Crushed (20 page)

She took a deep breath, staring at one of the prisms hanging in the window to steady her nerves. “Okay, I have been keeping something. Something I’m not really proud of.”

Noel pressed his lips together. “Okay,” he said in a brave voice.

Aria cleared her throat, her heart hammering fast. “The reason I was asking you about kissing Ali the other day is because . . . I was feeling guilty about something I did. And, um, if you would have said you liked kissing Ali—even a little bit—it might have made me feel a little better.” As she fumbled her way through the words, she was surprised to realize they were actually true.

Noel’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

Aria held her up her hand to stop him. “Just let me finish. So, uh, you know Olaf, from Iceland?”

“The bearded dude?” A hint of a smirk appeared on Noel’s face. “Yeah.”

Aria started to tremble. “Something sort of . . .
happened
between us when I was there. I meant to tell you a long time ago, but I was afraid. But you need to know.”

A car engine grumbled out the window. The house made a settling sound. Noel turned away sharply. “I
knew
it.”

“You did?” Aria bit her lip hard. Was she
that
transparent? Had Noel seen them?

When Aria and Olaf had snuck outside, the door had creaked a few times, like it was about to open, but then it hadn’t. Perhaps Noel had peeked out and saw them. But why wouldn’t he have stormed into the alleyway, punched Olaf in the face, and broken up with Aria on the spot? Noel could have easily taken Olaf in a fight. So maybe he didn’t know that night—maybe A
had
told him later. But if that was the case, why wouldn’t he have said something as soon as he found out?

Noel paced the room. He stopped at Aria’s desk, laced his hands over the back of her swivel chair, and glared at her. “You accused me the other day of cheating on you with Ali, and here you cheated on me for
real.
Jesus, Aria.”

Tears rolled down Aria’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve felt terrible ever since. I love
you
, Noel. I was really drunk. It meant nothing.”

Noel scoffed. “Are you upset now because you really feel bad, or because you got caught? I always suspected something happened, but I hoped . . .” He trailed off and bit his lip. Then he whirled around and kicked the garbage can under her desk hard. It made a metallic clang and rolled against the wall. Aria gasped and jumped back.

Then Noel swiveled around and grabbed his cell phone. “This is an Icelandic number, isn’t it? Is it from Olaf? Are you still in touch with him? You gave him
my
number?”

“No!” Aria cried. “I’m not in touch with Olaf. Olaf is . . .” She couldn’t say
missing
or
dead.
Noel would ask how she knew that, and then she’d have to bring up the newspaper article she’d found on her bed . . . or else she’d have to pretend she’d
Googled
him, which would make her seem like she liked him. Nor could she say who had
really
sent Noel that text just now—she couldn’t put Noel in jeopardy.

“I don’t know who that text is from,” she admitted. “Maybe Olaf, though I never gave him your number. I guess it was someone’s way of getting me to tell you the truth.”

“
Look in Aria’s closet. She has something to show you
,” Noel repeated nastily. “A skeleton.”

Tears pricked Aria’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She hated the way he was looking at her.

“Is that
all
you have to tell me, or is there something more?” Noel demanded.

Aria’s stomach swirled. “Th-that’s all. I swear.”

Noel raised one eyebrow, like he didn’t believe her. Then he turned and stomped out of the room.

“Noel!” Aria cried, chasing after him.

“I have to go,” Noel said gruffly as he thundered down the stairs. He grabbed his keys off the table near the door, whipped it open, and ran out onto the porch.

“Wait!” Aria yelled. By the time she was at the door, Noel was in his car. Its headlights snapped on, and he backed out jerkily, without bothering to look if anyone was on the road. The taillights disappeared down the street quickly.

Aria stood in the chilly night, rubbing her bare arms. It felt like there was a huge weight sitting square on her chest, preventing her from taking a full breath. Noel’s words swam back to her.
Is that all you have to tell me?
What did
that
mean?

Another memory flickered into her head, faded and almost forgotten. A Reykjavik cab had picked them up to go to the airport the morning of their flight home. As they drove out of the city, they passed the huge chateau on the hill. Police cars surrounded the place. Cops stood on the driveway, and sirens whirled. Aria slumped down in her seat, but Noel stared straight at it, fascinated. “Huh,” he had said in the croaky voice from a night of too much drinking. “I wonder what happened
there
.” And then he’d looked pointedly at Aria.

