Sara Shepard - Crushed

“Congrats!” Devon Arlyss patted Aria on the back. “I’m so jealous.”

“Can I help out?” Colleen Bebris asked excitedly, even though she was only a sophomore.

“This is awesome!” Noel’s face popped up in front of Aria. “You’ve always wanted decor chairwoman, right?”

“B-but I didn’t apply for it,” Aria blurted out.

Noel frowned. “Do you not want it?”

Aria swallowed hard. “I . . .” Not long ago, she would have. But the very last thing she wanted to do was a big mural of The Starry Night.

Her thoughts returned to that night in Iceland. After Hanna caught her and Olaf kissing, all three of them had stumbled back into the bar. Aria had been sure that as soon as she walked in, Noel would know . . . but he was chatting up a couple of blond girls from Poland. The girls were making Noel and Mike say certain words with American accents; every time Noel said something new, the girls laughed and shook their boobs. Would he even care that Aria had hooked up with someone else? Did she even matter?

She wanted to prove something to herself that night. That she was still worldly. That she was still Icelandic Aria. She grabbed Olaf’s arm and whispered, “Let’s steal that painting that’s locked in the chateau.”

Olaf blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah!” Aria jumped up and down. “We’ll be art vigilantes! We’ll call up the press and tell them we’ve saved it and we’re going to put it in a museum. Maybe we could start our own museum!”

There were crinkles by Olaf’s eyes when he smiled. “You’re so cute when you get excited.”

“This isn’t about being cute!” Aria cried. “Will you do it?”

Olaf glanced over at Noel, as if to say, You aren’t going to involve your boyfriend in this, too, are you? Then he shrugged. “What the hell?”

They waited another hour—by that time, Noel was barely intelligible, and he, Mike, and Hanna were getting ready to go back to the guesthouse. Aria went with him, but then said she’d forgotten something at the bar and needed to go back. Noel stumbled to bed, not even questioning her. Aria ran to the next alleyway, where Olaf was waiting in his Jeep. He gathered her in his arms, his breath smelling sweet, not boozy at all—Aria then realized she’d only seen him nurse a single beer all night. “This is so incredible,” he whispered.

“I know,” Aria said, but she pulled away. She was quite drunk—too drunk to kiss, even. Her head was whirling all over the place.

They skidded out of the parking space down the bumpy Reykjavik streets. Olaf gripped Aria’s knee with one hand as he steered. When a stone house perched atop a hill came into view, Aria actually gasped. Some of the windows in the house were made of stained glass. A weathervane spun at the top. The house had gargoyles and turrets and a lot of ornate arches, nothing like the sporty, simple, nautical homes in town.

They parked away from the house and got out. Even though it was two AM, they could easily see the doors and windows under the midnight sun. “Look,” Olaf whispered, pointing at a wide-open window on the first floor. It was like whoever lived here was asking to be robbed.

Aria watched his feet disappear through the window. A second later, his head popped over the sash. “You coming?”

Aria dove into the house as well. It smelled like mildew inside, and there was a fine film of dust on the floor. Sheet-covered furniture stood in every room. A grandfather clock ticked loudly in the corner. Gilded-framed paintings hung on the walls, but most were more abstract than The Starry Night , cubes and lines and even one that was, as far as Aria could tell, nothing but blue squiggles.

Olaf disappeared down a hall, and Aria followed. When she looked into a small, dim office, she saw a medium-sized canvas with familiar swirls and stars. She gasped and backed up, her head spinning with booze. She blinked hard, wondering if she was imagining things. She hadn’t actually believed they’d find it.

“Olaf!” she cried out, leaping over an ottoman in the middle of the room and touching the frame with both hands. The painting dislodged from its hook easily. Aria steadied it in her arms. It smelled like canvas and dust. Up close, she could just make out the Van Gogh signature at the bottom.

It sobered her immediately. She held the painting outstretched as if it had just hissed at her. Holy shit , a voice screamed loudly in her mind. She was holding a Van Gogh. Was she insane?

“Nice!” Olaf said from the doorway. He beckoned Aria to him, but her legs felt useless. Letting out a wail, she shoved the painting at him and stumbled away.

“Aria?” Olaf had called after her. “Where are you going?” It was then that all the alarms went off.

The bell signaling the end of the period rang, and Aria jumped. Noel was staring at her curiously, but everyone else in class had gone back to their own business. Mr. Tremont opened the door, and the class filed out. Aria followed, still in a daze. People surrounded her as soon as she walked onto the grass.

“Congratulations, Aria!” said Reeve Donahue, one of the girls on the prom committee.

“Nice one!” Mai Anderson chirped, patting Aria’s arm.

Riley Wolfe sniffed. “You know it’s just because she’s going out with Noel,” she whispered loudly to Naomi Zeigler.

Aria blinked blearily at Noel, Riley’s words ringing true. “ Did you have something to do with this?”

Noel twisted his mouth, looking guilty. “I thought you’d be happy about it. I knew you hadn’t applied . . . so I put in an application for you, using some of your art projects.”

Aria swallowed hard. She knew she should be touched, but all she felt was panic. “I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now, that’s all,” she mumbled after too long a beat.

“Like what?” Noel asked.

“Like . . .” She looked around and lowered her voice. “I was questioned about that girl’s death in Jamaica.”

Noel shrugged. “Yeah, I was questioned, too. What’s the big deal?”

Aria peeked at him, her pulse picking up speed. “You talked to Agent Fuji? What did you say?”

They reached the main building. Kids thundered past them in the halls. Someone banged a locker door shut. Noel worked his locker combination, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know. I told her that I saw Tabitha around but didn’t talk to her. And I certainly didn’t see someone beating her skull in on the beach.”

“That’s all you said?”

Noel pulled a book off the shelf. A muscle next to his eye twitched. “Yes. Why? What’s going on?”

She licked her lips. If she continued with this line of questioning, she was going to seem really, really guilty. “I’m just freaked out,” she managed to say. “After all the Ali stuff . . . it’s just hard to talk to more cops.”

Noel slammed his locker shut and touched her arm. “But it’s over. The FBI lady won’t bother you again—she said she was done with me, too. It sucks that we were there when someone died, but it’s not like we killed her.”

Nerves slashed through Aria’s chest. “Uh-huh,” she said weakly.

All of a sudden, she had to get out of here. She kissed him hurriedly. “I’m excited about the decor chairperson thing, really. Thank you so much. But now I have to go.”

It took her only ten minutes to get to her mother’s house, and she tried to keep her mind blank the whole drive home. She barreled up the driveway and jammed her key into the lock. But before she even turned it, the door opened. Usually they locked the dead bolt, too.

“Hello?” Aria called into the hall. No answer. She peeked into the kitchen, the backyard, and then the bedrooms. Her mother, Ella, wasn’t here.