Sara Shepard - Wicked

Xavier smirked. “It’s just…Escher’s a sellout.”

Aria shook her head. “He was brilliant! And how can you be a sellout if you’re dead?”

Xavier stared at her for a moment, slowly grinning. “Okay then, Miss Escher Fan. How about a contest?” He twirled the crayon in his hands. “We both draw something in this room. Whoever’s drawing is better is right about Mr. Escher. And the winner gets that last oatmeal cookie.” He pointed at the plate. “I’ve noticed you ogling it. Or haven’t you taken it because you’re secretly on a diet?”

Aria scoffed. “I’ve never dieted in my life.”

“That’s what every girl says.” Xavier’s eyes glimmered. “But they’re all lying.”

“Like you know anything about girls!” Aria crowed, giggling at their banter. She felt like they were in her favorite old movie, The Philadelphia Story , where Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant got off on bickering constantly.

“I’ll take part in your little contest.” Aria reached for a red crayon. She never could resist showing off her sketching skills. “But let’s give it a time limit. One minute.”

“Got it.” Xavier checked the tomato-shaped clock over the bar. The second hand was at the twelve. “Go.”

Aria searched around the room for something to sketch. She finally settled on an old man hunched at the bar, nursing a ceramic mug. Her crayon flew deftly over the place mat, capturing his weary-but-peaceful expression. After she filled in a few more details, the hand on the clock swept past the twelve again. “Time,” she called.

Xavier covered his place mat with his hand. “You first,” he said. Aria pushed her drawing toward him. He nodded, impressed, his eyes seesawing from the paper to the old man. “How’d you do that in just one minute?”

“Years of practice,” Aria answered. “I used to secretly sketch kids at my school all the time. So does that mean I get the cookie?” She poked Xavier’s hand, which was still covering his drawing. “Poor Mr. Abstract Painter. Is yours so bad you’re embarrassed to show it?”

“No…” Xavier slowly moved his hands away from his place mat. His drawing, all softlines and deft shading, was of a pretty, dark-haired girl. She had big hoop earrings, just like Aria’s. And that wasn’t the only resemblance.

“Oh.” Aria swallowed hard. Xavier had even captured the little mole on her cheek and the freckles across her nose. It was as if he’d been studying her this whole dinner, waiting for this moment.

The sharp odor of tahini floated out from the kitchen, making Aria’s stomach roil. Taken one way, Xavier’s drawing was sweet—her mom’s boyfriend was trying to bond with her. But taken another…it was kind of wrong.

“You don’t like it?” Xavier asked, sounding surprised.

Aria was opening her mouth to reply when she heard a chime sound from inside her bag. “Um, just a sec,” she mumbled. She pulled her Treo out of her purse’s pocket: Two new picture texts. Aria cupped her hands around the phone’s little window to cut the glare.

Xavier was still watching her carefully, so Aria struggled not to gasp. Someone had sent her a picture of Aria and Xavier at the art exhibit on Sunday. They were leaning close together, Xavier’s lips almost grazing Aria’s ear. The next photo opened immediately afterward, this one of Aria and Xavier at this very table at Rabbit Rabbit. Xavier was covering his drawing with his hands, and Aria was leaning across the table, poking him teasingly, trying to get him to show it off. The camera had managed to capture a split second where it looked as if they were happily holding hands. Both photos painted a pretty convincing picture.

And the second one had been taken just seconds ago. Her heart in her throat, she glared around the restaurant. There was Mike, still chatting animatedly outside. Her mom was just coming out of the bathroom. The man she had drawn was in the middle of a coughing fit.

Her phone buzzed one last time. With trembling hands, Aria opened her new text. It was a poem.

Artists like ménages á trois,

Mommy just might too.

But if you ferme la bouche about me,

I’ll do the same for you.

—A

The cell phone slipped from Aria’s fingers. She stood up abruptly, practically upending her water glass.

“I have to go,” she blurted out, snatching Xavier’s drawing from the table and stuffing it into her bag.

“What? Why?” Xavier looked confused.

“Just…because.” She pulled her coat tight around her, and pointed at the cookie on the corn on the cob–shaped plate. “It’s yours. Good job.” Then she whirled around, nearly colliding with a waitress carrying a big tray of tofu stir-fries. Copycat A or not, the photos proved one thing: The farther she stayed away from her mom and her new relationship, the better.

At the same time on Wednesday, just as the moon rose over the trees and the big Hollis parking lot floodlights snapped on, Emily stood at the top of Chemistry Hill, holding a donut-shaped snow tube in her mittened hand. “You sure you want to race me?” she teased Isaac, who was holding his own snow tube. “I’m the fastest sledder in all of Rosewood.”

“Says who?” Isaac’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve never raced me before.”

Emily grabbed the snow tube’s purple handles. “The first one to that big tree at the bottom wins. Ready…set…”

“Go!” Isaac preempted her, jumping on his snow tube and whizzing down the hill.

“Hey!” Emily yelled, belly flopping on her own tube. She bent her knees, picking up her boots so they wouldn’t drag on the ground, and angled her tube toward the steepest part of the hill. Unfortunately, Isaac was steering his tube in that direction too. Emily approached him at a hurtling speed, and they collided in the middle of the hill, rolling off their sleds into the soft snow.

Isaac’s snow tube continued down the hill without him, heading straight into the woods. “Hey!” he cried, pointing to the tube as it drifted past the tree they’d designated as the finish line. “Technically, I won!”

“You cheated ,” Emily grumbled good-naturedly. “My brother used to start races before me too. It drove me crazy.”

“Does that mean I drive you crazy too?” Isaac smiled impishly.

Emily stared down at her red fleece mittens. “I don’t know,” she said in a quieter voice. “Maybe.”

Color began to rise to her already pink cheeks. The moment Emily had pulled into the chemistry building parking lot and seen Isaac standing next to his truck with two sleds in his hands, her heart had started pounding wildly. Isaac looked even cuter all dressed up for playing in the snow than he did in his emo-rock T-shirt and jeans. His navy wool hat was pulled low on his forehead, smushing his hair over his ears and making his eyes look extra blue. Both his mittens had reindeer knitted on the palms. He’d sheepishly admitted his mom made him a new pair every year. And there was something about how his scarf was looped twice around his neck, covering every inch of skin, that made him seem both cuddly and vulnerable.

Emily wanted to think the zingy, snappy feelings inside her were merely excitement over making a new friend…or maybe side effects of acute hypothermia, as the little thermometer inside her mom’s Volvo said it was only nineteen degrees out. But really, she had no idea what was going on with her emotions.

“I haven’t been here in ages.” Emily broke the silence, gazing at the brick chemistry building at the bottom of the hill. “My brother and sister found this place. They’re in college now, in California. I don’t understand how they could’ve gone somewhere where it never snows.”