see you without my sis next time, perhaps. Or, even better, I did want to kiss you. I hope I can soon.
But it was a message from an anonymous sender instead. The schnapps immediately drained from Spencer’s head, leaving her feeling instantly sober. She looked around, searching for two eyes peering through the bushes, a figure moving through the trees. But there was nothing.
She took a deep breath and pressed READ.
Hey Spence. Everyone has secrets, indeed. And guess
what? I know yours. –A
Chapter 14
Bffs 4-Evr
On Wednesday afternoon, Emily stood in front of Steam. As usual, every stool in the café was taken. Naomi Zeigler, Riley Wolfe, and Kate Randall held court under the big Italian poster of La Dolce Vita. Kirsten Cullen and Amanda Williamson stood at the counter and argued over which cupcake they wanted to split.
Students swept down the hall, heading to lunch or their next classes. First, Emily spotted Hanna through the crowd. She had a faraway smile on her face, seemingly oblivious to the people around her. Then, almost a split second later, Spencer rounded the corner, talking loudly to Scott Chin, one of her yearbook coeditors. “I had an amazing time at the Kahns’ smorgasbord last night, didn’t you?” she said.
And next, possibly because Emily was thinking about her, Aria strutted down the hall, arm in arm with that new exchange student from Finland who was living with Noel Kahn.
Not a single one of them glanced at Emily. The horrible A note in Ali’s mailbox seemed a zillion miles from their thoughts. Why couldn’t Emily forget about it, too?
“Hey, Emily!”
Chloe emerged through the clot of students. Emily waved. “Hey!”
As Chloe ran toward her, Emily felt a happy rush. This was their first lunch together, but since Emily had visited Chloe on Monday they’d friended one another on Facebook, commented on each other’s posts, and had a lengthy IM chat last night before bed, gossiping about people in their classes, teachers to avoid, and the long-standing rumor about how the A/V supply room was where horny couples went to have sex.
Chloe looked Emily up and down, a smirk on her face. “Now, where have I seen that outfit before?” She gestured to Emily’s Rosewood Day uniform plaid skirt and white blouse, then fingered her own identical blue blazer. “It’s so bizarre to go to a school that enforces uniforms. We look like members of a cult.”
“I’ve had to suffer through it for twelve years,” Emily groaned. Then she turned toward the cafeteria. “You ready?”
Chloe nodded, and Emily followed the crowd of kids into the cafeteria, which was rapidly filling up with students. As they walked through the food lines, Emily gave Chloe a brief run-down. “The sushi is good, but don’t get the chicken teriyaki—it comes out of a can.”
“Got it.”
Emily selected a Caesar salad and a package of pretzels and put them on her tray. “The pasta bar is okay, but for some reason only kids in band and orchestra eat pasta. No one else.”
“What about soft pretzels?” Chloe pointed at the pretzel rack.
“Pretzels are fine,” Emily sa
id vaguely. Actually, the big soft pretzels used to be Ali’s signature lunchtime food in seventh grade. Once they became part of Ali’s clique, Emily, Aria, and Spencer ate pretzels, too, and lots of girls in their class copied them.
A charred smell wafted out of the kitchen then, reminding Emily of the fire in the Poconos. Even though the flames had reached the tops of the trees, even though the police had sworn over and over that there was no way Ali could have survived the explosion, Emily still had a horrible feeling Ali had gotten away. The very night after it happened, she’d had a dream about finding Ali in the woods beyond her parents’ cabin, covered in burns. Ali had opened her eyes and stared straight at her. “You just dug your own grave, Emily,” she said laughingly, reaching out to claw Emily with catlike talons.
“You coming?” Chloe called, staring at Emily inquisitively.
Emily looked down. She’d stopped dead in the cafeteria line, lost in thought. “Of course,” she said, scurrying through the checkout.
They found a seat by the windows. Pure white snow blanketed the practice fields.
Chloe pulled out her phone and pushed it across the table to Emily. “Look at this picture of Grace. My mom sent it to me this morning.”
On the screen was a photo of Grace with Cheerios all over her face. “Adorable,” Emily cooed. “You must just want to eat her up every day.”
“I do.” Chloe beamed. “She’s just so pudgy and cute. It’s so fun to have a little sister.”
