everything Ali had written in her diary about Ian, like how they’d gotten together after a soccer game the fall of seventh grade, how Ian had crammed for the SATs using a Ritalin pill a friend had given him, and how he hadn’t been sure if he really deserved being named the Rosewood Day varsity soccer team’s MVP—Ali’s brother, Jason, was far more talented. Whoever was pretending to be Ian would know all that. If only she could think of something super private.
Then the perfect thing came to her. Something she was pretty sure that even Ali didn’t know. What’s your real middle name? she typed.
There was a pause. Spencer leaned back, waiting. When Melissa was a senior in high school, she’d gotten drunk on eggnog on Christmas Day and confessed that Ian’s parents wanted him to be a girl. When Mrs. Thomas popped out a boy, they decided his middle name would be the girl’s name they’d chosen for him. Ian never, ever used it—in old Rosewood Day yearbooks Spencer had leafed through when she was yearbook editor, he hadn’t even listed a middle initial.
There was a bloop. Elizabeth , said the message.
Spencer blinked hard. This wasn’t possible.
The light in the kitchen in the main house snapped off, enveloping the backyard in darkness. A car slid down the cul-de-sac, schussing loudly over the wet pavement. Then Spencer began to hear noises. A sigh. A snort. A giggle. She jumped up and pressed her forehead to the cold, thick windowpane. The porch was bare. There were no shadows by the pool, the hot tub, or the deck. There was no one creeping around the windmill, although the newly painted word LIAR seemed to glow.
Her Sidekick buzzed. Spencer jumped, her heart hammering. She glanced at the computer again. Ian had signed off Instant Messenger.
One new text message . With shaking hands, Spencer pressed Read.
Dear Spence, When I told you that he had to go, I didn’t mean he had to die. Still, there’s something really sketchy in this case…and it’s up to you to figure out what it is. So better get searching, or the next one “gone” is you. Au revoir!—A
10
SOMETHING’S SKETCHY, INDEED
The following morning, Emily cinched the hood of her pale blue anorak tight and ran across the icy blacktop to the Rosewood Day Elementary School swings, her friends’ special meeting spot. For the first time all week, the long driveway was free of news vans. Since everyone now thought Emily and the others had made up seeing Ian’s body in the woods, the press had no reason to interview students.
Across the courtyard, Emily’s friends were gathered around Spencer, staring at a sheet of computer paper and her cell phone. Last night, Spencer had called Emily to tell her that Ian had IM’ed her and that A had sent a text. Afterward, Emily hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. So A was back. And Ian…maybe…wasn’t dead.
Something hard hit her shoulder, and Emily whirled around, her heart leaping to her throat. It was only an elementary-school boy pushing past her, running for the ball field. She placed one hand in the other, trying to stop it from trembling. Her hands had been shaking like crazy all morning.
“How could Ian have faked his death?” Emily blurted when she reached the circle. “We all saw him. He looked… blue .”
Hanna, bundled in a white wool coat and faux-fur scarf, raised her shoulders. The only color in her face was her red-rimmed eyes; it looked like she hadn’t slept much last night, either. Aria, wearing a thin, trendy-looking gray leather jacket and green fingerless gloves, shook her head, saying nothing. She wasn’t wearing her usual sparkly makeup. Even neat-as-a-pin Spencer looked disheveled—her hair was in a greasy, lumpy ponytail.
“It fits,” Spencer croaked. “Ian pretended to be dead, and he called us to the woods because he knew we’d go to the police and tell them we saw him.”
Aria sank down onto one of the swings. “But why wouldn’t Ian just run? Why
Then the perfect thing came to her. Something she was pretty sure that even Ali didn’t know. What’s your real middle name? she typed.
There was a pause. Spencer leaned back, waiting. When Melissa was a senior in high school, she’d gotten drunk on eggnog on Christmas Day and confessed that Ian’s parents wanted him to be a girl. When Mrs. Thomas popped out a boy, they decided his middle name would be the girl’s name they’d chosen for him. Ian never, ever used it—in old Rosewood Day yearbooks Spencer had leafed through when she was yearbook editor, he hadn’t even listed a middle initial.
There was a bloop. Elizabeth , said the message.
Spencer blinked hard. This wasn’t possible.
The light in the kitchen in the main house snapped off, enveloping the backyard in darkness. A car slid down the cul-de-sac, schussing loudly over the wet pavement. Then Spencer began to hear noises. A sigh. A snort. A giggle. She jumped up and pressed her forehead to the cold, thick windowpane. The porch was bare. There were no shadows by the pool, the hot tub, or the deck. There was no one creeping around the windmill, although the newly painted word LIAR seemed to glow.
Her Sidekick buzzed. Spencer jumped, her heart hammering. She glanced at the computer again. Ian had signed off Instant Messenger.
One new text message . With shaking hands, Spencer pressed Read.
Dear Spence, When I told you that he had to go, I didn’t mean he had to die. Still, there’s something really sketchy in this case…and it’s up to you to figure out what it is. So better get searching, or the next one “gone” is you. Au revoir!—A
10
SOMETHING’S SKETCHY, INDEED
The following morning, Emily cinched the hood of her pale blue anorak tight and ran across the icy blacktop to the Rosewood Day Elementary School swings, her friends’ special meeting spot. For the first time all week, the long driveway was free of news vans. Since everyone now thought Emily and the others had made up seeing Ian’s body in the woods, the press had no reason to interview students.
Across the courtyard, Emily’s friends were gathered around Spencer, staring at a sheet of computer paper and her cell phone. Last night, Spencer had called Emily to tell her that Ian had IM’ed her and that A had sent a text. Afterward, Emily hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. So A was back. And Ian…maybe…wasn’t dead.
Something hard hit her shoulder, and Emily whirled around, her heart leaping to her throat. It was only an elementary-school boy pushing past her, running for the ball field. She placed one hand in the other, trying to stop it from trembling. Her hands had been shaking like crazy all morning.
“How could Ian have faked his death?” Emily blurted when she reached the circle. “We all saw him. He looked… blue .”
Hanna, bundled in a white wool coat and faux-fur scarf, raised her shoulders. The only color in her face was her red-rimmed eyes; it looked like she hadn’t slept much last night, either. Aria, wearing a thin, trendy-looking gray leather jacket and green fingerless gloves, shook her head, saying nothing. She wasn’t wearing her usual sparkly makeup. Even neat-as-a-pin Spencer looked disheveled—her hair was in a greasy, lumpy ponytail.
“It fits,” Spencer croaked. “Ian pretended to be dead, and he called us to the woods because he knew we’d go to the police and tell them we saw him.”
Aria sank down onto one of the swings. “But why wouldn’t Ian just run? Why
Similar Books
