“God, it seems like even more people are here now!” Lanie murmured, walking into the natatorium behind Emily. And she was right: the stands seemed more packed than during the first half. The band, set up near the diving well, was playing a fight song, and the foamy gray Hammerhead mascot had joined the cheerleaders in front of the stands. Everyone was in the stands—the popular kids, the soccer boys, the drama club girls, even her teachers. Spencer Hastings sat next to Kirsten Cullen. Maya was up there, typing furiously into her cell phone, and Hanna Marin sat near her, all alone and gazing out into the crowd. And there were Emily’s parents, dressed up in their blue-and-white Rosewood Swimming sweatshirts decorated with GO EMILY and GO CAROLYN buttons. Emily tried to wave to them, but they were too busy studying a piece of paper, probably the heat sheet. Actually, a lot of people were looking at the heat sheet. Mr. Shay, the geezerish biology teacher who always watched practice because he’d been a swimmer about a thousand years ago, held a copy about three inches from his face. The heat sheet wasn’t that interesting—it just listed the order of events.
James Freed stepped in Emily’s path. His mouth stretched into a broad grin. “Hey, Emily,” he said leeringly. “I had no idea.”
Emily frowned. “No idea…what?”
Aria’s brother, Mike, sauntered up next to James. “Hi, Emily.”
Mona Vanderwaal came up behind the two boys. “Stop bothering her, you two.” She turned to Emily. “Ignore them. I want to invite you to something.” She dug through her giant butterscotch suede satchel and handed Emily a white envelope. Emily turned it over in her hands. Whatever this was, Mona had scented it with something expensive. Emily glanced up, confused.
“I’m having a birthday party on Saturday,” Mona explained, twisting a long piece of white-blond hair around her fingers. “Maybe I’ll see you?”
“You should totally come,” Mike agreed, widening his eyes.
“I…” Emily stammered. But before she could say anything more, the band struck up another fight song and Mona skipped away.
Emily looked at the invite again. What on earth was that all about? She wasn’t the type of girl who got hand-delivered invitations from Mona Vanderwaal. And she certainly wasn’t the type who got salacious looks from boys.
Suddenly, something across the pool caught her eye. It was a piece of paper taped to the wall. It hadn’t been there before halftime. And it looked familiar. Like a photo.
She squinted. Her heart dropped to her knees. It was a photo…of two people kissing in a photo booth. In Noel Kahn’s photo booth.
“Oh my God.” Emily ran across the natatorium, sliding twice on the wet pool deck.
“Emily!” Aria ran toward her from the side entrance, her suede platform boots clomping against the tile and her blue-black hair flapping wildly all over her face. “I’m sorry I’m late, but can we talk?”
Emily didn’t answer Aria. Someone had placed a Xerox of the kissing photo next to the big marker board that listed who was swimming in what race. Her whole team would see it. But would they know it was her?
She tore the Xerox off the wall. On the bottom, in big black letters, it said, LOOK WHAT EMILY FIELDS HAS BEEN PRACTICING WHEN SHE’S NOT IN THE POOL!
Well, that cleared that up.
Aria leaned over and examined the photo. “Is that…you?”
Emily’s chin trembled. She crumpled up the paper in her hands, but when she looked around, she saw another copy sitting on top of someone’s gear bag, a fold already down the center. She grabbed it and crumpled it up, too.
Then she saw another copy lying on the ground near the tub of kickboards. And another one…in Coach Lauren’s hands. Lauren looked from the picture to Emily, from Emily to the picture. “Emily?” she said quietly.
“This can’t be happening,” Emily whispered, raking her hand through her wet hair. She glanced over at the wire-mesh wastebasket near Lauren’s office. There were at least ten discarded pictures of her kissing Maya at the bottom. Someone had thrown a half-drunk can of Sunkist on top. The liquid had oozed out, coloring their faces orange. There were more near the water fountains. And taped up to the racing lane storage wheel. Her teammates, who were all filtering out from the locker rooms, gave her uneasy looks. Her ex-boyfriend, Ben, smirked at her, as if to say, Your little lesbo experiment isn’t so fun now, huh?
Aria picked up a copy that had seemingly fluttered down from the ceiling. She squinted and pursed her shiny, strawberry-red lips together. “So what? You’re kissing someone.” Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
Emily let out a helpless eep.
“Did A do this?” Aria whispered.
Emily looked around frantically. “Did you see who was giving these out?” But Aria shook her head. Emily unzipped the pouch to her swim bag and found her cell phone. There was a text. Of course there was a text.
Emily, sweetie, I know you’re all about tit for tat, so when you made plans to out me, I decided to out you too. Kisses!
—A
“Damn,” Aria whispered, reading the text over Emily’s shoulder.
A sickening thought suddenly hit Emily. Her parents. That paper they were looking at—it wasn’t the heat sheet. It was the photo. She glanced over at the stands. Sure enough, her parents were staring at her. They looked like they were about to cry, their faces red and nostrils flared.
“I have to get out of here.” Emily searched for the nearest exit.
“No way.” Aria grabbed Emily’s wrist and spun her around. “This is nothing to be ashamed of. If someone says something, screw ’em.”
Emily sniffed. People might call Aria weird, but she was normal. She had a boyfriend. She would never know what this felt like.
“Emily, this is our opportunity!” Aria protested. “A is probably here.” She looked menacingly into the bleachers.