A/N: Mona: thanks a lot for the encouragement! You guys don't know how much it is appreciated.
LaughLoveLiveXx: :))) We get a lot deeper into Emily's thoughts about A during this chapter.
IxHeartxGlee: Hope this one satisfies your curiosity ;) Although we'll follow whatever happens in the next one too.
sieamberc: You don't know how close you are in almost everything you say about this fic, at least about what I do intend to show when I'm writing it... LOL Although I didn't think of Titanic's Rose when writing the title. Interesting.
snakeyninja: :))) Thanks!
The first instruction came the following morning, while in English class.
Emily blinked, not really surprised, and quickly hid the phone, wanting to avoid calling the attention of any of the girls. The text just ordered her to go to the library in the afternoon, pick up Great Expectations and read it again. Well, that should be easy. It was yet another proof of A's dark humor. Great Expectations was the book Alison was reading when they kissed that time in the library, although, to tell the truth, it had been Emily who kissed Ali and it had been Ali who had kissed Emily back. It wasn't the first time A was using the book. Back at the beginning, he/she/it had directed Emily to it in order to mock her confession of love, right before she was outed in front of her friends: you weren't the only one with great expectations, A had said; now A was using it again, but Emily didn't know with what purpose besides making her life harder, as usual. In any case, everything had to do with Ali. Ali's disappearance and death had set the whole A scenario in motion, so she wasn't surprised A kept playing the Great Expectations card on her. And then there were the two pictures of her Aria and Spencer had found at Jason's. Emily guessed this would probably keep happening forever until they caught A – if that ever happened at all. Maybe that was the whole reason why she'd become A's main target. Maybe A had great expectations for her. They were expectations Emily hoped A would suck up and spit in the form of bloody saliva and broken teeth, if she ever got the chance to get A's neck and twist it.
But she went to the library in the afternoon, the truly sweet one preparing for the sacrifice, the weakest-link heroine too, ready for the fight.
No one was there, because it was the beginning of the year and not even Spencer felt the need to bury herself under mountains of books yet. Besides, she had field hockey practice this afternoon. Spencer was keeping an eye on her and Emily knew she couldn't hold the information about A much longer. Sooner or later, she'd have to tell her about the last texts. But, amazingly, Spencer was basically worried about what Emily was doing after class, especially during the night; for some reason she thought school was a safer environment as long as Emily was kept under her subtle, tender vigilance, a vigilance Emily was deeply aware of and that she knew how to play off and deactivate. Since Spencer had Hanna to help her, Emily just had to keep herself an eye on both of them so she'd know what to do and how to do it not to raise their suspicions. It wasn't really that hard. She knew both of them so well. They were both sort of naïve when you knew how to play them, unlike Aria, who was more candid than them but harder to fool whenever she decided to pay attention to details; luckily for her, Aria was in one of her Ezra Fitz's abstinence periods and her capacity to care about what was happening around her had been reduced to its limits again. Therefore, Emily had found out that the way to play Spencer and Hanna consisted in acting normal. Nothing was out of the ordinary. She looked tense and alert, because she was tense and alert, but she kept talking to them, discussing their ideas (well, Spencer's ideas) and mediating when they got themselves in one of their sudden outbursts and misunderstandings. Basically there were two keys to fool them, two things she had to avoid above all: silence (because none of them could take it) and running. So she kept talking and she wasn't running. They both considered that a big red flag, a clear sign of distress. Thus, even though she wished she could run at night, because running helped her clear her mind, it was ruled out. Likewise, acting weird was ruled out. Alcohol was ruled out. Weakness was ruled out. She just tried to keep her senses alive while she waited for instructions, hoping she could do what she had to do, hoping it'd be hard but possible; hoping it would come soon so she could tell Spencer, one way or another. Because she was going to tell Spencer, eventually. They were in this together and, whatever happened, Spencer was going to know – from her.
Inside her head, when she was thinking about it during those long hours, she established limits.
Spencer was the limit, the final frontier that would not be trespassed or broken, the sacred territory A would not get into.
Other than that, there were a lot of stupid things Emily could be asked to do in order to play A's hide-and-seek game.
Who was A?
