Ruthless (11 page)

Her cell phone, sitting next to the bottle of blue-black Essie nail polish on her bed, buzzed.
NEW
TEXT
MESSAGE
. Aria’s insides twisted. When she rose and looked at the screen, the text was from a number with a 917 area code, not A’s usual
CALLER
UNKNOWN
or jumble of letters and numbers. She opened it up.

Look out your window.

A shiver snaked up her spine. All at once, the house felt
too
empty and silent. She crept toward her large bedroom window, parted the curtains, and prepared to peek into the front yard.

A dark-haired figure stood on the lawn, a cell phone in his hand. Aria blinked hard, taking in the familiar rumpled jacket, pointed chin, and pink lips. Surely it was a cruel trick of the light. But then, the figure looked up, noticed Aria’s face at the window, and grinned broadly. He held a poster board over his head. Printed on it, in sloppy red letters, was
I
MISSED
YOU
,
ARIA
!

“Holy shit,” Aria whispered.

It was Ezra Fitz.

“Brie, arugula, and sun-dried tomato for you.” Ezra pulled a wax paper–wrapped sandwich out of a picnic basket. “And”—he paused bashfully—“McDonald’s chicken nuggets for me.” He glanced at Aria. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Heat rose to Aria’s cheeks. She’d once happened upon Ezra eating chicken nuggets in his office at Rosewood Day, but she wondered if he meant the statement in more ways than one.

Ezra removed the rest of the basket’s contents one by one: a container of ripe, juicy green grapes, a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips—Aria’s favorite—and a bottle of champagne with two plastic glasses. He arranged everything on the large boulder they were sitting on and craned his neck up at the bright blue sky poking through the trees. “I was hoping we could eat during sunset, but I guess I’m a little off.”

“No, this is
amazing
,” Aria gushed, hiding her trembling hands under her thighs. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. Twenty minutes ago, after ripping the cotton balls from between her toes and changing from her stained Hollis sweatshirt into a vintage silk blouse she’d gotten in Amsterdam, she’d sprinted down the stairs and flung open the front door. There was Ezra, the guy she’d pined after for so long, the guy she was sure was her soul mate even after he turned out to be her teacher, standing with his arms outstretched. “I’ve missed you so much,” he had said. “When you wrote to me, I had to come right away.”

“But I wrote to you for months,” Aria had replied, remaining rooted to her spot on the porch.

Ezra had looked stricken, saying he’d never received any correspondence from her. He added that his email account had been hacked a year ago, and it had taken him a while to get things sorted out—maybe some of his emails had gotten lost in the ether. Normally, Aria would have thought it was a lame guy excuse, but Ezra looked so apologetic that she believed him.

Then, Ezra had scooped her up in his arms, carried her off to his beat-up Volkswagen Beetle, which was parked at the curb, and told her he wanted to take her out on a date—right then and there—to make up for lost time. Of course Aria agreed.

Now, they were at St. Mary’s Creek, a beautiful old park along a glittering stream with lots of jutting boulders, mini waterfalls, and a quaint bed-and-breakfast that served the best pancakes in all of the Main Line. Even though the weather was a pleasant fifty-something degrees, ideal for rock climbing or a hike, there wasn’t a single other person around.

Ezra popped the champagne cork and poured two glasses. “You look amazing.” His wolfish blue eyes rose to hers. “I’ve been thinking about you so much—I should have never left so abruptly without making plans for us to see each other again. Especially after all that happened with your friend. I wanted to reach out to you, but I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.”

“I would have loved to hear from you,” Aria whispered, meaning it with all her heart. “And you look amazing, too.” She took in Ezra’s appearance. His gray checked blazer had a hole in the elbow, the white button-down was wrinkled, and his chinos were frayed at the hems. His hair was long and ragged, too, and there were hollows in his cheeks. He was still adorable, but he looked like he’d spent hours in the car. “You didn’t drive all the way from Rhode Island just to see me, did you?”

“Oh, I didn’t end up settling in Rhode Island, though I
would
have driven from there to see you.” Ezra dipped a nugget in barbecue sauce and popped it in his mouth. “I stayed there for a little while, but then I moved to New York City.”

“Oh!” Aria couldn’t temper her excitement. “Do you like it there? I applied to a bunch of schools in New York.”

