Spencer held up her hands in a whoa gesture. “I didn’t spike them with acid! It was someone else!”
An ugly snort came out of Harper’s mouth. “Right. You’re going down. I’m going to make sure you won’t be welcome at Princeton next year.”
Spencer’s stomach twisted into knots. Going to Princeton seemed like it would be an amazing new start, an escape from Rosewood, and she’d been so excited about her friendship with Harper and the other girls. But as long as A was in her life, she’d never be able to move on. A would follow her wherever she went. Those text messages, photos, and videos would still come fast and furious, even if she went to China. Even if she went to the moon.
Videos. Suddenly, a light flipped on in her head. “Don’t go yet. I have something you should see.”
Spencer marched into the foyer and found her iPhone in her bag. Then she marched triumphantly back to the open door. Harper was still standing on the porch, looking annoyed.
Spencer shoved the phone into Harper’s face and pressed PLAY. The clip of Harper trashing the Ivy House came into view. First she yanked the curtains off the walls and slashed them up. Next she pulled the stuffing out of the pillows. She knocked books off shelves, smashed a vase, and decorated a painting with a mascara wand.
Harper’s face contorted. “This isn’t me.”
Spencer scoffed. “Nice try.” She snatched the phone from Harper before she could delete the clip. “I don’t want to do this, but if you tell on me, I’ll tell on you. I doubt Ivy looks kindly on vandalism. And you don’t have any solid proof about my brownies being spiked, only what I told you when we were high. I, on the other hand, have this video. You could get in worse trouble than you’re already in.”
The confident look on Harper’s face faded. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and her face turned purple. “Fine,” she finally spat. “But don’t you dare think you’re getting into Ivy. I may be on probation, but I still have pull there. And I’m going to make sure they stay far, far away from you.”
“I don’t really care,” Spencer said, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could even though Harper’s words hurt her. “I don’t like any of you, anyway.”
Then she slammed the door in Harper’s face, feeling tears well in her eyes. Everything felt so screwed up and wrong; the perfect plan for her life had fallen to pieces. She was supposed to join Ivy. It was supposed to be her hookup to an amazing future. The Ivy girls and guys were supposed to be her instant friends, people she’d know forever. Now, the only person at Princeton who’d speak to her was Reefer.
She shifted her weight. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. She thought about how goofily into her Reefer had been at the Princeton dinner. How excited he’d gotten when he made her smell his homegrown pot. She didn’t have to put on airs when she with him. She didn’t have to compromise her principles to win him over.
Reefer was the nicest person she’d met at Princeton so far. If she was really honest, those Ivy kids were kind of . . . bitchy. And snobby. And superficial. Did she really want to hang out with them?
Spencer wiped away a tear and started back toward the kitchen, feeling strangely content. She’d be okay on her own. Maybe Reefer was right about Eating Clubs being stupid and elitist. Not that Reefer was right about everything. And not that it meant she liked him.
As she passed her dad’s old office, she smiled to herself. Okay, maybe she liked Reefer a little. At the very least she owed him an apology. And who knew, maybe she’d even accompany him to an upcoming Occupy Philly rally or something, too. Just to be nice.
36
SAFE AND SOUND
“Okay, GPS says five hundred more feet to the exit.” Emily glanced at the media console in the unfamiliar Audi sedan. “Turn here, turn here!”
“Em, I saw it coming from a mile away.” Hanna steered the car off the highway at an exit marked CHESTNUT HILL and gave Emily a worried smile. “You okay?”
Emily slid down in her seat and picked at the skin around her thumb. It was a few hours later on Monday evening, and they’d all piled into Hanna’s stepsister’s car to go to the Bakers’ new house together. Needless to say, Emily was jittery. What if she got there and the Bakers had moved again? What if she got there and the baby was gone?
It was the worst thing Emily could think of. A could still have Violet. She could still be living a nightmare.
Could A be Real Ali, after all? Had she set up Gayle to look like the villain, stealing the cash from Gayle’s mailbox, sending Spencer texts when she was at Princeton, maybe even steering Gayle toward Hanna’s dad’s campaign? Had Real Ali lured the girls to Gayle’s house in hopes of hurting them? Did Ali really have such little respect for human life?
Of course she does, a little voice in Emily’s head said. All of a sudden, her blood began to boil. This wasn’t a tragic story of a messed-up girl Emily could rescue—it was a story about a psycho bitch who wanted to get Emily any way she could, even if it meant harming an innocent child. If Real Ali was A, then Emily would do everything in her power to bring her down.
It was a weird revelation. On one hand, Emily felt empty inside, like someone had just stolen a vital organ from her. On the other, she suddenly felt clear-eyed and steady, as if she’d gotten LASIK and could see everything properly for the first time. It made her feel even worse for setting Real Ali free, though. Maybe she’d brought all this on herself.
The light turned green, and Hanna passed a Barnes & Noble and a Starbucks. Emily’s phone beeped, and she jumped. A text from Isaac had come in. I’ve thought about things, and I want to talk, it said.
