Aria giggled. It was late Sunday afternoon, and she and Noel were all alone in Aria’s mother’s house, lying on her couch in the family room. Since her parents’ divorce, the room had undergone a bit of a makeover to suit Ella’s tastes and adventures. Hindu-god statues from Ella’s trip to Bombay last summer lined the shelves, Indian blankets from her stay at an artist’s colony in New Mexico this past fall covered the couches and chairs, and tons of green tea-scented candles, the smell of which Aria’s father, Byron, had never liked, flickered everywhere. When Aria had crushed on Noel in sixth and seventh grades, she used to daydream about Noel coming over to her house and lying on the couch with her just like this—well, minus the leering looks from the many-armed Ganesh figurine in the corner.
Noel pecked Aria on the lips. Aria grinned and kissed him back, staring at his chiseled face; long, wavy, black hair; and pink lips. He breathed in and kissed her deeper, running his hands up and down the length of her spine. Slowly, he unbuttoned Aria’s leopard-print cardigan. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Then he pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossed it to the floor, and reached for the zipper on Aria’s jeans. “We should go to your bedroom.”
Aria put her hand over his, stopping him. “Noel, wait.”
Noel groaned and rolled off her. “Seriously?”
“I’m sorry,” Aria protested, buttoning her sweater again. “It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” Noel gripped the edge of the coffee table, his posture suddenly rigid.
Aria stared out the side window, which offered a perfect view of the Chester County woods. She couldn’t explain why she’d been so hesitant to have sex with him. They’d been going out for over a year. And it wasn’t like she was a prude—she’d lost her virginity to Oskar, a boy in Iceland, when she was sixteen. Last year, she’d hooked up with Ezra Fitz, who happened to be her English teacher. They hadn’t slept together, but they probably would have eventually if A hadn’t outed them.
So why was she holding back with Noel? Admittedly, it was still mind-boggling that she was dating him at all—Aria’s crush on Noel in sixth and seventh grades bordered on the embarrassing. Ali used to tease her about it constantly. “It’s probably better you and Noel aren’t dating,” she’d say. “He’s had so many other girlfriends, so much experience. And you’ve had how many boyfriends? Oh right—zero.”
Sometimes Aria still got a sense that she wasn’t good enough for him—not popular enough, not preppy enough, not the kind of girl who knew which fork to use at dinner or how to maneuver a horse over a jump. She didn’t even know the proper name for those jumps. Then again, sometimes Aria got the sense Noel wasn’t good enough for her—like when they’d toured Iceland together this past summer. He’d insisted on only eating at Burger King and paying for cans of Budweiser with U.S. dollars.
She touched Noel’s rigid back. “I just want it to be special.”
He turned. “You don’t think it’d be special?”
“I do, but . . .” Aria shut her eyes. It was so hard to explain.
Noel hunched his shoulders defensively. “You’ve been so different lately.”
Aria frowned. “Since when?”
“Since . . . a while, I guess.” Noel slid off the couch and pulled his T-shirt back on. “Is it some other guy? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
A chill ran up Aria’s spine. She was keeping secrets from Noel. Of course he knew about Ali, A, and what had happened in the Poconos—the whole world did. But he didn’t know about the unforgivable thing she’d done in Iceland. He didn’t know about Jamaica, either, and he’d even been there when it happened—not there, of course, but sleeping in a nearby room. Would he still want to be with Aria if he knew any of that?
“Of course it isn’t another guy.” Aria hugged him from behind. “I just need some more time. Everything’s fine, I promise.”
“Well, you better watch out,” Noel said in a slightly more playful voice. “I’m going to find a slutty freshman to satisfy my needs.”
“You wouldn’t,” Aria threatened, slapping him lightly.
Noel twisted his mouth. “You’re right. All the freshman girls are skanks, anyway.”
“Not that that’s ever stopped you.”
Noel turned, buried Aria’s head in his armpit, and gave her a noogie. “I hope you count yourself in the skank category, woman!”
Aria squealed. “Stop!” They fell back to the sofa and started kissing again.
“Ahem.”
Aria shot up and saw her mother standing in the doorway. Ella’s long, black hair was wound on top of her head, and she wore a long, flowing caftan tunic and black leggings. There was a scolding frown on her face. “Hello, Aria,” she said evenly. “Hello, Noel.”
“H-hey, Ella,” Aria said, her face reddening. Despite her mom’s liberal attitude about most things, she was still pretty strict about not letting Aria be in the house alone with Noel. Aria hadn’t exactly told Ella she and Noel would be here today. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “We were just . . . talking. I swear.”
“Uh-huh.” Ella pursed her boysenberry-stained lips knowingly. Then, with a shake of her head, she padded off to the kitchen. “What are you two doing for dinner?” she asked over her shoulder. “I’m making raw turnip ravioli for Thaddeus and me. You’re welcome to stay.”
Aria glanced at Noel, who emphatically shook his head. Thaddeus was Ella’s boyfriend—they’d met at the art gallery where Ella worked. He was a raw foodist, which meant Ella had become one, too. Aria liked her pasta cooked, thanks very much.
Then, Noel’s phone, which was perched on the coffee table, let out a loud foghorn noise.
Noel untangled himself from Aria, checked the screen, and scowled. “Shit. I forgot. I have to pick up someone at the airport in an hour.”
“Who?” Aria sat up and pulled her cardigan around her shoulders.
“Just this loser foreign exchange student who’s coming for the semester. My parents dropped the bomb on me yesterday after the Hastingses’ party. It’s going to be so lame.”
Aria’s jaw dropped. “Why haven’t you told me yet? Foreign-exchange students are so interesting!” In fifth grade, a girl named Yuki had come on exchange from Japan, staying with Lanie Iler’s family. Most kids thought she was weird, but Aria found Yuki fascinating—she wrote her name in strange characters, folded origami shapes out of her spelling tests, and had the straightest, blackest hair Aria had ever seen.
Noel shoved his feet into his ratty driving loafers. “Are you kidding? It’s going to suck. Do you know where he’s from? Finland! He’s probably going to be such a freak, like one of those guys who wears girls’ jeans and plays the recorder.”
Aria smiled to herself, remembering how Noel had called her Finland the first few weeks after her family had returned from Iceland.
“This dude probably is a huge dork.” Noel strode toward the hall.
“Do you want company?” Aria called after him as he stomped down the stairs.
“Nah.” Noel waved his hand. “I’ll spare you from freak-Finn and his wooden shoes.”
That’s Holland, Aria wanted to say. She quickly pulled on her coat and slipped on her boots. “Seriously. I don’t mind.”
Noel chewed on his lip, thinking. “If you insist. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The Philadelphia airport teemed with families hauling suitcases, businessmen running to catch planes, and bedraggled travelers removing their shoes in the security line. The arrivals board said that the plane from Helsinki had just landed. Noel pulled a small cardboard square from his backpack and unfolded it. HUUSKO, it said in large red letters.