“I love it.” Ezra got a dreamy look on his face. “I have this tiny apartment in the West Village. Every night I watch the cars stream up Sixth Avenue. I love the energy. The creativity. Being around so many different people at once.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about New York, too,” Aria gushed, loving how she and Ezra were always on the same wavelength.

“I could absolutely see you living there.” Ezra took Aria’s hands. Touching him felt like walking into an old, cozy house. “Maybe you could come and visit me sometime. Look at those colleges you applied to.”

Aria stared down at his big hands in hers, utterly speechless. She half expected to hear the far-off giggle she associated with A, but all she heard were tweeting birds and the rushing stream.

She must have been silent for a beat or so too long, because Ezra pulled his hands away. “God. I’m an idiot. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“No!” Aria shook her head emphatically. “Well, I mean, I don’t
now
. I did, though, while you were gone. It’s not like I knew you were coming back.” She let out a self-conscious laugh.

“Let me guess. Noel Kahn?”

Aria’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

Ezra chuckled. “He had it bad for you in English class.”

“We didn’t have that much in common, though,” Aria said quietly, staring at a silvery fish swimming below them in the stream. “And . . . you don’t have a girlfriend, right?”

A smile spread across Ezra’s face. He cupped Aria’s chin in his hands. “Of course I don’t. Why else would I come to see you?”

Aria smiled shyly. “How long are you staying?”

“How long do you
want
me to stay?”

Forever
, Aria wanted to say.

“I’m bunking with a friend outside town. He says I can stay as long as I like.” Ezra pushed a piece of Aria’s hair behind her ears. “Tell me everything about what’s going on with you. How’s your family? They split up, right? How’s that going? And what did you mean in your email when you said you felt lonely? Are you okay?”

Aria pressed her hand to her chest, touched by his interest and concern. “I’m fine,” she said, suddenly meaning it. “Actually, I’d rather hear about you first. What are you doing in New York? Going to grad school? Do you have a job? I bet it’s something fabulous.”

Ezra’s throat bobbed. “Well, I did have a job at a nonprofit for a while, but then I was laid off. So after that . . .” A bloom of red appeared on his cheeks. “I did some writing. And, well, I wrote a novel.”

“A
novel
?” Aria’s jaw dropped. “As in a complete, start-to-finish
book
?”

Ezra laughed bashfully. “That’s right. But I don’t know how good it is.”

“I’m sure it’s amazing!” Aria clapped. “What’s it about? When’s it going to be published?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Ezra glanced at his backpack, which sat behind them on the rock. “But if you’re interested, I have the manuscript. . . .”

“Of course I’m interested!” Aria said. “I’d love to see it!”

Ezra pressed his lips together, as if weighing the decision. “No agents are representing me yet. It might never even get published. The book industry is a little harder to crack than I thought.” He let out a bitter laugh Aria had never heard before.

“Am I going to have to tackle you to see this thing?” Aria teased.

“Okay, okay.” Ezra undid the straps on his backpack and pulled out a sheaf of dog-eared papers held together by a blue rubber band. The front page said
See Me After Class, by Ezra Fitz
in boldface.

“I can’t believe you wrote this,” Aria whispered reverently. “Is it about a teacher?”

Ezra grinned mysteriously. “Maybe.” He pushed the pages toward her. “Do you want to read it?”

“Yes!” Aria flipped through the ruffled pages. “I know I’m going to love it. And . . . thank you.” She looked up at him, feeling a rush of emotion. “For everything. Coming back. This picnic . . .”

Aria trailed off, and they stared at each other for a few long beats. Then, Ezra inched forward on the rock until their bodies were touching. As soon as he wrapped his arms around Aria’s waist and touched his lips to hers, she felt a whoosh of pleasure. The kiss deepened, and Ezra shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on a rock next to them. Aria slithered out of her pea coat.

“Ahem,” someone whispered.

Ezra and Aria pulled apart, breathing hard. A group of old women, clad in hiking gear and fanny packs and carrying walking sticks, had emerged from around the bend and were staring at them with disgusted looks on their faces.

“Sorry!” Ezra called out, quickly buttoning up his shirt.

The women sniffed and headed toward the B&B, balancing expertly on the rocks. Ezra shot Aria a mortified look and covered his mouth with his hand. “That was like being caught by my grandma,” he whispered.

