Sara Shepard - Toxic

“You’re welcome.”

They stared at each other meaningfully. Then Greg moved into the seat next to Spencer and touched his lips lightly to hers. The coffee smells and faint French music fell away, and all Spencer felt was his soft mouth. Her head throbbed with pleasure. She pulled Greg closer, his firm, strong chest pressed against hers. She could feel his biceps through his shirt, his strong back muscles, too. Even his body felt safe. He really would protect her. And maybe, unlike the other boys she’d known, he wouldn’t leave when things got scary.

They pulled away, grinning at each other. Spencer sought for something cute and witty to say, but then she blurted, “Will you go to a benefit in Rosewood with me?”

Greg looked amused. “I’d be honored. When is it?”

“Tomorrow.” Spencer grimaced guiltily. “I’m sorry I’m inviting you so late. But I would love it if you could make it. It’s for troubled and disadvantaged youth around Rosewood. Apparently, I’m their honored guest—maybe because I’m so troubled.” She winced.

“Ooh,” Greg said. “Well, in my book, you’re always the honored guest.”

Spencer was about to playfully punch him, but her buzzing phone threw her off. She glanced down into her open bag. NEW EMAIL FROM DOMINICKPHILLY.

She groaned. What could he want? She knew she should ignore it, but she was still thinking very much about Dominick’s presence in New York. Especially how he’d sauntered out of the room saying, I hope you’re happy, little liar .

“Excuse me,” she said to Greg, reaching for it. Slowly, she pressed the button to bring up the message. Her face fell.

“What is it?” Greg asked.

Spencer swallowed hard. “A new note from Dominick.”

“That guy who heckled you?”

She nodded, then turned her phone to show him. Greg’s brow furrowed as he inspected the screen. “ You can run to Philly ,” he read aloud, “ but you can’t hide from the fact that you’re a fraud .” He set his jaw. “How does he know you’re in Philly?”

She ran her hands down the length of her face. “I don’t know,” she said shakily. She stared out the window, half expecting to see him on a park bench across the street, glaring. But the park’s only visitors were some pigeons. “Maybe he’s following me,” she said softly.

“But . . . why?”

Suddenly, Spencer had a horrible thought. She turned to Greg. “Have you heard of the Ali Cats?”

Greg frowned. “That Alison fan club?”

“Yeah. I haven’t wanted to think they’re dangerous, but who knows? Maybe Dominick is one of them.” Spencer had discounted Emily’s theory until she’d reread the Ali Cat post. The person who’d said they hated all enemies of Ali did seem pretty vehement. There were a lot of crazy people out there in the world—and Dominick seemed right up there.

“So he’s out to get you?” Greg looked skeptical.

“I don’t know.” Spencer felt like she might cry. She blinked again and again, trying to wipe away the image of Dominick’s scowling face.

Greg curled her hand in his. “I do know, Spencer. I get it, I promise.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Spencer,” he said in a warm, soft voice.

Spencer sank her face into his chest, holding on to him tightly, wishing she would never have to let go.

Emily’s sleep was interrupted by knocking from somewhere muffled and far away. She opened one eye, then the other, and then looked around. Clothes on hangers loomed over her head. A dirty sneaker lay on its side next to her nose. She’d fallen asleep in her closet. Again.

She uncurled from a tight ball and kicked open the door. Sun streamed through the window onto her neatly made bed. Then she heard the knocking again. Someone was at her door. “Emily?” came her mom’s voice. “Something came for you.”

She glanced around her room, noticing the heap of blankets in the closet, Jordan’s picture on her bed, and the surveillance video screens already up on her laptop—it wasn’t her turn to monitor yet, but somehow she felt safer with them on all the time, and so she’d left the feed up all night. She tucked Jordan under the mattress and closed her laptop lid, then padded across the room and opened it a crack.

Mrs. Fields held a box in her hands, a concerned look on her face. “You got something from the Ulster Correctional Facility?”

A chill went through Emily’s body. “Thanks,” she said quickly, grabbing it and shutting the door.

Her mom stuck her foot in the gap before Emily could close the door completely. “Didn’t you get a letter from there, too?” she went on, her voice cracking. “Do you . . . know someone from there?”

Emily hugged the box tightly to her chest. EMILY FIELDS, it said on the top. “No,” she mumbled. It was the truth, after all.

“Then why is someone from a prison sending you things?”

See? That was why Emily hadn’t told her mom anything. Sure, she was dying to explain that the love of her life was gone . . . and that Ali had done it . . . and that she felt like she was falling into a dark, deep chasm that she’d never be able to climb out of. But her mom wouldn’t hear any of that. She wouldn’t hear anything past the fact that Emily had loved someone in prison. She wouldn’t absorb any of Jordan’s good qualities, or that she would have been freed soon. So why even bother getting into it?

Emily turned around jerkily and walked back to her bed. “I’m really tired.”

She hoped her mom would take that as a hint to leave, but Mrs. Fields remained in the doorway. A moment later, Emily heard a sniff and turned. Mrs. Fields’s face was red, her eyes full of tears. “What’s wrong with you, honey?” she begged Emily. “Please tell me.”

“Nothing,” Emily groaned. Now go away so I can open this box , she wanted to scream.

Mrs. Fields still didn’t move. Her gaze drifted to the bruises on her neck. “You’re going to explain those right now,” she demanded, now sounding angry. She often took on an angry tone, Emily knew, when she got really scared. “Otherwise, I’m going to think someone hurt you.”

Emily balled up a fist. “I did it myself,” she blurted before she could think.

Her mom’s eyes widened. “You deliberately hurt yourself? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Emily roared. She stomped back to the door and closed it tight. “I’m fine, Mom! Just give me some space!”

She twisted the lock on the knob and waited. She could hear her mother standing outside, sniffing a little, her clothes rustling. And then, without saying another word, Mrs. Fields turned and padded down the hall. Emily listened as she walked down the stairs. She heard a jingle of keys, then the rumble of the garage door rising. Where was her mother going? Emily wasn’t sure she’d been out since her heart attack. But maybe it was a good thing. She’d asked for space; now she was getting it.

She looked at the box, then felt under the mattress and pulled out the picture of Jordan she’d hidden. Jordan smiled happily up at her, blissfully unaware of what her future would hold. Emily stared at the picture until her eyes blurred, trying to imagine that Jordan was still alive. But all she saw when she closed her eyes was Jordan’s body on a cold, hard slab in the morgue. Gone.

Slowly, she opened the box. On top of a layer of Bubble Wrap was a small typewritten note. Emily picked it up and examined it closely. Jordan Richards’s possessions , it read. And then, Delivered to: Emily Fields.