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The phone rang once more. Andrew took his hand off her back. “Are you going to see who that is?”
Spencer licked her lips, considering. Slowly, she reached for her purse. Her hands shook so much she could hardly undo the small metal clasp.
She didn’t have a new text, but a new e-mail. The sender’s name swam into view. I Love U. And then the subject line: You might have a match!
“Oh my God.” Spencer shoved her Sidekick under Andrew’s nose. In the chaos of the last week, she’d almost forgotten about the Web site. “Look!”
Andrew breathed in sharply. They opened the e-mail and squinted at the message. We are pleased to inform you that someone in our database matches your personal birth information, it said. We are contacting her now, and she should be in touch in a few days. Thank you, The I Love U Team.
Spencer scrolled down frantically, skimming the rest of the note, but it didn’t offer much more information. I Love U hadn’t disclosed what this woman’s name was, or what she did, or where she lived.
Spencer let her Sidekick fall to her lap, her head spinning. “So…this is real?”
Andrew grabbed her hands. “Maybe.”
Spencer gradually smiled, tears still streaming down her face. “Oh my God,” she cried. “Oh my God!” She threw her arms around Andrew and gave him a huge hug. “Thank you!”
“For what?” Andrew sounded baffled.
“I don’t know!” Spencer answered giddily. “Everything!”
They pulled away, grinning at each other. And then, slowly and carefully, Andrew’s hand moved down and circled her wrist. Spencer froze. The party noises outside fell away, and everything in the room felt cozy and close. A few long, slow seconds ticked by, marked only by the flashing dots on the DVD player’s digital clock.
Andrew leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. His mouth tasted like cinnamon Altoids, and his lips were soft. Everything felt…right. He kissed her deeper, slowly pulling her closer to him. Where on earth had Andrew Campbell learned to kiss like this?
The whole thing took five seconds at the most. When Andrew pulled back, Spencer was too shocked to speak. She wondered if she’d tasted like salty tears. And her face probably looked hideous, all puffy and red from crying. “I’m sorry,” Andrew said quickly, his face paling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You just look so pretty tonight, and I’m so excited for you, and…”
Spencer blinked hard, hoping that the blood would soon return to her head. “Don’t apologize,” she finally said. “But…but I’m not sure I deserve this.” She let out a loud sniff. “I’ve been so nasty to you. Like…at Foxy. And in every class we’ve been in together. I’ve been nothing but a bitch.” She shook her head, a tear trickling down her check. “You should hate me.”
Andrew wound his pinkie around hers. “I was mad at you about Foxy, but that was just because I liked you. And everything else…we were just being competitive.” He poked Spencer’s bare knee. “I like that you’re competitive…and determined…and smart. I wouldn’t want you to change any of that.”
Spencer started to laugh, but her mouth contorted into a new batch of sobs. Why was she crying when someone was being so nice to her? She looked at her phone again and tapped the screen. “So you would like me even if I’m not a real Hastings?”
Andrew snorted. “I don’t care what your last name is. Besides, even Coco Chanel came from nothing. She was an orphan. And look what happened to her.”
One corner of Spencer’s mouth curled up in a smile. “Liar.” How did bookish Andrew know anything about haute fashion designers?
“It’s true!” Andrew nodded fervidly. “Look it up!”
Spencer drank in Andrew’s thin, angular face, how his longish, wheat-colored hair curled sweetly over his ears. All this time, Andrew had been right in front of her, sitting next to her in classes, rushing to finish math problems at the board before she did, campaigning against her for class president and leader of Model UN—and she’d never noticed how damn cute he was. Spencer melted into his arms again, wishing they could stay like this all night.
As she nestled her chin into Andrew’s shoulder, her eyes drifted back to the picture of Ali propped up against the Eiffel Tower. All of a sudden, the photo looked completely different. Although Ali’s mouth was still open in mid-laugh, there was a worried, urgent look behind her eyes. It was almost like she was crying out to the photographer, trying to send an unspoken message. Help me, a glimmer in her eyes said. Please.
Spencer thought of her Ali dream again. She’d been standing right next to Ali by those very same bike racks. Younger Ali had turned to her, this same fragile expression on her face. Both Alis wanted Spencer to uncover something. Maybe something that was very close.
You shouldn’t have thrown it away, Spencer, both of them chanted. It was all there. Everything you need. It’s up to you, Spencer. You have to fix this.
But what had she recently thrown away? How could she fix it?
Suddenly, Spencer pulled away from Andrew. “The trash bag.”
“Wha—?” Andrew seemed disoriented.
Spencer looked out the back window. The grief counselor had made them bury all that Ali crap last Saturday—essentially throwing it away. Was that what the two Alis in her dream had meant? Could there be something in there that would solve everything?
“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered, jerkily standing.
