Perfect (5 page)

“Not at all, actually.” Maya touched Emily’s wrist.

“There are no Emilys in California.”

Emily leaned forward and kissed Maya softly on her lips. They held their lips together for five long seconds. She kissed Maya’s earlobe. Then Maya kissed her bottom lip. They pulled away and smiled, the afternoon sun making pretty patterns on their cheeks. Maya kissed Emily’s nose, then her temples, then her neck. Emily shut her eyes, and Maya kissed her eyelids. She took a deep breath. Maya ran her delicate fingers along the edge of Emily’s jaw; it felt like a million butterflies flapping their wings against her skin. As much as she’d been trying to convince herself that being with Maya was wrong, it was the only thing that felt right.

Maya pulled away. “So, I have a proposal for you.”

Emily smirked. “A proposal. Sounds
serious
.”

Maya pulled her hands into her sleeves. “How about we make things more open?”

“Open?” Emily repeated.

“Yeah.” Maya ran her finger up and down the length of Emily’s arm, giving her goose bumps. Emily could smell Maya’s banana gum, a smell she now found intoxicating. “Meaning we hang out
inside
your house. We hang out at school. We…I don’t know. I know you’re not ready to be, like,
out
with this, Em, but it’s hard spending all our time on this rock. What’s going to happen when it gets cold?”

“We’ll come out here in snowsuits,” Emily quipped.

“I’m serious.”

Emily watched as a stiff wind made the tree branches knock together. The air suddenly smelled like burning leaves. She couldn’t invite Maya inside her house because her mother had already made it clear that she didn’t want Emily to be friends with Maya…for terrible, almost-definitely racist reasons. But it wasn’t like Emily was going to tell
Maya
that. And as for the other thing, coming out—no. She closed her eyes and thought of the picture A had texted her a while ago—the one of Emily and Maya kissing in the photo booth at Noel Kahn’s party. She winced. She wasn’t ready for people to know.

“I’m sorry I’m slow,” Emily said. “But this is what I’m comfortable with right now.”

Maya sighed. “Okay,” she said in an Eeyore-ish voice. “I’ll just have to deal.”

Emily stared into the water. Two silvery fish swam tightly together. Whenever one turned, the other turned too. They were like those needy couples who made out in the hallway and practically stopped breathing when they were separated. It made her a little sad to realize she and Maya could
never
be one of those couples.

“So,” Maya said, “nervous about your swim meet tomorrow?”

“Nervous?” Emily frowned.

“Everyone’s going to be there.”

Emily shrugged. She’d competed in much bigger swimming events than this—there had been camera crews at nationals last year. “I’m not worried.”

“You’re braver than I am.” Maya shoved her sneaker back onto her foot.

But Emily wasn’t so sure about that. Maya seemed brave about everything—she ignored the rules that said you had to wear the Rosewood Day uniform and showed up in her white denim jacket every day. She smoked pot out her bedroom window while her parents were at the store. She said hi to kids she didn’t know. In that way, she was just like Ali—totally fearless. Which was probably why Emily had fallen for both of them.

And Maya was brave about this—who she was, what she wanted, and who she wanted to be with. She didn’t care if people found out. Maya wanted to be with Emily, and nothing was going to stop her. Maybe someday Emily would be as brave as Maya. But if it was up to her, that would be someday far, far away.

5

ARIA’S ALL FOR LITERARY REENACTMENTS

Aria perched on the back bumper of Sean’s Audi, skimming through her favorite Jean-Paul Sartre play,
No Exit
. It was Monday after school, and Sean said he would give her a ride home after he grabbed something from the soccer coach’s office…only he was taking an awfully long-ass time. As she flipped to Act II, a group of nearly identical blond, long-legged, Coach-bag-toting Typical Rosewood Girls strode into the student parking lot and gave Aria a suspicious once-over. Apparently Aria’s platform boots and gray knitted earflap hat indicated she was
surely
up to something nefarious.

Aria sighed. She was trying her hardest to adjust to Rosewood again, but it wasn’t easy. She still felt like a punked-out, faux-leather-wearing, free-thinking Bratz doll in a sea of Pretty Princess of Preppyland Barbies.