“Was she . . . planned?” Emily blurted, surprising herself. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Sorry. That was really nosy.”
“Nah, everyone asks it.” Chloe took a bite of pretzel. “She was and she wasn’t. My parents always wanted me to have a sibling, but it was pretty hard for them to get pregnant again. When Grace came along, they were both stunned. She saved my parents, though—they were having problems before this. Now, everything’s great.”
“Oh.” Emily feigned fascination with a piece of chicken in her salad, not wanting to make eye contact. “What were things like with your parents before Grace?”
“Oh, the usual crap.” Chloe stuck a straw into her can of ginger ale. “Bickering, rumors of cheating. My mom is a classic over-sharer, so I heard way more than I should have.”
“But everything’s good now?” The few bites of salad Emily had eaten felt like lead in her stomach. Mr. Roland’s hip-grab floated into her mind again.
Chloe shrugged. “It seems to be.”
A figure loomed over them, and Emily looked up. Ben, her old boyfriend from swimming, leered at both of them. “Hey, Emily. Who’s your friend?”
Chloe smiled innocently. “Chloe Roland. I’m from North Carolina.”
She stuck out her hand, and Ben made a big deal of shaking it. His best friend, Seth Cardiff, sidled up behind him and started to snicker. “You guys look pretty cozy together,” Ben teased.
“I’m going to vote you Best Couple,” Seth joked.
“Very funny,” Emily snapped. “Leave us alone.”
Ben looked at Chloe. “You know about her, right? You know what she’s into?” He made a humping motion with his hips.
“Go away,” Emily said through her teeth.
The two boys dissolved into dirty-sounding chuckles and wandered away. Emily stared out the window, her heart raging in her ears.
“What was that about?” Chloe asked.
“He’s my ex,” Emily said flatly. “He’s kind of never forgiven me for something.”
“What?”
Emily turned and watched as Ben and Seth bumbled out of the cafeteria, periodically shoving each other into the wall. She hadn’t wanted to tell Chloe about her past so soon, but there was no way around it now. “I broke up with him last year to go out with a girl.”
A surprised look passed over Chloe’s face, but it disappeared fast. “God. I bet it was a huge blow to his manhood, huh?”
“Uh, yeah. He tormented me for months.” Emily’s squinted at Chloe, surprised at her tempered reaction. It was so nice that someone wasn’t freaking out for once. “You don’t think that’s weird that I dated a girl?”
“Hey, if it feels good, go with it.” Chloe popped the last of her pretzel into her mouth. “That’s my motto. So was this girl special?”
Emily thought of Maya St. Germain, her crush last year, and smiled. “She was at the time. She really helped me figure out what I did and didn’t want. But we don’t talk much now—she’s seeing someone else, a sophomore. She wasn’t the love of my life or anything.”
That, of course, was Ali—her Ali. Was it crazy to still crush on a dead girl? Her Ali still had such a hold on her. And when “Courtney” returned, confessed to Emily that she was her real friend, and kissed Emily passionately on the lips, Emily had been in heaven. Now, even though Emily knew, logically, that her Ali had died the night of the seventh-grade sleepover, she still longed for that girl to return once more.
It made her think of that fateful first night in Jamaica. When Emily was on her way back from the bathroom after yet another puke session, a hand caught her arm. “Hey!” a girl said in a bright, familiar voice.
Emily stared. It was the girl she’d seen earlier, the one she thought was Ali. “H-Hi?”
“I’m Tabitha.” The girl thrust out her hand, which was covered in scars. “I saw you watching me from across the room. Do you go to my school?”
“I-I don’t think so,” Emily squeaked. But she couldn’t stop staring. Did Tabitha look like Ali, or didn’t she?
Tabitha cocked her head. “Want to take a picture? It’ll last longer.”
Emily wrenched her eyes away. “Sorry. I just feel like I know you from somewhere.”
“Maybe you do.” Tabitha winked. “Maybe we’ve met in a past life.” A Ke$ha song blared over the stereo. Tabitha’s eyes lit up. “I love Ke$ha!” she exclaimed, grabbing Emily’s hand harder. “Dance with me!”
