Chapter Twelve
October 21st, 2017
ON HER WAY to Layla's house, Adelia passes the van Dyks', where she can see Emma pacing the floor of her living room, her head down. For a moment, Adelia starts feels bad for Emma, but then she catches sight of Liam Vega perched on the arm of the couch. A ripple of anger shoots through her. Even Emma van Dyk can be happy, so why does Adelia always end up alone?
She finds herself sinking to the edge of the curb, her breath coming fast. She sinks her head into place between her knees, not caring that her freshly-straightened hair is going to get messed up. It doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter anymore.
All anyone seems to be talking about these days is Will, Will and his stupid party. Everyone who was invited goes on and on about what they're wearing, who they're going with, everything. Adelia tries to stay out of—with how things have been, she's starting to wish she could just hide in her room and watch movies all weekend.
Of course, Will himself has been the center of attention. She's been watching him lately from across the cafeteria, flocks of people chattering to him from all around. It makes her heart ache just to watch.
She's so freaking alone.
If anyone from school drives past and sees her, she knows she'll look crazy sitting here like this. "All right," Adelia says aloud as she pulls herself to her feet. "It's going to be okay. I'm not alone. I'm not alone." I'm so alone.
She's shaking for the rest of the walk.
Tanner and Serena sit on the steps of the Princes', both with darkness clouding their faces. Tanner bends over her phone, leaving Serena to stare into the distance, chin in hands. Neither bothers to greet Adelia as she approaches. In fact, Adelia pauses at the edge of the property for a moment, just staring at the people she used to laugh and talk so easily with.
Taking a deep breath, she forces herself to speak. "Hey," she says. "Hey, guys."
Tanner forces a smile, glancing up from her phone. "Hey, Ads. Layla's getting her siblings out of her room. She'll be out in a minute." She pats the spot next to her, and Adelia sits down, still dizzy. Hopefully her friends can't see the way she stumbles as she walks.
Serena still hasn't moved. Her mouth trembles, but her eyes remained fixed on the street. This is something Adelia used to dream of. She thought that if Serena stopped being controlling, they could all just be themselves instead of trying to seem cool all the time. She never realized how hard it would be to see Serena acting so differently without knowing why.
"Serena," she says, but she can't find the rest of the sentence. What do you say to the friend you thought you knew?
Serena mumbles something under her breath, and Adelia has to lean close to hear.
"Emerson isn't coming. She has to go to her parents' friends'."
Even though it sucks to know Emerson won't be there, Adelia feels her spirits rise a little. Maybe nothing's wrong with Serena. Maybe she just wishes Emerson would get her act together and be there for her friends. Or maybe she feels like it's her fault Emerson is ditching them, because it probably is.
"Do you want to know the worst part?" Serena continues, still staring straight ahead. "She's doing it by choice. She says she's sick of the drama, whatever that's supposed to mean."
Tanner snorts, and Serena's head snaps to face her. "I'm sorry," Tanner says, "but can you blame her?"
Serena doesn't answer.
Adelia wishes she could be like Emerson. Emerson has never been part of all the drama of their group. In fact, on her first day in Altenview, Emerson didn't even want to sit with them. She sat down at lunch with a girl named Tessa Henshaw, one of those girls who was always reading, even at lunchtime.
Adelia can still remember how she strutted into lunch with Serena, feeling like a queen for being in the highest grade at Altenview Primary School. At least, that's what she told herself. Really, it made her a little sad to know she'd be moving on the next year.
Serena reached out all of a sudden and clutched Adelia's arm. Adelia remembers this especially—she was wearing a new white shirt and was terrified for a moment that the tomato sauce on her tray would spill.
She'd been about to whine, but then she saw that they were stopped next to Tessa's table. Tessa was reading, and Emerson looked bored, staring into space as she chewed her sandwich. Still, Adelia thought, it was her fault for choosing to sit with the girl who actually preferred being alone.
Even then, Emerson was gorgeous. Her dark hair was up in a long, sleek ponytail and when she blinked her pale blue eyes at them for the first time, Adelia thought for a moment that maybe this new girl was even prettier than Serena.
No, she'd thought, she couldn't think that. Serena was the prettiest one. That was how it was supposed to be: Serena was the pretty one, Tanner was the perfect one, and she and Layla were the backups.
"Hey," Serena said, moving her feet to stand in a position that she seemed to think made her look cool. Really, though, it just showed how much shorter she was than Emerson, even from standing up. "You don't have to sit here just because you're new."
Emerson smiled. Her teeth were blindingly white. Adelia found herself stepping closer without meaning to.
Emerson nodded, turning to Tessa. "Come on," she said.
Tessa looked up. Her face froze when she saw Serena and Adelia.
Serena froze too, her eyes shooting daggers at Tessa as if daring her to even try coming along.
