When she’d turned around to face him yesterday, she thought she’d inhaled stray marijuana vapors from the nearby hash bar. “What are you doing here?” she’d asked frantically.
Noel had shrugged. “The way you said good-bye like that, and then when I got calls from your mom later that night wondering where you were, I started to put things together. I knew you’d left. And I knew I had to find you. You’d mentioned Amsterdam a few days ago—remember? And the Anne Frank house specifically. I just didn’t know I was going to find you so quickly.”
Aria had looked around him anxiously, still worried someone would spot her. “Noel, you have to go. You can’t be seen with me. And aren’t people looking for you?”
“My parents think I went to their place in Vail. I bought a plane ticket in my name for there, and I even checked into that flight but just didn’t board it. I snuck back down the Jetway, bolted for the international terminal, and got on an Amsterdam flight instead.”
Aria had started to feel sweaty. “Don’t you understand?” she’d whispered. “I’m an international criminal! You need to stay away from me! The cops are on my tail!” People were streaming past. It felt like everyone was staring at her, hearing every word.
Noel had just taken Aria’s arm and walked her down the canal. “You’ve only been here for one day. You haven’t done anything to attract attention, right? Used any credit cards, shown your ID?”
Aria’s bottom lip had trembled. She had done just those things. “Maybe,” she lied. “But there are alerts about me. Interpol is looking everywhere. Anywhere I go, someone is going to recognize me.” She shut her eyes. “Maybe I should just turn myself in.”
“Nonsense.” Noel grabbed her hand. “I’ll keep you safe.”
The first thing they did was find a guy who made fake passports, who whipped up two American documents for Aria and Noel, barely looking at them and not asking if they approved of their fake names—Elizabeth Rogers for Aria and Ronald Nestor for Noel. Aria liked her fake name. Elizabeth Rogers struck her as a girl who wrote for the school paper and kept her room very neat and was too shy to have a boyfriend. A girl who would never, ever be on trial for murder.
Noel’s steady, calming presence put her at ease—maybe she really was safe with him. Knowing that Amsterdam was too dangerous, they’d boarded a train with their fake passports and headed for Brussels, Belgium, checking in at a little hostel on a quiet street. Noel had taken her on a moonlit stroll along a walkway that overlooked the city. Despite Aria’s protests that someone might recognize her, Noel had coaxed her to a little restaurant that served Belgian fries with mayonnaise, her favorite. They’d returned to their hostel room feeling almost shy as they fell into bed together. “Let’s go to Japan,” Aria had mused as she lay her head on the pillow. It sounded so foreign, so exotic, so utterly removed from anything having to do with her old life—or Ali. “We’ll teach English. And eat sushi. And ride bicycles, and learn Japanese.”
“We’ll have to get a guidebook,” Noel said. “See where we’ll want to live.”
Aria thought about this. “A beach town, maybe? Or near a mountain?”
“Ooh, I wonder if Japan has good skiing.” Noel looked excited. “I’ve never been, but Eric has.”
A wistful look crossed his face. Aria stared at her lap. Of course he’d want to call his brother and ask. But he couldn’t.
Then Noel drew her into his arms. “All this sounds perfect, Liz.”
“I only go by Elizabeth,” Aria teased. “But thank you, Ronald.”
“That’s Ron to you.” Noel laughed lightly.
And now they were packing up to leave once more. Aria had looked up flights to Tokyo and found that they were cheaper out of London, so they were planning on taking the bus through the Chunnel there. They would board a plane for Tokyo the following day.
After they were packed they walked down the rickety stairs and through the lobby. Hand in hand, they climbed onto a trolley that would take them to the suburb’s train station. Most of the people on the trolley were either very old or looked like students. “See?” Noel whispered, squeezing her hand. “No one is looking at you strangely in the slightest.” Noel brightened and began to unzip his backpack. “I forgot.” He pulled out a plastic bag and handed it to her. “I got you something yesterday.”
Aria plunged her hand into the bag. Inside was a long, blond wig. She touched a few strands. They felt like real hair. “Whoa.”
“I got it while you were trying on that dress in the store last night,” Noel explained, mentioning the one boutique they’d popped into during their tour of Brussels. “Just in case you feel . . . worried about someone recognizing you. I thought it would be a cute disguise.”
“It’s beautiful.” Aria wished she could put it on right then, though she knew that might draw suspicion.
Noel’s gaze fell to the bag. “There’s something else in there, too.”
She felt around at the bottom, then pulled out a small, vintage-looking gold bracelet etched with tiny purple stones. “Noel,” she breathed. The name Cartier was inscribed on the inside.
“I was going to give this to you on prom night,” Noel said gently. “But then everything . . . well, you know.”
Aria thought about how she’d freaked out on Noel in the graveyard near prom—though she’d had good reason. She’d just found out all that stuff about his secret friendship with Ali. The next morning was when they’d found Noel in the storage shed. Nick and Ali had beat him up, presumably because he’d said too much.