But he
couldn’t
have known.
Right?

She swallowed a huge lump in her throat and went back inside the house. The stairs creaked noisily as she climbed back to her bedroom. She pushed open the door, nearly bursting into tears at the two unfinished plates of food on the table. She walked over to the closet, whipped the door open, pushed the sweatshirts aside, and stared at the rolled-up canvas. If only she could just burn it.

A square wallet on her desk caught her eye, and she straightened. It wasn’t hers, but she knew it well. She picked it up, tracing the embossed
NAK
—
Noel Alexander Kahn
. Noel always took his wallet out of his back pocket when they made out—it was much more comfortable that way. But he’d never forgotten it before. And Aria had never looked through it.

Don’t
, she told herself. But her hands inched toward it anyway.

The wallet made a squeaky-leather sound as she opened it. Inside the pockets were two credit cards, Noel’s driver’s license, a couple of twenties, and some singles. His student ID was tucked into a back slot. So was a free pass to the Rosewood Go-Kart track and a receipt from Wordsmith’s Books for a coffee.

Aria stared at the ceiling, suddenly feeling oily and gross. Noel wasn’t hiding anything. This was just A being A and ruining everything.

But then she noticed a faded ticket stub behind the bills.
THE WOODS CINEMA
, it read in purple ink. Aria had never heard of it before. The stub was a pass to a
Spider-Man
movie. Aria frowned. The latest
Spider-Man
had come out the last summer she was in Iceland—before junior year. Why would Noel keep this?

She turned the stub over. There was faded handwriting on the back, but Aria could still make out the words.
Thanks for believing in me! Next time, I’ll get the popcorn.

The note was punctuated by a little doodle. At first, it looked like just a blob, but when Aria brought it into the light, it was of a girl playing field hockey, her hands curled around a stick, the ball shooting through the air. Aria sank onto the bed. She’d seen this exact doodle before—on someone’s piece of the Time Capsule flag. She’d been given it accidentally, and she’d hidden it in her room ever since.

It had been Ali’s.

20
The Sting

That same afternoon, Spencer, clad once again in her Britney wig and sunglasses, paced back and forth in front of a Philly brownstone near the Schuylkill River. Boats honked. A double-decker bus full of tourists in faux Ben Franklin glasses and Liberty Bell sweatshirts swept by. Rain had just fallen, and the air smelled like slick cement and exhaust. She checked her school e-mail on her old cell phone, piggybacking off someone’s unencrypted WiFi. A new message had come in.
Dear Spencer, Perhaps our wires crossed. I was hoping to see you at your house yesterday, but maybe you didn’t get my message. Can we try for tomorrow? Sincerely, Jasmine Fuji.

Bile filled her stomach. Yesterday, she’d taken special care not to be anywhere near her house around four
PM
, when Agent Fuji said she was going to oh-so-casually drop by. She’d treated Mr. Pennythistle, her mother, and Amelia to ice cream at the King James Mall so
they
wouldn’t be home when Fuji came by, either. But Spencer couldn’t dodge her forever.

“Boo,” a voice said. Spencer whirled around and put up her fists.

“Just me, Britney!” Chase held up his hands in mock terror, backing away.

“Don’t
do
that.” Spencer gave him a playful shove. Then she examined him more closely. Today, he wore skinny-ish jeans, a button-down polo, and a down vest that made him look rugged and tough. Was it possible he looked even
better
than he had the last time she’d seen him? Spencer had been thrilled when he’d sent her an IM yesterday saying,
My connection at CVS found an address for Barbara Rogers in their system. 2560 Spruce Street, Apt. 4B, 4
PM
tomorrow?

She looked at the brownstone. “Now what do we do?”

“Knock on her door,” Chase said matter-of-factly.

Spencer gave him a crazy look. “Are we sure she even lives here?”

“Let’s check.” He climbed the steps and looked at the names on the buzzers, then frowned. “Hmm. There’s no
Rogers
listed.”

