Twisted (17 page)

But then Zach pulled away. The strobe light danced across his face. He looked confused. Upset. Spencer took a few steps back, too, heat immediately rising to her cheeks. It felt like everyone was looking at her, laughing at her.

Zach grabbed Spencer’s arm and pulled her into a sitting area just off the dance floor. He settled down on the plushy velvet couch under billowing canopies. It was the sort of place couples tumbled into to make out, but suddenly the moment felt charged in all the wrong ways.

“I think you’ve misunderstood,” Zach said. “Maybe I’ve misled you.”

“It’s fine,” Spencer snapped, staring pointedly at the glowing disco ball in the center of the dance floor. “So what is it? Do you have a girlfriend or something? Are you freaked out that our parents are dating?”

“It’s not any of that.” Zach shut his eyes. “Actually, Spencer . . . I think I’m gay.”

Spencer’s jaw dropped. She stared at Zach’s thick eyebrows and strong shoulders, not believing it. He didn’t
look
gay. He liked baseball. And beer. And he’d seemed to like
her.

“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.” Zach grabbed Spencer’s hands and squeezed them hard. “I’ve been having so much fun with you, and I don’t want anything between us to end. It’s just . . . no one knows. Especially not my dad.”

The song morphed into a sped-up mix from something by the
Glee
cast, and a bunch of girls screamed. Spencer stared at Zach’s soft, slender hands in hers. Something inside her turned over.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she said, squeezing his hands hard. The proud, always-gets-what-she-wants girl inside of her still felt disappointed and embarrassed, but she also felt flattered and touched that Zach found her as fun as she found him. If their parents continued dating, maybe Zach would end up being the perfect quasi-sibling Spencer had always wanted. Maybe she should’ve been searching for a brother instead of a sister all along.

Zach jumped to his feet and pulled Spencer up, too. “Glad we got
that
straightened out. Now where were we?”

Spencer tossed her blond hair over her shoulder. She felt light and free as she sashayed through the crowd, but a presence behind her made her stop and turn. There, under the glowing
EXIT
sign, stood a dark, hooded figure staring straight at her.

Spencer stepped back, her heart leaping to her throat. A split second later, the figure had turned away and melted into the crowd—anonymous, undetectable, but still dangerously close.

Chapter 18

Friends tell friends everything

The Rolands’ SUV was already gone when Emily pulled into the driveway that same Thursday night. When she went to ring the doorbell, she noticed the front door wasn’t completely closed. “Hello?” Emily pushed it open and stepped into the foyer. A cartoon was on in the living room. Grace was in her baby swing in the corner, her head lolled to the side and her eyes closed. The Roland parents had sprung a last-minute outing on Chloe, and Emily had offered to help her babysit Grace.

“Emily?” Chloe called from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

“Hey, Chloe!” Emily walked toward her. “I’m so sorry I’m late!”

“It’s cool! I’m making nachos!”

Emily passed through the living room into the big, bright kitchen. Boxes of Cheerios, drying bottles, stacks of unopened Pampers, and a container of baby wipes littered the table. A bag of Tostitos and a jar of cheese dip sat on the island along with an open bottle of champagne. Chloe noticed Emily looking at it. “Want a glass?”

Emily glanced at the snoozing baby in the living room. “But what about Grace?” All she could think of were those TV shows featuring police officers hauling drunk babysitters off to jail.

“One glass won’t hurt.” Chloe’s limbs moved loosely as if she’d already had a glass or two before Emily arrived. She poured champagne into two crystal flutes. “And anyway, we need to toast.”

“To what?”

“To being friends.” Chloe chanced a smile. “It’s awesome to come to a new school and immediately bond with someone.”

Emily smiled. She’d always been a sucker for cheesy friendship rituals—Best Friends necklaces, secret languages, complicated inside jokes—and it had been so, so long since anyone wanted to share one with her. “One glass,” she relented, grabbing the flute.

The girls toasted and sipped. The microwave dinged, and Chloe retrieved the plate of nachos, and they carried the plates, glasses, and bottle of champagne to the living room so they could keep an eye on Grace.

“So where are your parents?” Emily asked after she’d settled on the couch.

“At a romantic dinner.” Chloe crunched on a chip. “My mom says they need to rekindle their relationship.”

