Flawless (10 page)

“It’s hard, though.” Candace strolled around the room. “Does anyone have any thoughts for Hanna? Any experiences they want to share?”

A blond boy in camo cargo pants who was almost cute—if you squinted—raised his hand, then changed his mind and put it down. A brown-haired girl who wore a pink Dubble Bubble T-shirt raised two tentative fingers in the air and said, “I thought a lot about sex, too. My boyfriend threatened to break up with me if I wouldn’t do it. For a while, I was considering giving in, but I’m glad I didn’t.”

Hanna nodded, trying to look thoughtful. Who were these people kidding? She wondered if they were secretly dying to get some.

“Sean, how about you?” Candace asked. “You were saying last week that you and your girlfriend had differing opinions about sex. How’s that going?”

Hanna felt heat rise to her cheeks. She. Could.
Not.
Believe. It.

“Fine,” Sean mumbled.

“Are you sure? Did you have a talk with her, like we discussed?”

“Yes,” Sean said curtly.

A long silence followed. Hanna wondered if they knew that “her” was…her.

Candace went around the room asking the others to speak about their temptations: Had anyone gotten horizontal with a boyfriend or girlfriend? Had anyone made out? Had anyone watched Skinamax?
Yes, yes, yes!
Hanna ticked off in her head—even though she knew they were all V Club no-no’s.

A few other kids asked sex questions—most were trying to figure out what counted as “a sexual experience,” and what they should avoid. “All of it,” Candace deadpanned. Hanna was flabbergasted—she’d figured V Club banned intercourse, but not the whole sexual menu. Finally, the meeting adjourned, and the V Club kids got out of their chairs to stretch. Cans of soda, paper cups, a plate of Oreos, and a bag of Terra Yukon Golds were on a table off to the side. Hanna stood up, slid the straps of her purple wedges back around her ankles, and stretched her arms in the air. She couldn’t help but notice that Sean was staring at her exposed abs. She gave him a flirty smile, then walked over.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hanna…” He ran his hand through his close-cropped hair, looking uncomfortable. When he cut it last spring, Hanna said it made him look a little like Justin Timberlake, only less skanky. In response, Sean had done an awful but also cute rendition of “Cry Me a River.” That was back when he was fun. “What are you doing?” he asked.

She fluttered her hand to her throat. “What do you mean?”

“I just…I don’t know if you should be here.”

“Why?” she fumed. “I have every right to be here, just like everyone. I just wanted to apologize, all right? I’ve been trying to chase you down in school, but you keep running away from me.”

“Well, it’s complicated, Hanna,” Sean said.

Hanna was about to ask what was so complicated when Candace put her hands on both their shoulders. “I see you two know each other!”

“That’s right,” Hanna chirped, momentarily burying her irritation.

“We’re so happy to have you, Hanna.” Candace beamed. “You’d be a very positive role model for us.”

“Thanks.” Hanna felt a little thrill. Even if it was V Club, she wasn’t often embraced like this. Not by her third-grade tennis coach, not by her friends, not by her teachers, certainly not by her parents. Perhaps V Club was her calling. She pictured herself as the spokeswoman of V Club. Maybe it was like being Miss America, except instead of a crown, she’d get a fabulous V Club ring. Or maybe a V Club bag. A cherry-monogrammed Louis Vuitton clutch with a hand-painted
V
.

“So, do you think you’ll join us next week?” Candace asked.

Hanna looked at Sean. “Probably.”

“Wonderful!” Candace cried.

She left Hanna and Sean alone again. Hanna sucked in her stomach, wishing she hadn’t hogged down a Good Humor chocolate éclair bar she’d impetuously bought from the Y’s ice cream truck before the meeting. “So, you talked about me here, huh?”

Sean shut his eyes. “I’m sorry she mentioned that.”

“No, it’s all right,” Hanna interrupted. “I didn’t realize how much all this…meant to you. And I really like some of the stuff they were saying. About, um, the person being someone you love. I’m all for that. And everyone seems really sweet.” She felt surprised the words were coming out of her mouth. She actually kind of meant them.

Sean shrugged. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

Hanna frowned, surprised by his apathy. Then she sighed and raised her eyes. “Sean, I’m really sorry about what happened. About…about the car. I just…I don’t really know how to apologize. I just feel so stupid. But I can’t deal with you hating me.”

