Pulling her phone from her bag, she once again checked the rejection email that had come in from the scout. Sorry to say . . . just not enough room . . . good luck. Looking at the words, Emily’s stomach swirled.
Suddenly, the room smelled pungently of roasted garlic and cinnamon Altoids. The string quartet sawing away in the corner sounded hideously out of tune. The walls closed in around Emily’s sides. What was she going to do next year? Get a job and live at home? Go to community college? She had to get out of Rosewood—if she stayed here, the terrible memories would swallow her up until there was nothing left of her.
A tall, black-haired girl near the china cabinet caught her eye. Aria.
Emily’s heart began to pound. Spencer had acted like she’d seen a ghost when they’d locked eyes, but maybe Aria would be different. As she watched Aria gazing at the knickknacks in the cabinet—acting like the objects in the room mattered more than the people, something she’d always done when she was left alone at parties—Emily was suddenly overtaken by nostalgia. She stepped out from behind the coat-check table and moved toward her old friend. If only she could rush over to Aria and ask her how she was. Tell her what had happened with the swimming scholarship. Solicit a sorely needed hug. If only the four of them hadn’t gone to Jamaica together, she could have.
To her surprise, Aria looked up and focused on Emily. Her eyes widened. Her lips pursed.
Emily straightened and offered her a small smile. “H-hey.”
Aria flinched. “Hey.”
“I can take that for you if you want.” Emily gestured to Aria’s purple trench coat, which was still knotted tightly around her waist. Emily had been with Aria when she’d bought it at a thrift shop in Philly last year, shortly before they went on spring break together. Spencer and Hanna had told Aria that the coat smelled like an old lady, but Aria bought it anyway.
Aria placed her hands in the coat pockets. “That’s okay.”
“The coat looks really good on you,” Emily added. “Purple has always been your color.”
A muscle at Aria’s jaw twitched. She looked like she wanted to say something, but closed her mouth tightly. Then her eyes brightened at something across the room. Noel Kahn, her boyfriend, swooped over to Aria and wrapped his arms around her. “I was looking for you.”
Aria kissed him hello, then wheeled away without giving Emily another word.
A group of people in the middle of the room burst into laughter. Mr. Kahn, who was staggering as though he’d had too much to drink, started fiddling on the Hastingses’ piano, playing the right hand part to the “Blue Danube Waltz.” All at once, Emily couldn’t bear to watch the party any longer. She tumbled through the front door just before the tears started to fall.
Outside, the air was unseasonably warm for February. She trudged around the side of the house to the Hastingses’ backyard, tears rolling silently down her cheeks.
The view in Spencer’s backyard was so different now. The historic barn that had stood at the back of the property was gone—Real Ali had burned it down last year. Only scorched, black dirt remained. Emily doubted anything would ever grow in that spot again.
Next door was the DiLaurentises’ old house. Maya St. Germain, whom Emily had had a thing with junior year, still lived there, though Emily hardly saw Maya anymore. In the front yard, the Ali Shrine, which had stood for so long after Courtney’s—her Ali’s—death on the DiLaurentises’ old curb, was gone, too. The public was still obsessed—the newspapers were already running Alison DiLaurentis Fire Anniversary features, and then there was Pretty Little Killer, that awful Alison biopic—but no one wanted to eulogize a murderer.
Thinking about it, Emily slipped her hand into her jeans pocket and felt for the silky tassel she’d carried with her for the past year. Just feeling that it was still there calmed her down.
A small cry rang out, and Emily turned. Just twenty feet away, almost blending into the trunk of the Hastingses’ giant oak, stood a teenage girl bouncing a bundled baby. “Shhh,” the girl cooed. Then she glanced over at Emily, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. I came out here to keep her quiet, but it’s not working.”
“It’s okay.” Emily covertly wiped her eyes. She glanced at the tiny baby. “What’s her name?”
“Grace.” The girl shifted the baby higher in her arms. “Say hi, Grace.”
“Is she . . . yours?” The girl looked about Emily’s age.
“Oh God, no.” The girl laughed. “She’s my mom’s. But she’s inside, schmoozing, so I’m on nanny duty.” She shifted for something in the big diaper bag on her shoulder. “Would you mind holding her for a second? I have to get her bottle, but it’s way at the bottom.”
Emily blinked. She hadn’t held a baby in a long time. “Well, okay . . .”
The girl handed Emily the baby, who was swaddled in a pink blanket and smelled like powder. Her little red mouth opened wide and tears dotted her eyes. “It’s okay,” Emily told her “You can cry. I don’t mind.”
A wrinkle formed on Grace’s tiny brow. She shut her mouth and stared at Emily curiously. Tumultuous feelings rushed through Emily. Her memories pulsed close, ready to break free, but she quickly pushed them down deep.
The girl raised her head from the diaper bag. “Hey! You’re a natural. Do you have young brothers or sisters?”
Emily bit her lip. “No, just older ones. But I’ve done a lot of babysitting.”
“It shows.” She smiled. “I’m Chloe Roland. My family just moved here from Charlotte.”
Emily introduced herself. “Where are you going to school?”
“Rosewood Day. I’m a senior.”
Emily smiled. “That’s where I go!”
“Do you like it?” Chloe asked, finding the bottle.
Emily handed Grace back. Did she like Rosewood Day? So much about the school reminded her of her Ali—and of A. Every corner, every room held a memory she’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” she said, then inadvertently let out a loud sniff.
Chloe squinted into Emily’s tear-stained face. “Is everything okay?”
Emily wiped her eyes. Her brain conjured up the words I’m fine and It doesn’t matter, but she couldn’t say them. “I just found out I didn’t get a college swimming scholarship,” she blurted. “My parents can’t afford to send me without it. It’s my fault, though. I . . . I dropped out of swimming this summer. No team wants me now. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Fresh tears cascaded down Emily’s face. Since when did she go around blubbering about her problems to girls she didn’t know? “I’m sorry. I’m sure you didn’t want to hear that.”
Chloe sniffed. “Please. It’s more than anyone else has said to me at this party. So you swim, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Chloe smiled. “My dad’s a big donor at the University of North Carolina, his alma mater. He might be able to help.”
Emily looked up. “UNC is a great swimming school.”
“Maybe I could talk to him about you.”
Emily stared at her. “But you don’t even know me!”
Chloe shifted Grace higher in her arms. “You seem nice.”
Emily peered at Chloe more closely. She had a pleasant round face, sparkling hazel eyes, and long, shiny brown hair the color of a chocolate Pudding Pop. Her eyebrows looked like they hadn’t been plucked in a while, she didn’t have much makeup on, and Emily was pretty sure she’d seen the dress Chloe was wearing at The Gap. She liked her instantly for not trying so hard.