time—not since right after they’d returned from the trip. She wasn’t about to let the voice—or the guilt—invade her mind again.
A trio of girls clad in North Face jackets and Ugg boots crossed the Commons. An English teacher flitted down the hall with an armful of books. Hanna tore up the photo of Ali until it was in a thousand satisfying pieces. She brushed off her hands into the wastebasket. There. Ali was gone.
Just like the Real Ali. Of that, Hanna was absolutely sure.
Chapter 7
Touchy-feely
On Monday evening, Emily pulled her family’s Volvo station wagon into the driveway of the Rolands’ house and yanked up the emergency brake. Her palms were sweating. She couldn’t believe she was about to go into the house where Jenna and Toby had lived.
In the side yard was the stump of what used to be Toby’s old tree house, the site of the awful prank that had blinded Jenna. There was the big bay window through which Ali and the others spied on Jenna when they had nothing better to do. Ali was ruthless with Jenna, picking on her high-pitched voice, her pale skin, or how she brought tuna sandwiches to lunch and then had tuna breath for the rest of the day. But unbeknownst to them, Ali and Jenna shared a secret: Jenna knew that Ali had a twin. It was why, in the end, Real Ali had killed her.
Suddenly, the red-painted oak door whipped open, and Chloe appeared. “Hey, Emily, come on in!”
Emily stepped inside tentatively. The house smelled like apples, the walls had been painted deep reds and oranges, and bejeweled Indian tapestries hung on the big space under the stairs. The furniture was a mismatch of Stickley chairs, threadbare sixties-upholstered divans, and a coffee table made out of one large slab of curly maple. It was like walking into a funky junk shop.
She followed Chloe into the back room, which had big floor-to-ceiling doors that opened out onto the patio. “Here’s Gracie,” Chloe said, pointing to the baby in a swing in the corner. “Gracie, remember your best friend Emily?”
The baby made a cooing noise and went back to chewing on a rubber giraffe. Emily felt something rise up inside her chest, a feeling she wasn’t quite ready to face. She pushed it down again. “Hi, Grace. I like your giraffe.” She gave it a squeeze, and it squeaked.
“Want to come up to my room for a sec?” Chloe called from the stairs. “I just have to get a couple of things for my interview. Grace will be fine in her swing for a minute.”
“Uh, sure.” Emily walked through the living room. The grandfather clock in the foyer bonged seven. “Where are your parents?”
Chloe dodged a bunch of boxes in the second floor hall. “Still at work. They’re both lawyers—always super busy. Oh, I told my dad about you, by the way. He said he’d help with the scholarship thing. He says UNC is still looking for good swimmers.”
“That’s amazing .” Emily wanted to hug Chloe, but she didn’t know her well enough yet.
Chloe pushed into her bedroom, which was decorated with posters of famous soccer players. A shirtless David Beckham kicked a ball. Mia Hamm was caught midstride on the field, her abs looking amazing. Chloe picked up a paddle brush from the bureau and ran it through her long hair. “You said you quit swimming this summer, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
Emily was surprised by the directness of the question. She certainly couldn’t tell Chloe the truth. “Oh, I just had some stuff to deal with.”
Chloe walked to the window and looked out. “I played soccer until last year, in case you couldn’t tell.” She gestured around at the posters. “But then, suddenly, I hated it. I couldn’t stand going on the field. My dad was, like, ‘what’s wrong with you? You’ve loved soccer since you were a little girl!’ But I couldn’t explain it. I just didn’t want to play anymore.”
“How are your parents about it now?”
“Better.” Chloe opened her
A trio of girls clad in North Face jackets and Ugg boots crossed the Commons. An English teacher flitted down the hall with an armful of books. Hanna tore up the photo of Ali until it was in a thousand satisfying pieces. She brushed off her hands into the wastebasket. There. Ali was gone.
Just like the Real Ali. Of that, Hanna was absolutely sure.
Chapter 7
Touchy-feely
On Monday evening, Emily pulled her family’s Volvo station wagon into the driveway of the Rolands’ house and yanked up the emergency brake. Her palms were sweating. She couldn’t believe she was about to go into the house where Jenna and Toby had lived.
In the side yard was the stump of what used to be Toby’s old tree house, the site of the awful prank that had blinded Jenna. There was the big bay window through which Ali and the others spied on Jenna when they had nothing better to do. Ali was ruthless with Jenna, picking on her high-pitched voice, her pale skin, or how she brought tuna sandwiches to lunch and then had tuna breath for the rest of the day. But unbeknownst to them, Ali and Jenna shared a secret: Jenna knew that Ali had a twin. It was why, in the end, Real Ali had killed her.
Suddenly, the red-painted oak door whipped open, and Chloe appeared. “Hey, Emily, come on in!”
Emily stepped inside tentatively. The house smelled like apples, the walls had been painted deep reds and oranges, and bejeweled Indian tapestries hung on the big space under the stairs. The furniture was a mismatch of Stickley chairs, threadbare sixties-upholstered divans, and a coffee table made out of one large slab of curly maple. It was like walking into a funky junk shop.
She followed Chloe into the back room, which had big floor-to-ceiling doors that opened out onto the patio. “Here’s Gracie,” Chloe said, pointing to the baby in a swing in the corner. “Gracie, remember your best friend Emily?”
The baby made a cooing noise and went back to chewing on a rubber giraffe. Emily felt something rise up inside her chest, a feeling she wasn’t quite ready to face. She pushed it down again. “Hi, Grace. I like your giraffe.” She gave it a squeeze, and it squeaked.
“Want to come up to my room for a sec?” Chloe called from the stairs. “I just have to get a couple of things for my interview. Grace will be fine in her swing for a minute.”
“Uh, sure.” Emily walked through the living room. The grandfather clock in the foyer bonged seven. “Where are your parents?”
Chloe dodged a bunch of boxes in the second floor hall. “Still at work. They’re both lawyers—always super busy. Oh, I told my dad about you, by the way. He said he’d help with the scholarship thing. He says UNC is still looking for good swimmers.”
“That’s amazing .” Emily wanted to hug Chloe, but she didn’t know her well enough yet.
Chloe pushed into her bedroom, which was decorated with posters of famous soccer players. A shirtless David Beckham kicked a ball. Mia Hamm was caught midstride on the field, her abs looking amazing. Chloe picked up a paddle brush from the bureau and ran it through her long hair. “You said you quit swimming this summer, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
Emily was surprised by the directness of the question. She certainly couldn’t tell Chloe the truth. “Oh, I just had some stuff to deal with.”
Chloe walked to the window and looked out. “I played soccer until last year, in case you couldn’t tell.” She gestured around at the posters. “But then, suddenly, I hated it. I couldn’t stand going on the field. My dad was, like, ‘what’s wrong with you? You’ve loved soccer since you were a little girl!’ But I couldn’t explain it. I just didn’t want to play anymore.”
“How are your parents about it now?”
“Better.” Chloe opened her
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