Unbelievable (10 page)

Emily took a deep breath and slid the rope off the goat’s neck, then opened the cattle guard and waved her arms. “Go, girl,” she whispered. “Shoo.” The goat glanced at Emily, her lips pursed. She took one step forward, then another. Once she crossed the cattle guard, she broke into a trot, waddling down the road. She seemed happy to be free.

Emily slammed the cattle guard shut behind her. She was pretty damn happy to be free of this place, too.

10

ABOUT AS FAR FROM MINDLESS AS ARIA COULD GET

The clouds rolled in on Monday afternoon, darkening the sky and bringing winds that ripped through Rosewood’s yellow-leafed sugar maples. Aria pulled her strawberry-colored merino wool beret down over her ears and scampered into the Frank Lloyd Wright Memorial Visual Arts Building at Hollis College for her very first Mindless Art class. The lobby walls were full of student exhibits, announcements for art sales, and want ads for housemates. Aria noticed a flyer that said,
HAVE YOU SEEN THE ROSEWOOD STALKER
?
There was a Xeroxed photograph of a figure looming in the woods, as blurry and cryptic as the murky shots of the Loch Ness Monster. Last week, there had been all sorts of news reports on the Rosewood Stalker, who was following people around, spying on their every move. But Aria hadn’t heard any stalker news for a few days now…about the same amount of time that A had been silent.

The elevator was out of service, so Aria climbed the cold, gray concrete stairs to the second floor. She located her Mindless Art classroom and was surprised to find it silent and dark. A jagged shape flickered against the window on the far side of the room, and as Aria’s eyes adjusted, she realized the room was full.

“Come in,” called a woman’s husky voice.

Aria felt her way to the back wall. The old Hollis building creaked and groaned. Someone near her smelled like menthol and garlic. Someone else smelled like cigarettes. She heard a giggle.

“I believe we’re all here,” the voice called out. “My name is Sabrina. Welcome to Mindless Art. Now, you’re all probably wondering why we’re standing here with the lights off. Art is about seeing, right? Well, guess what? It isn’t, not entirely. Art is also touching and smelling…and most definitely feeling. But mostly, it’s about letting go. It’s about taking everything you thought was true and throwing it out the window. It’s about embracing life’s unpredictability, letting go of boundaries, and starting over.”

Aria stifled a yawn. Sabrina had a slow, soporific voice that made her want to curl up and close her eyes.

“The lights are off for a little exercise,” Sabrina said. “We all form an image of someone in our heads, based on certain easy clues. The way one’s voice sounds, maybe. The type of music someone likes. The things you know about a person’s past, perhaps. But sometimes, our judgments aren’t right; in fact, sometimes they’re quite wrong.”

Years ago, Aria and Ali used to go to Saturday art classes together. If Ali were in this class with her now, she’d roll her eyes and say that Sabrina was a flaky granola-head with hairy armpits. But Aria thought what Sabrina was saying made sense—especially in regard to Ali. These days, everything Aria thought she’d known about Ali was wrong. Aria would never have imagined Ali was having a secret affair with her best friend’s sister’s boyfriend, though it certainly explained her cagey, bizarre actions before she disappeared. In those last few months, there were stretches when Ali wasn’t around for weekends at a time. She’d say she had to go out of town with her parents—surely that was code for time alone with Ian. Or once, when Aria had biked over to Ali’s house to surprise her, she’d found Ali sitting on one of the big boulders in her backyard, whispering into her cell phone. “I’ll see you this weekend, okay?” Ali was saying. “We can talk about it then.” When Aria called out her name, Ali whirled around, startled. “Who are you talking to?” Aria had asked innocently. Ali snapped her phone shut fast, narrowing her eyes. She considered her words for a while, and then said, “So, that girl your dad was kissing? I bet she’s like a
Girls Gone Wild
college girl who throws herself at guys. I mean, she’d have to be pretty ballsy to hook up with her teacher.” Aria had turned away, mortified. Ali had been with her the day she’d discovered Byron kissing Meredith, and she wouldn’t let it go. Aria was on her bike and halfway home before she realized Ali had never answered her question.

“So this is what I want us to do,” Sabrina said loudly, interrupting Aria’s memories. “Find the person nearest to you, and hold hands. Try to imagine what your neighbor looks like just by the way their hands feel. Then we’ll turn the lights on so you can sketch each other’s portraits based on what you see in your mind.”

