Pretty Little Secrets
Page 19

But in a strange way, hearing the elves’ secrets was also kind of reassuring. Like Emily, the girls were human. Fallible. Vulnerable. They had secrets A might glom on to, if A were still around. It made her feel less alone.
Cassie stretched in her chair. “So what do you think, Santa? Do all guys suck?”
Emily pulled her hands inside her down coat. “Pretty much. That’s why I’m into girls.”
All four heads whipped up. There was a long tip of ash at the end of Sophie’s cigarette, but she didn’t flick it away. “Yeah, right,” Cassie said.
“It’s true.” Emily tried to sound nonchalant. “I dated this girl named Maya in the fall.” It felt weird saying it out loud—bragging about it, almost. But if there was a group she could tell this to without judgment, it was probably the elves.
Cassie’s eyes were wide. “Are you out?”
“You could say that.” Emily didn’t bother adding that A had outed her against her wishes.
“What did your parents say?” Sophie gasped.
“They freaked,” Emily admitted. “But they’ve come around, I guess.”
“Whoa.” Heather crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe I should try saying that to my parents. That would probably get them in the same room at the same time.”
Cassie leaned forward and blinked curiously at Emily. “What would you do in my situation with Colin? If Colin was a girl, and she wasn’t speaking to you and acting all weird, would you confront her or would you just blow her off?”
Emily sat back, amazed Cassie was asking her for advice. “I would talk to him,” she decided. “But I wouldn’t be too clingy about it. Act like you don’t really need him, like he needs you.” If only she had done that with Ali when she’d had the chance.
Cassie nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too.” She cuffed Emily on the shoulder.
A loud screech of feedback suddenly sounded through two invisible speakers on the back porch. Then a song by Jay-Z blared out, and Lola got up and started twisting her hips. “Oh my God, I almost forgot,” she said, pausing mid-twirl. “I brought something for us.”
She disappeared into the house, returning a few seconds later with a crumpled paper bag that she upended on the ground. Cone-shaped fireworks spilled out. “We had these left over from the summer. I thought it would be fun to set them off tonight.”
“Sweet.” Cassie grabbed a rocket-shaped one from the bag without hesitation, placed it on the concrete, and lit the wick. Sparks flew off the long striped tube, and everyone stepped back. Emily’s heart thudded hard. She would always associate fireworks with The Jenna Thing.
A high-pitched peal rang out in the air, and the firework shot into the sky and exploded just over the rooftops. “Yeah!” Lola and Heather bellowed, giving each other a high five. Emily looked around nervously. Wouldn’t they get in trouble for this?
It wasn’t something the elves were worried about, though. One by one, each of the girls sent a firework screeching into the air. Upstairs lights flipped on in the neighboring houses. Someone yelled “Shut the hell up!” from a window. Partiers stepped outside to see what was making so much commotion.
Cassie passed a bottle rocket and a book of matches to Emily. “Your turn, Santa.”
Emily turned the firework over in her hands, wondering how her mother would handle the police calling her at 2 A.M. saying they’d taken Emily into custody. But she’d made so much progress with the elves. She couldn’t turn back now. And she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t having fun.
She placed the firework on the ground and struck the match. The wick lit immediately, burning down faster than she expected. She stepped back just as the rocket launched into the sky with a high-pitched wail. It crackled in the air, sending a shower of sparks toward the ground.
The elves cheered and slapped her hands. Emily’s heart thumped with adrenaline. It was kind of amazing to send a sparkling, booming stick of dynamite careening into the sky. What was even better were the looks the elves were giving her, clapping her on the back and grinning broadly at her. It was like she belonged.
The back door swung open once more, and a frizzy-haired guy stuck his head out. “Your neighbor’s on the phone, Cassie. He sounds pissed.”
“Shit.” Cassie looked at the other elves. “We’d better get inside. If it’s Mr. Long, he’s already called the cops.”
The elves nodded and headed for the house. Everyone at the party was staggering drunkenly for the door, the festivities winding down. Every counter, tabletop, and shelf was littered with red cups and empty bottles, and the house smelled like the bottom of a moldy keg. Emily told Cassie she should probably be going, and Cassie and the elves walked her to the front room.
“Thanks for inviting me tonight,” Emily said when she reached the porch.
“No problem.” Cassie twisted the doorknob. “It was fun.”
“Maybe we can do it again sometime?” Emily asked eagerly. She’d relished their time in the backyard. It had been ages since she’d talked with a group of girls like that.
Cassie’s face clouded. She exchanged an ambiguous look with the other elves. “Uh, we’ll see about that, Santa.”
Chapter 8
Mission Impossible
“Emily Fields?” crackled a voice over the Rosewood Day PA system on Monday afternoon. “Can you come to the office?”
Emily looked up from the English quiz on the themes of A Farewell to Arms. A couple of kids swiveled around and stared at her curiously.
