Unbelievable (15 page)

It felt like Jenna’s eyes were following her as Aria’s thin-soled Chinese slippers slapped against the wood floor toward the empty workstation. Jenna’s dog panted amiably at Aria as she passed. Today, Jenna wore a low-cut black blouse with a tiny bit of a lacy black bra peeking through. If Mike were here, he would probably adore Jenna because he could stare at her boobs without her ever knowing. When Aria sat down, Jenna cocked her head closer to her. “What’s your name?”

“It’s…Jessica,” Aria blurted, before she could stop herself. She glanced at Sabrina at the front of the room; half the time, art teachers for the continuing-ed classes didn’t bother to learn people’s names, and hopefully Meredith hadn’t told Sabrina to look out for her in class.

“I’m Jenna.” She stuck out her hand, and Aria shook it. Afterward, Aria turned away quickly, wondering how on earth she would get through the rest of the class. A new Jenna memory had come to mind that morning when Aria was eating breakfast in Meredith’s freak show of a kitchen, probably brought on by the looming dwarves on top of Meredith’s refrigerator. Ali, Aria, and the others used to call Jenna Snow, after Snow White in the Disney movie. Once, when their class went to the Longwood Orchards for apple-picking, Ali had suggested they give Jenna an apple they’d dunked in the orchard’s filthy women’s toilet, just like the wicked witch gave Snow White a poisoned apple in the movie.

Ali suggested that Aria give Jenna the apple—she always made the others do her dirty work. “This apple is special,” Aria had said to Jenna, holding the fruit outstretched, listening as Ali snickered behind her. “The farmer told me it was from the sweetest tree. And I wanted to give it to you.” Jenna’s face had been so surprised and touched. As soon as she took a big, juicy bite, though, Ali crowed, “You ate an apple that’s been peed on! Toilet breath!” Jenna had stopped mid-chew, letting the apple chunk fall out of her mouth.

Aria shook the memory from her head and noticed a bunch of oil paintings stacked at the edge of Jenna’s workstation. They were portraits of people, all done in vibrant colors and energetic strokes. “Did you paint those?” she asked Jenna.

“The stuff on my desk?” Jenna asked, laying her hands on her lap. “Yeah. I was talking to Sabrina about my work, and she wanted to see them. I might be in one of her gallery shows.”

Aria balled up her fists. Could this day get
any
worse? How the hell had Jenna gotten a gallery show? How on earth did Jenna even know how to paint if she couldn’t see?

At the front of the room, Sabrina told the students to pick up a pouch of flour, strips of newspaper, and an empty bucket. Jenna tried to retrieve the things herself, but in the end, Sabrina carried them back for her. Aria noticed how all of the students were looking at Jenna out of the corners of their eyes, afraid that if they looked too pointedly, someone would chastise them for staring.

When they all returned to their desks, Sabrina cleared her throat. “Okay. Last time, we talked about seeing things by touch. We’re going to do something similar today by making masks of one another’s faces. We all wear masks in our own ways, don’t we? We all pretend. What you might find, when you look at a mold of your face, is that you don’t really look the way you thought you did at all.”

“I’ve done this before,” Jenna whispered in Aria’s ear. “It’s fun. Do you want to work together? I’ll show you how to do it.”

Aria wanted to dive out the classroom window. But she found herself nodding, and then, realizing Jenna couldn’t
see
she was nodding, she said, “Sure.”

“I’ll do you first.” As Jenna turned, something in her jeans pocket beeped. She pulled out a slim LG phone with a foldout keypad, and held it up to Aria, as if she knew Aria had been staring. “This has a voice-activated keyboard, so I can finally text people.”

“Aren’t you worried about getting flour all over it?” Aria asked.

“It’ll wash off. I love it so much I keep it with me always.”

Aria cut up strips of newspaper for Jenna, since she didn’t really trust her with scissors. “So, where do you go to school?” Jenna asked.

“Um, Rosewood High,” Aria said, naming the local public school.

“That’s cool,” Jenna said. “Is this your first art class?”

Aria stiffened. She had taken art classes before she’d even learned to read, but she had to swallow her pride. She wasn’t Aria—she was
Jessica
. Whoever Jessica was. “Um, yeah,” she said, quickly conjuring up a character. “It’s a big jump for me—I’m usually more into sports, like field hockey.”

