They pulled up the drive of Rosewood Day and came to a stop behind a bunch of yellow school buses. Kids trudged down the bus steps and ran to the double doors, eager to escape the biting cold. Spencer pointed at her sister accusingly. “You’re just saying that because you hated Ali and you don’t like Courtney by extension.”
Melissa rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a drama queen. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Sure you don’t,” Spencer growled. “Because you’ve certainly never tried to hurt me.” She jerked the door open, climbed out, and then slammed it behind her.
The halls smelled like freshly baked pastries from Steam. As Spencer approached her locker, Ali emerged from the bathroom. Her blue eyes twinkled, perfectly matching her school blazer. “Hey!” she cried, wrapping an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “Just the person I wanted to see. We’re going to get ready for the dance tomorrow together, right?”
“Yeah,” Spencer said, spinning the combination dial of her locker too fast and missing one of the numbers. Frustrated, she kicked the metal door.
Ali frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Spencer rolled her head around her neck, trying to settle down. “Melissa is driving me crazy.”
Ali put her hands on her hips. A couple of guys on the soccer team passed, giving her appreciative whistles. “Did you have another fight about your mom?”
“No…” Spencer finally got her locker open. She shrugged out of her coat and jammed it on the hook. “Actually, it was about you.”
“Me?” Ali pressed her palm to her chest.
“Yeah.” Spencer barked out a laugh. “I told her we were hanging out. She said I should stay away from you.”
Ali picked at an invisible imperfection on her blazer. “Well, maybe she’s looking out for you.”
Spencer sniffed. “You know Melissa. She definitely wasn’t looking out for me.”
A muscle in Ali’s neck tensed. “So why did she say it?”
Spencer chewed on her bottom lip. Melissa and Ali had never gotten along. Ali was the only one who hadn’t sucked up to Melissa back then. Right before she’d disappeared, Ali had even teased Melissa that Ian might get a new girlfriend while Melissa was on vacation in Prague. And Melissa had definitely suspected that Ali was fooling around with Ian. A couple of months ago, Spencer and Melissa were in the family’s hot tub in the backyard, and Melissa said she’d known that Ian had cheated on her in high school. “Ian is going to regret it for the rest of his life,” she’d said. Spencer asked what she was going to do to the girl he’d cheated with, and Melissa smiled deviously. “Who says I haven’t done something to her already?”
A locker slammed close by. Someone’s cell phone tinkled. The between-classes music halted, a clear indication that they had to get to homeroom. Spencer glanced up at Ali, who was staring at her, probably wondering what she was thinking. “Do you think there’s any way Melissa could know you aren’t Courtney?” she asked.
Ali backed up. Her forehead wrinkled. “No. No way.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” Ali brushed her long blond hair over her shoulder. A freshman boy nearby double-taked and dropped his biology textbook on the marble floor. “Honestly, Spence? Melissa’s probably just jealous. You both have another sister now…and I like you better.”
A warm, comforting feeling seeped into Spencer’s bones as Ali said her good-byes and headed down the art wing. Spencer cut through the lobby toward homeroom, but when she passed Steam, a rack of today’s Philadelphia Sentinel made her stop short. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
The Polaroid Aria had found last night was splashed on the front page, the blurry, spooky eyes gazing straight at Spencer. Spencer recognized the face immediately.
Melissa.
18
TWO FASHIONISTAS, ONE CUNNING PLAN
Even though it was barely four o’ clock on Friday, Rive Gauche, the French bistro in the King James Mall, was teeming with well-dressed, well-groomed prep school girls. Gorgeous leather purses were slung over empty seats, and large, glossy shopping bags embossed with luxe designer labels were tucked under tables. Waiters dressed in crisp white shirts and skinny black pants swirled around the diners, delivering bottles of wine and crèmes brûlées. The air smelled like clarified-butter-drenched escargot and wonderfully greasy Belgian fries.
Hanna sighed with pleasure. She hadn’t been to Rive Gauche in a while, and she’d missed it. Merely standing in the lobby of Rive Gauche gave her an extreme sense of well-being. It was like instant therapy.
The hostess led Hanna and Ali through the dining room. Both girls toted heavy bags from Otter. They’d spent the past hour and a half trying on almost everything in the store. For once, it wasn’t all about Ali twirling in front of the three-way mirrors in size-two dresses and twenty-five-inch-waist skinny jeans while Hanna slumped on the couch like an ugly, pimply manatee. Today, Hanna looked just as beautiful in high-waist trousers, wrap dresses, and slinky shifts. Ali had even asked Hanna for some fashion advice on light denim—she had been locked up in a hospital for three years, after all, and was out of touch.
The only teensy annoyance was when Hanna remembered the last time she’d been in Otter’s dressing room with a friend—Mike had taken Hanna there on her first date, and he’d picked out all kinds of skanky, waytoo-tight outfits for her to try on. She’d mentioned Mike briefly to Ali, asking if Naomi and Riley were behind the Skidz thing. Ali said she didn’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise her.