The library was deserted when she walked the halls alone, looking around for a familiar face, touching the books with her fingertips before getting the one she'd been asked to read. When she found it in the well-known shelf, her hands suddenly felt timid and clumsy and the book fell to the floor. She picked it up, thinking about how much she'd grown to dislike Charles Dickens.
I loved her simply because I found her irresistible.
I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.
She still knew it by heart, but her heart was not in it. All these things she used to believe when she was younger seemed now so childish and absurd. It wasn't Dickens' fault but she somehow blamed him for it. In a way, she still believed the words, although the words had changed with her. She had changed. Her heart had changed.
She loved Spencer in reason, in promise, in peace, in hope, happiness and encouragement. In power. In glory.
In fire and ice.
In love.
Her eyes filled with sentimental tears that she quickly rubbed with the back of her hands.
She walked towards a table in front of which she sat, switching the lamp on and illuminating the light beech-wooden surface from where the book stood out, silently confronting her with the past, with the person she once was. Maybe that was what A wanted. Maybe not.
Emily bit her lip and looked around again, trying to spot a suspicious face.
Who was A?
There was no one around, except for a distant group that had gathered at one corner near the entrance. Narrowing her eyes, she saw Noel Kahn's plastered smile and muscled body standing out in the group, where Emily distinguished also his current girlfriend, Mona Vanderwaal, Hanna's best friend in middle school, smaller and darker by his side. Emily's heart skipped a beat. Noel Kahn. Was he the one texting her? Could he be A? Was it possible to run into A while following his/her/its orders, just like that? Would A ever make a mistake, show his/her/its true colors, weaken and fall in front of any of them, of her? Was all of A's power just an act, was A just a terrified coward playing games on all-too-visible enemies? Or on unknowing, unwilling frenemies? A was not only a shadow. It had to be a real person, even if they called him or her "it" just to give a name to their despair and their impotence, it was a person and it was probably close to them. But it couldn't be Noel Kahn. He was way too dumb to be A. Then again, everybody was way too dumb to be A, everybody except Spencer, and Spencer wasn't A. But she was the smartest person around – and also not around. Alongside Melissa. The other Hastings. But it couldn't be Melissa either, right? That was a crazy idea.
But Jenna was blind. Because of them.
She couldn't be spying right now on her.
So A – where are you?
You can see I'm not chickening out.
Emily opened the book and flickered through it, stopping in page 416. I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, she read in care and awe. There she found it. A note someone had scribbled in red ink, apparently about Dickens and Pip and 19th century literary styles. People were always so careless about these things. It always bothered her to find notes in library books, like no one else was ever going to need the book and read it. Spencer hated that too, so they always engaged in a wave of scorn and indignation whenever they found a book that had been mistreated like that. But this note hadn't been written by a normal student.
"Multiple choice test time for you, Em. Choose – your heart or your head." An "A" signed the note.
Heart or head?
This made no sense whatsoever.
She turned the page.
"Choose - favorite color. Is it yellow, brown or watery blue?" Then another "A".
God, she hated riddles.
This was not a multiple choice test. There was no correct answer.
It was a stupid enigma A was creating for her so she would wonder in fear. And she hated it.
She turned yet another page.
"Choose – blonde or brunette. Or do you prefer to win?
Okay, this one was easier to interpret.
Spencer or Alison?
But Alison was dead.
The "win" reference seemed to imply she was going to lose anyway. Right?
Yeah, right.
We'll see who's the one winning this in the end.
Yellow and brown were probably references to Alison and Spencer too. Then, watery blue… That must be the pool? Because A had the HGH report and he/she/it was ready to use it, at least with the Hastings.
The heart or head thing still had no meaning for her. Who was the heart? Who was the head? Or was it her? She was both her heart and her head. Well, to tell the truth, maybe she was more heart than head. She'd always been more heart than head after all.
Or maybe it was Spencer. Spencer was both heart and head. People tended to believe Spencer was only a brain, but Emily knew there was so much more to that.
Besides, Spencer occupied Emily's own heart and head. All the time.
This made no sense. And the note contained no instructions.
She grabbed her head with her hands, scratching her forehead, trying to figure the riddles out in case there was something else beyond the gross presentation of multiple love choices.
Someone called out her name and she jumped.
Mona Vanderwaal.
