twisted-9

On Monday evening, Emily pulled her family’s Volvo station wagon into the driveway of the Rolands’ house and yanked up the emergency brake. Her
palms were sweating. She couldn’t believe she was about to go into the house where Jenna and Toby had lived.
In the side yard was the stump of what used to be Toby’s old tree house, the site of the awful prank that had blinded Jenna. There was the big bay window
through which Ali and the others spied on Jenna when they had nothing better to do. Ali was ruthless with Jenna, picking on her high-pitched voice, her
pale skin, or how she brought tuna sandwiches to lunch and then had tuna breath for the rest of the day. But unbeknownst to them, Ali and Jenna shared a
secret: Jenna knew that Ali had a twin. It was why, in the end, Real Ali had killed her.
Suddenly, the red-painted oak door whipped open, and Chloe appeared. “Hey, Emily, come on in!”
Emily stepped inside tentatively. The house smelled like apples, the walls had been painted deep reds and oranges, and bejeweled Indian tapestries
hung on the big space under the stairs. The furniture was a mismatch of Stickley chairs, threadbare sixties-upholstered divans, and a coffee table made
out of one large slab of curly maple. It was like walking into a funky junk shop.
She followed Chloe into the back room, which had big floor-to-ceiling doors that opened out onto the patio. “Here’s Gracie,” Chloe said, pointing to the
baby in a swing in the corner. “Gracie, remember your best friend Emily?”
The baby made a cooing noise and went back to chewing on a rubber giraffe. Emily felt something rise up inside her chest, a feeling she wasn’t quite
ready to face. She pushed it down again. “Hi, Grace. I like your giraffe.” She gave it a squeeze, and it squeaked.
“Want to come up to my room for a sec?” Chloe called from the stairs. “I just have to get a couple of things for my interview. Grace will be fine in her swing
for a minute.”
“Uh, sure.” Emily walked through the living room. The grandfather clock in the foyer bonged seven. “Where are your parents?”
Chloe dodged a bunch of boxes in the second floor hall. “Still at work. They’re both lawyers—always super busy. Oh, I told my dad about you, by the way.
He said he’d help with the scholarship thing. He says UNC is still looking for good swimmers.”
“That’s amazing.” Emily wanted to hug Chloe, but she didn’t know her well enough yet.
Chloe pushed into her bedroom, which was decorated with posters of famous soccer players. A shirtless David Beckham kicked a ball. Mia Hamm was
caught midstride on the field, her abs looking amazing. Chloe picked up a paddle brush from the bureau and ran it through her long hair. “You said you
quit swimming this summer, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
Emily was surprised by the directness of the question. She certainly couldn’t tell Chloe the truth. “Oh, I just had some stuff to deal with.”
Chloe walked to the window and looked out. “I played soccer until last year, in case you couldn’t tell.” She gestured around at the posters. “But then,
suddenly, I hated it. I couldn’t stand going on the field. My dad was, like, ‘what’s wrong with you? You’ve loved soccer since you were a little girl!’ But I
couldn’t explain it. I just didn’t want to play anymore.”
“How are your parents about it now?”
“Better.” Chloe opened her closet. Clothes hung neatly on racks, and there were a bunch of old-school board games—Clue, Monopoly, Mousetrap—piled
messily on the top shelf. “But it took a long time for them to get there. Some other stuff happened, though, and that put it in perspective.”
She shut the closet door again. Suddenly, Emily noticed faded pencil writing on the wall to the left of the closet. Jenna. Lines on the wall demarcated
height, date, and age.
Emily sank back down to the bed. This must have been Jenna’s room once.
Chloe saw what Emily was looking at and flinched. “Oh. I keep meaning to paint over that.”
“So you . . . know?” Emily asked.
Chloe pushed a piece of brown hair away from her mouth. “I argued with my parents about buying this place—I worried there would be a bad vibe here.
But they convinced me it would be okay. This is, like, the best neighborhood or something, and they didn’t want to pass up the good deal on the house.”
She pulled the red sweater over her head, then glanced at Emily. “You knew them, right? The kids that lived here?”
“Uh-huh.” Emily lowered her eyes.
“I figured.” Chloe bit her bottom lip. “I recognize you, actually. But I didn’t know if you wanted to talk about it.”
Emily swung her feet, not knowing what to say. Of course Chloe recognized her. Everyone did.
“Are you okay?” Chloe asked softly, sinking next to her on the bed. “That stuff with your old friend sounded awful.”
Headlights on the street outside cast long shadows across the room. The scent of lavender and hair spray wafted through Emily’s nose. Was she okay?
After she’d said her good-byes, after she’d understood that the Ali they’d reconciled with wasn’t the Ali she’d loved, she was as good as she could be.
The Ali that had returned was dangerous, psychotic—it was a blessing that she was gone.
But then Jamaica happened.
Emily had been so excited to go. Spencer made the plans, picking The Cliffs resort in Negril and booking them massages, yoga classes, snorkeling trips,
and sunset dinners in the caves. It was going to be the perfect escape, an ideal place to slough off all the horrible stuff that had happened. Emily had
hoped the tropical air would cure the stomach flu that she hadn’t been able to kick, too.