Chapter 6: Interlude
Lunch is awkward, quiet.
They sit together, as they have done every lunch period for months, but someone who doesn't know them would think they weren't really paying attention to the other. Emily nibbles on her food while Aria drinks a tall coffee, half-heartedly ruffling the pages of a thin paperback. Sometimes, she looks up to say something, but the words stick in her throat. It doesn't feel like there's much left to say, with half of their group missing. They've already caught up on the few things they usually discuss, and now she feels self-conscious trying to find something new.
Other times, she catches Aria's eye, smiles wanly and receives the same sort of hesitation in return. Any by-stander might think they're new friends, still in that stumbly, shy phase before things click. For once, she doesn't feel like there's anything to say. Without Spencer, without Hanna things have become unbearable at school.
It's like losing a piece of solid armour; she misses the way both girls' presences kept people at bay, or at least socially smoothed things out. Misses the way Spencer could intimidate someone into staying clear entirely, misses Hanna's habit of saying the wrong thing and softening an abrasive atmosphere.
Aria clears her throat, looks embarrassed to even make this small sound, excuses herself from the table. "I left a book in my locker. I'm just gonna…"
It's a lie and they both know it, but the way the sentence hangs in the air isn't something they want to acknowledge. Instead, Emily nods, drags up a semi-convincing understanding smile and a "see you later" that goes mostly unheard. Her words sound weak even to her own ears, her voice diminished by the fact that there's no-one left to hear it. Alone, Emily slides the paperback over to herself and considers it, considers leaving it in Aria's locker, flips it between her hands while deciding if she'll take it anywhere.
Decides against it. It'll make a good excuse to stop by and talk to Aria later.
Aria hates feeling like she's running and hiding from someone who's supposed to be her best friend, but she's got to get away from the stifling atmosphere. Two of her best friends have vanished; A is clearly desperate to know where they are, and she's about desperate enough to capitalize, earn a favour that would protect her and Emily just a few days more. All she needs is time. She just needs to figure out where they are.
She sags against the wall of the classroom she's slipped into, feeling anger and jealousy stabbing at her. Am I not worth protection; what about Emily? Why do they get to run off and leave us to take the heat?
Some small part of her knows she's not being fair, knows that Spencer was most likely the instigator of this and that it's probably all some grand plan to bring them all to safety, but she's one of two sitting ducks right now and that means the odds of A coming down on her head are twice as high as before. Trying not to glance nervously around, she withdraws her phone, begins a text to try and throw A off the track. If she can just guess the correct place, try to place where the others are, she can buy a week or two: long enough for her and Emily to pack, to disappear.
She stops mid-word. America is a big place, but there's still a chance that she just might guess where her friends are and send A straight to them. Instead, she holds down on the delete key until the message field is blank and heads off to her next class. Her anger has mostly ebbed away, leaving a sort of apathy in its wake.
The rest of the day slips by in the sort of mood where time is fluid, moreso than before. One class passes in what she'd swear is five minutes; the next goes unnaturally slowly.
Finally the bell rings and she sees Emily at her locker, looking like she wants to stop her for some reason or other. Today, she doesn't feel that there's time; she shoves in earphones and ducks into a knot of other students she can barely name. The human tide sweeps her out the door and she drives a bit too fast, rushing home as if there's some reason to be there.
At home, she bars the bedroom door, pins up a jacket in the window to obstruct anyone's view.
Clutter, there's too much of it. She drags a duffel out from her bed, chucks it haphazardly into the centre of the room, folds a few of her least interesting clothes into it. T-shirts and jeans are the things that won't be missed right now.
Feeling slightly more settled, she spins in a circle trying to decide what else she should take. Her hands hover over one item, flutter over a second and bypass a third. Eventually, she snatches random pieces of makeup and dumps them into a travel kit. Throws out a few old things she doesn't need, kicks the bag under the bed in frustration.
It's a start.
For the second time today, she grabs her phone to begin a message, this one to Emily and stops midway. There's the remembrance that the phone is most likely bugged and that texting Emily may as well just be sending a direct message to A.
Anyway, she remembers as she looks at the time, Emily will be swimming.
There's a knock at the door, and she instinctively scrambles to straighten up her room, make it look like nothing is amiss. Doing so, she knows, can have just the opposite effect, but she tries it anyway. Emily is waiting in the doorway, and for a moment Aria is convinced that her thumb slipped and pressed send, but she silently drags the door open wider. It's not the warmest welcome ever, and she can see it by the way Emily tentatively steps inside. There's a book splayed in her hand, the other hand wrapped around her car keys.
Emily is perceptive, she knows, so she calculates her words before asking after swimming and tries to remind herself that she does care. Really, she does – it's just that swimming isn't so interesting to her, but she nods politely and tries to laugh in the right places.
They speak in half-truths now, the kind that shroud the truth just a bit more, and feel the distance that spans more than three footsteps widening.
As she stands to leave, Emily glances around the room. Something about it doesn't feel quite right, and she can't put her finger on it. The same knickknacks that are always there are in their normal places. There's a pile of books on the nightstand, makeup on the dressing table, and the wardrobe is crammed. She frowns, shrugs it off as a headache and makes her excuses. Something that looks faintly like relief flicks in Aria's eyes, but she brushes it off with the same nervousness she's felt around her for the past week.
It isn't until she gets home that she realizes there was less stuff around than before. The piles of books were diminished; the makeup and wardrobe less cluttered. Her steps slow down with the realization that Aria's been squirrelling things away, as if she's preparing to go on a trip.
There's no point in asking, she knows – she's learnt this lesson twice already.