"Hey, shark", Mona winked, her usual bubbly, flirtatious self even though they weren't close at all. "Sorry I made you jump."
"Mona", Emily greeted back, smiling, "hi. Hanna's not here."
Like that wasn't obvious.
However, Mona's expression didn't change upon hearing the weird comment.
"I've been texting her the whole afternoon. Do you know where she is?"
"Nope." Emily tried to think about where Hanna could be. "She's probably home already, you know."
Mona sat close to her in the bench, and Emily had to scoot away a little to make room for her.
"You have an essay already?"
"It's optional", Emily lied, closing the book so Mona wouldn't see A's messages. "I'm just working hard for extra credit."
"Wow, the Hastings superhuman girl is really getting you up with her", Mona said, speaking impressively quick. But then she took a pause and looked apologetically at Emily. "Anyway I don't wanna bother you, I just came over to ask you about Hanna."
"It's okay, you can ask me. I could give you a ride to Hanna's too", Emily added, but realized it wasn't a good idea to mention that, "but I have something to do."
Sometimes she still felt guilty about what they'd done to Mona when Alison was alive. Not about what they'd done; about what they didn't do; about what she didn't do.
But she never knew if it was the right moment to apologize. She wanted to do it someday, though. They were both close to Hanna and that was enough of a reason to do it someday.
Mona patted her shoulder warmly, but somehow too energetically, and then stood up again.
"Don't worry about me, I brought my own car to school", she answered, wide-eyed and flattered at Emily's offer. "But thanks. Will you just tell her I was texting her?"
Emily shook her head yes and mumbled the confirmation as well.
"Oh, Emily", Mona called when she was already leaving. "There's a picture of you over there." She pointed at the hall from where Emily had come with the book. "You don't wanna lose a picture of your hot self in here, you never know what a guy might be doing in the library. Or a girl."
She smiled as if she'd said something really, really naughty. Which she had, Emily came to realize.
After forcing a goodbye smile, Emily tried not to appear terribly anxious about the picture that had fallen to the floor.
But she was anxious.
She waited until Mona was farther away, and then she rushed to get the picture. It was, indeed, a picture of her; but not of her hot self. She was in her blue shark uniform, a medal hanging on her neck. Last year. Before the hospital. After a swim meet in Philadelphia. The back of the picture had a message, written in the same red ink and neat capital letters the note in the book was.
"Look at you shining so bright, Emily. Will you make it home when you're out of the game? –A"
No instructions.
She took her phone out and wasn't surprised to find out she had a text. Those were the instructions, then.
"XXX. In an hour. Get a girl's phone number. Use your fake ID to get in. It's an easy one, so don't blow it this time. – A"
Seriously? A girl's phone number?
It was dumb.
A had to be thinking of something else. This was only a way to ridicule her and play her around.
Problem was she didn't have her fake ID here. She'd have to go home and lie to Hanna about where she was actually going.
And what the hell was XXX? A porn sex center? A make-out scene place? Because, if it was, there was no way she was going inside.
She searched the internet in her phone for the place. Fortunately, it wasn't a sex center. It was just a club, and it opened in the mid afternoon for happy hour and early dinners. Later it transformed into a cocktail place where you could chat and dance. Or so the webpage said.
She took the book to its shelf and fit it between other two of Dickens' masterpieces.
"Bye, Pip", she whispered to the book, truly meaning it, "I hope we don't run into each other again."
If she only had an hour, she had to run home to get her ID in order to make it downtown in time. And she had to change. She couldn't ask for a phone number in a club called XXX dressed in her sporty, comfy, high-school sweetie-weaky clothes. So she ran. In twenty minutes she was already walking up the stairs to her room, or to Hanna's room, and leaping on the closet to choose a figure-fitting black-and-purple dress she'd only gotten to wear in one occasion before. But it looked good on her, and it wasn't exactly a party dress. It was more of an afternoon-and-evening sexy dress that didn't totally qualify as a party dress. Probably. She wasn't totally sure. But that was why she didn't usually wear it. She hadn't totally figured it out yet. Spencer said she looked totally gorgeous in it, though, so she'd have to go for that.
