Wicked (27 page)

Mike scoffed. “Because it’s a benefit for our
school,
maybe? Because he really likes Mom and wants to support us? Because I mentioned it to him and he seemed really into coming?” He put his hands on his hips and glared at Aria for three long beats. “What is your deal? Why do you hate that dude?”

Aria swallowed hard. “I don’t
hate
him.”

“Then go talk to him,” Mike insisted through his teeth. “Go apologize for whatever it was you did.” He pushed his fist gently into Aria’s back. She glared at him, irritated—why did Mike automatically assume
she
had done something?—but it was too late. Xavier saw them. He stepped out of his place at the bar and made his way over. Aria pressed her nails into her palm.

“I’ll leave you two alone so you can kiss and make up,” Mike said, scuttling over to Savannah. Aria felt stuck—and uncomfortable with Mike’s choice of words. She watched as Xavier moved closer and closer until he was right next to her. His brown eyes looked almost black against the dark gray of his suit. There was an awkward, embarrassed look on his face.

“Hey,” Xavier said to her, fiddling with his pearl cuff links. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Aria answered, picking at an invisible thread on the strap of her dress. She suddenly felt so formal and ridiculous with her blue-black hair in a dumb French braid and her mother’s faux-fur angora stole around her shoulders. She tilted away from Xavier, not wanting to expose her bare back.

All at once, she couldn’t be standing here, being all polite to him. Not now. “I have to…,” she blurted out, then swirled around and ran up the stairs to the second level. Spencer’s bedroom was the first door on the left. The door was open, and thankfully no one was inside.

Aria stumbled in, taking deep breaths. It had been at least three years since she’d been inside Spencer’s bedroom, but it didn’t seem like Spencer had changed a thing. The room smelled like fresh-cut flowers, which were arranged in vases all over the room. The antique mahogany vanity was still pushed against the wall, and the four oversize chairs—which folded out into twin beds, perfect for when they all used to sleep over—made a small, intimate circle around a teak coffee table. Dramatic red velvet drapes framed the big bay window that offered a full view into Ali’s old bedroom. Spencer used to gloat about how she and Ali secretly communicated by flashlight at night.

Aria continued to look around. The same tasteful framed photographs and paintings hung on Spencer’s walls, and the same snapshot of the five of them was still wedged into the corner of her vanity mirror. Aria walked up to it, her chest filling with longing. The photo was of Aria, Ali, Spencer, Emily, and Hanna, sitting on Ali’s uncle’s yacht in Newport, Rhode Island. They all wore matching white J. Crew bikinis and wide-brimmed straw hats. Ali’s smile looked confident and relaxed, while Spencer, Hanna, and Emily looked deliriously euphoric. This had been just a few weeks after they’d become friends—the high of being part of Ali’s exclusive clique hadn’t worn off yet.

Aria, on the other hand, looked freaked, as if she were certain that Ali was going to push her into the Newport Harbor any minute. In fact, Aria
had
been worried that day. She was still certain Ali knew the truth about what had happened to her stolen piece of the Time Capsule flag.

But Ali had never confronted Aria about it. And Aria had never admitted what she had done. It was obvious what would happen if Aria told Ali the truth—Ali’s face would crinkle in confusion, then slowly morph to rage. She’d drop Aria for good, just when Aria was getting used to having friends. As October faded into November, Aria’s secret withered away. Time Capsule was a stupid game, nothing more.

Xavier coughed in the hallway. “Hey,” he said, poking his head into the room. “Can we talk?”

Aria sucked in her stomach. “Um…okay.”

Xavier slowly walked up to Spencer’s bed and sat down. Aria settled into the paisley-covered chair at Spencer’s vanity, staring at her lap. A few long, awkward seconds went by. The sounds of the party throbbed below, everyone’s voices muddled together. A glass shattered to the wood floor. A little dog yapped viciously.

Finally, Xavier let out a guttural sigh and looked up. “You’re killing me, Aria.”

Aria cocked her head, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“A guy can only take so many mixed signals.”

“Mixed…signals?” Aria repeated. Maybe this was some weird-artist way to break the ice. She waited for the punch line.

