Wicked (12 page)

“Not really,” Hanna mumbled.

They were silent for a moment. Hanna stared out the window at a big snowdrift in the neighbors’ backyard. Even though it was the ass-crack of dawn, the bratty six-year-old twins were out in the snow, pitching icy snowballs at squirrels. Then Kate cocked her head quizzically. “I meant to ask you. What’s up with you and Naomi and Riley?”

Hanna gritted her teeth. “Why are you asking me? Aren’t they your brand-new BFFs?”

Kate thoughtfully pushed a strand of chestnut hair behind her ears. “You know, I think they want to be friends. Maybe you should give them a chance.”

Hanna snorted. “Sorry, I don’t talk to girls who insult me to my face.”

Kate leaned forward on her elbows. “They probably say that stuff because they’re jealous of you. If you were nice to them, I bet they’d be nice back. And think about it—if we join up with them, we could be unstoppable.”

Hanna raised an eyebrow.
“We?”

“Face it, Hanna.” Kate’s eyes danced. “You and I would
totally
rule their group.”

Hanna blinked. She gazed at the hanging rack over the kitchen island, which held a bunch of All-Clad pots and pans Hanna’s mother had bought a few years ago at Williams-Sonoma. Ms. Marin had left most of her personal belongings behind when she left for Singapore, and Isabel had had no problem claiming them as her own.

Kate definitely had a point. Naomi and Riley were insecure to the core—they had been ever since Alison DiLaurentis had dropped them for seemingly no reason in sixth grade and decided to be friends with Hanna, Spencer, Aria, and Emily instead. It certainly would be nice to have a clique again—especially one she could rule.

“Okay. I’m in,” Hanna decided.

Kate grinned. “Awesome.” She raised her orange juice glass in a toast. Hanna clinked it with her coffee mug. They both smiled and sipped. Then Hanna glanced back down at the newspaper, which was still open in front of her. Her eyes went right to an ad for vacation packages to Bermuda.
All your dreams will come true,
the ad copy assured her.

They’d better.

12

IT’S ALL JUST A MATTER OF PERSPECTIVE

Early Wednesday evening, Aria and Mike sat down at Rabbit Rabbit, the Montgomery family’s favorite vegetarian restaurant. The room smelled like a mix of basil, oregano, and soy cheese. A Regina Spektor song played loudly over the stereo, and the place was bustling with families, couples, and kids her age. After Ian’s chilling release and the new A note yesterday, it felt good to be surrounded by so many people.

Mike scowled around the dining room and pulled up the hood of his oversize Champion sweatshirt. “I don’t get why we have to meet this dude anyway. Mom’s only gone out with him
twice
.”

Aria didn’t quite understand either. When Ella had returned home from her date with Xavier last night, she’d raved about how wonderfully it had gone and how easily she and Xavier had connected. Apparently, Xavier had given Ella a studio tour this afternoon, and when she’d gotten home from school today, Aria had found a note from Ella on the kitchen table, asking that she and Mike clean themselves up and meet her at Rabbit Rabbit at 7
P
.
M
. sharp. Oh yeah, and Xavier was coming. Who knew both her parents could fall in love again so easily? They weren’t even officially divorced yet.

Aria felt happy for Ella, of course, but she also felt embarrassed for herself. She’d been so certain that Xavier was interested in
her
. It was mortifying that she’d read the situation at the gallery so wrong.

Mike sniffed loudly, breaking Aria from her thoughts. “It smells like rabbit pee in here.” He made a retching noise.

Aria rolled her eyes. “You’re just pissed Mom picked a place that doesn’t serve wings.”

Mike crumpled his napkin. “Can you blame me? A virile man like me can’t live on vegetables alone.”

Aria cringed, grossed out that Mike was referring to himself as both
virile
and a
man
. “How was your date with Savannah the other day, by the way?”

Mike cracked his knuckles, thumbing through the menu. “That’s for me to know and for you to obsess about.”

Aria raised an eyebrow. “Aha! You didn’t immediately correct me that it
wasn’t
a date.”

Mike shrugged, stabbing his fork into the cactus centerpiece. Aria picked up a cornflower blue crayon from the little cup in the middle of the table; Rabbit Rabbit put crayons on every table and encouraged its patrons to draw on the backs of their place mats. Finished drawings were hung on the restaurant’s walls. These days, the walls were all covered, so the staff had started hanging place mats from the ceiling.