In any case, it was the only one she could think of now, so she got into it without taking a shower (gross), fought with the zipper on her side (damn) and rushed to the bathroom, where she put make-up on, mascara and red lipstick. She didn't overdo it, though. But she wanted to look… more mature.
She stared at herself in the mirror, out of breath.
Who was this person? She looked older. But wasn't that the point?
She felt like a clown.
Like an actress.
Like she was wearing a costume.
There was no one home yet so she didn't have to offer any explanation. Hanna was probably doing stuff out with Caleb. So she grabbed her car keys and prepared to fly away when she realized she was still wearing her Converse sneakers.
Now, that was brilliant.
She ran upstairs again, chose a pair of heels and kept her Converse on because she hated to drive with heels.
In two minutes she was driving downtown, adrenaline rushing through her veins and pumping against her eyes.
When she arrived at the place and parked the car outside, she was five minutes early. She hoped A would give her extra points for achieving that miracle; but instead of praying for it, she checked her phone again (no texts) and looked at herself in the rearview mirror one last time to try to come to terms with the fact that she was here.
A reflection of her made-up, disguised self returned the glance from the mirror. Was she trying too hard?
It wasn't the first time she looked like this. But it was the first time she looked like this at this hour and outside a club and without her friends. She was all by herself now.
Emily Fields, you look weird.
But kinda hot.
But weird – still.
She couldn't decide, so she put her heels on, left the Converse under the passenger's seat and got out of the car, her body wavering a little when the pointy heels touched the ground.
What a great image.
She'd better manage to keep a graceful balance in the club. But it'd been so long ever since she last wore heels.
Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt thick once she entered the club. Only a few people were there at this hour of the day, when it was slowly starting to get dark. But the place was dark already – inside. Or, rather, it was illuminated in all the right corners. The place would probably pack up later, because it was a Thursday and the place wasn't far from Hollis. There were warm reds and cold blues lighting the place and creating funny shadows; the music was soft and low, but dreamy and sort of airy in a way. She felt like she was floating on her heels around the clouds of the night, like she was in a space movie, like she'd been suddenly thrown into a different world and a different moment in time, but the fact was that the mission didn't only consist in getting here in time and making it inside. The real deal started now. And the real deal made her so very nervous.
She had to get a phone number. A girl's.
But there was no one interesting and there was no one alone, so she went to the bar and asked for a diet coke, because didn't older girls ask for diet cokes all the time?; and that way she wouldn't be technically committing an illegal act or making the bartender commit one. Whatever. Anyway she didn't want to get drunk, that was out of the question.
She sat on a stool, gracefully crossed her legs in the air and looked at her watch, which she had forgotten to change. This one didn't really match the dress. It was a sporty watch.
How long would she have to wait for an opportunity?
And how would A know she was doing it right?
And what would Spencer say?
Her heart flipped and twisted, thinking about Spencer's death glare and about Spencer's hints of insecurity and about Spencer's eyes whenever she felt hurt.
What will she say? What will she do?
Emily fought the urge to get the phone and call Spencer, to get the phone and stare longingly, guiltily at a picture of Spencer. She had thousands of pictures of Spencer in her phone. Spencer in all shapes and forms, Spencer plaguing her phone, her life; her head and her heart. Studious Spencer. Goofy Spencer. Sexy Spencer. Maybe they could come here on another night, both with their fake IDs, because the place was kind of cool; Hanna would love such a plan. But she didn't want to feel guiltier and more longing, so she put the phone down almost as if Spencer was staring at her from it, a scowl on her face. Instead, she looked around the surroundings and caught a couple of guys staring and probably preparing their moves. Their posture was ready, she could tell. They looked like they were going to start running at the very moment they heard the starting pistol, so she quickly averted her eyes and looked down at her diet coke to stop them from coming.
The air stirred by her side.
In her imagination she rolled her eyes, thinking she was going to get the first phone number of the evening, just not the one she needed.
But when she turned to get a direct sight of the space next to her, preparing a line that would politely send the guy away (she came here to meet someone else, she was sorry), what she saw was a red-haired girl passing by and sitting a couple of stools away from her.
Alone.
Come on. That was way too easy. Was she sent by A?
Her mouth got dryer and thicker and she wished she could go home.
This was not her kind of game.
Human Growth Hormone.