Emily frowned. “I thought you said things were great between them.”

“They were . . . but things have been different since we moved here.” A faraway look washed over Chloe’s face. “I swear it’s because of this house. It has bad mojo.”

Emily stared blankly at the cover of the large book called
Rome in Pictures
on the coffee table, her heart pumping hard between her ears. “When you mentioned one of your parents cheating, was it your mom or your dad?”

Chloe wiped a blob of cheese from her chin. “My dad. But I never found out if it was true or not.” Then she gave Emily a funny look. “Why do you care so much about my parents, anyway?”

“I don’t!” Warmth rose to Emily’s face. “Or, I mean, I
do
, but . . .” She trailed off.

“We should be talking about
our
relationships, not theirs.” Chloe slurred her words a little. “I’ll tell you a secret of mine if you tell me one of yours.”

“I
already
told mine,” Emily said. “Dating the girl? Remember?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t give me details.” Chloe crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

Emily traced a large gash in the wooden table with her index finger. “How about you go first?”

“Okay.” Chloe tapped her lips, thinking. “I dated someone I wasn’t supposed to. My soccer instructor.”

“
Really?
” Emily nearly dropped the gooey chip she was holding.

“Yup. His name was Maurizio. He was from Brazil. Everyone had a crush on him, but one night we found ourselves alone in the practice room, and . . .” Chloe shut her eyes. “It was pretty hot.”

“Wow.” Emily breathed. “Are you still together?”

“No way.” Chloe’s chandelier-style earrings smacked against her face as she shook her head. “I found out he had a girlfriend in Rio. Apparently she wanted to kick my ass. Honestly, that was the main reason I quit soccer. I couldn’t handle being around him.”

Emily crunched silently for a moment. Grace, still in her baby swing next to the couch, opened her eyes and sucked gently on her pacifier, unimpressed by the news.

“So.” Chloe crossed her legs. “Have you ever had a boyfriend besides that swimming loser? Or did he turn you off guys for good?”

The champagne burned in Emily’s stomach. “Um, I had a boyfriend after him—Isaac. But it didn’t work out.” A pang of sadness overcame her, and she lowered her eyes.

Chloe shifted her weight. “Do you wish it had?”

Grace began to fuss, and Emily stroked her soft, downy head.
That
was a loaded question. “Yes and no, I guess.” The next words out of her mouth surprised her. “He wasn’t the love of my life, though. Ali was. Well, the girl I knew as Ali in seventh grade was.”

Chloe’s mouth dropped open. “You and Ali were . . . together?”

Emily took a deep breath. “Not exactly. I had a huge crush on her. I was devastated when she disappeared. I had this fantasy she was totally fine, and I dreamed about her coming back all the time. And then . . . she
did.
”

The whole story spilled out of her, right up until Real Ali kissed her. “But it was all an act,” Emily whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

“Oh my God.” There were tears in Chloe’s eyes, too. “I’m so, so sorry.”

For some reason, Chloe’s sympathy opened a floodgate inside Emily. And the more Emily’s shoulders shook, the more she wasn’t entirely sure she was crying
just
because of Ali. Maybe it was because of Jamaica, too. When Tabitha and Emily danced, everything had suddenly felt right, just like the moment when Real Ali kissed her. But then, something on Tabitha’s wrist caught Emily’s eye. It was a bracelet made of faded blue string.

Emily stopped dead on the dance floor and stared at it. It looked exactly like the bracelet Ali had made for Emily, Spencer, and the others the summer after they’d accidentally blinded Jenna Cavanaugh. Ali had ceremoniously passed around the bracelets, making the girls promise to wear them—and keep the Jenna Thing a secret—until the day they died.

Alarms blared in her head. She took a big step away from Tabitha. There was no way she could’ve gotten her hands on that bracelet. Unless . . .

Tabitha stopped, too. “What’s wrong?” She looked down and realized what Emily was staring at. A bemused smile drifted over her face, as if she knew precisely what made Emily so afraid.

Now, Grace began to cry. Emily gently lifted her out of her swing and cradled her in her arms. “It’s okay,” she said softly, her voice croaky with tears. Grace’s cries turned to muffled whimpers.

“You’re so good with her,” Chloe said. “It’s amazing.”

