"Wow. That's—that's bold, Ava," Aria muses, one brow quirking in obvious amusement as she regards me for a moment, her apple completely forgotten in favor of my apparent interrogation, "What made you decide to go for it?"
"I didn't go for anything, per se—"
"That's not what it looks like from here."
"Well it's what it is. I swear," I persist, silently cursing how I can feel my cheeks flushing, no matter how fiercely I wish to avoid that precise reaction, "I just—he's always using these little taunts and innuendos with me, so I figured I'd try and return the favor."
"I think maybe you did that and more, sis."
"Oh god, not you too."
"Hey. Just calling them as I see them," Spencer states, taking her usual place beside me at our lunch table, and nudging me affectionately with her shoulder before setting down her tray, "What is it that you did, and more, anyway?"
"She told Noel Kahn that she'd go to his party this weekend."
"Isn't everyone going to that party?"
"Not everyone is going with Noel," Aria counters, a satisfied smile crossing her features as she takes in my sister's wide-eyed expression, and turns back to face me before going on, "See? Told you it was a big deal."
"Technically, I'm not one hundred percent sure I'm going with him yet, either," I press, aware of the skeptical look that has taken over both Spencer and Aria's features almost in tandem, and yet choosing to persist in the act of defending my statement, regardless, "I—I told him he had to win Thursday's football game, first, before I'd consider it."
"Wow."
"Why 'wow', Spence?"
"I just—I guess I never saw this coming, that's all."
"Well I'm happy I can still surprise somebody," I quip, rolling my eyes in spite of the fact that my cheeks are flushing in response to the seemingly relentless teasing of my friends, and my sister as well, "But seriously, guys. This is not anything to get all worked up over."
"No? Tell that to Noel Kahn."
"What?"
"Oh come on, Ava, you can't tell me you haven't noticed that he's into you," Hanna states, leaning across the table to reach for my arm, and giving it a conspiratorial squeeze as though she thinks that will truly get me to give in to her claim without a fight, "He's been all over you lately, following you like some sort of little puppy."
"I don't think he's been like a lost puppy, Han—"
"Keep telling yourself that. It's definitely what he's doing."
I don't know what I can say to circumvent what Hanna is telling me, and so I simply choose to remain silent, my attention turning to my barely-touched plate as I pick at a piece of my sandwich where the bread has started to come apart. Unbidden, my mind has trailed back to my foolhardy lunch with Jason, as though I think that by remembering such a thing, I can distance myself from the implications of what I am about to do. But of course as soon as I allow myself the brief reprieve of a smile at the memory of the small amount of genuine laughter we were able to share, I find myself thinking of how Noel's interruption threw it all awry, a frown marring my brow as I come to the determination that perhaps Hanna is not as far off the mark as I wish to believe.
"Do you—do you even like him like that?" Emily asks, finally breaking her silence, though her expression has not changed from the concerned look that she has worn since we started this conversation.
"Honestly, Em? I have no idea."
"Well I think you should know if you like him or not, before committing to anything too serious," Emily cautions, something in her words causing me to look at her a little more closely, despite the fact that at least at the moment, I cannot find a clear indication of why her remark troubles me. It almost seems as though she is speaking more about herself, than about my situation directly, though I do not have the nerve to ask her about it while we are still surrounded by everyone else. But before I can find it within myself to even manage to reply to her statement itself, the bell signaling our need to return to class breaks into the silence at our little table, causing me to jump, and prompting an expression of curiosity to spread across my sister's face for only a moment before she stands, and shoulders her bag before she speaks.
"Ready for Trig?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, scooting back in my chair, and picking up my lunch tray so that I can dump its contents in the trash so that I can get to class, "You sensing a pop quiz today, or something?"
"No—I just wanted to get a head start on reading the material for today."
"Do you ever turn your obsession with school off, Spence?"
"Nope," My sister quips, sending me a half smile as she waits for me to deposit my tray along with the other used ones on the table beside the door, while the rest of our group follows along behind us, "And you wouldn't have me any other way."