Aria fumbled in the blue-black darkness. Someone grabbed her hand, feeling her wrist bones and the mounds in her palm.

“What sort of face do you see when you touch this person?” Sabrina called.

Aria shut her eyes, trying to think. The hand was small and a bit cold and dry. A face began to form in her mind. First the pronounced cheekbones, then the bright blue eyes. Long, blond hair, pink, bow-shaped lips.

Aria tightened her stomach. She was thinking of
Ali.

“Turn away from your partner now,” Sabrina instructed. “Get your sketch pads out, and I’m going to turn on the lights. Do not look at your partners. I want you to sketch exactly what you saw in your brain, and we’ll see how close you are to the real thing.”

The bright overhead lights hurt Aria’s eyes as she shakily opened her sketch pad. She tentatively brushed the charcoal across her paper, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop from drawing Ali’s face. When she stepped back, she felt a huge lump in her throat. There was a whisper of a smile across Ali’s lips and a devious sparkle in her eye.

“Very nice,” said Sabrina—who looked exactly like her voice, with long, knotty brown hair; big boobs; a fleshy stomach; and puny, birdlike legs. She moved on to Aria’s partner. “That’s
beautiful,
” she murmured. Aria felt a pinch of annoyance. Why wasn’t her drawing beautiful? Did someone draw better than she did? Impossible.

“Time’s up,” Sabrina called. “Turn around and show your partners the results.”

Aria slowly turned, her eyes greedily assessing her partner’s allegedly
beautiful
sketch. And actually…it
was
beautiful. The drawing looked nothing like Aria, but it still was a much better rendering of a person than Aria could have done. Aria’s eyes floated up her partner’s body. The girl wore a fitted pink Nanette Lepore top. Her hair was dark and wild, spilling down her shoulders. She had creamy, blemish-free skin. Then, Aria saw the familiar turned-up button nose. And the giant Gucci sunglasses. There was a sleeping dog in a blue canvas vest at the girl’s feet. Aria’s entire body turned to ice.

“I can’t see what you drew of me,” her partner said in a soft, sweet voice. She pointed to her Seeing Eye dog in explanation. “But I’m sure it’s great.”

Aria’s tongue felt leaden in her mouth. Her partner was Jenna Cavanaugh.

11

WELCOME BACK…SORT OF

After what seemed like days of spinning through the stars, Hanna suddenly found herself thrust into the light again. Once more, she was sitting on Ali’s back porch. Once more, she could feel herself busting out of her American Apparel T-shirt and Seven jeans.

“We get to have our sleepover in Melissa’s barn!” Spencer was saying.

“Nice.” Ali grinned. Hanna recoiled. Maybe she was stuck revisiting this day over and over again, sort of like that guy in that old movie
Groundhog Day.
Maybe Hanna would have to keep reliving this one day until she got it right and convinced Ali that she was in grave danger. But…the last time Hanna had been in this memory, Ali had loomed close by, telling Hanna that she was okay. But she
wasn’t
okay.
Nothing was okay.

“Ali,” Hanna urged. “What do you mean, you’re okay?”

Ali wasn’t paying attention. She watched Melissa as she strode through the Hastingses’ bordering yard, her graduation gown slung over her arm. “Hey, Melissa!” Ali cooed. “Excited to go to Prague?”

“Who cares about her?” Hanna shouted. “Answer my question!”

“Is Hanna…
talking
?” a far-off voice gasped. Hanna cocked her head. That didn’t sound like any of her old friends.

Across the yard, Melissa put her hand on her hip. “Of course I’m excited.”

“Is
Ian
going?” Ali asked.

Hanna grabbed the sides of Ali’s face. “Ian doesn’t matter,” she said forcefully. “Just listen to me, Ali!”

“Who’s Ian?” The far-off voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a very long tunnel. Mona Vanderwaal’s voice. Hanna looked around Ali’s backyard, but didn’t see Mona anywhere.

Ali turned to Hanna, heaving an exasperated sigh. “Give it a rest, Hanna.”

“But you’re in danger,” Hanna sputtered.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” Ali whispered.

“What do you mean?” Hanna urged desperately. When she reached out for Ali, her hand went right through Ali’s arm, like Ali was just an image projected onto a screen.

“What does
who
mean?” Mona’s voice called.

Hanna’s eyes popped open. A bright, painful light practically blinded her. She was lying on her back on an uncomfortable mattress. Several figures stood around her—Mona, Lucas Beattie, her mother, and her father.