Those few, kind words tore painfully through Emily. She looked up, suddenly unable to hold something inside any longer. “I have to tell you something,” she whispered. “I had a baby this summer.”

Chloe’s hand froze half-extended to her mouth. “
What?
”

“I got pregnant from my last boyfriend, Isaac. And . . . I had a baby girl,” Emily repeated, glancing at Grace. The words felt so surreal coming out of her mouth. She hadn’t planned on telling anyone, ever. “That’s why I didn’t swim this fall—I wasn’t up to it, afterward. It’s why I’m scrambling for a scholarship now.”

Chloe ran a hand through her hair. “
Wow
,” she whispered. “Is the baby okay? Are
you
okay?”

“The baby’s fine. As for me . . .” Emily shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Chloe’s eyes darted back and forth. “What did your parents think?”

“My parents don’t know. I spent the summer in Philly, basically in hiding. My older sister knew, but she hated me for it.”

“Did you have anyone to rely on?” Chloe asked, grabbing Emily’s shoulder. “A counselor, a doctor, someone you could talk to?”

“Not really.” Emily shut her eyes, her chest tight. “I don’t really want to talk about it anymore, actually. I’m sorry to burden you with this.”

Chloe pulled Emily to her, careful not to squish Grace. “I’m so glad you told me. And I won’t say anything, I swear. You can say anything to me, okay? I promise.”

“Thanks.” Emily’s eyes filled with tears again. She buried her head in Chloe’s soft hair, which smelled like Nexxus hair spray and a variety of styling gels. Grace snuggled between them, silent and content. It felt so good to hug someone. To
tell
someone. Even more than a BFF necklace or a champagne toast, this felt like the most meaningful friendship ritual of all.

Bang.

Emily opened her eyes with a start. Her mouth felt sticky and swollen.

She was on an unfamiliar couch. Out the windows, she saw the big, distinctive pine trees that lined the center island of the street Ali and Spencer lived on. The room smelled strongly of vanilla soap. She sat up, disoriented.

Footsteps sounded in the kitchen. A cabinet opened and closed. The floorboards creaked, and a figure stepped into the living room and sat down next to Emily. The vanilla odor seemed to multiply. It was Ali.
Her
Ali. Emily was sure of it.

Wordlessly, Ali leaned over Emily, almost like she was going to tickle her like she sometimes did in the middle of the night. A split second later, a pair of lips touched hers. Emily kissed back, fireworks exploding in her stomach.

But Ali’s chin felt scratchy, not smooth. Emily opened her eyes, waking up for real.

It was a man’s face pressing up against hers, not Ali’s. He smelled like cigars, alcohol, and, most prominently, vanilla pudding. His weight was more than double that of Ali’s, pressing down on her stomach and flattening her boobs.

Emily jerked away and squealed. The figure backed off, then snapped on a light. The golden bulb showed off Mr. Roland’s salt-and-pepper hair. Of course Emily wasn’t at the DiLaurentises’—she was still at Chloe’s; they’d been babysitting.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Mr. Roland said. His smile was like a jack-o’-lantern’s, all scraggly and mischievous.

Emily cowered behind the couch. “What are you
doing
?”

“Just waking you up.” He lunged for her again.

Emily leapt back. “Stop!”

Mr. Roland lowered his eyebrows and looked toward the stairs. “
Shhhh
. My wife is up there.”

Emily stared across the room. Not only was Mrs. Roland upstairs, but Chloe was, too. She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair and backed out of the house without even tying her shoes. “Emily, wait!” Mr. Roland whisper-called after her. “Your payment!” But she didn’t go back.

It was deathly still outside, the air crackling with coldness. Emily rushed to her car, fell into the driver’s seat, and hyperventilated.
It’s just a dream
, she chanted to herself. She looked out on the street.
If a car passes in the next ten seconds, it’s just a dream.
But it was after midnight; no cars passed.

Beep.

Emily’s phone lit up inside her jacket pocket. The seat belt strap went limp in her hands. What if it was Chloe? What if she’d seen? She pulled out the phone. It was something worse: a text from Anonymous. Shaking, she opened the message.

Naughty, naughty! Don’t you just love to be bad, Killer?
Xx,
—A