twisted-9

Spencer threw her head back and laughed. He was the sexiest guy she’d ever met. The voltage between them was cranked up as high as it could go.
She leaned into his ear. “This is awesome.”
“I know,” Zach answered. “You’re a great dancer.”
“So are you.”
The beat slowed down, and Zach and Spencer moved closer and closer to one another until their hips touched. Spencer’s heart clanged in her chest like
the clapper in a bell. When she opened her eyes, all she could see were Zach’s beautiful lips. He opened his eyes and gazed at her, too. She moved an
inch closer. Zach edged in, too. Here goes . . .
Taking a deep breath, Spencer grabbed the back of his neck and planted her lips on Zach’s. He smelled like a spicy face cream and tasted like sugar
and lime. His lips were stiff for a moment, but then they opened and let her in. Spencer’s stomach did somersaults. Electricity snapped off her skin. She
raked her hands through Zach’s soft hair, wishing they could fall into bed.
But then Zach pulled away. The strobe light danced across his face. He looked confused. Upset. Spencer took a few steps back, too, heat immediately
rising to her cheeks. It felt like everyone was looking at her, laughing at her.
Zach grabbed Spencer’s arm and pulled her into a sitting area just off the dance floor. He settled down on the plushy velvet couch under billowing
canopies. It was the sort of place couples tumbled into to make out, but suddenly the moment felt charged in all the wrong ways.
“I think you’ve misunderstood,” Zach said. “Maybe I’ve misled you.”
“It’s fine,” Spencer snapped, staring pointedly at the glowing disco ball in the center of the dance floor. “So what is it? Do you have a girlfriend or
something? Are you freaked out that our parents are dating?”
“It’s not any of that.” Zach shut his eyes. “Actually, Spencer . . . I think I’m gay.”
Spencer’s jaw dropped. She stared at Zach’s thick eyebrows and strong shoulders, not believing it. He didn’t look gay. He liked baseball. And beer. And
he’d seemed to like her.
“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.” Zach grabbed Spencer’s hands and squeezed them hard. “I’ve been having so much fun with you, and I don’t
want anything between us to end. It’s just . . . no one knows. Especially not my dad.”
The song morphed into a sped-up mix from something by the Glee cast, and a bunch of girls screamed. Spencer stared at Zach’s soft, slender hands in
hers. Something inside her turned over.
“Your secret is safe with me,” she said, squeezing his hands hard. The proud, always-gets-what-she-wants girl inside of her still felt disappointed and
embarrassed, but she also felt flattered and touched that Zach found her as fun as she found him. If their parents continued dating, maybe Zach would end
up being the perfect quasi-sibling Spencer had always wanted. Maybe she should’ve been searching for a brother instead of a sister all along.
Zach jumped to his feet and pulled Spencer up, too. “Glad we got that straightened out. Now where were we?”
Spencer tossed her blond hair over her shoulder. She felt light and free as she sashayed through the crowd, but a presence behind her made her stop
and turn. There, under the glowing EXIT sign, stood a dark, hooded figure staring straight at her.
Spencer stepped back, her heart leaping to her throat. A split second later, the figure had turned away and melted into the crowd—anonymous,
undetectable, but still dangerously close.
Chapter 18
Friends tell friends everything
The Rolands’ SUV was already gone when Emily pulled into the driveway that same Thursday night. When she went to ring the doorbell, she noticed the
front door wasn’t completely closed. “Hello?” Emily pushed it open and stepped into the foyer. A cartoon was on in the living room. Grace was in her baby
swing in the corner, her head lolled to the side and her eyes closed. The Roland parents had sprung a last-minute outing on Chloe, and Emily had offered
to help her babysit Grace.
“Emily?” Chloe called from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
“Hey, Chloe!” Emily walked toward her. “I’m so sorry I’m late!”
“It’s cool! I’m making nachos!”
Emily passed through the living room into the big, bright kitchen. Boxes of Cheerios, drying bottles, stacks of unopened Pampers, and a container of baby
wipes littered the table. A bag of Tostitos and a jar of cheese dip sat on the island along with an open bottle of champagne. Chloe noticed Emily looking
at it. “Want a glass?”
Emily glanced at the snoozing baby in the living room. “But what about Grace?” All she could think of were those TV shows featuring police officers
hauling drunk babysitters off to jail.
“One glass won’t hurt.” Chloe’s limbs moved loosely as if she’d already had a glass or two before Emily arrived. She poured champagne into two crystal
flutes. “And anyway, we need to toast.”
“To what?”