Win the race. Win the girl.
Shining bright.
Home (but where was her home?)
Out of the game.
Heart or head.
Pip and Dickens could go their own way; she didn't care.
So many messages, so many riddles inside. So many things A had said.
Who was A?
Emily took a sip of her diet coke to try to make her mouth feel normal and stop the sudden sense of numb fear she was getting.
Power, glory, love. Peace and hope.
Spencer, Smokey, Smoking Hot.
She needed to get this done. It couldn't be that difficult to ask for a number. It was just a number.
And there was a chance A would give her what she wanted.
She had a shot. She had to try.
Out of the corner of her eye, she inspected the red-haired girl. She was cute. Attractive. And she was probably waiting for a boyfriend?
Emily bit her lip, considering if she should just be blunt and crazy. After all, this was just an act. It was like joining the drama club, which she'd always refused to join because she was way too shy.
The girl returned a stolen glance, probably because she was catching Emily's stolen glances.
Heat rushed to Emily's face, and she internally thanked her make-up and her dark skin so the blush could go unnoticed.
Maybe she did need alcohol to do this.
She asked for a beer, thinking that wouldn't get her drunk but would infuse some courage into her.
Taking a sip directly from the bottle (now, that was grace), she felt the girl's eyes on her again, so she took a breath and returned the gaze - eye to eye, face to face.
"Did that guy ask for your ID?", the girl asked the second their eyes met.
Way to start a conversation.
"Why do you wanna know?", Emily asked too, feigning intrigue.
"I just don't think you're 21", the girl said, looking down at her drink for an instant, then looking at Emily again. "It bothers me when they don't know how to do their job."
Emily raised an eyebrow.
"I'm 21", Emily lied, her voice flat and convincing, "but thanks for asking."
The girl raised her own perfect red eyebrow.
"I don't believe it." But she offered a smile when she said that. "I've had fake IDs too, you know."
"So I'm supposed to believe you are 21?"
Her question sounded flirtatious and she was surprised at her own ability to pretend.
The girl smiled again.
"Oh, I am now 21. But you're not."
"Do you want me to show you?"
Now she sounded kind of bold and defiant, but in a playful way.
Maybe she should actually join the drama club.
"So I can see a picture of someone who doesn't look like you at all?", the girl returned, cocky. "She's probably Asian, but that guy couldn't care less as long as you're paying."
The girl in the photo was Asian.
"I'm not Asian", Emily replied, "and I am paying."
"That's what I meant", the girl said, confidence exuding out of her.
Emily hesitated. She was so busted. But, at the same time, she wasn't. She couldn't allow herself to panic and freak out over this.
And there was a conversation happening.
That was good, wasn't it?
She moved from her stool and approached the stool next to the girl.
"How old do you think I am?"
The girl watched her closely.
"I don't know, 18? Maybe older. But you're not 21, that's for sure."
Emily felt somehow relieved.
"You should ask for a job here", Emily offered. "You're good at spotting ages, right?"
"I already have a job", the girl answered, smiling, "but I'll consider it if I get fired."
"You definitely should", Emily said, venturing a new sip from her bottle. "What's your job about?"
"I'm a journalist."
Emily was actually considering that as a major. Of course, she couldn't say that to the girl. Or to the woman.
"And what are you studying?"
The girl-woman asked the question as if she was certain Emily was still a student. Which she was. In high school.
God, this must have been like Aria felt like when she met Mr. Fitz.
"Psychology", Emily replied, because that was her last class today and because Aria was taking it too and because she wasalso considering it for college. "I'm gonna be a therapist."
The girl-woman shot her a curious glance.
"So you're gonna get rich out of other people's misery?"
Emily laughed in return.
"Yeah, that's pretty much my ideal job, right."
She suddenly thought of Dr. Sullivan with a pang of guilt.
"It's a good job", the girl offered. "There are lots of miserable people around."
Yeah, Emily thought. Tell me about it.
"I know", she said, "that's why I wanna help them. And get rich along the way. But I'll have to help rich people only." She thought of Spencer and of the Hastings for a second. Then she inhaled air and decided to go for a bold move. "Are you waiting for someone?"
Now the girl-woman shot her a more than curious glance.
