by Sara Shepard
Then Spencer touched her arm. “Try to get something out of Iris soon, okay?”
Emily nodded. “I will.”
Then she headed out of the house, across the driveway, and climbed into her car. Thankfully, Iris was still sitting in the passenger seat, flipping through Us. Emily slid the key in the ignition and started the engine.
“How’s your sick friend?” Iris asked without looking up from the magazine.
“What?” Emily snapped her head up. Then she remembered the lie she told. “Oh. Uh, feeling much better!”
Iris slapped the magazine closed and gave Emily a knowing look. “God, Emily. If you’re going to lie, at least do a better job.”
“I’m not lying,” Emily said quickly.
Iris waited a beat. When Emily didn’t say anything more, she tossed Emily her cell phone, which was sitting in the center console. “This beeped while you were out,” she said woodenly.
Ice ran through Emily’s veins. She peeked at the screen. There was a new message for her on Twitter. Her mouth dropped open as she read the words. THOUGH I CAN’T BE THERE WITH YOU IN PERSON, I’LL BE THERE IN SPIRIT, an unfamiliar Twitter handle had written to her. I’M GOING TO SEND YOU A SECRET MESSAGE, MY LOVE. BE READY AT 10 PM!
“Is that from the girl you’re into?” Iris asked, still staring straight ahead.
Emily knew she should be annoyed that Iris was snooping, but she was so thrilled she let it slide. “I think so!” she whooped. “I can’t wait for prom now!”
Iris’s neck twisted around so she was facing Emily. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Who says you’re going to prom?” She tilted her chin. “If you want answers from me, then we’re sticking to my schedule. My list. No balls for you, Cinderella.”
Emily blinked hard. “But . . . I thought maybe . . . I mean, this is important. I thought you’d understand. As, you know, a friend.” As soon as she said it, she realized she meant it. They sort of had become friends, in a weird way.
Iris crossed her arms over her chest, a look of hurt passing across her face. “Friends don’t lie, Emily.”
Emily stared at her. Iris looked genuinely shattered—over such a small lie. Then again, maybe it wasn’t small to her. Emily suddenly wondered how many friends someone like Iris could have made in The Preserve. Probably not many.
She opened her mouth, wishing she could tell Iris the truth, but then reality slammed back. She swallowed the thought and stared out the windshield. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Your list it is.”
19
Aria Opens Up
After school that day, Aria climbed the stairs in her house holding a lacquered tray her father had brought back from a trip to China. On it were two plates of fried tofu spring rolls that she’d specially made for her and Noel. She’d garnished each dish with basil, green onions, soy sauce, and even two red roses she’d plucked from her mother’s vase in the kitchen. Ella’s boyfriend, an artist named Francis who was on a month-long trip to Berlin, had sent them to her, but he sent her roses all the time, so Aria figured Ella wouldn’t miss a couple.
She kicked open the door to find Noel splayed on her bed, reading ESPN magazine. “Dinner is served,” she chirped in a faux French accent. “I think I even got the wraps right.” They’d learned to make them in a cooking class they’d taken together.
Noel smiled at the steaming food. “This smells way better than when we made it in class. Have you been practicing?”
Aria propped up a fringed pillow against the headboard. “Maybe a little . . . for you.” She touched his hand. “We haven’t seen each other much lately. And the last time was so . . . weird.”
It was hard to spit the word out. Weird didn’t begin to describe her Ali-terrogation. Since she wasn’t texting or calling, she and Noel had barely spoken in the past few days. Aria hadn’t realized how much they relied on technology to communicate.
But maybe it was good: She needed some space to clear her mind. Though she’d never admit it to her friends, there were a few other things about Noel she couldn’t get out of her head. Like how Noel’s house was filled with pictures of the family at the picnic grounds at Keppler Creek—Mr. Kahn said the fishing there was the best in the state. Noel had gone hiking and fishing there with his brothers a few times last winter, spring, and summer. Some of the trips had been before Real Ali reappeared, some of them after. He’d never invited Aria, and she’d thought nothing of it. Should she have?
Noel popped a spring roll into his mouth and swooned. “You can even make tofu taste awesome.”
