Sara Shepard - Crushed

“Um, okay, so the theme is The Starry Night ,” Aria said shakily, holding up a big picture of the Van Gogh painting in a library book. Just holding it, pointing at it, made her feel like a marked woman. She was sure all the girls could tell exactly what was hiding in her closet—and exactly what she’d done.

She coughed and continued. “So, I’m going to hire a company that specializes in papier-mâché sculptures to do some big moons and stars for us—since we have to do this by the end of the week, we need some outside help.” That was the nice thing about Rosewood Day: They had a big budget for decorations. “I’ve also called up a company that custom-dyes table linens and can even make interesting slipcovers for the chairs. But the seven of us should definitely paint at least one of the murals. But, um, I was thinking The Night Café instead. It’s much more romantic, don’t you think?”

A pert-nosed blond girl named Tara raised her hand. “Um, the theme is The Starry Night for a reason,” she said in a haughty, nasal voice, glancing derisively at Aria’s thigh-high pleather boots.

The other girls murmured their agreement.

“Um, I guess you have a point,” Aria mumbled, even though the idea of painting a Starry Night mural made her twitchy. It was like she’d have a big bull’s-eye on her forehead, saying, Hey, cops! Want to know why I know this painting so well? I’ve got the practice version in my closet!

Off Spencer’s suggestion, she’d moved the painting to the very back of her closet, behind a box of old sweatshirts. Her mom had knocked on the door as Aria was finishing up.

“Whatcha doing?” Ella had asked, bursting into her room just like she always did.

“Don’t come in here!” Aria shrieked before she could restrain herself. “I’m cleaning!”

Ella stopped in the doorway. “Aria Montgomery, cleaning ? I thought I’d never see the day.” She tossed something into the room. “This came for you today.”

It was a letter with Aria’s address on the front, nothing else. For a seizing second, Aria feared A had written to her again, but when she opened it up, it was an invitation to an art apprenticeship in Holland next year. Which would be amazing . . . except Aria would never go so far away from Noel. She threw it into her drawer, then stared at her mom’s disappearing figure down the hall. What a disaster. Not only were her friends guilty by association, but was her mom, too? If the cops came for the painting, what if they didn’t believe Ella didn’t know it was here?

And how the hell had someone gotten into the house? There had been no sign of forced entry, which meant whoever got in had a key. Byron and Meredith had a spare key. Spencer had a key from the time she’d fed Polo while the family was away. The cleaning lady had a key, too.

And so did Noel.

Of course, that didn’t mean Noel was A. Though she could hear the other girls’ voices in her head: Ask Noel where he was the day you found the painting in your closet. It was weird that Noel had been late to the newspaper editing class. Aria had asked where he’d been, too, but he hadn’t given her a straight answer. And what about Tabitha’s necklace, the one that Noel supposedly “found” on the beach in St. Martin? her friends might say next. With a little digging, Noel could have figured out who Graham was—he’d been all over the Tabitha memorial site. Or if he was in touch with Ali, she could have just told him everything, since Ali and Tabitha had been friends!

Aria shut her eyes. Even the idea that Noel had been friends with “Courtney”—aka Real Ali—made her shiver. There were a lot of things about “Courtney’s” return to Rosewood that she’d tried her hardest to forget, and Noel’s involvement with her was one of them. It did seem like a strange coincidence that they’d been in a support group together, and Noel had really encouraged Aria to give “Courtney” a chance. What if he’d known she was Real Ali all along and was helping her out with her plan?

“Earth to Aria!” called a snooty voice in the corner. Aria snapped out of her thoughts and blinked. The committee girls snickered.

She forced a smile, mumbling something about re-creating Van Gogh paintings on big canvases using an overhead projector. The girls shrugged and got to work gathering up supplies and finding copies of the paintings online. Suddenly feeling exhausted, Aria flopped onto a folding chair in the corner and let out a breath. Her palms were shaking. Her head felt faint. She was losing it. Noel absolutely could not be A—he was her boyfriend. He didn’t know Courtney was Real Ali. He wouldn’t do that to her. End of story.

As if on cue, two strong arms wrapped around her waist. “You’re such a liar,” Noel growled into the spot between her neck and her shoulder.

Aria stiffened. “W-what?”

Noel pulled her up and spun her around. “You told me you needed a ride home, but then I saw your car in the student lot . . . and I find you here!” He cuffed her arm and gave the stink-eye to the Van Gogh portrait on Aria’s laptop. “Are you cheating on me with Vincent van Gogh?”

“What? No!” Aria almost shrieked, her cheeks reddening at the word cheating.

“I know.” Noel gave Aria a crazy look. “I’m just teasing you.”

Aria felt her heart slow down. “S-sorry,” she stammered. “I forgot about the decor meeting.”

“It’s cool.” Noel nuzzled her neck. “I wouldn’t want you to miss this.” Then he touched her hands. “So you are happy about the job, right?”

Aria’s gaze drifted back to the committee girls, who were now priming the canvases for paint. “Uh-huh,” she murmured, trying to sound sincere.

Noel cocked his head. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

Aria’s head felt muddied. She looked up at Noel, then marched toward the hall. “I need to ask you something.” After a moment, Noel followed her.

The freshly mopped floors sparkled and smelled like lemon. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Aria swore she saw someone duck behind the journalism barn. She stared out fixedly, her heart in her throat. No one appeared.

Then she faced Noel, who smelled like cologne and looked adorable in his Rosewood Day Lacrosse hoodie. “You were late to class the day they announced I would be the decor chairwoman.”

Noel’s expression hardened. “So?”

Was he acting defensive? Guilty? Aria rubbed out an imaginary spot on the floor with her toe, contemplating how to ask the question. Where were you? was so distrustful; it might make things worse. Instead, she found herself blurting out, “Do you ever think about Ali? Both the Alis?”

Noel blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it affected you, too. You were friends with her—with them . Did you ever . . . I don’t know, suspect anything after Courtney and Ali switched places? How about when the real Ali returned to Rosewood after Ian Thomas died?”

A muscle above Noel’s eye twitched. “I . . .” He trailed off, looking totally flustered. “Why are you asking me these things?”

Aria swallowed hard and looked across the hall into a chemistry classroom. Someone had stuck a daisy into an empty Bunsen burner. “I’ve just been thinking about Ali and Courtney lately, that’s all. Actually, you and Ali—the real Ali. You know, that time when you kissed at the Valentine’s Day dance.”

Noel stepped back, his shoes squeaking on the polished floor. “That’s a funny way of saying it. Ali kissed me , remember?”

Aria pressed her lips together and said nothing.