“Or the school librarian,” Aria giggled.

Ezra gathered her in his arms and looked deep into her eyes. “Let’s hope we get caught lots more times.”

Aria felt a swirl of complete and utter happiness. Then, she leaned forward and kissed Ezra softly on the lips. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Chapter 11

SUMMER SCHOOL REUNION

Later that same afternoon, Spencer pulled her Mercedes coupe into her family’s driveway after a long study session at the Rosewood Public Library. “
But screw your courage to the sticking place, and we’ll not fail
,” she recited. It was from the speech where Lady Macbeth convinces her husband to kill Duncan, the king. “
When Duncan is asleep, whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey . . .
”

Then her mind went blank. What came after that?

She shifted into park. This was infuriating. She’d mastered all the lines of
The Taming of the Shrew
in tenth grade when she was studying for the PSATs, volunteering for the Rosewood soup kitchen, playing field hockey,
and
juggling six honors classes. As much as she loathed giving Beau the satisfaction of coaching her tomorrow, maybe she needed it.

Inhaling a chakra-cleansing, yoga-fire breath, she pulled her Madewell duffel coat around her and grabbed her gold Dior handbag from the passenger seat, a gift she’d gotten herself for getting into Princeton. When she slipped out of the car, she nearly collided with a black Range Rover parked off to the left. She scowled at its shiny chrome wheels, souped-up navigation console, and cheery bumper sticker on the back that proclaimed
PROUD PARENT OF A ST. AGNES HONOR STUDENT
. Mr. Pennythistle owned a fleet of vehicles, but a Range Rover wasn’t one of them. Which meant there were visitors.

When she opened the front door, a soft voice floated out from the den, followed by a girlish peal of laughter. Spencer suppressed a groan. Amelia had certainly taken Mrs. Hastings’s “Make yourself at home” directive very seriously. She’d had friends over almost every single day, each of the guests geekier than the last.

Spencer stomped down the hall, making as much noise as she could so that Amelia would know she was coming. Sure enough, when she passed the large room, which held a giant-screen TV and comfy wraparound couches, Amelia glanced up. She was holding a shiny black flute on her lap—the ultimate dork accessory. Ten other girls sat around the room, instruments in each of their hands, too.
Losers.

“What’s going on?” Spencer asked irritably.

“The St. Agnes Charity Chamber Music Group,” Amelia shot back in an equally huffy voice. “Remember how I said we’re giving a concert? Veronica said it was fine to rehearse here.”

Spencer hated how Amelia called her mother
Veronica
, like they were all peers at a cocktail party. She was about to make a snarky reply, but then her gaze fell on a red-haired girl on one of the couches. At first, she did a double take. Then a triple take. It was like seeing a ghost.

“K-Kelsey?” Spencer stammered.

“Spencer.” The girl placed a violin back in its hard plastic case and blinked hard, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing either. “Wow. Long time no see.”

The room began to spin. It was Kelsey Pierce, Spencer’s old friend from the Penn summer program. The one she’d ruined.

Her thoughts drifted back to the bar where she and Kelsey had met. Phineas had led Spencer and Kelsey into the tiny bathroom at the back. There was graffiti all over the walls, and a dingy toilet and pedestal sink stood in the corner. The room smelled heavily of puke and stale beer.

Phineas reached into his pockets and handed each of the girls a smooth white pill. “This is how you score fives on all your exams.”

“What is it?” Spencer turned her head away. Pills weren’t her thing. She didn’t even like taking aspirin for headaches.

“It’s called Easy A,” Phineas explained. “It’s totally amazing. Keeps you focused for hours. It’s the only way I got through junior year.”

“Where did you get it?” Kelsey’s voice cracked.

“Does it matter?” Phineas leaned against the sink. “I’m willing to let you girls try it out. Share the wealth, right?”

He thrust the pills toward them again. Spencer licked her lips. Of course she’d heard of Easy A, but only through those stupid public service announcements on TV and the gloom-and-doom flyers on the inside doors of the bathroom stalls at Rosewood Day. But Phineas’s words gripped her hard.
It’ll keep you focused for hours.
Spencer had no idea how she was going to get through four AP classes in six weeks. Maybe desperate times called for desperate measures.