“That’s one reason to keep me around,” Aria teased, trying to make her voice sound carefree.
“I can think of a few other reasons, too.” Noel set his plate on the end table, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her on top of him. “The only tastier thing than this dinner is you.”
Aria snuggled into his neck. Noel ran his hands through her hair and kissed her lips. She shut her eyes and tried to relax. A traitor wouldn’t touch her like this. Even the best actor in the world wouldn’t be able to caress her so affectionately.
Beep.
Aria shot up in bed. She stared at her new phone. It wasn’t blinking . . . but Noel’s, which was sitting on Aria’s desk next to his wallet, was. He sat up and studied the screen. “Huh. Is this an international number?” he asked, showing her.
Aria tried to process the long string of numbers in the text box, but before she could, Noel opened the text. Normally, Aria would have looked away, but she caught sight of her name in the message. As she read the words, a sinking feeling crept over her skin.
Look in Aria’s closet. She has something to show you.
Noel snorted. “Freaking international spam. They’re getting so good they know our names now.” He hit DELETE. “Look in Aria’s closet,” he said in a mock-ominous voice, punctuating it with a Dracula laugh. “What’s in there?”
“Nothing,” Aria squeaked. She tried to take a breath but hiccupped nervously instead.
Noel pulled away and searched her face. “Are you sure about that?” he teased.
He was still laughing, which made Aria feel even worse. “Yes!” she said, but her voice was too loud and high-pitched.
A beat passed. Noel swung his legs off the bed and started toward the closet. He had the same look on his face he got when he was about to tickle her. “Is it the bogeyman?”
“Don’t open it. It’s a huge mess in there.”
Noel shrugged. “I bet mine’s messier.”
Aria glanced at Noel’s phone lying faceup on the bed. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t tell him about the painting. It was bad enough the case had been reopened and that the police had new evidence and an anonymous tip—which Aria was sure was from A. She couldn’t involve Noel in this. The last thing she wanted was for him to go away for life, too.
“Come here,” Aria said, pulling Noel back to the bed.
She kissed his neck softly, hoping it would distract him. But his muscles were stiff; he pulled away from her and inspected her carefully. “What’s with you?”
“What do you mean?” Aria peppered his cheek with kisses. “I’m fine.”
Noel sat up. “You’re totally not fine. I don’t get you lately. Like, really don’t get you. And it’s starting to scare me. I’m starting to think you’re . . . I don’t know. Not telling me something.”
Now it was Aria’s turn to tense up. “Don’t think that,” she squeaked.
Noel sat back. “Whatever it is, I’ll still love you. But don’t lie to me anymore. There’s something. I can tell.”
Aria’s jaw started to tremble. It felt like Noel could see her secret, ugly and wrinkled inside her. If she insisted it was nothing, he would just keep asking . . . or maybe check the closet for real. Besides, coming clean would eliminate some of A’s power: A would surely let it slip to Noel about Olaf soon enough if Aria didn’t.
She took a deep breath, staring at one of the prisms hanging in the window to steady her
nerves. “Okay, I have been keeping something. Something I’m not really proud of.”
Noel pressed his lips together. “Okay,” he said in a brave voice.
Aria cleared her throat, her heart hammering fast. “The reason I was asking you about kissing Ali the other day is because . . . I was feeling guilty about something I did. And, um, if you would have said you liked kissing Ali—even a little bit—it might have made me feel a little better.” As she fumbled her way through the words, she was surprised to realize they were actually true.
Noel’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
Aria held her up her hand to stop him. “Just let me finish. So, uh, you know Olaf, from Iceland?”
“The bearded dude?” A hint of a smirk appeared on Noel’s face. “Yeah.”
Aria started to tremble. “Something sort of . . . happened between us when I was there. I meant to tell you a long time ago, but I was afraid. But you need to know.”
A car engine grumbled out the window. The house made a settling sound. Noel turned away sharply. “I knew it.”
“You did?” Aria bit her lip hard. Was she that transparent? Had Noel seen them?
