Ezra—er, Mr. Fitz—had dispelled the laughing quickly, and come up with the lamest excuse for swearing in class. He said, and Aria quoted in her head, “I was afraid that a bee had flown into my pants, and I thought the bee was going to sting me, and so I yelled out in terror.”
As Ezra then started talking about five-paragraph themes and the class’s syllabus, Aria couldn’t concentrate. She was the bee that had flown into his pants. She couldn’t stop looking at his wolfish eyes and his sumptuous pink mouth. When he peeked in her direction out of the corner of his eye, her heart did two and a half somersaults off the high dive and landed in her stomach.
Ezra was the guy for her, and she was the girl for him—she just knew it. So what if he was her teacher? There had to be a way to make it work.
Her father pulled up to Rosewood’s stone-gated entrance. In the distance, Aria noticed a vintage powder-blue Volkswagen beetle parked in the teacher’s lot. She knew that car from Snooker’s—it was Ezra’s. She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes until homeroom.
Mike shot out of the car. Aria opened her door as well, but her father touched her forearm. “Hang on a sec,” he said.
“But I have to…” She glanced longingly at Ezra’s bug.
“Just for a minute.” Her father turned down the radio volume. Aria slumped back in her seat. “You’ve seemed a little…” He flicked his wrist back and forth uncertainly. “You okay?”
Aria shrugged. “About what?”
Her father sighed. “Well…I don’t know. Being back. And we haven’t talked about…you know…in a while.”
Aria fidgeted with her jacket’s zipper. “What’s there to talk about?”
Byron stuck a cigarette he’d rolled before they left into his mouth. “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been. Keeping quiet. But I love you. You know that, right?”
Aria looked out at the parking lot again. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “I have to go. I’ll see you at three.”
Before he could answer, Aria shot out of the car, blood rushing in her ears. How was she supposed to be Icelandic Aria, who left her past behind, if one of her worst memories of Rosewood kept bubbling to the surface?
It had happened in May of seventh grade. Rosewood Day had dismissed the students early for teacher conferences, so Aria and Ali headed to Sparrow, Hollis campus’s music store, to search for new CDs. As they cut through a back alley, Aria noticed her father’s familiar beat-up brown Honda Civic in a far-off space in an empty parking lot. As Aria and Ali walked toward the car to leave a note, they realized there was someone inside. Actually, two someones: Aria’s father, Byron, and a girl, about twenty years old, kissing his neck.
That’s when Byron looked up and saw Aria. She sprinted away before she had to see any more and before he could stop her. Ali followed Aria all the way back to her house but didn’t try to stop her when Aria said she wanted to be alone.
Later that night, Byron came up to Aria’s room to explain. It wasn’t what it looked like, he said. But Aria wasn’t stupid. Every year her father invited his students over to their house for get-to-know-you cocktails, and Aria had seen that girl walk through her very door. Her name was Meredith, Aria remembered, because Meredith had gotten tipsy and spelled out her name on the refrigerator in plastic letter magnets. When Meredith left, instead of shaking her dad’s hand as the other kids had, she gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek.
Byron begged Aria not to tell her mom. He promised her it would never happen again. She decided to believe him, and so she kept his secret. He’d never said so, but Aria believed Meredith was the reason her dad took his sabbatical when he did.
You promised yourself you wouldn’t think about it, Aria thought, glancing back over her shoulder. Her father hand-signaled out of the Rosewood parking lot.
Aria walked into the narrow hallway of the faculty wing. Ezra’s office was at the end of the hall, next to a small, cozy window seat. She stopped in the doorway and watched him as he typed something into his computer.
Finally, she knocked. Ezra’s blue eyes widened when he saw her. He looked adorable in his button-down white shirt, blue Rosewood blazer, green cords, and beat-up black loafers. The corners of his mouth curled up into the tiniest, shyest smile.
“Hey,” he said.
Aria hovered in the doorway. “Can I talk to you?” Aria asked. Her voice squeaked a little.
Ezra hesitated, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. Aria noticed a Snoopy Band-Aid wrapped around his left pinkie finger. “Sure,” he said softly. “Come in.”
She walked into his office and shut the door. It was empty, except for a wide, heavy wood desk, two folding chairs, and a computer. She sat down on the empty folding chair.
“So, um,” Aria said. “Hey.”
“Hey again,” Ezra answered, grinning. He lowered his eyes and took a gulp from his Rosewood Day crest coffee mug. “Listen,” he started.
“About yesterday,” Aria said at the same time. They both laughed.
“Ladies first.” Ezra smiled.
Aria scratched the back of her neck where her straight black hair was drawn up in a ponytail. “I, um, wanted to talk about…us.”
Ezra nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Aria wiggled in her chair. “Well, I guess it’s shocking that I’m…um…your student, after, you know…Snooker’s. But if you don’t mind, I don’t.”