"We didn't invite her," she said. "Just you."
Emerson frowned. "I'm not going to let her sit alone," she said. Adelia didn't hear a hint of anxiety in her tone. She stayed calm and collected while Serena was the one awkwardly shifting her position, trying to seem powerful.
"Well, all right," Serena finally said, fiddling with her hair.
Emerson beamed, picking her tray up off the table. She stood waiting for Tessa, but the other girl didn't budge.
"I'm good here," Tessa murmured. "Thanks anyways, Emerson, but I prefer to sit alone." She gave Emerson a small smile before returning to the world of her book. Emerson's face crumbled, but she still came with Adelia and Serena.
Adelia had forgotten about that day until now. She'd forgotten how Emerson never cared about being popular, never worried about what anyone thought.
After all these years, Emerson is finally giving up on them.
Adelia sighs. Why does Serena care so much about Emerson? It's not like it matters if they're friends with her, at least not to the level Serena's taking it to.
Before anyone can say anything else, they hear an excited shriek from the front door. Adelia glances over and sees Layla standing there wearing a red skirt and a white tank top. "Hey!" she cries. "I'm so excited!" She doesn't really need to say it, though—anyone could tell from her wide smile and bright eyes that she can't wait for tonight.
That's when Adelia knows what she has to do. Standing up, she squeals. It's fake, but no one seems to care. "Same!" she cries. "Come on, guys!"
Layla's room is big, but it's split up into three sections—one for Layla, one for Alexandra, and one for her other foster sister, Katie— which makes Layla's area, on the far right, very cramped. Tanner and Serena sit on the twin bed, leaving her and Layla to stand.
She watches her friends settle down, starting to talk, and that's when her eyes fall on something resting on Lexi's pillow, only inches from where she stands. It's a sleek cell phone, and she instinctively finds herself pocketing it.
No. No. Taking from her brother and her wealthy friends is one thing, but taking something from a foster kid is different. Lexi can't afford another phone, after all. Adelia takes it back out and clicks it on. Her friends don't notice. She can't get in without a passcode, but she reads a text that's up on the welcome screen. Stop texting me.
Who could Lexi be bothering? It makes her curious, which is enough to make her put it right back in her pocket.
---
Emma giggles when she sees Liam standing on her doorstep—her boyfriend, in his khakis and button-down shirt, waiting for her. If only she could trap this moment forever. It's the beginning of what has to be the best day of her life.
But as he walks inside, her excitement begins to fade when she thinks of what Emerson said the other day. It can't be true, and she knows it, but she still feels strange looking at him. Could he like Serena?
It's not true, Emma. It's not true. Just enjoy your afternoon. He wouldn't be getting revenge on her if he liked her.
They saunter into the living room. Liam smiles at her.
"Nervous?" she asks.
He laughs. "Very."
And just like that, everything falls into place. The rest of the afternoon is a blur she knows she'll barely remember. They talk. They laugh. They take each other's minds off of tonight, and what they're going to do.
As a shy person, Emma's conversations have generally involved her frantically searching for something to say. But with Liam, the words come on their own.
They kiss. They flirt. They ignore the truth of what they plan to do at the party later.
Right there in her living room, Emma begins to think she loves him, this boy she's only just started talking to who seems to fill in all the gaps. Liam is the first person to care about her. The first person she can really talk to. The first person who sees her as another person, who understands that she is so much more than what she looks like.
"Emma," Liam says suddenly, after she finishes a story about her old friends from sixth grade, "you're not going to back out of this, right?''
"Of course not," Emma says, clasping his hand in hers. "I've never wanted anything more in my life."
It's true. She wants this so badly it hurts. This is her chance to make her life turn around, even just for one night.
For a second, Emma thinks that she sees his face fall, but then he smiles. "Good. Because you aren't turning back, Emma."
"Did you think I would go through all of this just to change my mind at the last second?" Emma asks, almost laughing. "Trust me, Liam. Serena has done so much to me that this is barely even a dent towards her."
Liam nods. "I guess. I mean... it's probably going to hurt her. A lot."
It strikes her then that Serena was sobbing about something in the bathroom, and that something could very easily have been her secret. She knows she should feel bad, but something about the amount of hurt it could potentially cause just makes Emma more excited. This time, she's not going to pity Serena. This time, she's going to let it sting.
"What do you mean?" she asks. "Are you backing out?'' He better not be.
"No. No. Never," he promises. His hand is still in hers, and he gives a squeeze. "I just.. I've never had anyone else want to get revenge with me. I've always wanted to. I mean, back in middle school, I would have dreams about it, and it was the kind of dream where you wake up and you can't believe it wasn't real because of how much you want it." He looks like he's about to cry.