When Aria and Olaf had snuck outside, the door had creaked a few times, like it was about to open, but then it hadn’t. Perhaps Noel had peeked out and saw them. But why wouldn’t he have stormed into the alleyway, punched Olaf in the face, and broken up with Aria on the spot? Noel could have easily taken Olaf in a fight. So maybe he didn’t know that night—maybe A had told him later. But if that was the case, why wouldn’t he have said something as soon as he found out?
Noel paced the room. He stopped at Aria’s desk, laced his hands over the back of her swivel chair, and glared at her. “You accused me the other day of cheating on you with Ali, and here you cheated on me for real. Jesus, Aria.”
Tears rolled down Aria’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve felt terrible ever since. I love you, Noel. I was really drunk. It meant nothing.”
Noel scoffed. “Are you upset now because you really feel bad, or because you got caught? I always suspected something happened, but I hoped . . .” He trailed off and bit his lip. Then he whirled around and kicked the garbage can under her desk hard. It made a metallic clang and rolled against the wall. Aria gasped and jumped back.
Then Noel swiveled around and grabbed his cell phone. “This is an Icelandic number, isn’t it? Is it from Olaf? Are you still in touch with him? You gave him my number?”
“No!” Aria cried. “I’m not in touch with Olaf. Olaf is . . .” She couldn’t say missing or dead. Noel would ask how she knew that, and then she’d have to bring up the newspaper article she’d found on her bed . . . or else she’d have to pretend she’d Googled him, which would make her seem like she liked him. Nor could she say who had really sent Noel that text just now—she couldn’t put Noel in jeopardy.
“I don’t know who that text is from,” she admitted. “Maybe Olaf, though I never gave him your number. I guess it was someone’s way of getting me to tell you the truth.”
“Look in Aria’s closet. She has something to show you,” Noel repeated nastily. “A skeleton.”
Tears pricked Aria’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She hated the way he was looking at her.
“Is that all you have to tell me, or is there something more?” Noel demanded.
Aria’s stomach swirled. “Th-that’s all. I swear.”
Noel raised one eyebrow, like he didn’t believe her. Then he turned and stomped out of the room.
“Noel!” Aria cried, chasing after him.
“I have to go,” Noel said gruffly as he thundered down the stairs. He grabbed his keys off the table near the door, whipped it open, and ran out onto the porch.
“Wait!” Aria yelled. By the time she was at the door, Noel was in his car. Its headlights snapped on, and he backed out jerkily, without bothering to look if anyone was on the road. The taillights disappeared down the street quickly.
Aria stood in the chilly night, rubbing her bare arms. It felt like there was a huge weight sitting square on her chest, preventing her from taking a full breath. Noel’s words swam back to her. Is that all you have to tell me? What did that mean?
Another memory flickered into her head, faded and almost forgotten. A Reykjavik cab had picked them up to go to the airport the morning of their flight home. As they drove out of the city, they passed the huge chateau on the hill. Police cars surrounded the place. Cops stood on the driveway, and sirens whirled. Aria slumped down in her seat, but Noel stared straight at it, fascinated. “Huh,” he had said in the croaky voice from a night of too much drinking. “I wonder what happened there.” And then he’d looked pointedly at Aria.
But he couldn’t have known. Right?
She swallowed a huge lump in her throat and went back inside the house. The stairs creaked noisily as she climbed back to her bedroom. She pushed open the door, nearly bursting into tears at the two unfinished plates of food on the table. She walked over to the closet, whipped the door open, pushed the sweatshirts aside, and stared at the rolled-up canvas. If only she could just burn it.
A square wallet on her desk caught her eye, and she straightened. It wasn’t hers, but she knew it well. She picked it up, tracing the embossed NAK—Noel Alexander Kahn. Noel always took his wallet out of his back pocket when they made out—it was much more comfortable that way. But he’d never forgotten it before. And Aria had never looked through it.
Don’t, she told herself. But her hands inched toward it anyway.
The wallet made a squeaky-leather sound as she opened it. Inside the pockets were two credit cards, Noel’s driver’s license, a couple of twenties, and some singles. His student ID was tucked into a back slot. So was a free pass to the Rosewood Go-Kart track and a receipt from Wordsmith’s Books for a coffee.