"You sure about that?" I tease, allowing her to loop her arm through mine while we exit the cafeteria and head out into the hallway beyond.
"Absolutely. And don't even bother denying that you aren't, too, because I'll know that you're lying."
Somehow, even in spite of the lingering sense of doubt that I am feeling at the prospect of what Noel may take from my decision to go or not go to the party this weekend with him, my sister's words sooth me, at least for the moment, a hesitant smile coming to my lips as I allow her to lead me down the hall, and towards our next class. And whether she ever realizes it or not, I appreciate that simple fact more than she could ever know.
…
Later that week, after school is finally, and in my opinion, mercifully, done, I find myself in the dance studio that is situated just off of the main hall that houses the band and choir rooms, and the auditorium, relieved that I appear to have the place to myself. Of course, I don't mind the company of the other girls that share the class with me, particularly as more often than not, we work so well together that it is almost like we are simply one person, after all. But something about being able to work alone is far more intriguing at the current moment than practicing with a group, my body seeming to relax of its own accord as I pad over to the cd player and allow it to sift through the disks until it finds the back ground music for the class' usual warm up routine.
Instinct takes over at that point, and I am able to go through the motions of beginning to move, muscle memory seeming to allow me to simply give myself over to the movements inspired by the music, rather than thinking about every step before I make it. In next to no time at all, it is as though every single worry I have ever possessed has left me, only to be replaced by a strange sense of peace. And as cliché as it sounds, I find that I am almost a new person, or as close to it as I can be, without the weight of the mystery texts, and what the hell I am going to do about Jason and Noel hanging over my head.
For a while, I am able to just be me and that helps more than almost anything else when it comes to allowing me to decompress.
As the music changes to the first of our prospective routines for our upcoming recital, I begin to feel the slight sting in my muscles that come from stretching them out, a faint smile tugging at my mouth in response to the familiar feeling, and the comfort that it provides. Since the routine is still so new to my class as a whole, I still stumble here and there, though that seems to be happening far less than it has been before. But of course, almost as soon as I settle into the rhythm of the movements, I am jolted out of my reverie by the sudden appearance of an unfamiliar figure standing in the far corner of the room, my feet tripping over one another such that I am forced to throw a hand out against one of the bars on the perimeter of the room to catch myself before I fall.
"No need to stop on my account," The intruder says, stepping forward so that he comes to rest beneath one of the dome lights that are interspersed on the ceiling, and thus giving me a chance at recognizing him, though I wish with all that I have that I do not, "You look pretty good."
"Thanks," I dead-pan, subconsciously folding my arms across my chest as I realize my newfound companion as I realize he is allowing his gaze to roam over my body as though he has any right to do so in the first place, "I didn't realize detectives made a point of watching dance classes."
"They do when the girl involved in them is at the center of a murder investigation."
"I've already told you I don't remember anything else about the night of Alison's disappearance—"
"And I think that might just be something you're saying to protect yourself," Wilden persists, stepping just a bit closer towards me, despite the fact that I almost automatically take an instinctive step back when he does, "Survival instinct, and all that."
"Or it's just me telling the truth."
"So, if I were to ask you if you remembered the last conversation you had with Alison that night—"
"I would tell you I had no idea what we talked about," I finish for him, praying to whatever god is out there that my voice will not crack, and betray my nerves, "Just like I told you before."
"And I would say I think you're lying."
"I suppose you're entitled to that opinion."
"I'm entitled to it because I'm right," Wilden claims, stepping around me so that he can turn the music off at its source, and causing me to shiver as the act of him passing me causes the fabric of his shirt to brush against my bare arm, "You don't just forget something like that, Miss Hastings. In fact, if it's the last night that you see one of your best friends, it might be something you remember for the rest of your life."
"Believe me, I wish I could remember."
"You might have to work a bit harder to convince me of that."
