Broken Hearts, Fences and Other Things to Mend (34 page)

that . . . they were just deliberately cruel to me. There’s no other

way to put it.”

I took a moment before speaking. I wasn’t sure I could trust

my voice not to break, and it felt like someone had just punched

me in the stomach. And the worst part of it? It was the truth.

“Hallie,” I said, making myself look at her as I said it, “I’m so

sorry.”

Hallie gave me a shaky smile. “You didn’t do it,” she said. “Any-

way, it was a long time ago. You just think you’re past something,

and then . . .” She looked down at my pizza box and shrugged.

“Anyway,” she went on after a moment, in a voice that sounded

determined to be upbeat, “I should get going. But thank you so

much for everything to night, Sophie. It was so fun.”

“It was,” I said, making myself smile at her, hoping that I

didn’t sound as thrown as I was.

Hallie climbed out of the back, and I followed, grabbing the

pizza boxes and our gift bags. I handed Hallie hers, and she slung

it over her shoulder. “Want to come to a party tomorrow?” she

asked. She blurted this out, and sounded almost like she was

surprised she was asking. “I mean,” she added after a moment,

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sounding more like herself, “if you’re free.”

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“Oh,” I said as I closed the back of the car and turned to face

her. “Sure, that sounds fun.”

“It’s just a small thing,” she said. “A bonfi re. Our house, around

eight? No seafood, I promise.”

I smiled at that. “Awesome.”

“And if you were looking for a date . . .” Hallie rummaged in

her bag and then held out Marvin’s contact info to me.

“Ha,” I said, and though I tried to keep a straight face, I soon

couldn’t help laughing for real, and Hallie joined in with me. I

knew I was laughing partially out of relief— that even though

Hallie was still hurt by what I’d done to her when we were

younger, she didn’t suspect me. She was still inviting Sophie Curtis

to parties, and my pizza order hadn’t ruined everything. Though

the fact that pizza had been responsible for almost revealing my

true identity twice on the same day was a little troubling. I re-

solved to hold off on ordering it for a while. Or at least a few days.

I waved at Hallie as she got into her car and drove away, beep-

ing once as she turned down the mile- long driveway. I headed

inside, glad that the house was quiet. I had no doubt everyone

was still awake and working— after all, it was only eight on the

West Coast— but everyone appeared to be in their own rooms,

and not hanging out in the kitchen or watching movies, which I

was grateful for. I wanted some alone time to think.

I left the pizza in the fridge for Bruce and headed upstairs,

holding my shoes in my hand. When I got to my room, I tossed

my bag on the bed, and lay back, staring up at the ceiling. It was

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becoming clear that I’d have to tell Hallie who I was, and soon.

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The longer I put it off, the more it felt like I was lying to her. And

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she knew now that I was a good person. So really, there was noth-

ing left to wait for. But what would she say? What would Josh

say?

Half the contents of my purse had spilled out when I tossed it

on the bed, and one item caught my eye. I reached forward and

pulled out the photo booth pictures Hallie and I had taken to-

gether. They read
Great Scott!
on the bottom, but I fi gured that

could easily be cut off.

I smiled as I looked at them. There were four vertical pictures,

and in the fi rst one, Hallie and I were both looking in different

directions, clearly not understanding how the thing worked. In

the second, we were looking in the same place, but the picture

was snapped before we could smile. In the third, we were both

yelling at Marvin, who had just stuck his head into the booth.

And the last picture showed us cracking up, our heads turned

toward each other, Hallie’s hand on my shoulder as she leaned on

me, looking like two girls who had been nothing but best friends

for a long, long time.

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“Your house is amazing,” I said as I turned in a circle, gaping

at the foyer. “It’s . . . I mean . . .” I trailed off, at a loss for

words.

I’d arrived at Hallie’s bonfi re early. Everyone else had left for

Los Angeles that morning, and by the afternoon, I was already

tired of being by myself in the house. So I’d left sooner than I

needed to, and had forgotten the fact was that Bruce’s car was

surprisingly zippy for a vehicle that could seat twelve. When I’d

arrived at the Bridges’ house, though, only Hallie was home. As

she let me in, she’d told me that Josh was out picking up some

stuff for the party. I nodded at that, like it was just regular infor-

mation. But even though I hadn’t wanted to ask her when she’d

invited me, I’d been wondering ever since if Josh was going to be

coming, then chastising myself for wondering that, then won-

dering again.

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Even without knowing for certain that he would be there, I’d

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spent a little extra time with my makeup and was wearing a

shirt that technically belonged to Sophie, but that I’d appropri-

ated a few months ago. It was, therefore, much tighter and more

low- cut than anything I would have normally worn. I had also

borrowed another pair of shoes from Gwyneth, stacked espa-

drille wedges. This might not have been the smartest thing to

do, since the last shoes I borrowed from her had never turned up,

despite the fact that I had made a practice of checking out

people’s feet to see if they were wearing hot- pink silk heels. But I

decided to risk it.