“You made it!” Ella cried as she walked through the doorway with Xavier. Ella’s newly dyed hair shone. Xavier’s cheeks were adorably pink from the cold. Aria tried to smile, but she had a feeling it came out more like a grimace.

Ella made a flourishing gesture at Xavier. “Aria, you two have already met. But Xavier, this is my son, Michelangelo.”

Mike looked like he was going to puke. “
No one
calls me that.”

“I won’t tell.” Xavier stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He glanced at Aria. “Good to see you again.”

Aria gave him a tight smile, too embarrassed to make eye contact. She gazed around the room, searching out the last place mat Ali had decorated before she vanished. Ali had come here with Aria’s family and had drawn a cartoon girl and a guy holding hands, skipping off toward a rainbow. “They’re
secret
boyfriend and girlfriend,” she’d announced to the table, her eyes on Aria. This wasn’t long after Ali and Aria had caught Byron with Meredith…but looking back now, maybe Ali had been referring to her secret relationship with Ian.

Xavier and Ella shrugged out of their coats and sat down. Xavier looked around, clearly amused by all the drawings on the walls. Ella kept clucking nervously, fidgeting with her hair, her jewelry, her fork. After a few seconds of silence, Mike narrowed his eyes at Xavier. “How old are you, anyway?”

Ella shot him a look, but Xavier answered, “Thirty-four.”

“You know our mom is forty, right?”

“Mike,”
Ella gasped. But Aria thought it was sweet. She’d never seen Mike be protective of Ella before.

“I know that.” Xavier laughed. “She told me.”

Their waitress, a busty girl with dreadlocks and a pierced septum, asked what everyone wanted to drink. Aria ordered green tea, and Xavier and Ella ordered glasses of cabernet. Mike tried to order cabernet too, but the waitress just pursed her lips and turned away.

Xavier looked at Mike and Aria. “So I heard you guys lived in Iceland for a while. I’ve been there a few times.”

“Really!” Aria exclaimed, surprised.

“And let me guess—you loved it,” Mike interrupted in a droll voice, fiddling with the rubber Rosewood Day lacrosse bracelet around his wrist. “Because it’s so
cultural.
And so
pristinely untouched.
And everyone’s so
educated
there.”

Xavier rubbed his chin. “Actually, I thought Iceland was weird. Who wants to bathe in water that smells like rotten eggs? And what’s with the miniature horse obsession? I didn’t get it.”

Mike’s eyes boggled. He gaped at Ella. “Did you tell him to say that?”

Ella shook her head, looking a bit dismayed.

Mike turned back to Xavier, ecstatic. “
Thank you
. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell my family for years! But noooo, they all loved the horses! Everyone thought they were so cute. But do you know what would happen if one of those pansy-ass horses got in a smackdown with a Clydesdale from the Budweiser commercials? The Clydesdale would kick its ass. There wouldn’t be anything of that gay little horse left!”

“Damn right.” Xavier nodded emphatically.

Mike rubbed his hands together, obviously thrilled. Aria tried to hide a smirk. She had her own suspicions about the real reason Mike hated Icelandic horses. A few days after they’d arrived in Reykjavík, she and Mike had gone on a riding tour on a volcanic trail. Even though the stable boy offered Mike the oldest, fattest, slowest Icelandic horse to ride, the minute Mike climbed in the saddle, his face went disturbingly pale. He claimed he had a leg cramp and should stay behind. Mike had never gotten a leg cramp before…or since, for that matter, but he still refused to admit that he was scared.

The waitress delivered their drinks, and Mike and Xavier chattered on about all the other things they hated about Iceland: that one of the country’s delicacies was rotten shark. How Icelanders all believed that
huldufolk
—elves—lived in rocks and cliffs. How they all queerly went by first names only, because everyone descended from the same three incestuous Viking tribes.

Every so often, Ella glanced Aria’s way, probably wondering why Aria wasn’t defending Iceland. But Aria simply wasn’t in the mood for talking.

At the end of the dinner, just as they were finishing a plate of the restaurant’s famous homemade organic oatmeal cookies, Mike’s iPhone rang. He looked at the screen and stood up. “Hold on,” he mumbled evasively, ducking out the front door.

Aria and Ella exchanged a knowing look. Usually, Mike had no problem talking on the phone right at the dinner table, even if the conversation was about, say, the size of a girl’s boobs. “We suspect Mike has a girlfriend,” Ella stage-whispered to Xavier. She stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she announced, walking toward the ladies’ room.

