Ruthless

Page 3

As soon as they’d begun receiving notes from New A—on the anniversary of the horrible fire in the Poconos that had almost killed all of them—Emily was sure that Real Ali had survived the fire in the Poconos and the push off the balcony in Jamaica and was back for revenge. Her friends slowly began to believe that as well—until the news came out about Tabitha’s true identity. But even that didn’t rule out the possibility that Real Ali was still alive. She still could be New A and know everything.
Emily knew what her old friends would say if she voiced such a theory: Get over it, Em. Ali’s gone. More than likely they’d reverted back to their old assumption that Ali had perished inside the burning house in the Poconos. But there was something all of them didn’t know: Emily had left the front door unlatched and ajar for Ali before the house exploded. She could have easily escaped.
“Emily?” Mrs. Fields called out. “Can you come downstairs?”
Emily sat up fast. “I have to go,” she told Aria. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
She hung up the phone, crossed to the bedroom door, and looked over the railing. Her parents, still dressed in the matching gray sweat suits they wore for their evening power walks around the neighborhood, stood in the foyer. A tall, freckled girl with reddish-blond hair just like Emily’s was next to them, a bulging duffel over her shoulder that said UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA SWIMMING in big red letters.
“Beth?” Emily squinted.
Emily’s older sister, Beth, craned her neck up and spread her arms wide. “Ta-da!”
Emily raced down the stairs. “What are you doing here?” she cried. Her sister rarely visited Rosewood. Her job as a teaching assistant at the University of Arizona, where she’d gone to college, kept her busy, and she was also assistant-coaching the U of A swim team, of which she’d been captain her senior year.
Beth dropped the duffel to the hardwood floor. “I had a couple days off, and Southwest was running a special. I thought I’d surprise you.” She looked Emily up and down and made a face. “That’s an interesting outfit.”
Emily stared down at herself. She was wearing a stained T-shirt from a swimming relay carnival and a pair of too-small Victoria’s Secret sweatpants with the word PINK written across the butt. The pants had been Ali’s—her Ali’s, the girl who was actually Courtney, whom Emily had confided in, giggled with, and adored in sixth and seventh grades. Even though the sweats were fraying at the hems and had long ago lost the string that cinched the waist, they’d become Emily’s go-to after-school uniform in the past two weeks. For some reason, she felt that as long as she had them on, nothing bad would happen to her.
“Dinner’s about ready.” Mrs. Fields turned on her heel toward the kitchen. “Come on, girls.”
Everyone followed her down the hall. Comforting smells of tomato sauce and garlic swirled through the air. The kitchen table had been set for four, and Emily’s mother scuttled to the oven as the timer started to beep. Beth sat down next to Emily and took a long, slow sip of water from a Kermit the Frog tumbler that had been Beth’s special glass since she was little. She had the same freckles across her cheeks and strong swimmer’s body as Emily did, but her reddish-blondish hair was cut in a choppy bob below her ears, and she wore a small silver hoop earring at the top of her earlobe. Emily wondered if it had hurt to get it done. She also wondered what Mrs. Fields would say when she noticed it—she didn’t like her children looking “inappropriate,” piercing their noses or navels, dyeing their hair weird colors, or getting tattoos. But Beth was twenty-four; maybe she was beyond her mother’s jurisdiction.
“So how are you?” Beth folded her hands on the table and looked at Emily. “It feels like ages since we’ve seen each other.”
“You should come home more often,” Mrs. Fields chirped pointedly from the counter.
Emily studied her chipped nails, most of which were bitten down to the quick. She couldn’t think of a single innocuous thing to tell Beth—everything in her life was tainted with strife.
“I heard you spent the summer with Carolyn in Philly,” Beth prompted.
“Uh, yeah,” Emily answered, balling up a chicken-print napkin. The summer was the last thing she wanted to talk about right now.
“Yes, Emily’s wild summer in the city,” Mrs. Fields said in a half-touchy, half-joking voice as she placed a ceramic dish of lasagna on the table. “I don’t remember you taking a summer off from swimming, Beth.”
“Well, it’s all water under the bridge.” Mr. Fields sat down at his regular seat and grabbed a piece of garlic bread from the basket. “Emily’s all set for next year.”
“That’s right, I heard!” Beth punched Emily playfully on the shoulder. “A swim scholarship to UNC! Are you psyched?”
Emily felt her family’s gaze and swallowed a huge lump in her throat. “Really psyched.”
She knew she should be happy about the swim scholarship, but she’d lost a friend, Chloe Roland, because of it—Chloe had assumed Emily was hooking up with her well-connected father in order to score a spot on UNC’s squad, but the truth was that Mr. Roland had come on to her, and she’d done everything she could to avoid him. There was also a part of Emily that wondered if she’d even get to go to UNC next year. What if A told the police about what they did to Tabitha? Would she be in jail by the time freshman year started?
