Byron excused himself from the table and bounded off to Meredith’s minuscule bathroom. After he turned on the bathroom’s overhead fan, Meredith laid down her fork and looked squarely at Aria. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said evenly, rubbing her thumb along the pink spiderweb tattoo on her wrist. “You hate that your father’s with me. But you’d better get used to it, Aria. Byron and I are going to be married as soon as your parents’ divorce goes through.”
Aria accidentally swallowed an unchewed bite of noodles. She coughed up the broth, sputtering it all over the table. Meredith jumped back, her eyes wide. “Something you ate not agreeing with you?” she simpered.
Aria looked away sharply, her throat burning. Something hadn’t agreed with her, all right, but it wasn’t the Wicked Witch’s soup.
6 EMILY’S JUST A SWEET, INNOCENT MIDWESTERN GAL
“Come on!” Abby urged, pulling Emily across the farmyard. The sun was sinking over the flat Iowa horizon, and all sorts of long-legged Midwestern bugs were coming out to play. Apparently, Emily, Abby, and Emily’s two eldest boy cousins, Matt and John, were also going out to play.
The four of them stopped at the edge of the road. John and Matt had both changed out of their plain white T-shirts and work pants into baggy jeans and T-shirts with beer slogans. Abby pulled at the bodice of her tube top and checked her lipstick in her little compact mirror. Emily, in the same jeans and swimming T-shirt she’d worn when she arrived, felt plain and underdressed—which was pretty much how she always felt back in Rosewood.
Emily gazed over her shoulder at the farmhouse. All of its lights were off, but the dogs were still running crazily around the property, and the bad goat was still chained to the cattle guard, the bell around her neck clanging back and forth. It was a wonder Helene and Allen didn’t put bells on their children. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she wondered aloud.
“It’s fine,” Abby answered, her hoop earrings swinging. “Mom and Dad go to bed at eight P.M. like clockwork. That’s what happens when you wake up at four.”
“We’ve been doing this for months and haven’t gotten caught once,” Matt assured her.
Suddenly, a silver pickup truck appeared on the horizon, dust kicking up in its wake. The truck rolled slowly up to the four of them and stopped. A hip-hop song Emily couldn’t place wafted out, along with the strong smell of menthol cigarettes. A dark-haired, Noel Kahn look-alike waved to the cousins, then smiled at Emily. “Soooo…this is your cousin, huh?”
“That’s right,” Abby said. “She’s from Pennsylvania. Emily, this is Dyson.”
“Get in.” Dyson patted the seat. Abby and Emily climbed in the front, and John and Matt climbed into the pickup bed. As they rolled off, Emily glanced once more at the farmhouse receding in the distance, an uneasy feeling gnawing at her.
“So, what brings you to glamorous Addams?” Dyson clunkily shifted gears.
Emily glanced at Abby. “My parents sent me.”
“They sent you away?”
“Totally,” Abby interrupted. “I heard you’re a real badass, Emily.” She looked at Dyson. “Emily lives on the edge.”
Emily stifled a laugh. The only rebellious thing she’d ever done in front of Abby was sneak an extra Oreo for dessert. She wondered if her cousins knew the truth of why her parents had banished her here. Probably not—lesbian was most likely a swear-jar word.
Within minutes, they drove up an uneven path to a large, burnt-orange silo, and parked on the grass next to a car with a bumper sticker that read, I BRAKE FOR HOOTERS. Two pale boys rolled out of a red pickup and bumped fists with a couple beefy, towheaded boys climbing out of a black Dodge Ram. Emily smirked. She’d always thought using the word corn-fed to describe someone from Iowa was a cliché, but right now, it was the only description that came to mind.
Abby squeezed Emily’s arm. “The ratio of guys to girls here is four to one,” she whispered. “So you’ll totally hook up tonight. I always do.”
So Abby didn’t know about Emily. “Oh. Great.” Emily tried to smile. Abby winked and jumped out of the truck. Emily followed the others toward the silo. The air smelled like Clinique Happy perfume; hoppy, soapy beer; and dried grass. When she walked inside, she expected to see bales of hay, a farm animal or two, and perhaps a bare, unstable ladder that led to a freaky girl’s bedroom, just like in The Ring. Instead, the silo had been cleared out and Christmas lights hung from the ceiling. Plush, plum-colored couches lined the walls, and Emily saw a turntable in the corner and a bunch of enormous kegs near the back.
Abby, who’d already grabbed a beer, pulled a couple of guys toward Emily. Even in Rosewood, they would’ve been popular—they all had floppy hair, angular faces, and brilliant white teeth. “Brett, Todd, Xavi…this is my cousin Emily. She’s from Pennsylvania.”
“Hi,” Emily said, shaking the boys’ hands.
“Pennsylvania.” The boys nodded appreciatively, as if Abby had said Emily was from Naughty Dirty Sex Land.
As Abby wandered off with one of the boys, Emily made her way to the keg. She stood in line behind a blond couple who were grinding against each other. The DJ melted into Timbaland, whom everyone at Rosewood was into right now, too. Really, people in Iowa didn’t seem that different from people at her school. The girls all wore denim skirts and wedge heels, and the guys wore oversize hoodies and baggy jeans, and seemed to be experimenting with facial hair. Emily wondered where all of them went to school, or if their parents homeschooled them as well.
“Are you the new girl?”
A tall, white-blond girl in a striped tunic and dark jeans stood behind her. She had the broad shoulders and powerful stance of a professional volleyball player, and four small earrings snaked up her left ear. But there was something very sweet and open about her round face, light blue eyes, and small, pretty lips. And unlike practically every other girl in the silo, she didn’t have a guy’s hands draped over her boobs. “Uh, yeah,” Emily replied. “I just got here today.”
“And you’re from Pennsylvania, right?” The girl pivoted back on her hips and appraised Emily carefully. “I was there once. We went to Harvard Square.”
“I think you mean Boston, in Massachusetts,” Emily corrected her. “That’s where Harvard is. Pennsylvania has Philadelphia. The Liberty Bell, Ben Franklin stuff, all that.”
“Oh.” The girl’s face fell. “I haven’t been to Pennsylvania, then.” She lowered her chin at Emily. “So. If you were candy, what kind would you be?”
“Sorry?” Emily blinked.
“Come on.” The girl poked her. “Me, I’d be an M&M.”
“Why?” Emily asked.
The girl lowered her eyes seductively. “Because I melt in your mouth, obviously.” She poked Emily. “So how about you?”
Emily shrugged. This was the strangest getting-to-know-you question anyone had ever asked her, but she kind of liked it. “I’ve never thought about it. A Tootsie Roll?”
The girl violently shook her head. “You wouldn’t be a Tootsie Roll. That looks like a big long poop. You’d be something way sexier than that.”
Emily breathed in very, very slowly. Was this girl flirting with her? “Um, I think I need to know your name before we talk about…sexy candy.”
The girl stuck out her hand. “I’m Trista.”
“Emily.” As they shook, Trista spiraled her thumb around the inside of Emily’s palm. She never took her eyes off Emily’s face.
Maybe this was just some sort of cultural Iowan way of saying hello.
“Do you want a beer?” Emily sputtered, turning back for the keg.