Aria fiddled with the napkin in her lap, staring helplessly as Ella wove between the tables. She wanted to follow her mother, but she didn’t want Xavier to know that she didn’t want to be alone with him.

She could feel Xavier’s eyes on her. He took a long, slow sip of his second glass of wine. “You’ve been really quiet,” he pointed out.

Aria shrugged. “Maybe I’m always this quiet.”

“I doubt that.”

Aria looked up sharply. Xavier smiled, but his expression wasn’t particularly easy to read. He plucked a dark green crayon out of the cup and started scribbling on his place mat. “So are you okay with this?” he asked. “Me and your mom?”

“Uh-huh,” Aria answered quickly, fidgeting with the spoon from her after-dinner cappuccino. Was he asking because he sensed she liked him? Or because she was Ella’s daughter, and it was the polite thing to do?

Xavier put the green crayon back in the cup and dug around for a black one. “So your mom said you’re an artist too.”

“I guess,” Aria said distantly.

“Who are your influences?”

Aria chewed on her lip, feeling put on the spot. “I like the surrealists. You know, Klee, Max Ernst, Magritte, M. C. Escher.”

Xavier grimaced. “Escher.”

“What’s wrong with Escher?”

He shook his head. “Every kid at my high school had an Escher poster in their bedroom, thinking they were so deep.
Ooh,
birds morphing into fish.
Wow,
one hand drawing another. Different perspectives.
Trippy.
”

Aria leaned back in her chair, amused. “What, did you know M. C. Escher personally? Did he kick you when you were a little boy? Steal your Big Wheel?”

“He died in the early seventies, I think,” Xavier said, snorting. “I’m not
that
old.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Aria raised an eyebrow.

Xavier smirked. “It’s just…Escher’s a sellout.”

Aria shook her head. “He was brilliant! And how can you be a sellout if you’re dead?”

Xavier stared at her for a moment, slowly grinning. “Okay then, Miss Escher Fan. How about a contest?” He twirled the crayon in his hands. “We both draw something in this room. Whoever’s drawing is better is right about Mr. Escher.
And
the winner gets that last oatmeal cookie.” He pointed at the plate. “I’ve noticed you ogling it. Or haven’t you taken it because you’re secretly on a diet?”

Aria scoffed. “I’ve never dieted in my life.”

“That’s what every girl says.” Xavier’s eyes glimmered. “But they’re all lying.”

“Like you know anything about girls!” Aria crowed, giggling at their banter. She felt like they were in her favorite old movie,
The Philadelphia Story
, where Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant got off on bickering constantly.

“I’ll take part in your little contest.” Aria reached for a red crayon. She never could resist showing off her sketching skills. “But let’s give it a time limit. One minute.”

“Got it.” Xavier checked the tomato-shaped clock over the bar. The second hand was at the twelve. “Go.”

Aria searched around the room for something to sketch. She finally settled on an old man hunched at the bar, nursing a ceramic mug. Her crayon flew deftly over the place mat, capturing his weary-but-peaceful expression. After she filled in a few more details, the hand on the clock swept past the twelve again. “Time,” she called.

Xavier covered his place mat with his hand. “You first,” he said. Aria pushed her drawing toward him. He nodded, impressed, his eyes seesawing from the paper to the old man. “How’d you do that in just one minute?”

“Years of practice,” Aria answered. “I used to secretly sketch kids at my school all the time. So does that mean I get the cookie?” She poked Xavier’s hand, which was still covering his drawing. “Poor Mr. Abstract Painter. Is yours so bad you’re embarrassed to show it?”

“No…” Xavier slowly moved his hands away from his place mat. His drawing, all softlines and deft shading, was of a pretty, dark-haired girl. She had big hoop earrings, just like Aria’s. And that wasn’t the only resemblance.

“Oh.” Aria swallowed hard. Xavier had even captured the little mole on her cheek and the freckles across her nose. It was as if he’d been studying her this whole dinner, waiting for this moment.

The sharp odor of tahini floated out from the kitchen, making Aria’s stomach roil. Taken one way, Xavier’s drawing was sweet—her mom’s boyfriend was trying to bond with her. But taken another…it was kind of wrong.

“You don’t like it?” Xavier asked, sounding surprised.