Her
father
? Hanna tried to frown, but her face muscles were in excruciating pain.

“Hanna.” Mona’s chin wobbled. “Oh my God. You’re…
awake
.”

“Are you okay, honey?” her mother asked. “Can you talk?”

Hanna glanced down at her arms. At least they were thin and not ham hocks. Then, she saw the IV tube sticking out of the crook in her elbow and the clunky cast on her arm. “What’s going on?” she croaked, looking around. The scene in front of her eyes seemed staged. Where she’d just been—on Ali’s back porch, with her old best friends—seemed far more real. “Where’s Ali?” she asked.

Hanna’s parents exchanged uneasy looks. “Ali’s dead,” Hanna’s mother said quietly.

“Go easy on her.” A white-haired, hawk-nosed man in a white coat swept around a curtain to the foot of Hanna’s bed. “Hanna? My name’s Dr. Geist. How do you feel?”

“Where the hell am I?” Hanna demanded, her voice rising with panic.

Hanna’s father took her hand. “You had an accident. We were really worried.”

Hanna looked fitfully at the faces around her, then at the various contraptions that fed into different parts of her body. In addition to the IV drip, there was a machine that measured her heartbeat and a tube that sent oxygen into her nose. Her body felt hot, then cold, and her skin prickled with fear and confusion. “Accident?” she whispered.

“A car hit you,” Hanna’s mother said. “At Rosewood Day. Can you remember?”

Her hospital sheets felt sticky, like someone had drizzled nacho cheese all over them. Hanna searched her memory, but nothing about an accident was there. The last thing she remembered, before sitting in Ali’s backyard, was receiving the champagne-colored Zac Posen dress for Mona’s birthday party. That had been Friday night, the day before Mona’s celebration. Hanna turned to Mona, who looked both distraught and relieved. Her eyes had huge, kind of ugly purple circles under them, too, as if she hadn’t slept in days. “I didn’t miss your party, did I?”

Lucas made a sniffing noise. Mona’s shoulders tensed. “No…”

“The accident happened afterward,” Lucas said. “You don’t remember?”

Hanna tried to pull the oxygen tube out of her nose—no one looked attractive with something dangling from a nostril—and found that it had been taped down. She closed her eyes and grappled for something,
anything,
to explain all this. But the only thing she saw was Ali’s face looming over her and whispering
something
before dissipating into black nothingness.

“No,” Hanna whispered. “I don’t remember any of that at all.”

12

ON THE LAM

Late Monday evening, Emily sat on a faded blue bar stool at the counter of the M&J diner across from the Greyhound station in Akron, Ohio. She hadn’t eaten anything all day and contemplated ordering a piece of nasty-looking cherry pie to go with her metallic-tasting coffee. Next to her, an old man slowly slurped a spoonful of tapioca pudding, and a bowling pin–shaped man and his knitting needle–shaped friend were shoveling down greasy burgers and fries. The jukebox was playing some twangy country song, and the hostess leaned heavily against the register, polishing dust off the Ohio-shaped magnets that were on sale for ninety-nine cents.

“Where you headed?” a voice asked.

Emily looked into the eyes of the diner’s fry cook, a sturdy man who looked like he did a lot of bow hunting when he wasn’t making grilled cheese. Emily searched for a name tag, but he wasn’t wearing one. His red ball cap had a big, singular letter
A
stitched in the center. She licked her lips, shivering a little. “How do you know I’m headed somewhere?”

He gave her a knowing look. “You’re not from here. And Greyhound’s across the street. And you have a big duffel bag. Clever, aren’t I?”

Emily sighed, staring into her cup of coffee. It had taken her less than twenty minutes to power-walk the mile from Helene’s to the mini mart down the road, even with her heavy duffel in tow. Once there, she’d found a ride to the bus station, and had bought a ticket for the first bus out of Iowa. Unfortunately it had been going to Akron, a place where Emily knew absolutely no one. Worse, the bus smelled like someone had bad gas, and the guy sitting next to her had his iPod cranked up to maximum volume while he sang along to Fall Out Boy, a band she detested. Then, weirdly, when the bus pulled into the Akron station, Emily had discovered a crab scuttling around under her seat. A
crab,
even though they were nowhere near an ocean. When she’d stumbled into the terminal and noticed that the big departures board said there was a 10
P.M
. bus to Philadelphia, an ache had welled up inside her. She’d never missed Pennsylvania as much as she did now.