“No you haven’t. You don’t know what’s best for you.”
“Mom!” Emily suddenly felt tears fill her eyes. It was scary and sad to have her mother angry with her. But now that she’d made the decision, she felt like she’d finally been allowed to take off a big goose down jacket in the middle of a heat wave.
Her mom’s mouth trembled. “Is it because of that new friend of yours?”
Emily cringed and wiped her nose. “What? Who?”
Mrs. Fields sighed. “That girl who moved into the DiLaurentis house. She was the one you skipped practice to spend time with, right? What were you two doing?”
“We…we just went to the trail,” Emily whispered. “And talked.”
Her mother looked down. “I don’t have a good feeling about girls…like that.”
Wait. What? Emily stared at her mother. She…knew? But how? Her mom hadn’t even met Maya. Unless you could look at her and just know?
“But Maya’s really nice,” Emily managed. “I forgot to tell you, but she said the brownies were great. She said thank you.”
Her mother pinched her lips together. “I went over there. I was trying to be neighborly. But this…this is too much. She’s not a good influence for you.”
“I don’t—”
“Please, Emily,” her mom interrupted.
Emily’s words stuck in her throat.
Her mom sighed. “There are just so many cultural differences with…her…and I just don’t understand what you and Maya have in common, anyway. And who knows about her family? Who knows what they could be into?”
“Wait, what?” Emily stared at her mother. Maya’s family? As far as Emily knew, Maya’s father was a civic engineer and her mom worked as a nurse practitioner. Her brother was a senior at Rosewood and a tennis prodigy; they were building a tennis court for him in the backyard. What did her family have to do with anything?
“I just don’t trust those people,” her mother said. “I know that sounds really narrow-minded, but I don’t.”
Emily’s mind screeched to a halt. Her family. Cultural differences. Those people? She went over everything her mother just said. Oh. My. God.
Mrs. Fields wasn’t upset because she thought Maya was gay. She was upset because Maya—and the rest of her family—were black.
19
SPICY HOT
Friday evening, Spencer lay on her maple four-poster bed in the middle of her brand-new converted barn bedroom with Icy Hot slathered on her lower back, staring at the gorgeous beamed ceiling. You’d never guess that fifty years ago, cows slept in this barn. The room was huge, with four gigantic windows and a little patio. After dinner last night, she’d moved all of her boxes and furniture there. She’d organized all of her books and CDs according to author and artist, set up her surround-sound, and even reset TiVo to her preferences, including her brand-new favorite programs on BBC America. It was perfect.
Except, of course, for her throbbing back. Her body ached as if she’d gone bungee jumping without a ripcord. Ian had made them run three miles—at a sprint—followed by practice drills. All the girls had been talking about what they were wearing to Noel’s party tonight, but after the hellish practice, Spencer was just as happy to stay home with some calc homework. Especially since home was now her very own little barn utopia.
Spencer reached for the jar of Icy Hot and realized it was empty. She sat up slowly, and put her hand on her back like an old woman. She’d just have to get some more from the main house. Spencer just loved that she could now call it the main house. It felt terribly grown up.
As she crossed her long, hilly lawn, she let her mind return to one of her favorite topics du jour, Andrew Campbell. Yes, it was a relief that A was Andrew and not Ali, and yes, she felt a billion times better and a zillion times less paranoid since yesterday, but still—what a horrible, meddling spy! How dare he ask such intrusive, gossipy questions in the reading room and write her a creepy e-mail! And everyone thought he was so sweet and innocent, with his perfectly knotted tie and his luminous skin—he was probably the type who brought Cetaphil to school and washed up after gym class. Weirdo.
Shutting the door of the upstairs bathroom, she found the jar of Icy Hot in the closet, pulled down her Nuala Puma warm-up pants, twisted around to see herself in the mirror, and started rubbing the balm all over her back and hamstrings. The Icy Hot’s stinky menthol smell instantly wafted around the room, and she closed her eyes.
The door burst open. Spencer tried to pull her pants up as quickly as she could.
“Oh my God,” Wren said, his eyes wide. “I…shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Spencer said, scrambling to tie her waistband.
“I’m still confused about this house….” Wren was wearing his blue hospital scrubs, which consisted of a V-neck draped top and tie-waist wide-leg pants. He looked all ready for bed. “I thought this was our bedroom.”