Sara Shepard - Toxic

Feeling a surge of sympathy, she raised her hand. “I’ll do it.”

She turned to the first page and started to read in a loud, strong voice. Rosewood Day had given her a gift by allowing her back here, and the least she could do was pay it forward.

Even if it meant everyone in the class was now laughing at her, too.

A few hours later, Emily pulled into her family’s driveway, cut the engine of her parents’ Volvo station wagon, and ducked under the garage door, which was halfway open, probably in need of repair again. The garage door opened into the den, which smelled like potpourri. The first thing Emily saw was her mother sitting on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her legs and a knitting project in her lap. The TV flashed blue against her face. It was a show on HGTV about custom building a pimped-out doghouse.

Mrs. Fields turned and saw her. Emily froze and considered scurrying away. But then her mother smiled. “How was your first day back?” she asked weakly.

Emily slowly relaxed. Her mom’s acceptance and friendliness was still unexpected: Two weeks ago, her parents hadn’t been speaking to her. Emily hadn’t even been allowed to visit her mom in the hospital room when she had a mild heart attack.

Crazy how fast things could change.

“It was fine,” Emily said, sitting on the striped loveseat. “So, um, do you need anything?” The cardiologist had advised Mrs. Fields to take it easy for the next few weeks. Emily’s sisters, Carolyn and Beth, had been here, helping out, but they had both left for summer programs at their respective colleges yesterday.

“Maybe some ginger ale.” Mrs. Fields blew her a kiss. “Thanks, honey.”

“Sure,” Emily said, rising and padding into the kitchen.

Her smile dropped as soon as she turned her back. Déjà vu , she thought. Emily had lost count of all the times her family had disowned her and then, after a tragedy, welcomed her back with open arms. After Nick’s attack, when she opened her eyes in the hospital and saw her whole family standing there, she’d almost burst out laughing. Could they really go through this again ? But her father had leaned down and said in a heartfelt voice, “We will never let you go, honey.” Her siblings had hugged her tight, all of them crying. And her mother had said, “We love you so much.”

Emily was grateful that they’d come around again, of course. But she also felt jaded. Would something else happen to make them drop her once more? Should she bother to get attached? And Emily didn’t dare bring up that she believed Ali was still alive—her family would think she was nuts.

It was sad not having her family as her touchstone anymore. Something huge was missing from her life, a hole she needed to fill. But she didn’t know what would satisfy her. Finding Ali? Definitely. But she had a feeling that wasn’t entirely it.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Mrs. Fields’s voice floated in from the den. “There’s mail for you on the kitchen table. Who do you know from the Ulster Correctional Facility?”

Emily almost dropped the ginger ale she’d taken from the fridge. She walked over to the table, which was covered in a creaseless, chicken-print tablecloth. The daily mail was tucked under the chicken-shaped napkin holder. There was a white, wrinkled, square envelope with Emily’s name right on top. Sure enough, the stamp on it said ULSTER CORRECTIONAL FACILITY in smeared letters.

Her mind scattered in several different directions. She sure did know someone at the Ulster Correctional Facility. Only, that person wasn’t speaking to her . . . was she? Emily squinted at the handwriting on the envelope. Could it be? Emily had a postcard upstairs of the Bermuda international airport with the same loopy E s and spiky F s. We’ll find each other someday , the love of her life, Jordan Richards, had written.

This couldn’t be from Jordan. There was no way.

Jordan’s presence swooped back to her. Her long, dark hair and soulful green eyes. Her bow-shaped lips, the way she smelled like tangerines, the eyelet dress she’d worn when Emily first saw her on the deck of the cruise ship. It’d felt so good to kiss her and hold her, and it had been so easy to talk to Jordan about her life, her worries, her fears. But Jordan had a checkered past: She had been wanted by the FBI because she stole cars, boats, and even an airplane in her former, bad-girl life. A had called the police on Jordan, but Jordan escaped the FBI at the last moment. Emily had reached out to Jordan afterward, desperate to maintain a connection, but somehow her Twitter messages had tipped the police off to Jordan’s hiding place in Florida. The worst part was that Jordan blamed her arrest on Emily’s foolishness. But Emily knew that A— Ali —had tipped the cops off to those Twitter messages. Ali was behind everything.

Emily had never loved someone like she loved Jordan, not even the girl she’d thought of as Ali. But because of Jordan’s troubling past, Emily hadn’t shared their relationship with many people. Her friends knew, obviously, and so did Iris, Ali’s old roommate from The Preserve. But there was no way she could tell her parents. They wouldn’t understand.

Her fingers shook as she opened the envelope. It’s a joke , she told herself. Someone else had contacted her, pretending to be Jordan. Maybe it was from Ali herself.

She unfolded a piece of lined paper.

Dear Emily,

I’m writing to you from prison. It’s taken me a while to work through my feelings, but I’ve watched your horrible ordeal on TV. My lawyer has told me about it, too. I feel awful for what you’ve gone through. I also understand why you were so desperate to leave and why you reached out even when you knew it was dangerous. I forgive you for those tweets, and I know now you never meant to hurt me. I would love for you to visit me here if you’re up for it. We have a lot to talk about. But I understand if you’ve moved on.

Much love,

Jordan

Emily read the letter three times before it sank in. It was Jordan’s handwriting. Jordan’s tone. Jordan’s everything . Emily’s nose felt peppery and hot. She fumbled for her cell phone in her pocket and dialed the number Jordan had written at the bottom of the piece of paper for the Ulster Correctional Facility. When a tired-sounding woman answered, Emily spoke in a shaky, quiet voice so her mother wouldn’t hear. “I’d like to schedule a visit.”

She gave Jordan’s name. Sure enough, Jordan had listed Emily as one of the guests she was willing to see. Emily was so overcome with emotion she almost couldn’t speak. It was incredible: Ten minutes ago, there hadn’t even been a possibility that Jordan would ever be back in her life. This felt like the fulfillment she needed.

She hung up, her smile stretching from ear to ear. But when her phone beeped again, she flinched, alarmed by the timing. ONE NEW TEXT MESSAGE, said the screen.

Emily’s heart started to pound. Was Ali lurking outside the window, listening? But the backyard was silent and still. Nothing moved in the cornfields; there wasn’t even traffic on the road.

She looked at her phone. ALERT FROM VERIZON WIRELESS: YOU HAVE USED 90% OF YOUR MOBILE DATA FOR THE MONTH.

Emily set her phone down and ran her hands down the length of her face. Maybe, just maybe, the others were right: Ali wasn’t watching.

And maybe Emily should try to live her life, like they’d said. She should try to be free.

“You have amazing skin.”

Hanna closed her eyes as a makeup artist named Trixie brushed blush over her cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured.