Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “You are embarrassed of me.”
“I’m not!” Aria cried. “But did you see the way they all looked at us? Didn’t that make you uncomfortable?”
“Since when do you care what people think?” Ezra poked his head into the dining room. As soon as he looked, everyone’s head turned away instantly, to hide that they’d been staring.
“I don’t care what people think,” Aria insisted. Although, in this case, maybe she did.
“And you’re eighteen,” Ezra continued. “Everything we’re doing is legal. There’s nothing to worry about. Is it because I haven’t made anything of myself? Because my novel sucks?”
Aria almost screamed. “This has nothing to do with your novel.”
“Then what is it?”
At a nearby table, a waiter set a dome-shaped dessert on fire, and blue flames shot up into the air. The table applauded. Unconsciously, Aria’s gaze drifted toward the entranceway once more. Noel hadn’t moved. His blue eyes were fixed, unblinking, on Aria.
Ezra followed her gaze. “I knew it. Things aren’t over between you, are they?”
“They are. I swear.” Aria shut her eyes. “I just . . . I can’t do this with you right now. I can’t be in public with you. Not with all these people here. In New York, it’ll be different.”
But Ezra pulled away from her angrily. “Find me when you grow up and sort out all your baggage, Aria.” Then he stormed into the crowd.
Aria felt too weary to follow him. Despair rippled through her. Was love always this complicated? It certainly hadn’t been with Noel. If she truly loved Ezra, would she have been oblivious to everyone’s confused and gossipy stares?
She drifted toward the buffet and ate a tofu skewer without tasting it. A hand touched her arm again. It was Mrs. Kittinger, her art history teacher, dressed in a bowler hat, a checked men’s vest, and billowing black pants.
“Aria! Just the person I’d like to see.” Mrs. Kittinger pulled a typewritten paper halfway out of her leather bag. “I wanted to thank you for handing in your Caravaggio project early and tell you what a lovely job you did. I was reading it before the performance tonight.”
“Oh.” Aria smiled faintly. She’d finished her portion of the report and emailed it to Mrs. Kittinger this morning, adding a note that she’d tried to get Klaudia to help her with the project, but Klaudia hadn’t been interested. Okay, so it was kind of a tattletale thing to do, but she wasn’t letting Klaudia off the hook.
“I haven’t received anything from your partner yet, though,” Mrs. Kittinger added, as if reading Aria’s mind. “Let’s hope she turns something in by Monday, or else I’ll have to fail her.” She looked like she wanted to say something more, but then she shot Aria a sad smile, slipped the paper back into her bag, and moved down the line.
The band started playing “’Round Midnight,” one of Aria’s favorite songs. A heady, soothing smell of olive oil drifted through the air. When Aria looked up at the collection of knickknacks lined up on the high shelves over the tables, she noticed a familiar Shakespeare bobble head figure. It was the very same one Ezra had given her before he left last year. She’d treasured that gift, jiggling its head often, longing for Ezra to write to her and reconnect. After a while, she’d figured he’d long forgotten about their relationship, but all that time, he’d been writing a novel—about just that.
The world seemed to brighten a little. Maybe Aria was being juvenile and paranoid about Ezra. Since when did she care what other people thought? She was Kooky Aria, the girl who wore pink streaks in her hair and made up dance routines in gym class. Rosewood hadn’t changed her that much.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched through the crowd. Hopefully, Ezra was still here. She would find him, bring him to Ella, and tell her their plans. She would dance with Ezra on the tiny dance floor, students’ and teachers’ stares be damned. She’d pined for him for so long. She couldn’t let him slip away now.
“Ezra?” Aria called, sticking her head into the men’s bathroom. No answer. “Ezra?” she called again, peeking out the back door, but there were only a series of green Dumpsters and a couple of line cooks smoking cigarettes. She looked in the back dining room, the hostess area, and even the front parking lot. Luckily Ezra’s blue Bug was still parked next to a Jeep Cherokee. He had to be inside somewhere.
As Aria walked back into the restaurant, a faint, familiar laugh greeted her. She paused, icy fear shooting through her.
The laughter was coming from the coatroom. She tiptoed around the unmanned coat-check desk. A figure moved in the blue-black darkness at the very back of the space, hidden behind overcoats and leather jackets and furs. “Hello?” Aria whispered, her heart pounding hard.
Aria heard a sigh, then the smacking sounds of two people kissing. Oops. Aria backed away, but her ankle turned, and she lurched to the side, banging into some empty hangers on the rack. They clanged together loudly.
“What was that?” a voice said from the back of the coat closet. Aria stopped, recognizing it instantly. In seconds, a figure stepped into the light. “Oh my God.”
Aria’s eyes widened. Ezra stared back at her. His lips parted, but no words came out.
“Mr. Poet Man?” a second voice lilted. A blond girl stepped out of the shadows and wound her arms around Ezra’s waist. Her hair was mussed, her bright lipstick was smudged, and the straps of her low-cut dress hung off her shoulders. When she saw Aria, she burst into a triumphant smile. “Oh, hallo!” she teased, squeezing Ezra harder.