Sean was quiet. “I don’t hate you. Things came out kind of harsh on Friday. I think we were both in weird places. I mean, I don’t think you should’ve done what you did, but…” He shrugged. “You’re volunteering at the clinic, right?”

“Uh-huh.” She hoped her nose didn’t wrinkle up in disgust.

He nodded a few times. “I think that’s really good. I’m sure you’ll brighten the patients’ day.”

Hanna felt her cheeks flush with gratitude, but his sweetness didn’t surprise her. Sean was a textbook good, compassionate guy—he gave money to homeless people in Philly, recycled his old cell phones, and never badmouthed anyone, even celebrities who existed to be made fun of. It had been one of the reasons she’d first come to love Sean back in sixth grade when she still was a chubby loser.

But just last week, Sean
had
been hers. She’d come a long way from being a loserish girl who did Ali’s gossipy dirty work, and she couldn’t let a little drunken error in judgment at a field party ruin their relationship. Although…there was something—or
someone
—else that might ruin their relationship.

I can RUIN you.

“Sean?” Hanna’s heart pounded. “Have you gotten any weird texts about me?”

“Texts?” Sean repeated. He cocked his head. “No…”

Hanna bit her fingernail. “If you do,” she said, “don’t believe them.”

“All right.” Sean smiled at her. Hanna felt electric.

“So,” she said after a pause. “Are you still going to Foxy?”

Sean looked away. “I guess. Probably with a bunch of guys or whatever.”

“Save me a dance,” she purred, and squeezed his hand. She loved the way his hands felt—solid, warm, and masculine. It made her so happy to touch him that maybe she
could
give up sex until marriage. She and Sean would stay constantly vertical, cover their eyes at sex scenes, and avoid Victoria’s Secret in the mall. If that was what it took to be with the only boy she’d ever kind of, well,
loved
, then maybe Hanna could make that sacrifice.

Or maybe, if the way Sean was eyeing her midriff again was any indication, she could talk him out of it.

11

DIDN’T EMILY’S MOTHER EVER TEACH HER NOT TO GET IN STRANGERS’ CARS?

Emily twisted the dial on the Fresh Fields’ gumball machine. It was Wednesday after swim practice, and she was picking up stuff for dinner for her mom. She hit the gumball machine every time she came into Fresh Fields, and had made a game out of it: if she got a yellow gumball, something good would happen to her. She looked at the gumball in her palm. It was green.

“Hey.” Someone stood over her.

Emily looked up. “Aria. Hey.”

As usual, Aria clearly wasn’t afraid to stand out with her outfit. She wore a neon blue puffy vest that accentuated her arresting, ice-blue eyes. And although she wore the school’s standard-issue uniform skirt, she’d hiked it up well above her knees and paired it with black leggings and funky royal blue ballet flats. Her black hair was up in a high, cheerleader-style ponytail. It completely worked, and most of the guys in the Fresh Fields parking lot under seventy-five were staring at her.

Aria leaned closer. “You holding up okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

Aria shrugged. She gave a surreptitious glance around the parking lot, which was full of eager cart boys pushing stray carts into the corral. “You haven’t gotten any—”

“Nope.” Emily avoided Aria’s eyes. She’d deleted Monday’s text from A—the one about her new love—so it was
almost
as if it hadn’t happened. “You?”

“Nada.” Aria shrugged. “Maybe we’re in the clear.”

We’re not,
Emily wanted to say. She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“Well, you can call me anytime.” Aria took a step toward the soda cases.

Emily left the store, a cold sweat covering her body. Why was she the only one who’d heard from A, anyway? Was A singling her out?

She put the grocery bag into her backpack, unlocked her bike, and pedaled out of the parking lot. As she turned onto a side street that was nothing but miles of white-picket farm fencing, she felt the teensiest hint of fall in the air. Fall in Rosewood always reminded Emily that it was the start of swimming season. That was usually a good thing, but this year, Emily felt uneasy. Coach Lauren had made the captain announcement yesterday after the Rosewood Tank ended. All the girls had mobbed Emily to congratulate her, and when she’d told her parents, her mom had gotten teary-eyed. Emily knew she should feel happy—things were back to normal. Except she felt like
she’d
already irrevocably changed.

“Emily!” someone called behind her.

She twisted around to see who was calling her, and her bike’s front wheel skidded on a wet patch of leaves. All of a sudden, she found herself on the ground.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” a voice called.

Emily opened her eyes. Standing over her was Toby Cavanaugh. He had the hood of his parka up, so his face looked shadowed and hollow.

