“Noel!” Aria called again. He picked up the pace. His hair flopped up and down. He darted into the street, nearly getting run down by a man on a motorbike. “Noel!” Aria screamed. “Just stop!”
Just then, all four doors of the sedan opened. Four figures in black shot out, descending on Noel all at once. Aria heard a scream, and then realized it was coming from her own throat. In seconds, the officers had Noel on the ground. The sun caught something silver, glinted, and then Aria heard the sharp snap of handcuffs closing around his wrists. She clapped her hand over her mouth.
There were footsteps behind her, and she turned. Two more officers ran at her from the opposite direction, yelling what was probably stop in Dutch or German or some language Aria wasn’t familiar with. The word interpol was emblazoned on their jackets. In the blink of an eye, they had Aria in a headlock. She squirmed, trying to breathe. They clapped handcuffs on her, too. It was like that old adage Aria had read in Catch-22 for English class: Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.
It was all over in a matter of seconds, and the Feds were loading both of them into two separate cars. Aria wanted to catch Noel’s eye—she’d been right all along. But suddenly, it felt like not much of a victory. She would have rather he was right.
Because now, they were totally and completely ruined.
20
FINAL STATEMENTS
On Friday afternoon, dressed in her most expensive black dress and highest heels, Hanna sat in her mother’s car on the way to the courthouse. From the outside, no one would know she was on her way to the end of a trial that would probably put her in prison forever. She looked like a girl who was chattering on her cell phone, planning something big. Which she was.
On her list was to make sure the caterers were coming sharply at 1 PM, that the rabbi her mom had insisted they use was still confirmed, and that Us Weekly was on board to cover the red carpet at the reception. But at that moment, she was talking to her stepsister, Kate.
“So the seating is done?” she said into the phone.
“Yep,” Kate answered. “You and Mike are at a private table. Your mom and paternal grandma aren’t sitting together, as you requested. And I organized the rest of the tables by people’s party preferences—you know, the vegans all together, the people we think will be heavy drinkers in a corner, and I mixed up a bunch of guys and girls so there will be fun dance-floor possibilities. Oh, and I put myself with the lacrosse boys, if that’s cool.”
“Of course it’s cool,” Hanna said, feeling grateful. She and Kate had had their moments, but Hanna was thrilled that Kate was taking part in the wedding prep. Kate had also handled the wedding favors—iPhone covers in their wedding colors, mint green and coral—as well as put together a video montage of Mike-and-Hanna pictures to show at the cocktail hour. “This is a huge help,” she added. “Wanna be my bridesmaid?”
Kate laughed uncomfortably. “Oh, Hanna, no. You should give that honor to Spencer.” She coughed. “Although, um, I didn’t see her on the guest list. Was that a mistake?”
Hanna fiddled with Mike’s lacrosse bracelet on her wrist. No, it’s because she refused to come. She knew how hurt Spencer had been when she saw the wedding invite in Hanna’s bag, and, okay, it had kind of been a last-minute decision to invite her. But Hanna really did want her to come—why couldn’t Spencer understand that? What did she want from her? It was like there was a wall up between them that was growing taller by the day.