Klaudia.
Aria backed away, banging into more coat hangers. Then she turned and ran.
Chapter 30
KILL HER BEFORE SHE KILLS YOU
“I must say I’m impressed.” Mr. Pennythistle swirled his dirty martini and beamed at Spencer. “That Lady Macbeth performance rivaled the Royal Shakespeare Company.”
Melissa stepped forward and gave Spencer a hug. “It was amazing.” She nudged Wilden, who nodded too. “You seemed utterly transformed! Especially for the scene where she can’t wash the blood off her hands!”
Spencer smiled shakily, pushing her heavily hair-sprayed blond hair off her neck. Dozens of people had come up to her since the play ended and told her what an amazing job she’d done, her rocky start forgotten. By the time she’d reached the Out, damned spot scene, she was fully immersed in the role, channeling all of her guilty energy into the character. She’d received the loudest applause at the end, even beating out Beau, and she’d already spoken with the videographer, asking him to edit out her first disastrous scene. The rest of her performance would make the perfect package for Princeton.
But now she felt off-kilter again, all because of the conversation she’d just had with Emily. She hadn’t meant to lash out at her, but Emily needed to understand. She was dying to apologize, but Emily was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t find Kelsey, either.
A woman with dark hair and a long, thin face appeared next to Spencer. “Lady Macbeth?” She extended her hand. “I’m Jennifer Williams, from the Philadelphia Sentinel. Mind if we do an interview and some pictures?”
Mrs. Hastings’s eyes lit up. “How exciting, Spence!” Even Amelia looked impressed.
Spencer said good-bye to her family, even giving Mr. Pennythistle an awkward little hug. As she wove through the crowd, drama kids, girls she knew from field hockey, and even Naomi, Riley, and Kate clapped her on the back and told her she’d done an amazing job. She scanned the room for Emily, but she still didn’t see her.
The reporter led Spencer to a booth at the back. Beau was already waiting with a small cup of espresso. He’d changed out of his armor and into a black cashmere sweater and the sexiest fitted corduroys Spencer had ever seen on a guy. She sat next to him, and Beau squeezed her hand. “How about we sneak out of this party after the interview is done?”
Just feeling Beau’s hand in hers steadied Spencer’s nerves. She raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval. “Does Mr. Yale Drama dare ditch out on his own cast party? I would’ve thought you’d want to hang around and listen to people kiss your ass.”
“I’m full of surprises.” Beau winked.
Jennifer Williams slid into the booth across from them and flipped her notepad to a fresh page. As she looked at Beau and asked him the first question, Spencer’s cell phone beeped. Spencer reached into her pocket. There were at least twenty texts on her phone from people congratulating her. The latest text, however, was from a jumble of letters and numbers.
Spencer swallowed a lump in her throat, slouched down in the booth, covered the screen, and pressed READ.
You hurt both of us. Now I’m going to hurt you. –A
Attached was a photograph of a blond girl in a goldenrod-colored sundress lying on her stomach on a beach at night. Her head was turned to the side, and there was a huge gash at her temple. Blood trickled down her chin and onto the sand. The waves crashed ominously near her head, ready to wash her away.
The phone dropped to Spencer’s lap. It was a picture of Tabitha just after Aria had pushed her off the roof. Neither Spencer nor the others had seen her on the ground—it had been too dark, and her body had disappeared by the time they got down to the beach.
But someone had seen. And photographed it. Kelsey.
A tortured noise escaped from Spencer’s throat. Jennifer Williams looked up from her notes. “Are you okay?”
“I . . .” Spencer pushed out of the booth, feeling dizzy. She needed to get out of here. She needed to hide. The reporter called for her, but she couldn’t turn back. She fumbled toward the exit. Every face she passed looked warped and crazed, even dangerous. She burst through the back door, emerging into an empty alley. A line of metal garbage cans stood by the wall. The overpowering scent of rotting vegetables and meat roiled Spencer’s stomach. It was eerily quiet out here, a sharp contrast to the raucous atmosphere inside the restaurant.
“Hey.”
Spencer turned and saw Kelsey standing at the back door. Her eyes were narrowed. Her mouth was a pale line. Spencer gasped. She wanted to run, but her limbs wouldn’t move.
Kelsey placed her hands on her hips. “Did you get my text?”
Spencer let out a tiny whimper. The image of Tabitha, dead on the sand, swam before her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.
“You’re so sick,” Kelsey hissed, her eyes round. “Did you really think you were going to get away with it?”
Spencer’s heart leapt to her throat. “I’m—”
“You’re what?” Kelsey cocked her head. “You’re sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it, Spencer.”
She grabbed Spencer’s elbow hard. Spencer wrenched away, desperate to get free, but Kelsey let out a frustrated noise and tackled Spencer against the brick wall. Spencer yelled out, her voice echoing through the alley. Suddenly, a hideous, jumbled mix of all the visions that had appeared to Spencer over the past few days swirled through her mind. She saw Tabitha leering at her from the Rosewood Day stage. She saw Kelsey advancing toward her in the creek, ready to drown her.