She yelped. Yesterday’s incident in the locker room hallway kept coming back to her. Toby’s face, his frustrated expression. How he’d just
looked
at Ben, and Ben had backed off. And was it a coincidence that he’d been coming through the hall at that moment, or had he been following her? She thought of A’s note.
Although most of us have totally changed
…Well, Toby certainly had.

Toby crouched down. “Let me help you.”

Emily pushed the bike off herself, cautiously moved her legs, then pulled up her pant leg to inspect the long, harsh scrape on her shin. “I’m fine.”

“You dropped this back there.” Toby handed Emily her lucky change purse. It was made of pink patent leather and had a monogrammed
E
on the front; Ali had given it to Emily a month before she went missing.

“Um, thanks.” Emily took it from him, feeling uneasy.

Toby frowned at the scrape. “That looks kind of bad. You want to get into my car? I think I have some Band-Aids….”

Emily’s heart pounded. First she’d gotten that note from A, then Toby had rescued her in the locker room, now this. Why was he at Tate, anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to be in Maine? And she’d always wondered if Toby knew about The Jenna Thing and why he’d confessed. “Really. I’m okay,” she said, her voice rising.

“Can I at least drive you somewhere?”

“No!” Emily yelped. Then she noticed how much blood was gushing out of her leg. She despised seeing blood. Her arms started to feel limp.

“Emily?” Toby asked her. “Are you…?”

Emily’s vision warped. She couldn’t faint right now. She had to get away from Toby.
Although most of us have totally changed
…And then everything went black.

When she woke up, she was lying in the backseat of a small car. A bunch of mini Band-Aids crisscrossed the scrape on her leg. She looked around woozily, trying to get her bearings, when she noticed who was driving.

Toby twisted around. “Boo.”

Emily screamed.

“Whoa!” Toby paused at a stoplight and held his hands in the air, a gesture that said,
Don’t shoot!
“Sorry. I was just playing.”

Emily sat up. The backseat was filled with stuff: empty Gatorade bottles, spiral-bound notebooks, textbooks, beat-up sneakers, and a pair of gray sweats. Toby’s seat cushion had worn off in places, revealing a core of ratty blue foam. A Grateful Dead dancing bear air freshener hung from the rearview mirror. The car didn’t smell fresh, though. It smelled sharp and acrid. “What are you doing?” Emily screeched. “Where are we going?”

“You passed out,” Toby said calmly. “From the blood, maybe. I didn’t know what to do, so I lifted you up and put you in my car. I stuck your bike in my trunk.”

Emily glanced at her feet; there was her backpack. Toby picked her up? Like, in his arms? She felt so freaked, she felt like she was going to faint again. Looking around, she didn’t recognize the woodsy road they were on. They could be
anywhere
.

“Let me out,” Emily cried. “I can bike from here.”

“But there isn’t a shoulder….”

“Seriously. Pull over.”

Toby pulled over to the grassy hump and faced her. The corners of his mouth drooped down and his eyes widened in concern. “I didn’t mean…” He ran his hand over his chin. “What was I supposed to do? Leave you there?”

“Yes,” Emily said.

“Well, um, I’m sorry then.” Toby got out of the car, walked to her side, and opened her door. A lock of dark hair fell over his eyes. “At school, I volunteered for the EMS unit. I kind of want to rescue everything now. Even, like, roadkill.”

Emily looked down the country road and noticed the giant Applegate Horse Farm waterwheel. They weren’t in the middle of nowhere. They were a mile from her house.

“C’mon,” Toby said. “I’ll help you out.”

Maybe she was overreacting. There were a lot of people who’d really changed—take any of Emily’s old friends, for instance. It didn’t mean Toby was definitely A. She unclenched her grip on the seat cushion. “Um, you can drive me. If you want.”

He stared at her for a minute. One side of his mouth curled up into an almost-smile. The expression on his face said,
Um, okay, crazy girl
, but he didn’t say it.

He got back in the driver’s seat, and Emily quietly inspected him. Toby really
had
transformed. His formerly creepy-looking dark eyes now just looked deep and brooding. And he actually spoke. Coherently. The summer after sixth grade, Emily and Toby went to the same swim camp, and Toby would stare at Emily unashamedly, then pull his cap over his eyes and hum. Even then, Emily wished she could ask him the billion-dollar question: Why had he taken the blame for blinding his stepsister, when he hadn’t?