Aria’s heart lifted. Maybe it was Emily. Maybe, somehow, she’d survived the ocean. Maybe she’d had the same idea Aria had to get the hell out of the country. How wonderful! Aria wouldn’t be so alone! They could figure out what to do together!
Aria pushed through the crowd, never feeling so happy in her life. “Am I glad to see you!” she crowed, tugging Emily’s arm.
The girl turned. The corners of her lips turned down, and she had no freckles. Her eyes weren’t as keen as Emily’s had been, her expression not as insightful. The girl cocked her head tiredly, taking in Aria’s disheveled black dress from Emily’s funeral, streaky makeup, and messy hair. “Sorry?” she asked in a Southern accent.
Aria stepped back, her mouth wobbling. “O-oh,” she stammered. “Never mind.”
The girl slipped her headphones over her ears. Aria returned to her spot in line, all at once not able to breathe. She’d hoped that escaping overseas would lessen the Emily blow a little—at least, over here, not everything would remind her of Emily. But after only a few minutes in the Paris airport, she felt more bereaved than ever.
The customs process moved quickly, and before long, a customs officer motioned for Aria to step forward. Her legs felt wobbly and weak as she stepped forward. A police dog waiting by the door stared straight at her, ears perked.
“Passport?” the officer said in a bored voice.
Aria’s fingers trembled as she removed the little book from her bag. The officer stared at it, then Aria’s face. There was a long pause as he looked at something on his computer screen. A whooshing sound rushed in Aria’s ears. Was he checking a list? Silently sounding an alarm that the criminal had been located?
“Are you here on business or pleasure?” the officer asked.
His thin, high voice disarmed her. She stared at him, almost wanting to laugh—did she look like someone here on business? “P-pleasure,” she stammered.
“For how long?”
“A week.” It was an arbitrary length of time, but the officer nodded, seemingly placated. Aria could feel a thin bead of sweat trickling down her back. She felt the sudden urge to pee. She glanced toward the doors, horrified that the police dog was still staring at her.
Stamp.
To her amazement, the officer was handing back her passport. “There you go, Miss Montgomery. Have a nice stay.”
Aria took it from him slowly, not quite believing it was happening. But as soon as she got the passport back, she scurried toward the huge door marked EXIT. And then, finally, blissfully, she was in the regular terminal, on official French soil, people streaming around her and noises blaring from every direction. She was instantly lost in the crowd. Aria headed toward an escalator, locating a taxi-stand sign overhead. She wasn’t staying in the city, though. Or even this country. The police would track this flight in no time. Her plan was to get out of France on a train, or in a hired cab that wouldn’t ask for ID.
Her heart began to pound again—but this time, from excitement. Where would she end up? She wasn’t even sure—anywhere within the EU that didn’t ask for passports at the borders. Milan, maybe. Or perhaps a sleepy Spanish town. Or maybe Denmark, or Switzerland. It thrilled her to be in Europe again. The whole world had opened up once more.
Screw you, Ali, she thought giddily. And she wondered, too; even though that girl in the terminal hadn’t been Emily in the flesh, perhaps Emily was watching over her from beyond the grave. Maybe she’d supernaturally guided Aria here, making sure no one caught her, paving the way for Aria to get into the country without incident. After all, what Emily wanted more than anything in the world was for all of them to beat Ali and walk free.
And by some crazy twist of fate, at least for Aria, that was exactly what was happening. If only she could have brought her friends with her.
11
YOU SHOULDA PUT A LACROSSE BRACELET ON IT
“So what are you going to go with, the gray suit with the pinstripes, or the basic black?”
Hanna looked up from her vanity. It was Tuesday, and Mike was standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, holding two of her outfits up to his body and pivoting back and forth like a beauty queen. “Personally, I’d like you to show off your legs,” he said. He hung the demure suits back in the closet and pulled out a tight, sparkly, ultra-short dress Hanna had worn out with Hailey Blake. “This would wow the jury, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, especially with this.” Hanna held up her leg, showing off her ankle monitor. The thing was so annoying: She had to wrap a plastic bag around it to take a shower, she couldn’t turn over in bed without it clunking around, and she couldn’t pull a single pair of skinny jeans over it. Still, she couldn’t help but crack the tiniest smile. Mike was just trying to make her feel better, but it was tough on today of all days.