Aria stared at the ceiling, suddenly feeling oily and gross. Noel wasn’t hiding anything. This was just A being A and ruining everything.
But then she noticed a faded ticket stub behind the bills. THE WOODS CINEMA, it read in purple ink. Aria had never heard of it before. The stub was a pass to a Spider-Man movie. Aria frowned. The latest Spider-Man had come out the last summer she was in Iceland—before junior year. Why would Noel keep this?
She turned the stub over. There was faded handwriting on the back, but Aria could still make out the words. Thanks for believing in me! Next time, I’ll get the popcorn.
The note was punctuated by a little doodle. At first, it looked like just a blob, but when Aria brought it into the light, it was of a girl playing field hockey, her hands curled around a stick, the ball shooting through the air. Aria sank onto the bed. She’d seen this exact doodle before—on someone’s piece of the Time Capsule flag. She’d been given it accidentally, and she’d hidden it in her room ever since.
It had been Ali’s.
20
The Sting
That same afternoon, Spencer, clad once again in her Britney wig and sunglasses, paced back and forth in front of a Philly brownstone near the Schuylkill River. Boats honked. A double-decker bus full of tourists in faux Ben Franklin glasses and Liberty Bell sweatshirts swept by. Rain had just fallen, and the air smelled like slick cement and exhaust. She checked her school e-mail on her old cell phone, piggybacking off someone’s unencrypted WiFi. A new message had come in. Dear Spencer, Perhaps our wires crossed. I was hoping to see you at your house yesterday, but maybe you didn’t get my message. Can we try for tomorrow? Sincerely, Jasmine Fuji.
Bile filled her stomach. Yesterday, she’d taken special care not to be anywhere near her house around four PM, when Agent Fuji said she was going to oh-so-casually drop by. She’d treated Mr. Pennythistle, her mother, and Amelia to ice cream at the King James Mall so they wouldn’t be home when Fuji came by, either. But Spencer couldn’t dodge her forever.
“Boo,” a voice said. Spencer whirled around and put up her fists.
“Just me, Britney!” Chase held up his hands in mock
terror, backing away.
“Don’t do that.” Spencer gave him a playful shove. Then she examined him more closely. Today, he wore skinny-ish jeans, a button-down polo, and a down vest that made him look rugged and tough. Was it possible he looked even better than he had the last time she’d seen him? Spencer had been thrilled when he’d sent her an IM yesterday saying, My connection at CVS found an address for Barbara Rogers in their system. 2560 Spruce Street, Apt. 4B, 4 PM tomorrow?
She looked at the brownstone. “Now what do we do?”
“Knock on her door,” Chase said matter-of-factly.
Spencer gave him a crazy look. “Are we sure she even lives here?”
“Let’s check.” He climbed the steps and looked at the names on the buzzers, then frowned. “Hmm. There’s no Rogers listed.”
“It could be an outdated directory,” Spencer suggested. “Or maybe she’s not on the lease.”
“Let’s buzz.” Chase reached toward the 4B button.
Spencer caught his arm. “Wait! Maybe we shouldn’t let her know we’re coming.”
Chase squinted at her. “Then how are we going to get into the building?”
At that very moment, the red door opened, and an old man with white hair walked out. Spencer tried to catch it, but the door banged shut and locked behind him. She turned to the man instead. “Um, I’m Barbara Rogers’s niece. Can you let me in?”
The man glowered at Spencer’s Britney wig. “Never heard of her.” He shuffled down the stairs.
Spencer exchanged a look with Chase. Something told her the guy was lying. “Are you sure?” she called after the man.
“I said I don’t know anything,” he called over his shoulder, practically diving into a parked Audi. In seconds, he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Black exhaust sputtered out of the tailpipe.
Chase climbed down the steps and stood by Spencer. “Oh-kaaay.”
Spencer leaned against the wrought-iron railing, trying to get a look at the vanishing license plate, but it was already too far away. “It seems like he wanted to get away from us really quickly, didn’t it? Almost like someone got to him, told him not to talk.”