Sara Shepard - Crushed

“Thanks, babe.” Noel kissed her long and hard, making the backs of Aria’s legs tingle. Even though they’d been dating for over a year, Aria’s stomach still flipped when she smelled his slightly lemony, slightly sweaty post-workout scent.

Hanna, who had just greeted her own lacrosse-playing boyfriend, Aria’s brother, Mike, nudged Noel. “I can’t believe you’ve turned Aria into a lacrosse groupie. I didn’t think it was possible.”

Noel took a mock bow. “It was hard work, but totally worth it.”

“Aw, thanks.” Aria pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. It was chilly for late April, and the gray sky threatened rain. Hanna was right: If someone had told her at the beginning of her junior year that she’d be watching the lacrosse charity event during lunch instead of, say, working on a sculpture, she would have laughed her head off. And if that person had said she would be dating Noel Kahn, she would have fallen off her chair. Aria had crushed on Noel big-time when she and Ali were friends in middle school, but after Noel liked Ali instead, she’d sworn off him. Then, when she returned from her family’s three-year sabbatical in Iceland, she was no longer the kind of girl who dated preppy lacrosse players. Or so she’d thought.

The coach blew the whistle. Noel scooped up his stick, gave Aria another kiss, and trotted with Mike toward the middle of the field to be with their team. Aria’s heart swelled as she stared at his strong, straight back and taut calves. When the girls had been about to confess to the police about killing Tabitha, all she could think of was never seeing Noel again—never kissing him, holding his hand, even lying on the couch and listening to him loudly chew pretzels. Although they hadn’t confessed, she still felt like she was on borrowed time with him.

After the boys were a safe distance away, Aria cleared her throat. “So I got a weird message yesterday.”

She showed Hanna the screen on her phone. Your name was on a list of guests at The Cliffs during Tabitha Clark’s murder. . . . We need to speak as soon as possible. . . . I appreciate your cooperation.

Hanna nodded. “I got this, too. So did Spencer and Emily—and Mike,” she said. “Did Noel?” The boys had been on the Jamaica vacation with them.

Aria stiffened, glancing at Noel in his lacrosse pads and cleats. He’d just jumped on Mason Byers’s back, and Mason was swinging around, trying to get him off. “Um, I haven’t asked him,” she said in a low voice. “Noel didn’t see us talking to Tabitha, though. And he and Mike definitely didn’t see . . . you know. It’s not like they’ll say anything weird.”

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she wasn’t sure if she believed them. On the trip, Noel had paid no mind to Tabitha except to say that she seemed somehow familiar. Then, when Tabitha’s body had washed ashore and it was all over the news, Noel often changed the channel, half the time not even registering that they’d been in Jamaica the same time she had. Only recently had he begun to perk up at the story. Now, every time her picture appeared on TV, he squinted at it curiously, saying, “Doesn’t she remind you of someone?” What if he’d noticed how jumpy Aria was whenever a Tabitha story came on? What if he innocently mentioned that Tabitha reminded him of Ali ? There were all sorts of inadvertent, unintentional ways Noel could incriminate her.

Aria shook out her hands. Noel would probably talk to the officer for two minutes, tops. And anyway, the girls hadn’t killed Tabitha—A had bludgeoned her on the beach.

Of course, they were the only ones who knew that.

“Should we meet with Agent Fuji?” Hanna asked.

“It’s not like we can say no.” Aria bit a nail. “Maybe we could all meet with her together. At least then we’ll all tell the same story.”

Then Hanna pushed her phone toward Aria. “I also got this.”

Aria read the message. Only losers campaign against losers. Make any effort to win, and not only will you lose my respect—I’ll tell Agent Fuji about all your naughty little lies. —A

“Mike was trying to persuade me to run for May Queen,” Hanna whispered. “And then Chassey Bledsoe walked in looking all fabulous.”

“I saw her!” Aria exclaimed. “She looks sort of . . . airbrushed, doesn’t she?”

Hanna shrugged. “I don’t know. The weird thing is, A sent this practically the moment I saw Chassey’s makeover . . . like A was watching. There were tons of kids at Rive Gauche that day, but I didn’t see anyone texting.”

“A is everywhere,” Aria whispered, shivering. They’d been through so many different New A suspects, but each had resulted in a dead end—one of them literally—or a horrible injury. Like Graham, the guy Aria had befriended on the cruise who also happened to be Tabitha’s ex-boyfriend. For a little while, Aria had worried that Graham might be A—he certainly had motive, and he’d begun acting so strangely, insisting that he had something to tell her. She now realized he’d wanted to tell her that someone was watching her. But A had set off a bomb before Graham had said who . . . perhaps because A didn’t want Graham to identify him or her.

“Have you gotten any A notes?” Hanna slipped the phone back in her pocket.

Aria shook her head, then showed Hanna a new iPhone in a pink neoprene case. “But maybe that’s because I got this. It has an untraceable number.”

“Good thinking,” Hanna said. She stared nervously at the field. “Do you think A could frame us for Tabitha?”

Aria licked her lips. A had all those horrible photos of them on the roof from that night. And who knew what else A hadn’t shown them yet.

She was about to answer when suddenly the speakers mounted on top of the bleachers screeched with feedback. “Attention!” said an echoing voice. A loud cough and a lugee-hocking sound followed. It was Principal Appleton. For some reason, he always cleared his throat into the microphone, making noises that often sounded like belches.

“All seniors! I have some exciting news!” Appleton said. “We have our May Day King and Queen nominees! For king, it’s Joseph Ketchum and Noel Kahn!”

Everyone in the bleachers cheered. Hanna nudged Aria, and guys on the field clapped Noel on the back in that jokey, let’s-pretend-prom-doesn’t-matter-even-though-it-sort-of-does way.

“And for queen,” Appleton went on, “we have Hanna Marin . . .”

Hanna smiled nervously. Aria squeezed her arm.

“. . . and Chassey Bledsoe!” Appleton finished.

A spattering of applause followed. A couple of people frowned, asking who Chassey was—as if they hadn’t all gone to school together since kindergarten. Hanna set her mouth in a line.

“You’re not actually worried about Chassey winning, are you?” Aria asked.

“I can’t campaign!” Hanna picked at a loose string on her skirt. “There’s no way I’m going to bring all you guys down just so I can be May Day Queen.”

The speaker crackled again. “As for May Day decor,” Appleton said, “we’ve gotten a lot of applications for decor chairperson. We’ll make an announcement as soon as we choose!”

The crowd murmured. Hanna looked at Aria. “Did you apply for that?”

“I wanted to, but I forgot,” Aria said, feeling a flutter of disappointment. Rosewood Day took its decor chairperson job seriously—those who were interested had to fill out a ten-page application with design ideas and sketches months in advance, and many applicants even included digital portfolios and personal videos explaining why they should be chosen—but people who had held the title in the past always gushed about how fun it was. Besides designing all the prom decor, the chairperson also did the prom blog and took pictures of goofy-but-exclusive prom rituals, like the big conga line, and of the king and queen at the graveyard near the Four Seasons hotel in Philly, where the event was held every year. Aria had been so consumed with A that she’d missed the application deadline.