"How on earth am I supposed to do that?" I demand, frustration getting the better of good sense, and causing me to whirl to face him, my arms dropping to my sides despite the fact that I am still very much aware of how his gaze continues to flick over my frame, "Please—enlighten me."
"If I told you that, it would take away all the fun."
"Is that what this is to you? Fun?"
"Something like that," Wilden replies, a half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he leans against the table housing the cd player, and folds both arms across his chest before speaking further, "But what I'm more interested in knowing is how long you think hiding from the truth can protect you."
"I'm not hiding from anything."
"Another lie. Try again."
"I'm not," I insist, turning from my would-be interrogator and heading towards the side of the room where my bag sits, where I tossed it haphazardly against the wall earlier on, "Cross my heart, and hope to die."
"Clever. But I'm still not buying it."
"Will you ever? No matter what I say, or keep to myself?"
"Probably not. But I can help you if you decide to be honest with me," The detective states, clearly endeavoring to sway me to his side with easy smiles, and promises that my gut tells me he has no intention to keep, "All you have to do is trust me."
"And you'll—what? Make all of this go away?"
"If I can, yes."
"Only if you can," I muse, wincing as I come to the belated realization that in response to my aggravation and nerves, my fingers have curled into a fist such that my nails are now digging half-crescent shapes into the skin of my palm, "And if you can't?"
"We'll talk about that if it comes up."
"Except that I don't really feel comfortable giving up whatever I may or may not eventually remember if I have no guarantee it won't turn around to bite me."
"And I'm not entirely sure I can trust a girl who seems so quick to mistrust everyone she meets. You're too young to have so many perceived enemies, Ava—"
"What makes you think I have enemies?"
"It's written all over your face," Wilden asserts, every ounce of self-assurance that he seems to possess making itself known in his expression—his posture—his words—and consequently causing a shiver to race down my spine in response as he shoves himself away from the table top, and closes the distance between us once again until he stands directly before me so that I am forced to tilt my head back to look him in the eye, "Just because your little friends can't see it doesn't mean I can't."
"My friends have nothing to do with this."
"They have everything to do with this. Do you really think that they'll still keep you around if they learn whatever it is you're trying so hard to hide?"
"They will," I begin, though this time I am unsuccessful at keeping the tremor out of my voice, no matter how much I hate the fact that such a thing gives Wilden even more of a reason to look satisfied than he had before, "They have my back every bit as much as I have theirs."
"And does Jason? Have your back, I mean," Wilden inquires, his half-smile turning into a complete grin as he registers the obvious flinch I give in response to his remark, before I can stand a chance at passing it off as something else. I am not honestly sure how he knows about Jason—about any bit of my relationship with him, when I had done so much to keep it a secret. But before I am able to even begin to concoct an attempt at a reply that might make my apparent shock less pleasurable for him, I find that he is side-stepping around me and heading towards the door, only to turn back just as he reaches the threshold of the door, so that he can address me one last time before he departs.
"Call me crazy, Miss Hastings, but I'm not sure he'd be so enamored with you if he thought you were the one who murdered his sister, and then lied to him, to boot."
Whether I want to admit it or not, Wilden has just won this round, and I am not entirely certain that I ever stood a chance, even at the start…
…
Some hours later, hidden away in my room, and abundantly grateful that I have the house to myself, at least for the moment, I find myself reclining on my back atop my bed, my eyes riveted upon the ceiling as though seeking an answer in the paint that covers it. Naturally, I find nothing, though that does not stop me from trying, regardless. And although I know that I would be far better served by attempting to make some headway in the mountain of homework that my classes appear to have piled on today, if for no other reason than to avoid being stuck with the full brunt of it over the upcoming weekend, I find that I am incapable of doing anything save for remaining motionless upon my bed, my fingers toying idly with the fringe of the bedspread in hopes that the mindless action will eventually lull me to sleep.