“You shouldn’t sit on the bumper like that,” said a voice behind her, making Aria jump. “Bad for the suspension.”

Aria swiveled around. Ezra stood a few feet away. His brown hair was standing up in messy peaks and his blazer was even more rumpled than it had been this morning. “I thought you literary types were hopeless when it came to cars,” she joked.

“I’m full of surprises.” Ezra shot her a seductive smile. He reached into his worn leather briefcase. “Actually, I have something for you. It’s an essay about
The Scarlet Letter,
questioning whether adultery is sometimes permissible.”

Aria took the photocopied pages from him. “I don’t think adultery is permissible or forgivable,” she said softly.
“Ever.”

“Ever is a long time,” Ezra murmured. He was standing so close, Aria could see the dark-blue flecks in his light-blue eyes.

“Aria?” Sean was right next to her.

“Hey!” Aria cried, startled. She jumped away from Ezra as if he were loaded with electricity. “You…you all done?”

“Yep,” Sean said.

Ezra stepped forward. “Hey, Sean is it? I’m Ez—I mean, Mr. Fitz, the new AP English teacher.”

Sean shook his hand. “I just take regular English. I’m Aria’s boyfriend.”

A flicker of something—disappointment, maybe—passed over Ezra’s face. “Cool,” he stumbled. “You play soccer, right? Congrats on your win last week.”

“That’s right,” Sean said modestly. “We have a good team this year.”

“Cool,” Ezra said again. “Very cool.”

Aria felt like she should explain to Ezra why she and Sean were together. Sure, he was a Typical Rosewood Boy, but he was really much deeper. Aria stopped herself. She didn’t owe Ezra any explanations. He was her
teacher.

“We should go,” she said abruptly, taking Sean’s arm. She wanted to get out of here before either of them embarrassed her. What if Sean made a grammatical error? What if Ezra blurted that they’d hooked up? No one at Rosewood knew about that. No one, that was, except for A.

Aria slid into the passenger seat of Sean’s tidy, pine-smelling Audi, feeling itchy. She longed for a few private minutes to collect herself, but Sean slumped into the driver’s seat right next to her and pecked her on the cheek. “I missed you today,” he said.

“Me too,” Aria answered automatically, her voice tight in her throat. As she peeked through her side window, she saw Ezra in the teacher’s lot, climbing into his beat-up, old-school VW Bug. He had added a new sticker to the bumper—
ECOLOGY HAPPENS
—and it looked like he’d washed the car over the weekend. Not that she was obsessively checking or anything.

As Sean waited for other students to back out in front of him, he rubbed his cleanly shaven jaw and fiddled with the collar of his fitted Penguin polo. If Sean and Ezra had been types of poetry, Sean would have been a haiku—neat, simple, beautiful. Ezra would have been one of William Burroughs’s messy fever dreams. “Want to hang out later?” Sean asked. “Go out to dinner? Hang with Ella?”

“Let’s go out,” Aria decided. It was so sweet how Sean liked to spend time with Ella and Aria. The three of them had even watched Ella’s Truffaut DVD collection together—in spite of the fact that Sean said he really didn’t understand French films.

“One of these days you’ll have to meet my family.” Sean finally pulled out of the Rosewood lot behind an Acura SUV.

“I know, I know,” Aria said. She felt nervous about meeting Sean’s family—she’d heard they were wildly rich and super-perfect. “Soon.”

“Well, Coach wants the soccer team to go to that big swim meet tomorrow for school support. You’re going to watch Emily, right?”

“Sure,” Aria answered.

“Well, maybe Wednesday, then? Dinner?”

“Maybe.”

As they pulled onto the wooded road that paralleled Rosewood Day, Aria’s Treo chimed. She pulled it out nervously—her knee-jerk response whenever she got a text was that it would be A, even though A seemed to be gone. The new text, however, was from an unfamiliar 484 number. A’s notes always came up “unavailable.” She clicked
READ
.

Aria: We need to talk. Can we meet outside the Hollis art building today at 4:30? I’ll be on campus waiting for Meredith to finish teaching. I’d love for us to chat.

—Your dad, Byron

Aria stared at the screen in disgust. It was disturbing on so many levels. One, her dad had a cell phone now? For years, he’d shunned them, saying they gave you brain cancer. Two, he’d
texted
her—what was next, a MySpace page?