Emily stared at the words as they pulled up to a stop sign. Was this a good message . . . or an awful one? Isaac’s angry, disgusted expression at Gayle’s house had lingered with her. He had to be mad, right? Had he already told his mom? Had Mrs. Colbert already told everyone else? Was she going to become the shame of Rosewood in mere days—hours?
Then again, it was going to come out sooner or later. The police had already tracked Emily’s parents down in Texas, telling them she had witnessed a murder. The first flight they could get was tomorrow morning, and they’d be back by the time Emily returned from Gayle’s funeral. Even though the cops hadn’t revealed Emily’s secret, her parents would ask questions. Maybe it would be better if this secret was out in the open. She had to be the one to tell them. All she could hope was that they didn’t murder her.
“Em, this place is adorable,” Aria murmured. Emily looked out the window. They were driving down Main Street in Chestnut Hill. It was full of funky bakeries, quaint restaurants, antique furniture stores, and upscale boutiques. A huge library with a big children’s display in the window was on the left, several old stone churches were on the right, and side streets boasted beautifully restored old houses with station wagons and swing sets. Families walked strollers and dogs up the sidewalks. Kids raced around a baseball field.
A hopeful smile crossed Emily’s face. This place did seem nice.
“Turn right, and you will have reached your destination,” the GPS proclaimed. Hanna put on her turn signal and pulled into a parking space on the street. The girls got out and started down the sidewalk, looking at each of the old houses as they passed.
“There it is,” Aria said halfway down the block, pointing at a house across the street. “Number 86.”
Emily swallowed hard and dared to look. The house in question had white siding, black shutters, and a big front porch. There was a green watering can on the steps, daffodils peeking up in the flower beds, and a fruit wreath on the door.
“It’s really nice, Em,” Spencer breathed. “Nicer than the old place, even.”
And then Emily saw something that made her heart leap. There, through the split rail fence in the backyard, was a detached garage. Its door gaped open, revealing two plastic trash cans, a ten-speed bicycle, and a running stroller. There was a kiddie swimming pool in the shape of a frog propped up against the wall. Emily pressed her hands to her mouth, feeling tears come to her eyes. Kid things. Could her baby still be here?
As though in cosmic answer, the front door to the house swung open. Emily yelped and ducked behind Spencer. A familiar man with a thin build and sandy hair came out first. “You got her?” he said to someone just behind him.
“Uh huh,” a woman’s voice said.
Emily peered around Spencer’s shoulder just in time to see Lizzie Baker step onto the porch and pull the door shut. Lizzie looked fresh-faced and happy, wearing black yoga pants and Nike sneakers. In her arms was an apple-cheeked, bright-eyed, grinning seven-month-old girl in a pink corduroy dress and black patent Mary Janes. She waved a rattle around in her hand and let out a loud coo. Her hair was the exact reddish-blondish shade as Emily’s.
“Oh my God,” Emily said, tears coming to her eyes. It was her baby. Violet. Looking beautiful and happy and better than she ever imagined.
“Em,” was all Aria said. Spencer grabbed Emily’s arm and squeezed. Hanna leaned into Emily’s shoulder and let out a happy sniff.
Violet was safe—safe! It was all that mattered. She could handle her parents. She could handle Isaac. She could handle everyone else in Rosewood, too. Everything was going to be—well, not okay, but manageable. If something had happened to the baby, she would have never forgiven herself.
She turned to the others. “I’m good now,” she whispered. “Let’s go before they see us.”
They moved to leave, when suddenly Mrs. Baker stopped short, noticing Emily. Instinctively, she held Violet a little tighter. Her husband turned to see what his wife was looking at, then paled too. Swallowing hard, Emily held up her hand in a tentative, I-don’t-mean-any-harm wave. After a moment, the Bakers waved back. Then they said a few things Emily couldn’t hear. After a moment, Mrs. Baker crossed the street toward Emily, Violet in her arms.
“What are you doing?” Emily cried, panicking. When she looked up, Spencer, Aria, and Hanna were drifting away. “Don’t leave!”
“You’ll be fine,” Spencer encouraged, scampering around the corner.
Emily turned back and watched as Mrs. Baker stepped up on the curb and hitched Violet higher on her hip. The two of them stared at each other for a beat. Emily had no clue what Mrs. Baker might say. How dare you? Get the hell out of here?
“Wow,” Mrs. Baker blurted. “Heather. Hi.”
“It’s Emily, actually,” Emily said. “Emily Fields.”
Mrs. Baker laughed nervously. “I know. I saw you in an old copy of People at the pediatrician’s office. I couldn’t believe I didn’t realize it was you.” Then she picked up Violet’s hand and made her wave. “I guess you know who this is. We named her Violet.”
“Hi, Violet.” Emily almost couldn’t get the words out. “She looks wonderful. Is she . . . happy?”
Mrs. Baker pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Well, she can’t talk yet, but we think she is. We’re happy, too.” A bashful look came over her face.