Her eyes were green. Not ambiguously green, like those people whose eyes changed of color depending on the light. These eyes were absolutely green - jungle green - wild.
She was pretty.
"No", she cautiously replied. "Well, in a while I'll be meeting a friend, but not yet."
"Good."
Emily lowered her own eyes and took another sip of beer, thinking about how to continue.
She didn't know how to do it.
There was a reason why she'd always hooked up either with her best friend, or best friends, or with girls who made the first move on her. She was too shy to hit on people.
An awkward silence followed.
She had to move fast.
Just do it.
What's the worst that could happen?
The worst thing was already happening to her.
"Do you mind if I ask for your number?", she bluntly, abruptly said. But her voice was soft and she managed a direct, straightforward look that surprised her – and the girl-woman too. "I'm sorry, but I just had to ask."
And that was the truth.
The girl seemed kind of shocked now and she moved uncomfortably in her stool.
"I… I'm not into girls."
A blush crept to the girl's face, her pale skin giving her away. It was good to see people over 21 blushed as well.
"Yeah, I get it", Emily replied, dismissing it. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."
"No, it's okay." The girl seemed sincere. "Do you do this a lot?"
"Do I do what a lot?"
"Get into a club with your fake ID and ask for a random girl's number."
No, she didn't do that a lot.
"No, it's the first time", Emily answered honestly, shrugging it off. "I thought I could give it a shot."
The girl slightly blushed again, but Emily wasn't sure if it was because she felt flattered or because of something else.
"You should work on your gaydar."
"Well, I don't really have one, as you can see."
And that was the truth again.
Actually, her gaydar had worked with Spencer. Sort of. But that was probably because it wasn't her gaydar that worked.
They were best friends. Something else had worked.
Spencer worked with her, and she worked with Spencer. But that didn't mean she had a gaydar.
The girl smiled.
"You're really pretty", she said, kind of studying Emily's face, "so it shouldn't be hard for you, right?"
"It's always very hard", Emily answered, playing along as the sweet victim she could easily pretend to be, "but thank you."
Somehow the you're-very-pretty line didn't sound lame in this girl's voice.
It was probably because it wasn't a pick-up line for her.
"I'm sure it's not that hard. Don't you have a girlfriend?"
The question hit her on the head, but she didn't let the girl see it.
"Well, I wouldn't be here asking for your number if I had one, right?"
This was A's fault.
She did have a girlfriend. It was the best girlfriend she could dream of.
"Sorry, you're right. I shouldn't have implied that you were here cheating on a potential girlfriend."
Emily smiled back faintly. She had to find something to say now.
"We broke up recently."
She felt suddenly terrified of her own words. Like she was tempting luck, or the devil.
But this was just an act.
She was just playing a role.
"Sorry to hear that." The girl paused, still studying Emily. "It'll be fine after a while. Experience talking here."
"Did you break up recently too?"
"No, not recently."
They both took a sip of their drinks.
Emily thought she should be moving on if there was no chance to get this girl's number anyway. But what was she going to do?
Instead of preparing an exit line, she just took another sip of her beer and felt defeated.
"I'm just staying here for a couple of days", the girl said, making new conversation.
A light bulb went on in Emily's head.
"I can show you around town." She was going to give it a last try, so she turned her charm on. Or whatever she thought her charm could be. "We have one restaurant, one university, one hospital and a couple of bars, which might indicate there's a problem of alcoholism in town, which might make me rich when I get to be a therapist."
The words stole a smile from the girl's mouth.
Apparently, she wasn't terrible.
"Or there are too many college students", the girl offered, and her eyes strangely shone. "Are you trying to get my number again?"
Emily was innocent, but she did detect a playful tone that she hadn't heard before.
"Yeah, is it that obvious?"
That was outrageous flirting on her part. She felt like some kind of monster had taken over and was driving the car.
The girl giggled.
The giggle made Emily realize it: she was going to get the number.
Maybe she did have powers of gay-conversion. Hanna was right. Maybe there was a molecule or something that sent some kind of invisible fluid that trapped people inside her gay web and made them wonder about their sexuality.
She was a gay spider, not a gay vampire, because she didn't even need to kiss the girl.
Maybe she was just going to flunk Chemistry if she kept making stuff up like this.