No matter how hard I try, however, I cannot seem to force Wilden's words—or rather, his threats—from my mind, a shaky sigh escaping as I relinquish my position on my bed for hauling myself into a seated pose, instead, one hand lifting to massage my temple as a dull throb takes root there as though it was born to do it, and will not let go now that it has found its place.
Almost as soon as I am seated upright, however, I find that I am distracted from my internal musings, such as they are, by the sound of my phone vibrating on top of my desk, a furrow forming between my brows as I force myself off of the bed so that I can see who on earth is trying to contact me, now.
Noel…
In the wake of the jolt of apprehension that steals through me as soon as I realize who it is that clearly wants to speak with me, if the way in which my phone keeps buzzing even in spite of the way that I allowed the first attempt at a call to go straight to voicemail. But regardless of how much I may wish for him to simply give up after that, I know that Noel never will, and so I find that I am answering the call the next time it rings through, resignation weighing heavily in my tone though I do put forth at least half an effort to prevent it.
"Hey there, Aviator—"
"Noel."
"Whatcha doing?"
"Attempting to study," I fib, hoping that the lie will sound more believable since he cannot see my face at the moment, while I simultaneously pad back towards my bed and perch upon its edge, "Why?"
"Because I have to tell you something. And I want to make sure I have your full attention," Noel responds, something in his tone causing me to feel a sensation not unlike a vice tightening its hold upon my chest, and prompting me to remain silent so that he will elaborate further, after only a miniscule beat of silence, "Do I have it?"
"You do."
"Good. Then you won't miss it when I tell you that you're going to have to make due on your promise."
"What promise?" I inquire, momentarily baffled as I try in vain to sift through my memories, and find that I am completely incapable of doing so, given that my mind is still rather fervently rooted in the memory of my encounter in the dance studio earlier this afternoon.
"The one you made when you said if I won the football game, you'd come to my party with me."
"And you—you won?" I stammer, dragging a hand through my hair, and frowning as I come to the realization that I have been so caught up in my own troubles, of late, that it has not even dawned on me that today is, in fact, Thursday.
"Damn straight I won."
"Congratulations."
"I think you need to do a bit better than that, Ava. A promise is a promise, after all."
"I guess it is—"
"So, you'll come with me? As my date?" Noel persists, something in the way he says the word 'date' sending a shiver down my spine, and prompting me to chew for a moment on my lower lip before deciding upon my reply.
"A promise is a promise."
"Great! I'll talk to you tomorrow at school about the details."
"Sounds good to me," I manage, hoping beyond hope that my voice will not betray my misgivings, and that I can somehow come up with a way to get Noel off the phone before I am forced into any more detail on something I am still not even sure that I want, "But I have—I have a lot of homework, so—"
"So, I should let you go."
"Something like that, yeah."
"Well I'll only do that as long as you make sure you won't allow 'homework' to ruin our fun this weekend," Noel bargains, a smile apparent in his tone, though it does nothing to improve my own mood, or provide me any reassurance about what is to come, "I'm not letting you back out on this one, Aviator."
"Trust me, Noel. I don't intend to."
Like it or not, it would seem I have just made a deal with the devil, himself…
…
Hello, my angels! And welcome (finally) to a brand new chapter! Once again, I feel I have to thank you for continuing to have patience with me, because I am definitely not blind to how sporadic my updates are for this story. All that I can say is that I am sincerely sorry if it ever seems like I have abandoned it, and you all, as well, by extension. That is certainly not my intent! And I am nowhere near being finished with this tale!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite, and review this story thus far (and special thanks to last chapter's reviewers: Ineveryfandom, Hope10, Princess1, ViciousGingerLady, Loving Liar, Warriorqueen, Lady Bird, and my two guests! I truly do appreciate all of your support, and of course I cannot wait to hear what you think of this chapter!
Until next time, my loves…
MOMM
PS—I've already got some ideas floating around in the ole' brain regarding the next chapter, so the hope is it won't take so long before it's posted! Fingers crossed, because I am eager to let the angst continue!