"Okay," Claire whispered. "Thanks."
"I'm sorry. I'll talk to you soon." Emily's voice was worried, and Claire hung up with a knot of tension growing like wings between her shoulder blades.
With a stomach-churning chorus of self-doubt pounding in her head, she called Matthew. It went straight to voice mail.
"It's Claire. Call me. We need to talk." She tried to sound calm, but part of her didn't care if he knew she was freaking out.
She flipped the phone shut and sat down on the edge of her bed, running her fingers through her tangled ponytail, trying to figure out what to do. She needed coffee. And she needed to get out of the house. If she paced her room any more, she was going to be insane before noon.
The only place she could think to go was The Cloister, but it was better than nothing. She grabbed her history book and threw on a pair of shoes. Downstairs, her mother was in the darkroom, working. Claire knocked on the door.
"Yes?" her mother called. "What is it?" She sounded irritated.
"I want to take the car," Claire said. "To go to the coffee shop." It wasn't exactly a question. But it was the best Claire could manage, as upset as she was.
There was a pause from the other side of the door.
"Fine," her mother said. "The keys are on the hook. Be careful." The 'be careful' was a dismissal.
Claire scurried up the stairs, snatched up the keys, and hurried out to the car. The Cloister was far from empty, but the late-Sunday-morning crowd didn't involve anyone Claire knew. She ordered an enormous coffee and automatically headed for the little table by the window where she and Emily always sat. With the familiar cup in her hand, the comforting buzz of the coffee grinder, and the sugary smell of the pastries in the glass-fronted case, Claire felt herself calm down the smallest bit.
Something had happened. Okay. But maybe it wasn't as bad as she thought. After all, maybe Emily was exaggerating. What had happened between Matthew and Amy might not have been any big deal. Maybe Amy wasn't suspicious.
She checked her phone. Still no call from Matthew. No message. The blank screen smirked at her, and she shoved it back into her pocket.
She stood up, heading for the pastry case. Maybe an almond croissant would help take her mind off the waiting. The line was insanely long, and she decided to head to the bathroom first. It was a tiny, one-stall bathroom with a faucet that dripped and a mirror that had a chipped gilt frame. Claire stood in front of the sink, adjusting her ponytail.
The door swung open and Claire moved aside, glancing up to see who was squeezing into the bathroom with her.
In a halo of blond curls and ginger perfume, Amy walked through the door. Claire froze, her hands still wrapped around her ponytail.
Amy's eyes widened as she recognized Claire, and her automatic sort of smile slipped off her face. Claire watched her glance around the bathroom, checking to see if they were alone.
"Hey, Claire. You're . . . here. Are you okay?" Amy looked worried. In more ways than one.
Claire's breath came in quick, shallow little puffs, and the skin along her spine crawled with an adrenaline-filled warning.
"I'm feeling a lot better," Claire said carefully, letting go of her ponytail. "I talked to Emily this morning."
Amy winced, and Claire could see her think about lying, but then she squared her shoulders and took a step toward Claire, her eyebrows settling in a determined line.
"What did she tell you?"
Claire swallowed hard, her pulse pounding against the too-delicate walls of her veins. "I heard about what happened at the party."
Amy's determined expression gave way to sorrow. "I'm sorry. I—I can't imagine how hard all of this is for you, but I can't just keep my mouth shut. . . . After that stuff that happened at the mall and then last night and . . . I wasn't trying to listen in, but I heard you and Matthew talking. . . ." She took a step forward, holding out her hand like she meant to touch Claire but she couldn't figure out how. "I know what's going on with you. Why you're always hiding. I figured it out, Claire, and I want you to know that it's okay. I understand."
Claire's fear gave way to shock with such speed that she reached out to steady herself on the wall. It was like plunging down the first big hill on a roller coaster without any warning.
"You . . . know?" she choked out.
Amy gave her a sad little smile. "Yeah. There was a girl back in Philadelphia—well, I mean, I wasn't sure about her in the beginning, but now that I know what to look for . . . it wasn't that hard to see what you"—she glanced at the thin bathroom door and dropped her voice—"what was making you act so strange. Claire, I know, and I'm worried. You can't hide it much longer. I won't stand by and let you try to cover this up," she finished, her words lead-weighted with meaning.