Xavier stood up and slowly padded across the room until he was right next to her. He curled his hands over the edge of the top of the vanity chair, and his hot, pungent breath brushed against Aria’s neck. It smelled like he’d had a lot to drink. Suddenly, Aria wondered if this wasn’t an icebreaker at all. Her head started to ache.

“You flirt with me at my opening, but then you get all weird when I draw a picture of you at the restaurant,” Xavier explained in a low voice. “You walk around at breakfast in a see-through shirt and shorts, you spill your guts, you initiate a
pillow fight…
but when I kiss you, you get all freaked out. And now, you run up to a bedroom. I’m sure you knew I was going to follow you.”

Aria shot up and leaned against Spencer’s vanity. The old wood made a creaking noise under her weight. Was he implying what she
thought
he was implying? “I didn’t want you to follow me!” she cried. “And I haven’t been sending
any
signals!”

Xavier raised his eyebrows. “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true!” Aria whimpered. “I
didn’t
want you to kiss me. You’re going out with my
mom
. I thought you were coming up here to apologize!”

The room was suddenly so quiet that Aria could hear the ticking of his watch. There was something about Xavier that seemed so much bigger tonight, raw and powerful.

Xavier sighed, his eyes intense. “Don’t try to turn it around and act like this is
my
fault. And anyway, if you were truly freaked out about the kiss, why haven’t you told anyone about it yet? Why is your mother still taking my calls? Why is your brother still inviting me over to play more Wii with him and his new girlfriend?”

Aria blinked helplessly. “I…I didn’t want to cause problems. I didn’t want anyone to get mad at me.”

Xavier touched her arm, his face looming closer. “Or maybe you didn’t want your mom to kick me out quite yet.”

He leaned closer, his lips starting to pucker. Aria shot away from the bureau and across the room to Spencer’s half-open closet, nearly tripping over her long dress. “Just…stay away from me,” she said in the strongest tone of voice she could find. “And stay away from my mom, too.”

Xavier made a few clucking noises with his tongue. “Okay. If that’s how you’re going to be. But know this—I’m not going anywhere. And if you know what’s best for you, you won’t say anything to Mom about what happened.” He stepped back, snapping his fingers. “You know how easily things can be twisted around, and you’re just as guilty as I am.”

Aria blinked in disbelief. Xavier kept smiling, like this was funny. The room swirled dizzily, but Aria tried to remain calm. “Fine,” she blurted out. “If you’re not going to leave, then I will.”

Xavier looked unimpressed. “Where are you going to go?”

Aria bit her lip, turning away. It was, of course, a valid question—where
could
she go? But there was only one place. She shut her eyes and pictured Meredith’s swollen belly. The small of her back began to ache, anticipating the cramped bed in Meredith’s studio/spare bedroom.

It would be painful watching Meredith start to nest and Byron get all new-parent giddy. But Xavier had made things crystal clear. Things could get so easily twisted around, and he seemed more than happy to twist them if need be. Aria would do everything she could not to wreck her family ever again.

29

THE WHOLE, PATHETIC TRUTH

Spencer had an advantage over everyone else at the benefit who might have wanted to leave without Wilden noticing—it was her house, and she knew all the secret exits. Wilden probably didn’t even know that there was a door at the back of the garage that led straight into the backyard. She paused only to grab a small flashlight by her mom’s gardening supplies, put on a forest green rain slicker that was hanging on a peg on the wall, and stuff her feet into a pair of extra riding boots, which were flung haphazardly on the garage floor next to her dad’s old Jaguar XKE. The boots weren’t lined, but they’d do a better job keeping her feet warm than her strappy Miu Miu heels.

The sky was purplish black. Spencer ran along the perimeter of the yard, grazing the frozen blueberry bushes that separated her property from Ali’s old house. The flashlight’s tiny beam danced against the uneven ground. Luckily, most of the snow had melted, so it would be easy to see where they’d buried the trash bag.

Halfway across her yard, Spencer heard a twig snap and froze. She turned around slowly. “Hello?” she whispered.

There was no moon tonight, and the sky was eerily clear, filled with stars. Muffled noises from the party drifted across the lawn. Somewhere very far away, a car door slammed.