Emma giggles. "I know," she says. It's definitely not true. He likes me. "I just... I want her spirits to be crushed. It sounds awful, but I really do."
"Me, too," Liam says, and then he leans in to kiss her.
All Emma can think is, not true, not true, not true, those same two words constantly repeated—over and over and over again. It's like a rhythm in her head, like that song that you put on when you want to remind yourself everything is going to work out okay.
In this case, it's going to be more than okay. This is the day she's been waiting for since Serena Shields rejected her back in kindergarten. This is the day she finally gets her revenge on the girl who took her childhood and stabbed it in the back.
———
There's a car in the driveway.
Clare's eyes nearly pop out of her head. Her mom is here? Already? But it's only eleven-eighteen—she's twelve minutes early. Panicked, Clare throws on her jacket and a pair of sneakers, grabbing her phone off the kitchen counter as she runs out the door. This is so typical of her mom. She's probably trying to make it so that Clare can't slip out unnoticed, so that Clare's dad has to see her there. It's times like these when her parents' marriage seems more like high school drama.
But when Clare climbs in on the passenger side and sees her mom staring wide-eyed up at the house, all her anger goes away.
"Oh, honey, I was going to walk up and get you," Mrs. Brown says. "I was just looking at this house... You two are certainly doing well." Her voice is shaky. She must be lonely all by herself in the old house.
Clare has no idea what to say. It's true that her dad has seemed happier lately than he was with her mom, but would it be okay to lie and say that he isn't?
Before she can open her mouth, her mom speaks again. "How's Chipotle?"
Clare's mouth waters. She hasn't been to Chipotle in ages, not now that she has to rely on her dad, who never drives her anywhere. The nearest Chipotle is about four miles outside of town, too far to walk.
"Sounds great." Clare buckles her seatbelt, leaning back as they drive down the street.
"So, are you going to a new school?" her mom asks.
Clare shrugs. "It's not really new anymore. I've been going since May."
Mrs. Brown nods. "Are you liking it? Are your new friends nice?"
"Um, it's all right," Clare mutters. She wants to tell the truth, but she can't find the right words. How do explain that you're alone? No, not alone. Hated. "I'm on the swim team," she adds.
"That's great!" Mrs. Brown smiles. "Abbey and Jordan and your other friends all really miss you."
Clare's stomach tightens as she pictures her old friends all laughing together back at home. They haven't replied to her texts in weeks. "I'm sure they do," she murmurs.
"You all right?"
Clare nods. "Yeah. Of course."
At Chipotle, they sit in a booth in the back. Clare gets her usual burrito; her mom gets a salad.
"Clare," her mom says. "I think we should probably talk about—"
Clare cuts her off. She hasn't seen her mom in almost five months; she would much rather catch up than have a tearful conversation.
"Please, Mom," she says. "We'll talk about that another time."
Her mom grimaces but nods. "All right. Tell me all about your new friends."
Clare winces. "Um, I mostly keep to myself," she murmurs. "It's a small school. People are sort of... cliquey."
Her mom's forehead creases. "Clare..."
"I'm fine, though," Clare says. "I have a lot more homework now that I'm in high school." Not that she does much of it.
"Oh, God, you're in high school," Mrs. Brown says, as if she's just realizing it. She smiles. "So... are there any cute guys?"
Any normal girl would just blush and tell her mom she didn't want to talk about it, but Clare finds herself completely freezing up. Guys? She hasn't even thought about the topic of guys, not for months.
"Um, no."
Her mom laughs. "Well, I'll believe you. Just so you know, Clare, you're blushing."
It gets better after that, though, once her mom gets on to talking about herself. Clare finds herself doing most of the nodding while her mom tells stories about her job, her friends, the neighbors.
Right in the middle of telling Clare about her friends' new German shepherd, Mrs. Brown comes to an abrupt stop. "Clare! It's almost two!"
"Right," Clare mutters. At two, they're heading to Julian's house, where she'll be stuck playing games on her phone the whole time, listening to her mom and Miranda gossip
Julian lives in a townhouse on the edge of Altenview. When they arrive, he opens the door with a wide smile on his face. Clare can see his wife, Miranda, in the kitchen. She smiles and waves when she sees them, and Clare's mom immediately heads over to chat.
Well. Already abandoned again.
As she steps in, Julian grabs her arm. "My friend Adam's daughter is your age, Clare, and I think you're in the same grade at school. You might know her—you're a ninth grader, right?"
Clare nods, bored. It's nice of Julian to try to find people they both know, but it's not like she has friends here. It's not like she and this girl go out to lunch together and braid each other's hair.
But then Clare forgets all about being bored, because someone else joins them, coming down the stairs and into the entryway. It's someone pretty and smiling and perfect. Someone with shining eyes and a brilliant smile. Someone Clare should not be associating with—not today, not ever.
Emerson.