“It could be an outdated directory,” Spencer suggested. “Or maybe she’s not on the lease.”

“Let’s buzz.” Chase reached toward the 4B button.

Spencer caught his arm. “Wait! Maybe we shouldn’t let her know we’re coming.”

Chase squinted at her. “Then how are we going to get into the building?”

At that very moment, the red door opened, and an old man with white hair walked out. Spencer tried to catch it, but the door banged shut and locked behind him. She turned to the man instead. “Um, I’m Barbara Rogers’s niece. Can you let me in?”

The man glowered at Spencer’s Britney wig. “Never heard of her.” He shuffled down the stairs.

Spencer exchanged a look with Chase. Something told her the guy was lying. “Are you sure?” she called after the man.

“I said I don’t know anything,” he called over his shoulder, practically diving into a parked Audi. In seconds, he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Black exhaust sputtered out of the tailpipe.

Chase climbed down the steps and stood by Spencer. “Oh-
kaaay
.”

Spencer leaned against the wrought-iron railing, trying to get a look at the vanishing license plate, but it was already too far away. “It seems like he wanted to get away from us really quickly, didn’t it? Almost like someone got to him, told him not to talk.”

“And if people got to him, they had to have a reason,” Chase went on. “Maybe Barbara Rogers
is
Alison’s nurse.” He glanced up at the brownstone again. “Let’s wait for someone else to come out and catch the door before it shuts.”

“Good idea.” Spencer sat down on the first step and stared fixedly at the door, willing someone to appear. Cars honked on the main avenue. A couple of pigeons fought over a bread crust on the sidewalk. But no one emerged in the foyer. How long would they have to wait?

“So did you get your blog emergency sorted out the other day?” Spencer asked.

Chase looked at her blankly. “What?”

“You know, the reason you had to cut our first meeting so short,” Spencer prompted. “Was there breaking news about Benjamin Franklin secretly running a meth lab? Independence Hall once being a whorehouse?” In some of their chats, Chase had revealed some of the ridiculous myths that his readers debated.

“
Oh
.” Chase stared at his hands. “Actually, it wasn’t a blog emergency at all. It was more of a family thing. My brother needed my help.”

A trail of pale green leaves swirled down the street. One of them flew right into Chase’s cheek. Spencer resisted the urge to brush it away. “Is your brother older or younger?” she asked.

“A year younger,” Chase said. “We’re pretty close. We weren’t when we were little, but after the stalker thing . . .” He trailed off, his gaze suddenly distant.

Spencer rolled her jaw. “That must have been intense,” she said quietly. “What happened, exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Chase’s gaze slid to the right. “At first, the guy and I were friends. But then, something changed. He threatened me. Tried to kill me. Messed me up pretty badly.”

“There’s not a mark on you.” Spencer allowed herself a few moments to stare.

Chase ducked his head. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Yeah, well. Most of the scars you can’t see.”

Spencer knew exactly what he meant. And she
hated
that she knew. She watched the pedestrians on the street, lost for a moment in memories of Ali. “Do you know what happened to him?” she asked after a while. “Did he go to jail?”

Chase looked pained. “He was under eighteen, so no. And like I said, his parents were loaded. They kept this out of the press, paid off the cops. He left school, but that’s all I know.”

Spencer shook her head. “That is
so
unfair. So he’s just walking the streets?”

Chase nodded. “I guess so.”

He turned his head away then and made a pained noise that broke Spencer’s heart. She touched his arm, all at once so sad and heartbroken, both for Chase’s experience and her own. How dare someone torment him? How dare someone torment
her
?

“I know what it’s like,” she whispered. “I’ve been stalked, too.”

Chase turned around, his brow furrowed. “You have?”

Quickly, before she could change her mind, Spencer removed the Britney wig and took off the sunglasses. “I’m Spencer Hastings,” she said. “One of the girls Ali tried to, uh, kill.”

Chase’s mouth made an O. All sorts of expressions crossed his face in a single second. “I
wondered
if it was you,” he said after a moment in a voice so tender it made Spencer’s heart break. “But I was afraid to ask. I was afraid to scare you away.”