Spencer bit down hard on her lip and kept going. Her boots sloshed through the half-slush, half-mud. The barn was just ahead. Melissa had turned on the porch light, but the rest of the barn was dark. Spencer walked right up to the edge of the porch and stood very still. She was breathing hard, as if she’d just run six miles with her old field hockey team. From back here, her house seemed so small and far away. The windows glowed yellow, and she could see the vague shapes of people inside. Andrew was in there, as were her old friends. Wilden too. Maybe she should have left this to him. But it was too late now.

A little breeze curled around her neck and down her bare back. The hole they’d dug for the trash bag was easy to find, a few paces to the left of the barn near the winding bluestone path. Spencer shuddered, overcome by a foreboding sense of déjà vu. Their seventh-grade sleepover had been on a moonless night a lot like this. After their argument, Spencer had followed Ali out here, demanding that she come back inside. And then they’d had that stupid fight about Ian. Spencer had suppressed the memory for so long, but now that it was out in the open again, she was sure she’d never forget Ali’s twisted face as long as she lived. Ali had laughed at Spencer, taunting her for taking Ian’s kiss seriously.

Spencer had been so hurt, she’d shoved Ali hard. Ali had gone flying, her head making a horrible
crack
against the rocks. It was a wonder the cops had never found the rock Ali hit—it must have had a trace of blood on it, or at least a hair. In fact, the cops barely investigated
anything
back here besides the inside of the barn those first crucial weeks after Ali went missing. They’d been pretty convinced Ali had run away. Had that just been a sloppy oversight? Or was there some reason they didn’t want to look more carefully?

There’s something you don’t know,
Ian had said.
The cops know it, but they’re ignoring it.
Spencer gritted her teeth, chasing the words from her head. Ian was crazy. There wasn’t some secret the world was hiding. Just the truth: Ian had killed Ali because she was going to reveal that they were a couple.

Spencer hiked up her dress, knelt down, and plunged her hands into the soft, dug-up dirt. Finally, her hands touched the edge of the plastic garbage bag. Condensed water from the melted snow dripped off the ends as she pulled it out. She set the bag on a dry patch of dirt and undid the ties. Everything inside was still dry. The first thing she pulled out was the string bracelet Ali had made for them after The Jenna Thing. Next was Emily’s pink quilted purse. Spencer forced it open, feeling around the interior. The faux-patent leather squeaked. It was empty.

Spencer found the piece of paper Hanna had dropped in and shined the flashlight on it as best she could. It wasn’t a note from Ali, as she’d originally thought, but a student evaluation form Ali had filled out, ranking Hanna’s oral report on
Tom Sawyer.
All the Rosewood Day sixth-grade English classes had to rate their peers’ reports, sort of as a schoolwide experiment.

Ali’s assessment of Hanna’s report was fairly mild—nothing too nice, nothing too mean. It seemed like she’d dashed it off quickly, busy with something else. Spencer pushed it aside. She pulled out the last thing at the bottom of the bag, Aria’s drawing. Even back then, Aria had drawn people remarkably well. There was Ali, standing in front of Rosewood Day, a smirk on her face, as if she was laughing about someone behind their back. A few of her underlings stood in the background, snickering.

Spencer let it flutter to her lap, disappointed. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about this, either. Had she really expected a miracle answer? Was she really that big an idiot?

But she shined the flashlight over the drawing once more. Ali was holding something in her hands. It looked like…
a piece of paper.
Spencer pressed the flashlight right against the paper. Aria had sketched the headline.
Time Capsule Starts Tomorrow.

This drawing and the photo propped up against the Eiffel Tower had both been from the same day. Just like the photo, Aria had captured the precise moment when Ali ripped down the flyer and announced that she was going to find a piece of the Time Capsule flag. Aria had sketched someone behind Ali, too. Spencer pressed her flashlight against the paper.
Ian.

A chilly gust of wind danced across Spencer’s face. Her eyes kept tearing up from the cold, but she struggled to keep them open. Aria’s sketch of Ian wasn’t as diabolical or conniving as Spencer had thought it would be. Instead, Aria had made him look kind of…pathetic. He was gazing at Ali, his eyes wide, a dopey smile on his face. Ali, on the other hand, was turned away from him. Her expression was cocky, as if she was thinking,
Aren’t I the shit? Even gorgeous upperclassmen are wrapped around my little finger.