"Why don't we keep chatting and having drinks here? Or do you have to go back to your dorm?"
The question snapped Emily out of her crazy gay-molecule, gay-spider reflections.
The girl was flirting back.
But she wasn't volunteering her number.
And now she needed to offer an excuse, because she couldn't spend the whole evening chatting. She just needed the number.
"I can't stay", Emily said, looking apologetic, "I'm meeting someone for a cyber-date in half an hour."
The girl frowned in surprise. But she seemed kind of let down.
"A cyber date? What the hell is that?"
Yeah, what the hell did she mean by that?
"You know, it's when you go to a dating site and you meet a person you don't really know, just because you're sort of desperate to get to date someone."
The girl raised her two red eyebrows.
"Oh, that kind of date. And you're dumping me for that?"
Outrageous flirting on her part.
Now, give me your number.
"I…" Monster-Emily, gay-spider, whatever: don't screw things up and put your powers to work. "I wouldn't like to make the cyber-girl feel bad. And at least she is gay, so I don't need a functional gaydar." Wow, that was a bold one. "But my offer still stands. For tomorrow."
The girl offered a playful smirk, but blushed again a little. She was considering it.
"I had a gay roommate in college", she said instead.
Oh, come on.
Your number. Now.
"Did you?"
"I did." The girl held her gaze, and Emily realized a monster might have been working inside her, but this girl here did know how to flirt for real, not just to play a game that had been staged by a psychopath. She felt suddenly anxious. She felt like running away. She felt too young and stupid and out of place to be here doing this. "But nothing ever happened."
What was she supposed to answer to that?
"It makes sense", Emily ventured, "if you're not into girls. It's not a crime. There's no need to try."
The girl took the glass of whatever she was drinking to her lips, but her deep green eyes didn't leave Emily's face.
"How old are you?", she asked, narrowing her eyes at Emily. "For real."
Emily held her gaze too - upgrading the game. Now she got to play Aria, she guessed.
"I'll tell you tomorrow over lunch."
She impressed herself with this one.
She impressed the girl too, because the girl smiled widely and her gums showed. It was kind of cute.
"Are you sure this is your first time doing random pick-ups? Because you sure look like you know what you're doing."
Really?
"It's the first time."
"You're interesting."
"Thanks."
"You're very pretty too."
Again, it didn't sound lame in her voice.
Maybe it was because she was a girl. Maybe the line didn't sound lame in a girl's voice.
That must mean she was really, totally gay. It wasn't as if she doubted it anymore, but still – this was a new confirmation of her gayness.
It was the second time the girl said it, so Emily guessed she'd made quite the impression.
"And thank you for that too."
"You're not gonna return it?"
This was definitely heavy flirting, and Emily knew she had to deliver the perfect line.
"I asked for your number, didn't I?"
A moment of tense silence followed, when Emily thought the game was being played for real.
Then the girl grabbed the napkin under the peanuts she'd been served and quickly scribbled a number.
Got. It.
Emily's heart raced wildly in victory.
"You got it." The girl handed her the napkin and Emily took it in her fingers, her eyes blurry when she read the name the girl had written down. Claire. "I'm Claire."
"Emily."
The girl - Claire - extended her hand and Emily mirrored the movement, their fingers touching, briefly, for the first and last time.
"Emily… nice to meet you. So lunch tomorrow? And you show me your real ID."
"Deal."
Her mouth was dry again and she suddenly ran out of flirty one-liners to say. She folded the napkin and stuffed it in her purse like a stolen diamond or a military secret - for A.
Then she got off the stool, ready to leave.
"So will you call?"
The girl had perceived the strange change of mood and felt abruptly unsure.
"Tomorrow. I'll take you to our one restaurant." Emily shot her trademark sweet smile and made sure to lie to her in the eye. She didn't want the girl - Claire - feeling bad. This wasn't her fault. She was a nice girl. Or woman. "Thank you for your number, Claire, I really appreciate it."
She was really grateful, to tell the truth.
She wouldn't call her, but she would show her appreciation somehow, someday. She'd name her kid Claire. If she ever had a kid. And if it was a girl. And if Spencer agreed on it.
"Well, good luck on your cyber-date, Emily."