Dance with her? It was one thing for this girl to remind Emily of Ali, but now she was acting like her, too. Still, Emily couldn’t resist. Feeling hypnotized, she let Tabitha lead her onto the dance floor and spin her around. Halfway through the song, Tabitha stretched out her arm and took a picture of both of them with her phone. She promised to send it to Emily later, but she never did.
A straw wrapper bounced off Emily’s nose. Chloe giggled across the table. “Gotcha, space cadet!”
It was enough to break Emily out of her funk. “That’s it.” She grabbed her own straw and peeled off the wrapper. “You’re going down.”
She blew the wrapper at Chloe’s ear. Chloe retaliated by tossing her napkin at Emily’s shoulder. Emily beaned a crouton at Chloe, and Chloe pelted her with an M&M. It ricocheted off Emily’s forehead and disappeared down Imogen Smith’s shirt.
Imogen turned around and glowered. James Freed stood at a nearby table and grinned. “I’ll search for it, Imogen!” Imogen had some of the biggest boobs in the class.
The cafeteria monitor, an ancient woman named Mary, stormed over to Emily and Chloe. “No throwing food! Am I going to have to separate you two?” Her glasses swung on a chain around her neck. She wore a sweatshirt with kittens on the front.
“Sorry,” Emily whispered. Then she and Chloe looked at each other and burst into giggles. It reminded Emily of a feeling she’d had a long time ago, when she, Ali, and the others used to giggle in just this way in just this cafeteria.
Suddenly, she realized what that feeling was: happiness.
Chapter 15
Hanna Marin, Role Model
“Okay, everyone, please find your seats!” Jeremiah flitted around the back room of Mr. Marin’s campaign headquarters, a large office in a luxury building that also housed a plastic surgeon, a high-end interior design firm, and several psychiatrists’ offices. His glasses were askew, and there were bags under his eyes. What Jeremiah needed, Hanna thought, was a very long day at the spa.
Hanna tried not to get jostled by the staff members, consultants, and focus group leaders pi
ling into the room. It was Wednesday evening, and they’d gathered here to watch the final cut of her dad’s commercial.
The elevator dinged and Isabel and Kate swept in, all broad smiles and glossy hair. Isabel looked orange and ridiculous as usual, but Kate looked fresh and pretty in a coral-colored Rachel Pally jersey dress and black Kate Spade platform heels. As soon as she saw Hanna, she shot her a tight, self-satisfied smile. “Hey, Hanna! Excited to see the final result?”
Hanna rolled her eyes at Kate and her saccharine, rubbing-it-in-your-face enthusiasm. Yeah, yeah, yeah, Kate was about to be the star of a political commercial. A few days ago, it might have stung, but not anymore.
“Sure.” Hanna pulled the Love Quotes silk scarf she’d bought this afternoon at Otter, her favorite boutique, around her shoulders. All the models on Full Frontal Fashion wore diaphanous scarves backstage. “Any exposure is good for my modeling career.”
Kate’s icy smile drooped. “What modeling career?”
“Oh, you didn’t know? A photographer discovered me at my dad’s taping,” Hanna said breezily, as though this were a regular occurrence. “We did a shoot in Philly. It was super high-fashion. He’s going to send my portfolio to some New York agents pronto. He’s really well-connected.”
Kate’s eyes shifted back and forth, and her cheeks reddened. She looked like she was about to spontaneously combust. “Oh,” she said finally, the word sounding like a belch. “Well, good luck with that.” Then she flounced away, her shoulders rigid, her butt cheeks tightly clenched. Score.
Hanna’s father appeared through the doors, and everyone applauded. He walked to the front of the room and waved his hands to quiet them down. “Thank you all for coming! I can’t wait for you to see the commercial. But first, let me introduce some people who helped make it happen . . .”
Then he proceeded to praise about fifty billion people, from the video editor to his stylist to the lady who cleaned the office. Hanna looked around, hoping Patrick might be here, but Sergio was the only representative from the photo shoot. Her crush on Patrick had blossomed over the last twenty-four hours: She’d sent him several texts during school, and he’d responded immediately, saying her photos were as beautiful as she was. Already, she had visions of the two of them taking New York by storm, the up-and-coming fashion photographer and his supermodel girlfriend.