Ezra cupped his hand around his mug. Aria listened to the school-issued wall clock ticking off the seconds. “I…I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said softly. “You said you were older.”
Aria laughed, not sure how serious he was. “I never told you how old I was.” She lowered her eyes. “You just assumed.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have implied it,” Ezra responded.
“Everybody lies about their age,” Aria said quietly.
Ezra ran his hand through his hair. “But…you’re…” He met her eyes and sighed. “Look, I…I think you’re amazing, Aria. I do. I met you in that bar, and I was like…wow, who is this? She’s so unlike any other girl I’ve ever met.”
Aria looked down, feeling both pleased and a little queasy.
Ezra reached across the desk and touched his hand to hers—it was warm, dry, and soothing—but then quickly pulled away. “But this isn’t meant to be, you know? ’Cause, well, you’re my student. I could get in a lot of trouble. You don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”
“No one would know,” Aria said faintly, although she couldn’t help but think about that bizarre text from yesterday, and that maybe someone already knew.
It took Ezra a long time to respond. It seemed to Aria that he was trying to make up his mind. She looked at him hopefully.
“I’m sorry, Aria,” he finally mumbled. “But I think you should go.”
Aria stood up, feeling her cheeks burn. “Of course.” Aria wrapped her hands around the top of the chair. It felt like hot coals were bouncing around her insides.
“I’ll see you in class,” Ezra whispered.
She shut the door carefully. In the hall, teachers swarmed around her, rushing off to their homerooms. She decided to get to her locker by cutting through the commons—she needed some fresh air.
Outside, Aria heard a familiar girl’s laugh. She froze for a second. When would she stop thinking she heard Alison everywhere? She trudged not on the commons’ winding stone path, like you were supposed to, but through the grass. The morning fog was so dense that Aria could barely see her legs below her. Her footprints vanished in the squishy grass as quickly as she made them.
Good. This seemed like an appropriate time to disappear completely.
10
SINGLE GIRLS HAVE WAY MORE FUN
That afternoon, Emily was standing in the student parking lot, lost in thought, when someone threw their hands over her eyes. Emily jumped, startled.
“Whoa, chill! It’s just me!”
Emily turned and sighed with relief. It was only Maya. Emily had been so distracted and paranoid since getting that bizarre note yesterday. She’d been about to unlock her car—her mom let her and Carolyn take it to school on the condition they drive carefully and call when they got there—and grab her swimming bag for practice.
“Sorry,” Emily said. “I thought…never mind.”
“I missed you today.” Maya smiled.
“Me too.” Emily smiled back. She’d tried calling Maya this morning to offer her a ride to school, but Maya’s mom said she’d already left. “So, how are you?”
“Well, I could be better.” Today, Maya had secured her wild dark hair off her face with adorable iridescent pink butterfly clips.
“Oh yeah?” Emily tilted her head.
Maya pursed her lips together and slid one of her feet out of her Oakley sandals. Her second toe was longer than her big toe, just like Emily’s. “I’d be better if you came somewhere with me. Right now.”
“But I have swimming,” Emily said, hearing Eeyore in her voice again.
Maya took her hand and swung it. “What if I told you that where we’re going sort of involves swimming?”
Emily narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You have to trust me.”
Even though she’d been close to Hanna and Spencer and Aria, all of Emily’s favorite memories were of hanging out alone with Ali. Like when they dressed up in bulky snow pants to sled down Bayberry Hill, talked about their ideal boyfriends, or cried about The Jenna Thing from sixth grade and comforted each other. When it was just the two of them, Emily saw a slightly less perfect Ali—which somehow made her seem even more perfect—and Emily felt she could be herself. It seemed like days, weeks, years had gone by where Emily hadn’t been herself. And she thought that now, she could have something like that with Maya. She missed having a best friend.
Right now, Ben and all the other boys were probably changing into their suits, slapping one another’s bare butts with wet towels. Coach Lauren was writing the practice sets on the big marker board and carrying out the appropriate fins, buoys, and paddles. And the girls on the team were complaining because they all had their periods at the same time. Did she dare miss the second day of practice?
Emily squeezed her plastic fish keychain. “I suppose I could tell Carolyn I had to tutor somebody in Spanish,” she murmured. Emily knew Carolyn wouldn’t buy that, but she probably wouldn’t squeal on Emily, either.
Triple-checking the parking lot to see if anyone was watching, Emily smiled and unlocked the car.
“All right. Let’s go.”
“My brother and I checked out this spot this weekend,” Maya said as Emily pulled into the gravel parking lot.
Emily stepped out of the car and stretched. “I forgot about this place.” They were at the Marwyn trail, which was about five miles long and bordered a deep creek. She and her friends used to ride their bikes here all the time—Ali and Spencer would pedal furiously at the end and usually tie—and stop at the little snack bar by the swimming area for Butterfingers and Diet Cokes.