Claire casually brushed Emily's bare arm with her own hand, and Emily realized it was not casual or accidental. It was just the game. And Claire knew how to play it, even if she hadn't played it with a girl – yet.
"I'll keep your good wishes in mind, Claire", Emily answered, trying to keep up her game, although in truth she just wanted to leave now.
Claire blushed, this time more intensely, and Emily wondered what it all meant, because, really, monster-Emily might be pretty bold at this, but the real Emily didn't know what the hell she was saying.
Something had changed in her, yes. She just didn't know it was this.
So she made some light conversation before finally saying goodbye and leaving for the door, feeling like someone might chase her and uncover the truth of her before she had time to leave the place. But she stepped safely into the breezy, already dark evening, almost as if she'd come out of a space shift. She breathed and walked steadily to her car, stealing a glance at the club she was just leaving. It wasn't like Marianne's, the place where she'd landed when she got drunk trying to almost break Spencer's heart, but not really; the place where Spencer had found her that summer night. She felt different now. Probably what she'd done wouldn't really help her case against A. But at least now she was trying, she was really fighting, she had ideas in mind.
She hopped inside the car and changed her shoes.
But she stayed there, in her parking space, waiting for a text that would tell her what she had to do next.
Taking out her phone, she kept staring at one of Spencer's pictures. It was one of her favourite ones. Goofy Spencer, pretending she was smoking a cigarette that was actually a pen. Emily had taken that picture in the library while they were picking up some books. They had been talking about the night Spencer smoked just to show Hanna and Emily they shouldn't do it because they wouldn't master the art of smoking perfectly and because they wouldn't look as hot as her. It was true. Nobody looked as hot as her. And then, later that night, they had kissed for the first time in Spencer's yard. Spencer's mouth had tasted of nicotine and tequila and toothpaste. Her tongue was rich and tasty and sweet. Months after that night Emily had taken this picture in the library. Now she was staring at it. Nobody could be so hot while being goofy. Nobody could look so hot while playing badass. But Spencer was always hot, always sexy, always her. Always Spencer.
Could A text her already?
Instead of A, another text came and it was from Spencer.
"Em, where are you? Can you call me back? Please. Now."
She felt a pang of pain in her heart, because she couldn't call her yet.
Instead, she typed a text. "Later. My mom asked me to talk to the tenants and pick up old mail."
Liar.
But Spencer was demanding when she freaked out and it was better to text her back than to leave her thinking about how she was getting murdered - or about how she was making out with somebody else.
Half an hour passed and she started feeling desperate.
Really, A? Seriously?
She had to wait for five more minutes until the phone finally sounded with a beep.
"I'm so proud of you. And you look so hot in that dress. Think Spencer will like it? – A"
There was a picture attached of her talking to Claire. A rush of blood ran to her head, anger, wrath, shame.
The phone beeped again.
"Greenhouse. 30 minutes. Alone. You'll get what you want. Or are you scared to show? – A"
Even though there was not much time to make it there, Emily hesitated. Going to the greenhouse alone was a whole different thing to do than being asked to solicit numbers in public places. Nobody knew where she was. It was dangerous.
It was a limit.
She shouldn't do it.
But she started the car and drove in that direction, still considering her options.
She'd gone such a long way. She didn't want to give up now.
There had to be a way.
But Alison was dead. Ian Thomas was dead. And she had to be careful, because A wasn't just a blackmailing bastard. There was something else about A, something that made him/her/it unpredictable and deadly.
Still, she drove there, her heart beating wildly as she approached the forest.
She left the car where the road transformed into a gravel path and got out again, letting her body lean against the driver's door. It was already so dark. It was scary, and she was alone.
She took her phone out.
No texts.
There were only ten minutes left to get there.
She thought about texting Hanna, but Hanna would tell Spencer.
Maybe Spencer had been sent the picture already, so she would be freaking out anyway.
But she couldn't just go there and die without letting them know.
She checked her watch. Seven minutes.
It'd take them twenty minutes at least to get there.
She'd be alone for the most part.
She typed a text for Spencer, Hanna and Aria. "S.O.S. Greenhouse. Don't call."
And, right after pressing the send button, she started walking into the forest, in the direction of the greenhouse, wondering if she was really going to get out again.