Jenna poured water into her bowl. “What position do you play?”

“Um, all of them,” Aria mumbled. Once, Ali had tried to teach her field hockey, but she’d stopped the lesson about five minutes in because she said Aria ran like a pregnant gorilla. Aria wondered why on earth she’d conjured up a Typical Rosewood Girl—the exact type of girl she tried her hardest
not
to be—as her alter ego.

“Well, it’s nice that you’re trying something new,” Jenna murmured, mixing the flour and water together. “The only time the field hockey–playing girls at my old school tried something new was when they took a chance on some emerging designer they read about in
Vogue
.” She snorted sarcastically.

“There were field hockey girls at your school in Philly?” Aria blurted out, thinking of the school for the blind Jenna’s parents had sent her to.

Jenna straightened. “Uh…no. How did you know I went to a school in Philly?”

Aria pinched the inside of her palm. What was she going to say next, that Aria had given her a toilet-poisoned apple in sixth grade? That she’d kind of been involved in her stepbrother’s death a couple weeks back? That she’d blinded her and ruined her life? “Just a guess.”

“Well, I meant my old school before that. It’s around here, actually. Rosewood Day? Do you know it?”

“I’ve heard of it,” Aria mumbled.

“I’m going back there next year.” Jenna dunked a strip of paper into the flour-and-water mixture. “But I don’t know how I feel about it. Everyone at that school is so perfect. If you aren’t into the right kinds of things, you’re nothing.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“No! I totally agree!” Aria protested. She couldn’t have put it more succinctly herself. A nagging feeling prodded at her. Jenna was beautiful—tall, graceful, cool, and artistic.
Really
artistic, in fact—if she really did go to Rosewood Day, Aria probably wouldn’t be the school’s best artist anymore. Who knew what Jenna could’ve been if her accident hadn’t happened. Suddenly, the desire to tell Jenna who Aria really was and how sorry she felt about what they’d done was so nauseatingly overpowering, it took all of Aria’s strength to keep her mouth shut.

Jenna came close to her. She smelled like cupcake icing. “Hold still,” Jenna instructed Aria as she located Aria’s head and laid the goopy strips over her face. They were wet and cool now, but soon they would harden over her face’s contours.

“So, do you think you’ll use your mask for anything?” Jenna asked. “Halloween?”

“My friend is having a masquerade,” Aria said, then immediately wondered if she was again giving up too much information. “I’ll probably wear it there.”

“That’s great,” Jenna cooed. “I’m going to take mine with me to Venice. My parents are taking me there next month, and I hear it’s the mask capital of the world.”

“I love Venice!” Aria squeaked. “I’ve been there with my family four times!”

“Wow.” Jenna layered newspaper strips over Aria’s forehead. “Four times? Your family must like to travel together.”

“Well, they
used
to,” Aria said, trying to keep her face still for Jenna.

“What do you mean, used to?” Jenna began to cover Aria’s cheeks.

Aria twitched—the strips were beginning to harden and get itchy. She could tell Jenna this, right? It wasn’t like Jenna knew anything about her family. “Well, my parents are…I don’t know. Getting divorced, I guess. My dad has a new girlfriend, this young girl who teaches art classes at Hollis. And I’m living with them right now. She hates me.”

“And do you hate her?” Jenna asked.

“Totally,” Aria said. “She’s running my dad’s life. She makes him take vitamins and do yoga. And she’s convinced she has the stomach flu, but she seems fine to me.” Aria bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She wished Meredith’s supposed stomach flu would just kill her already. Then she wouldn’t have to spend the next few months trying to figure out ways to stop Meredith and Byron from getting married.

“Well, at least she cares about him.” Jenna paused, then smiled halfway. “I can feel you frowning, but all families have issues. Mine certainly does.”

Aria tried not to make any more facial movements that would give anything away.

“But maybe you should give this girlfriend a chance,” Jenna went on. “At least she’s artistic, right?”

Aria’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t control the muscles around her mouth. “How did you know she’s artistic?”

Jenna stopped. Some of the floury goop on her hands plopped to the scuffed wood floor. “You just said it, right?”