“You can go after you’re finished with your quiz,” Mrs. Quentin, the English teacher, said. She was sitting at her desk reading a tattered copy of To the Lighthouse, her glasses perched low on her nose.
“Actually, I’m done.” Emily rose from the desk and dropped the quiz in the wire box at the front of the room. She had no idea why she was being called to the office, and a nervous pit formed in her stomach. Had someone found out she’d set off fireworks at the party last night? Could she get in trouble at school for that?
Every footstep on the marble floor sounded like a bomb exploding in Emily’s head. Her vision was slightly blurry, as it often was when she hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Perhaps that was because of how she’d tossed and turned until almost 5 A.M., trying to make sense of why Cassie and the elves had been so welcoming one moment and so cold the next. We’ll see about that? What was that supposed to mean?
The Rosewood Day hall was empty of students. A bunch of posters for a holiday dance from three weeks ago still hung on the wall, and a cracked glass ornament lay on its side next to the door to the girls’ bathroom. Through classroom door windows, Emily could see harried-looking teachers trying to keep their students on task. There was a jovial, let’s-not-do-any-more-work mood in the air—the two-week break was only four days away.
She passed through the lobby, where a memorial to Ali’s death still hung near the auditorium. It was a huge collage of photographs, old drawings, and memories from students, the words WE WILL MISS YOU in silver lettering around the perimeter. Emily was in quite a few of the pictures in the collage, her elbow linked with Ali’s, her head resting on Ali’s shoulder, the two of them laughing loudly in the auditorium.
She touched the display case with the tips of her fingers, her own ghostly reflection blinking back at her. Ali’s school picture from fifth grade was in the middle of the montage; for a moment, it looked like she was making eye contact with Emily from inside the glass. Suddenly, a second reflection behind her caught her eye. She whipped around fast, sure she was going to discover someone standing in the lobby, watching her, but the lobby was empty. The front door eased shut slowly, though, as if someone had just run away.
The principal’s office was on the other side of the lobby. Emily slipped inside and stood there silently until Mrs. Albert, the woman at the front desk, looked up. “Oh, Emily.” She shuffled a few papers. “Your mother’s in there.” She pointed to a small office the guidance counselors normally used.
Emily’s heart started to hammer. Her mom was here? Her mind scattered in all kinds of terrifying directions. Something had happened to one of her siblings. Her grandmother’s melanoma had come back. Ian was on a killing spree.
Emily burst into the room and found her mother sitting calmly at the round table, sorting through the clipped coupons she always toted around in a little canvas pouch. “What’s going on?”
Mrs. Fields gave her a placid smile. “Hey, honey. I was wondering if you wanted to skip eighth period and get a manicure before your shift at Santa Land today—I received a few coupons from the Welcome Wagon committee as a Christmas gift. If you don’t have anything too important going on in eighth period, of course.” Her gaze shifted to the front desk and she smiled mischievously. “I told Mrs. Albert that you had a doctor’s appointment,” she said in a stage-whisper.
Emily gaped at her. Her mother pulling her out of school—something that never happened, not even the time Beth had been sent to the hospital for double pneumonia—was shocking enough, but girly spa days weren’t something they did together. Emily had always wanted Mrs. Fields to be that kind of mom, but Mrs. Fields saw spas as frivolous indulgences. She’d even balked at her daughters getting their hair professionally done for school dances, insisting that they could do it themselves with enough bobby pins, flat irons, and hair spray.
“That would be nice,” she blurted. “I have history eighth period, but we’ll probably just watch a video.” They’d been watching videos for the past week now as Mrs. Weir, the teacher, sat at the back and Christmas-shopped on her iPad.
“Great.” Mrs. Fields stood and slipped the coupon pouch back into her Vera Bradley quilted bag. “Let’s go, then.”
Emily trotted behind her mom through the double doors in the lobby. A stiff wind kicked up, knocking the tree branches together and blowing a silver gum wrapper across the parking lot. She looked around, thinking about the figure she’d sworn she’d seen behind her in the lobby, but the parking lot was empty. It must have been a trick of her imagination.
“What’s this on your arms?” The manicurist at Fermata Spa grabbed Emily’s wrists and turned her forearms over. Tiny red bumps speckled her skin.
Emily stared at them in alarm. Mrs. Fields looked over and clucked her tongue. “Oh dear. I washed your sheets in new detergent yesterday. I bet it’s from that.”
Emily groaned. Her mother was always buying different detergents based on whatever was on sale. Her sensitive skin couldn’t keep up with all the changes. It looked like she had some sort of flesh-eating bacteria.
She sat back in the manicure chair and tried to relax. The foot-soaking baths bubbled peacefully. The air smelled soothing and fresh, like sandalwood mixed with fresh oranges. Aestheticians in black lab coats drifted past quietly, shooting Emily and her mother placid smiles. The only downer was that “Blue Christmas” was playing on the stereo, probably the most depressing holiday song ever written.