And three…the letter itself. Especially the qualifying
Your dad
at the end. Did he think she’d forgotten who he was?

“You all right?” Sean took his eyes off the winding, narrow road for a moment.

Aria read Sean Byron’s text. “Can you believe it?” she asked when she finished. “It sounds like he just needs someone to occupy him while he waits for that skank to finish teaching her class.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Not go.”
Aria shuddered, thinking of the times she’d seen Meredith and her father together. In seventh grade, she and Ali had caught them kissing in her dad’s car, and then a few weeks ago, she and her younger brother, Mike, had happened upon them at the Victory Brewery. Meredith had told Aria that she and Byron were in love, but how was that
possible
? “Meredith is a homewrecker. She’s worse than Hester Prynne!”

“Who?”

“Hester Prynne. She’s the main character in
The Scarlet Letter
—we’re reading it for English. It’s about this woman who commits adultery and the town shuns her. I think Rosewood should shun Meredith. Rosewood needs a town scaffold—to humiliate her.”

“How about that pillory thing at the fairgrounds?” Sean suggested, slowing down as they passed a cyclist.

“You know that wooden contraption with the holes you can stick your head and arms through? They lock you up in it and you just hang there. We always used to get our pictures taken in that thing.”

“Perfect,”
Aria practically shouted. “And Meredith deserves to have ‘husband-stealer’ branded on her forehead. Just stitching a red letter
A
to her dress would be too subtle.”

Sean laughed. “It sounds like you’re
really
into
The Scarlet Letter
.”

“I don’t know. I’ve only read eight pages.” Aria grew silent, getting an idea. “Actually, wait. Drop me off at Hollis.”

Sean gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re going to meet him?”

“Not exactly.” She smiled devilishly.

“Ohhhhkay…” Sean drove a few blocks through the Hollis section of town, which was filled with brick and stone buildings, old bronze statues of the college founders, and tons of shabby-chic students on bicycles. It seemed like it was permanently fall at Hollis—the colorful cascading leaves looked perfect here. As Sean pulled into a two-hour parking spot on campus, he looked worried. “You’re not going to do anything illegal, are you?”

“Nah.” Aria gave him a quick kiss. “Don’t wait. I can walk home from here.”

Squaring her shoulders, she marched into the Arts Building’s main entrance. Her father’s text flashed before her eyes.
I’m on campus waiting for Meredith to finish teaching
. Meredith had told Aria herself that she taught studio art at Hollis. She slid by a security guard, who was supposed to be checking IDs but was instead watching a Yankees game on his portable TV. Her nerves felt jangled and snappy, as if they were ungrounded wires.

There were only three studio classrooms in the building that were big enough for a painting class, which Aria knew, because she’d attended Saturday art school at Hollis for years. Today, only one room was in use, so it had to be the one. Aria burst noisily through the doors of the classroom and was immediately assaulted by the smell of turpentine and unwashed clothes. Twelve art students with easels set up in a circle swiveled around to stare at her. The only person who didn’t move was the wrinkly, hairless, completely naked old drawing model in the center of the room. He stuck his bandy little chest out, kept his hands on his hips, and didn’t even blink. Aria had to give him an A for effort.

She spied Meredith perched on a table by the far window. There was her long, luscious brown hair. There was the pink spiderweb tattoo on her wrist. Meredith looked strong and confident, and there was an irritating, healthy pink flush to her cheeks.

“Aria?” Meredith called across the drafty, cavernous room. “This is a surprise.”

Aria looked around. All of the students had their brushes and paints within easy reach of their canvases. She marched over to the student closest to her, snatched a large, fan-shaped brush, swiped it in a puddle of red paint, and strode over to Meredith, dribbling paint as she went. Before anyone could do anything, Aria painted a large, messy
A
on the left breast of Meredith’s delicate, cotton eyelet sundress.

“Now everyone will know what you’ve done,” Aria snarled.

Giving Meredith no time to react, she whirled around and strode out of the room. When she got out onto Hollis’s green lawn again, she started gleefully, crazily laughing. It wasn’t a “husband-stealer” brand across her forehead, but it might as well have been.
There, Meredith. Take that.