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.