I told myself that I only wanted to look good since I needed to

replace the last image Josh had of me, when I was pale and sickly

and just- woken- up. But even I no longer believed myself, which

seemed like a pretty low point to have gotten to. The truth was, I

wanted to see Josh. I wasn’t sure what this meant for my mourn-

ing period, but I knew I had been thinking about Teddy less and

less, and Josh more. I didn’t know precisely how I felt about him,

and had no idea how he felt about me, but it had been several

days since I’d seen him, and I missed him. It was as simple— or as

incredibly complicated— as that.

Since I was the fi rst guest to arrive, Hallie was showing me

around. And I was kind of glad that I was early, as the private tour

allowed me to take in the absolutely stunning house. I knew it

was impressive from the outside, but the inside was even more so,

bigger than it looked from the driveway. It was beautifully deco-

rated inside, everything going together but not overly matchy,

art on the walls and the built- in bookcases fi lled with books.

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“Thanks,” Hallie said offhandedly. “We’ve only been here a

few months, but we like it so far.”

“So is your mom . . . here?” I asked, hoping I sounded casual,

just like a normal partygoer hoping for a lack of parental

supervision.

“No,” Hallie said, her expression suddenly guarded. “She’s

not.” She said it with a note of fi nality, one that didn’t invite any

follow- up questions. I just nodded, and when I didn’t say any-

thing, it seemed like she relaxed a little. “Want to drop your bag

in my room?”

“Sure,” I said, thrilled that Hallie had suggested this, hoping

I would fi nd an opportunity to get rid of the bathing- suit receipt

without having to resort to subterfuge. I followed her up a fl ight

of stairs and down a pristine, white- painted hallway. As we

walked, I saw a professionally photographed black- and- white

picture of Josh, Hallie, and Karen on the wall, but before I could

get a closer look, Hallie was opening the door to her room, and I

had to follow, or else make it obvious that I was gawking at her

family portraits.

“You can just drop your bag anywhere,” Hallie said, stepping

inside her room.

“Thanks,” I said, following her inside. Hallie’s room was me-

ticulously neat; another change from when I’d known her— she’d

been a bit of a slob. There was a perfectly made bed covered with

a blue bedspread, a white desk, and a blue armchair in the cor-

ner. There was an open laptop on the desk, the screensaver scroll-

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ing through pictures, and a stack of books on the bedside table.

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I had just dropped my purse by the side of the bed when I heard

the sound of a door slamming.

“Hal!” We both turned at the sound of the voice coming from

downstairs. I realized it was Josh, and my pulse started to pick

up a little. “I need some help with this stuff!” I could hear what

sounded like a small crash, and then another voice saying some-

thing I couldn’t make out.

Hallie rolled her eyes at me. “Coming!” she yelled back. She

headed out of her room, and I followed, but as soon as I stepped

over the threshold, I had a sudden attack of nerves. What would

Josh say when he saw me? Would it be weird between us now that

we’d spent the night sleeping in the same room? And then a ter-

rible thought fi lled my mind: What if he didn’t know Hallie had

invited me? What if he was disappointed I was there? What if

he’d invited some other girl to the party? Someone who wouldn’t

force him to eat seafood he didn’t want, make him sick, and then

not even let him watch
Die Hard
?

“Um,” I said, stopping, looking around for something I could

say to stall. Hallie turned back to me and raised her eyebrows.

“Bathroom?” I asked.

She nodded back toward her bedroom. “Through there,” she

said. “See you downstairs?”

I nodded, and she headed down the hall, quickening her pace

when another, louder crash sounded. I ducked back into Hallie’s

room and went into the bathroom, but just to apply some lip gloss

and make sure my hair was behaving itself. I smoothed down

my (technically, Sophie’s) shirt, made sure my
S
necklace was

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straight, and then headed back out into the room. As I passed

Hallie’s bureau, I smiled when I saw that she’d propped her copy

of our photo booth picture against her mirror.

I dropped my lip gloss back into my purse and looked quickly

around the room, wondering where I would be if I were a bathing

suit with a potentially damaging receipt inside. As I was looking

around, I noticed something under the bed. Telling myself that I

was just making sure my purse was properly closed, I dropped to

my hands and knees to get a better look, and saw loose articles of

clothing, pieces of paper, and magazines in a jumble. It looked

like Hallie had just shoved everything under there to make the

room look presentable— which was exactly what the old Hallie would

have done. I was pushing myself to my feet when something else

caught my eye— a small, tissue- wrapped object.

I realized to my im mense relief that this was it. Knowing I

didn’t have much time before she started wondering where I was,

I reached under the bed and pulled the bathing suit toward me,

trying not to wrinkle the tissue too much. I pulled it open, lifted

up the bikini— and out fl uttered a tiny piece of paper. I grabbed

it, and saw that it was the receipt I was looking for. And there

was my signature—
Gemma Rose Tucker
— written neatly above

the printed version of my name.

It actually made me feel a little sick to see, in Hallie’s room,

my full name right there, as clear as anything. I stuffed the re-

ceipt into my pocket, then quickly wrapped the suit back up and

slid it back under the bed. Since things were jumbled under there

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haphazardly, it seemed less likely that she’d notice it had been

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