Maya stood by a box of Bosu balls, Pilates magic circles, and other equipment that exercise-aholic girls used during their free periods. “Hi,” she squealed, her face bright pink with pleasure.
Emily tentatively walked into Maya’s arms, inhaling her familiar banana gum smell. “What are you doing here?” she gasped.
“I skipped out of Algebra III to find you,” Maya whispered. She held up a wooden hall pass carved into pi’s squiggly shape. “When did you get back? What happened? Are you here for good?”
Emily hesitated. She’d been in Rosewood for a whole day, but yesterday had been such a blur—there was her visit to the hospital, then A’s note, then classes and swimming and time spent with her parents—she hadn’t had time to talk to Maya yet. Emily had noticed Maya in the halls once yesterday, but she’d ducked into an empty classroom and waited for Maya to pass. She couldn’t exactly explain why. It wasn’t as if she was hiding from Maya or anything.
“I didn’t get back that long ago,” she managed. “And I’m back for good. I hope.”
The door to the tennis courts banged shut. Emily looked at the exit longingly. By the time she got outside, everyone in her gym class would’ve already found a tennis partner. She’d have to hit balls with Mr. Draznowsky, who, because he was also a health teacher, liked to give his students on-the-fly contraception lectures. Then, Emily blinked hard, as if startled out of a dream. What was her problem? Why did she care about stupid gym class when Maya was here?
She whipped back around. “My parents have done a one-eighty. They were so worried that something had happened to me after I left my aunt and uncle’s farm, they’ve decided to accept me for who I am.”
Maya widened her eyes. “That’s awesome!” She grabbed Emily’s hands. “So what happened at your aunt and uncle’s? Were they mean to you?”
“Sort of.” Emily shut her eyes, picturing Helene and Allen’s stern faces. Then, she imagined do-si-do’ing with Trista at the party. Trista had told Emily that if she were a dance, she’d most definitely be the Virginia reel. Maybe she should confess to Maya what happened with Trista…only, what had happened? Nothing, really. It would be better to just forget the whole thing. “It’s a long story.”
“You’ll have to give me all the details later, now that we can actually hang out in public.” Maya jiggled up and down, then glanced at the enormous clock on the scoreboard. “I should probably get back,” she whispered. “Can we meet up tonight?”
Emily hesitated, realizing this was the first time she could say yes without sneaking around behind her parents’ backs. Then she remembered. “I can’t. I’m having dinner out with my family.”
Maya’s face fell. “Tomorrow, then? We could go to Hanna’s party together.”
“S-sure,” Emily stammered. “That would be great.”
“And, oh! I have a huge surprise for you.” Maya hopped from foot to foot. “Scott Chin, the yearbook photographer? He’s in my history class, and he told me that you and I were voted this year’s best couple! Isn’t that fun?”
“Best couple?” Emily repeated. Her mouth felt gummy.
Maya took Emily’s hands and swung them back and forth. “We have a photo shoot in the yearbook room tomorrow. Won’t that be so cute?”
“Sure.” Emily picked up the hem of her T-shirt and squeezed it in her palm.
Maya cocked her head. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t sound so enthused.”
“No. I am. Totally.” Just as Emily took a breath to go on, her cell phone vibrated in her hoodie pocket, jolting straight through to her waist. She jumped and pulled it out, her heart pounding. One new text message, the screen said.
When she hit READ and saw the signature, her stomach turned for a different reason. She snapped the phone shut without reading the message. “Get anything good?” Maya asked, a little nosily, Emily thought.
“Nah.” Emily slid the phone back into her pocket.
Maya tossed the pi hall pass from one hand to the other. She gave Emily a quick kiss on the cheek, then sauntered out of the gym, her tall, sandstone-colored Frye boots clunking heavily against the wood floor. As Maya rounded the corner into the hall, Emily pulled out her cell phone, took a deep breath, and looked at the screen again.
Hey, Emily! I just heard the news that you’re GONE! I’m really going to miss you! Where do you live in PA? If you were a famous Philadelphia historical figure, who would you be? I’d be that guy on the Quaker Oats box…. He counts, right?
Maybe I could visit sometime? xxx, Trista
The gym’s central heater came on with a clank. Emily snapped her phone shut, and, after a pause, turned it off completely. Years ago, right before Emily had kissed Ali up in the DiLaurentises’ old tree house, Ali had confessed that she was secretly seeing an older guy. She’d never said what his name was, but Emily realized now that she must have been talking about Ian Thomas. Ali had grabbed Emily’s hands, full of giddy emotion. “Whenever I think about him, my stomach swoops around like I’m on a roller coaster,” she’d swooned. “Being in love is the best feeling in the world.”
Emily zipped up her hoodie to her chin. She thought she was in love, too, but it certainly didn’t make her feel like she was on a roller coaster. Inside the fun house was more like it—with surprises at every turn, and absolutely no idea what would happen next.
20
NO SECRETS BETWEEN FRIENDS
Thursday afternoon, Hanna stared at her reflection in the downstairs powder room mirror. She dabbed a bit of foundation on the stitches in her chin and winced. Why did stitches have to hurt so much? And why did Dr. Geist have to sew up her face with Frankenstein black thread? Couldn’t he have used a nice flesh-tone color?
She picked up her brand-new BlackBerry, considering. The phone had been waiting for her on the kitchen island when her father brought her home from the hospital earlier today. There was a card on the BlackBerry’s box that said, WELCOME HOME! LOVE, MOM. Now that Hanna wasn’t on the brink of death, her mother had returned to her round-the-clock hours at work, business as usual.
Hanna sighed, then dialed the number on the back of her foundation bottle. “Hello, Bobbi Brown hotline!” a cheerful voice on the other end chirped.
“This is Hanna Marin,” Hanna said briskly, trying to channel her inner Anna Wintour. “Can I book Bobbi for a makeup job?”
The hotline girl paused. “You’d have to go through Bobbi’s booking agent for something like that. But I think she’s really busy—”
“Can you get me her agent’s number anyway?”
“I don’t think I’m allowed to—”
“Sure you can,” Hanna cooed. “I won’t tell.”
After a bit of hemming and hawing, the girl put Hanna on hold, and someone else picked up the line and gave Hanna a 212 phone number. She wrote it down in lipstick on the bathroom mirror and hung up, feeling ambivalent. On one hand, it rocked that she could still push people to do exactly what she wanted. Only queen-of-the-school divas could do that. On the other hand, what if even Bobbi couldn’t fix Hanna’s mess of a face?
The doorbell rang. Hanna dabbed more foundation on her stitches and headed into the hall. That was probably Mona, coming over to help audition male models for her party. She’d told Hanna she wanted to book her the best hotties money could buy.