35
ANY CLUB THAT DOESN’T WANT SPENCER AS A MEMBER . . .
That afternoon, Spencer sat at the kitchen table with her parents. Her dad was staring at his phone, and her mother was sipping a glass of iced tea. It was almost like old times, when her parents were still together. But Mr. Pennythistle was there, too, leaning against the kitchen island, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done, Peter,” Spencer’s mom said, twisting a napkin between her hands. “The last thing this family needs is more scandal.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Mr. Hastings said. “I wanted to protect all of us, and Spencer’s spot at Princeton.” Then he gave her a stern look. “I still don’t understand what you were thinking, though. Someone had a gun, Spencer. What if you’d been caught in the crossfire?”
“Haven’t you been through enough?” Mrs. Hastings jumped in. “What do we have to do, lock you in your room until you go off to college so that you don’t get in any more trouble?”
“I said I was sorry,” Spencer mumbled. She’d gotten this same lecture three times now.
The doorbell rang, startling Mrs. Hastings so much that she nearly dropped her coffee mug. “Who could that be?” she grumbled.
“I’ll get it.” Spencer rose from her seat, zipped up her sweatshirt, and padded for the door, praying it wouldn’t be that cop with more questions. A blond head moved back and forth behind the window. Spencer halted in her tracks. Was that . . . Harper?
She pulled the door open. Cold air swirled into the hall. Harper had her coat buttoned up to her neck, and the tip of her nose was bright red. Her eyes were red, too, as though she’d been crying nonstop. The corners of her mouth turned down, and for a few long seconds, she didn’t say a word, just glared.
“Uh, why aren’t you at Princeton?” Spencer asked cautiously.
Harper’s eyes blazed. “Because I’m on academic probation. Because of you.”
Spencer glanced over her shoulder to make sure her mom wasn’t listening. “What do you mean?”
Harper sank into one hip. “Isn’t it obvious? The disciplinary committee blamed me for throwing a party with drugs.” A sinister look washed across her face. “Funny, though. I recall you telling me about bringing a batch of brownies that had a few special ingredients in them. You seemed pretty proud of yourself, in fact.”
Spencer held up her hands in a whoa gesture. “I didn’t spike them with acid! It was someone else!”
An ugly snort came out of Harper’s mouth. “Right. You’re going down. I’m going to make sure you won’t be welcome at Princeton next year.”
Spencer’s stomach twisted into knots. Going to Princeton seemed like it would be an amazing new start, an escape from Rosewood, and she’d been so excited about her friendship with Harper and the other girls. But as long as A was in her life, she’d never be able to move on. A would follow her wherever she went. Those text messages, photos, and videos would still come fast and furious, even if she went to China. Even if she went to the moon.
Videos. Suddenly, a light flipped on in her head. “Don’t go yet. I have something you should see.”
Spencer marched into the foyer and found her iPhone in her bag. Then she marched triumphantly back to the open door. Harper was still standing on the porch, looking annoyed.
Spencer shoved the phone into Harper’s face and pressed PLAY. The clip of Harper trashing the Ivy House came into view. First she yanked the curtains off the walls and slashed them up. Next she pulled the stuffing out of the pillows. She knocked books off shelves, smashed a vase, and decorated a painting with a mascara wand.
Harper’s face contorted. “This isn’t me.”
Spencer scoffed. “Nice try.” She snatched the phone from Harper before she could delete the clip. “I don’t want to do this, but if you tell on me, I’ll tell on you. I doubt Ivy looks kindly on vandalism. And you don’t have any solid proof about my brownies being spiked, only what I told you when we were high. I, on the other hand, have this video. You could get in worse trouble than you’re already in.”
The confident look on Harper’s face faded. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and her face turned purple. “Fine,” she finally spat. “But don’t you dare think you’re getting into Ivy. I may be on probation, but I still have pull there. And I’m going to make sure they stay far, far away from you.”
“I don’t really care,” Spencer said, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could even though Harper’s words hurt her. “I don’t like any of you, anyway.”
Then she slammed the door in Harper’s face, feeling tears well in her eyes. Everything felt so screwed up and wrong; the perfect plan for her life had fallen to pieces. She was supposed to join Ivy. It was supposed to be her hookup to an amazing future. The Ivy girls and guys were supposed to be her instant friends, people she’d know forever. Now, the only person at Princeton who’d speak to her was Reefer.
She shifted her weight. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. She thought about how goofily into her Reefer had been at the Princeton dinner. How excited he’d gotten when he made her smell his homegrown pot. She didn’t have to put on airs when she with him. She didn’t have to compromise her principles to win him over.
Reefer was the nicest person she’d met at Princeton so far. If she was really honest, those Ivy kids were kind of . . . bitchy. And snobby. And superficial. Did she really want to hang out with them?
Spencer wiped away a tear and started back toward the kitchen, feeling strangely content. She’d be okay on her own. Maybe Reefer was right about Eating Clubs being stupid and elitist. Not that Reefer was right about everything. And not that it meant she liked him.
As she passed her dad’s old office, she smiled to herself. Okay, maybe she liked Reefer a little. At the very least she owed him an apology. And who knew, maybe she’d even accompany him to an upcoming Occupy Philly rally or something, too. Just to be nice.
36
SAFE AND SOUND
“Okay, GPS says five hundred more feet to the exit.” Emily glanced at the media console in the unfamiliar Audi sedan. “Turn here, turn here!”
“Em, I saw it coming from a mile away.” Hanna steered the car off the highway at an exit marked CHESTNUT HILL and gave Emily a worried smile. “You okay?”
Emily slid down in her seat and picked at the skin around her thumb. It was a few hours later on Monday evening, and they’d all piled into Hanna’s stepsister’s car to go to the Bakers’ new house together. Needless to say, Emily was jittery. What if she got there and the Bakers had moved again? What if she got there and the baby was gone?
It was the worst thing Emily could think of. A could still have Violet. She could still be living a nightmare.
Could A be Real Ali, after all? Had she set up Gayle to look like the villain, stealing the cash from Gayle’s mailbox, sending Spencer texts when she was at Princeton, maybe even steering Gayle toward Hanna’s dad’s campaign? Had Real Ali lured the girls to Gayle’s house in hopes of hurting them? Did Ali really have such little respect for human life?
Of course she does, a little voice in Emily’s head said. All of a sudden, her blood began to boil. This wasn’t a tragic story of a messed-up girl Emily could rescue—it was a story about a psycho bitch who wanted to get Emily any way she could, even if it meant harming an innocent child. If Real Ali was A, then Emily would do everything in her power to bring her down.