Aria felt dizzy.
Had
she? Jenna squished more newspaper strips to Aria’s cheeks. As she moved from Aria’s cheeks to chin to forehead to nose, Aria realized something. If Jenna could feel her frowning, she could probably tell other things about her face, too. She might be able to
feel
what Aria looked like. Just then, when she looked up, a startled, uncomfortable look settled on Jenna’s face, as if she’d figured it all out, too.

The room felt sticky and hot. “I have to…” Aria fumbled around her workstation, nearly tipping over her large unused bucket of water.

“Where are you going?” Jenna called.

All Aria needed was to get out of here for a few minutes. But as she stumbled toward the door, the mask tightening and suctioning to her face, Aria’s Treo let out a bleep. She reached into her bag for it, careful not to get flour all over the keypad. She had one new text message.

Sucks to be in the dark, huh? Imagine how the blind must feel! If you tell ANYONE what I did, I’ll put you in the dark for good. Mwah!—A

Aria glanced back at Jenna. She was sitting at her workstation, fiddling with her cell phone, oblivious to the flour all over her fingers. Another beep from her own phone startled her. She glanced down at the screen again. Another text had come in.

P.S. Your stepmommy-to-be has a secret identity, just like you! Want an eyeful? Go to Hooters tomorrow.—A

19

WANDERING MINDS WANT TO KNOW

Thursday morning, as Emily emerged from one of the bathroom stalls in the gym locker room dressed in her regulation Rosewood Day white T-shirt, hoodie, and royal blue gym shorts, an announcement blared over the PA system.

“Hey, everyone!” a chirpy, way-too-enthusiastic boy’s voice called out. “This is Andrew Campbell, your class president, and I just want to remind you that Hanna Marin’s welcome-back party is tomorrow night at the Rosewood Country Club! Please come out and bring your mask—it’s costumes only! And also, I want everyone to wish Spencer Hastings a great big good luck—she’s off to New York City tonight for her Golden Orchid finalist interview! Best wishes, Spencer!”

Several girls in the locker room groaned. There was
always
at least one announcement about Spencer. Emily found it strange, though, that Spencer hadn’t mentioned the Golden Orchid trip yesterday at the hospital when they were visiting Hanna. Spencer usually overtalked about her achievements.

As Emily passed the giant cardboard cutout of Rosewood’s shark mascot and emerged into the gym, she heard hooting and clapping, like she’d just walked into her own surprise party.

“Our favorite girl is back!” Mike Montgomery whooped, standing underneath the basketball hoop. It seemed like every freshman boy in Emily’s mixed-grade gym class had gathered behind him. “So, you were on a sex vacation, right?”

“What?”
Emily looked back and forth. Mike was talking kind of loudly.

“You know,” Mike goaded, his elfin face a near mirror of Aria’s. “To Thailand or whatever.” He got a dreamy smile on his face.

Emily wrinkled her nose. “I was in Iowa.”

“Oh.” Mike looked confused. “Well, Iowa’s hot, too. There are lots of milkmaids there, right?” He winked knowingly, as if milkmaids equaled instant porn.

Emily wanted to say something nasty, but then shrugged. She was pretty sure Mike wasn’t teasing her in a mean way. The other gangly freshman boys gaped, as if Emily were Angelina Jolie, and Mike had been brave enough to ask for her e-mail address.

Mr. Draznowsky, their gym teacher, blew his whistle. All the students sat down cross-legged on the gym floor in their squads, which was basically gym-speak for rows. Mr. Draznowsky took roll and led them through stretches, and then everyone started to file out to the tennis courts. As Emily selected a Wilson racket from the equipment bin, she heard someone behind her whisper.
“Psssst.”

Maya stood by a box of Bosu balls, Pilates magic circles, and other equipment that exercise-aholic girls used during their free periods. “Hi,” she squealed, her face bright pink with pleasure.

Emily tentatively walked into Maya’s arms, inhaling her familiar banana gum smell. “What are you doing here?” she gasped.

“I skipped out of Algebra III to find you,” Maya whispered. She held up a wooden hall pass carved into
pi
’s squiggly shape. “When did you get back? What happened? Are you here for good?”