Melissa turned to Wren. “You would’ve loved it. It was so amazing to bid.”
“Well, why don’t you give it some thought.” Mrs. Hastings said to Spencer. “Try to think of something memorable, like what we got for Melissa.”
Spencer slowly sat up. “Actually, there is something that I have in mind.”
“What’s that?” Her father leaned forward in his chair.
Here goes, Spencer thought. “Well, what I’d really, really, really love, right now, not a few months from now, would be to move into the barn.”
“But—,” Melissa started, before stopping herself.
Wren cleared his throat. Her father furrowed his brow. Spencer’s stomach made a loud, hungry growl. She covered it with her hand.
“Is that what you really want?” her mother asked.
“Uh-huh,” Spencer answered.
“Okay,” Mrs. Hastings said, looking at her husband. “Well…”
Melissa loudly laid down her fork. “But, um, what about Wren and me?”
“Well, you said yourself the renovations wouldn’t take too long.” Mrs. Hastings put her hand to her chin. “You guys could stay in your old bedroom, I suppose.”
“But it has a twin bed,” Melissa said in an uncharacteristically childish voice.
“I don’t mind,” Wren said quickly. Melissa scowled sharply at him.
“We could move the queen bed from the barn to Melissa’s room and put Spencer’s bed out there,” Mr. Hastings suggested.
Spencer couldn’t believe her ears. “You would do that?”
Mrs. Hastings raised her eyebrows. “Melissa, you can survive, can’t you?”
Melissa pushed her hair back from her face. “I guess,” she said. “I mean, I personally got much more out of the auction and the first edition, but that’s just me.”
Wren discreetly took a sip of his wine. When Spencer caught his eye, he winked. Mr. Hastings turned to Spencer. “Done, then.”
Spencer jumped up and hugged her parents. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Her mother beamed. “You should move in tomorrow.”
“Spencer, you’re certainly the Star.” Her father held up her scores, now slightly stained with red wine. “We should frame this as a memento!”
Spencer grinned. She didn’t need to frame anything. She’d remember this day for as long as she lived.
13
ACT ONE: GIRL MAKES BOY WANT HER
“Want to come with me to an artist reception at the Chester Springs studio next Monday night?” Aria’s mother, Ella, asked.
It was Thursday morning, and Ella was sitting across from Aria at the breakfast table, doing the New York Times crossword puzzle with a leaky black pen and eating a bowl of Cheerios. She had just returned to her part-time job at the Davis contemporary art gallery on Rosewood’s main drag, and she was on the mailing list for all the benefits.
“Isn’t Dad going to go with you?” Aria asked.
Her mom pursed her lips together. “He has a lot of work to do for his classes.”
“Oh.” Aria picked at a loose strand of wool on the fingerless gloves she’d knitted during a long train ride to Greece. Was that suspicion she detected in her mom’s voice? Aria always worried Ella would find out about Meredith and never forgive her for keeping the secret.
Aria squeezed her eyes closed. You’re not thinking about it, she thought. She poured some grapefruit juice into a glass. “Ella?” she asked. “I need some love advice.”
“Love advice?” her mother teased, securing her jet-black bun with a take-out chopstick that had been lying on the table.
“Yeah,” Aria said. “I like this guy, but he’s kind of…unattainable. I’m out of ideas on how to convince him he should like me.”
“Be yourself!” Ella said.
Aria groaned. “I’ve tried that.”
“Go out with an attainable boy, then!”
Aria rolled her eyes. “Are you going to help or not?”
“Ooh, someone’s sensitive!” Ella smiled, then snapped her fingers. “I just read this study in the paper.” She held up the Times. “It was a survey about what men find most attractive in women. You know what was the number-one thing? Intelligence. Here, let me find it for you….” Sherifled through the paper and handed the page to Aria.
“Aria likes a guy?” Mike swept into the kitchen and grabbed a glazed donut from the box on the island.
“No!” Aria quickly responded.
“Well, someone likes you,” Mike said. “Gross as that is.” He made a barfing sound.
“Who?” Ella asked in an excited voice.
“Noel Kahn,” Mike answered, talking with a huge, chewed-up bite of donut in his mouth. “He asked about you at lacrosse practice.”
“Noel Kahn?” Ella echoed, looking back and forth from Mike to Aria. “Which one is he? Was he here three years ago? Do I know him?”
Aria groaned and rolled her eyes. “He’s nobody.”
“Nobody?” Mike sounded disgusted. “He’s, like, the coolest guy in your grade.”
“Whatever,” Aria said, kissing her mother on the top of her head. She headed to the hallway, staring at the newspaper clipping in her hands. So men liked brains? Well, Icelandic Aria could certainly be brainy.
“Why don’t you like Noel Kahn?” Mike’s voice made Aria jump. He stood a few feet away from Aria with a carton of orange juice in his hand. “He’s the man.”