Everyone worked their way through the lasagna, their forks scraping against the plates. Beth started talking about a tree-planting charity group she was working with in Arizona. Mr. Fields complimented his wife on the sautéed spinach. Mrs. Fields chattered about a new family she’d visited as part of the Rosewood Welcome Wagon committee. Emily smiled and nodded and asked her family questions, but she couldn’t bring herself to contribute much to the conversation. She couldn’t manage more than a few forkfuls of lasagna, either, even though it was one of her favorite dinners.
After dessert, Beth jumped up and insisted she’d do the dishes. “Wanna help, Em?”
Truthfully, Emily really wanted to go back to her room and burrow under her covers, but she didn’t want to be rude to a sister she rarely saw. “Sure.”
Together they stood at the sink, both of them staring out at the dark cornfield that bordered the backyard. As the basin filled with suds and the smell of lemon Dawn wafted around the room, Emily cleared her throat. “So what are you going to do while you’re home?”
Beth glanced over her shoulder to make sure she and Emily were alone. “I have all kinds of fun things planned, actually,” she whispered. “There’s a costume party tomorrow that’s supposed to be awesome.”
“That sounds . . . nice.” Emily couldn’t conceal her surprise. The Beth she knew wasn’t into partying. From what she remembered, Beth was a lot like Carolyn—she never broke curfew, never skipped a swim practice or class. Her senior year at Rosewood Day, when Emily was in sixth grade, Beth and her prom date, Chaz, a wiry swimmer with white-blond hair, hung out at the Fieldses’ house after the dance instead of going to an after-party. Ali had been sleeping over that night, and they’d snuck down the stairs and spied on Beth and Chaz, hoping to catch them making out. But they’d been sitting on opposite sides of the couch, watching reruns of 24. “No offense, Em, but your sister’s really lame,” Ali had whispered.
“Good, because you’re coming, too.” Beth splashed Emily with soapy water, getting some all over her U of A hoodie as well.
Emily quickly shook her head. Going to a party right now sounded about as fun as walking over hot coals.
Beth flipped the switch to the garbage disposal, and the water in the sink began to bubble. “What’s up with you? Mom said you’ve been mopey, but you seem catatonic. When I asked you about your swim scholarship, you looked like you were about to burst into tears. Did you just break up with a girlfriend?”
A girlfriend. The chicken-silkscreened dish towel slipped from Emily’s grasp. It always jolted her when one of her prim-and-proper family members mentioned Emily’s sexual orientation. She knew they were trying to be understanding, but their chipper it’s-okay-to-be-gay attitude sometimes made Emily feel embarrassed.
“I didn’t break up with anyone,” Emily mumbled.
“Is Mom still being really hard on you?” Beth rolled her eyes. “Who cares if you took a summer off from swimming? That was months ago! I don’t know how you deal, living under this roof all by yourself.”
Emily looked up. “I thought you liked Mom.”
“I do, but I was dying to get out of here by the time senior year was over.” Beth wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Now, c’mon. What’s bugging you?”
Emily slowly dried a dish, looking into Beth’s kind, patient face. She wished she could tell her sister the truth. About the pregnancy. About A. Even about Tabitha. But Beth would freak. And Emily had already alienated one sister.
“I’ve been stressed,” she mumbled. “Senior year is harder than I thought it would be.”
Beth pointed a fork at Emily. “That’s why you need to come with me to this party. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Emily traced her fingers over a plate’s scalloped edge. She desperately wanted to say no, but something deep inside her made her pause. She missed having a sister to talk to—the last time she’d seen Carolyn, over Christmas break, Carolyn had made every effort to avoid being alone with Emily. She’d even slept on the couch in the den, saying she’d gotten used to falling asleep in front of the TV, but Emily knew it was really to avoid their shared bedroom. Beth’s attention and affection felt like a gift Emily shouldn’t refuse.
“I guess I could go for a little bit,” she mumbled.
Beth threw her arms around her. “I knew you’d be up for it.”
“Up for what?”
They both turned. Mrs. Fields stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. Beth stood up straighter. “Nothing, Mom.”
Mrs. Fields padded back out of the room. Emily and her sister faced each other and burst into giggles. “We’re going to have so much fun,” Beth whispered.
For a moment, Emily almost believed her.
Chapter 2
SPENCER HAS A DOPPELGANGER
“Move it a little bit to the left.” Spencer Hastings’s mother, Veronica, stood in the foyer of the family’s grand house, one hand on her slim hip. Two professional picture-hangers were positioning a large painting of the Battle of Gettysburg under the curving double staircase. “Now it’s a little too high on the right. What do you think, Spence?”
Spencer, who had just walked down the stairs, shrugged. “Tell me again why we took down the portrait of Great-great-grandpa Hastings?”
Mrs. Hastings gave Spencer a sharp look and then glanced worriedly at Nicholas Pennythistle, her fiancé, who had moved into the Hastingses’ house a week and a half ago. But Mr. Pennythistle, still clad in his flawlessly fitting suit and shiny wingtips from work, was busy tapping away on his BlackBerry.