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Then Mike noticed someone across the room. He nudged Aria. “Hey, Xavier’s here!”
Nerves rippled through Aria’s stomach. She stood on her tiptoes to look over the crowd. Sure enough, Xavier was standing in line at the bar, dressed in a dapper black suit. “Ella’s working tonight,” she murmured suspiciously. “What’s he doing here?”
Mike scoffed. “Because it’s a benefit for our school, maybe? Because he really likes Mom and wants to support us? Because I mentioned it to him and he seemed really into coming?” He put his hands on his hips and glared at Aria for three long beats. “What is your deal? Why do you hate that dude?”
Aria swallowed hard. “I don’t hate him.”
“Then go talk to him,” Mike insisted through his teeth. “Go apologize for whatever it was you did.” He pushed his fist gently into Aria’s back. She glared at him, irritated—why did Mike automatically assume she had done something?—but it was too late. Xavier saw them. He stepped out of his place at the bar and made his way over. Aria pressed her nails into her palm.
“I’ll leave you two alone so you can kiss and make up,” Mike said, scuttling over to Savannah. Aria felt stuck—and uncomfortable with Mike’s choice of words. She watched as Xavier moved closer and closer until he was right next to her. His brown eyes looked almost black against the dark gray of his suit. There was an awkward, embarrassed look on his face.
“Hey,” Xavier said to her, fiddling with his pearl cuff links. “You look nice.”
“Thanks,” Aria answered, picking at an invisible thread on the strap of her dress. She suddenly felt so formal and ridiculous with her blue-black hair in a dumb French braid and her mother’s faux-fur angora stole around her shoulders. She tilted away from Xavier, not wanting to expose her bare back.
All at once, she couldn’t be standing here, being all polite to him. Not now. “I have to…,” she blurted out, then swirled around and ran up the stairs to the second level. Spencer’s bedroom was the first door on the left. The door was open, and thankfully no one was inside.
Aria stumbled in, taking deep breaths. It had been at least three years since she’d been inside Spencer’s bedroom, but it didn’t seem like Spencer had changed a thing. The room smelled like fresh-cut flowers, which were arranged in vases all over the room. The antique mahogany vanity was still pushed against the wall, and the four oversize chairs—which folded out into twin beds, perfect for when they all used to sleep over—made a small, intimate circle around a teak coffee table. Dramatic red velvet drapes framed the big bay window that offered a full view into Ali’s old bedroom. Spencer used to gloat about how she and Ali secretly communicated by flashlight at night.
Aria continued to look around. The same tasteful framed photographs and paintings hung on Spencer’s walls, and the same snapshot of the five of them was still wedged into the corner of her vanity mirror. Aria walked up to it, her chest filling with longing. The photo was of Aria, Ali, Spencer, Emily, and Hanna, sitting on Ali’s uncle’s yacht in Newport, Rhode Island. They all wore matching white J. Crew bikinis and wide-brimmed straw hats. Ali’s smile looked confident and relaxed, while Spencer, Hanna, and Emily looked deliriously euphoric. This had been just a few weeks after they’d become friends—the high of being part of Ali’s exclusive clique hadn’t worn off yet.
Aria, on the other hand, looked freaked, as if she were certain that Ali was going to push her into the Newport Harbor any minute. In fact, Aria had been worried that day. She was still certain Ali knew the truth about what had happened to her stolen piece of the Time Capsule flag.
But Ali had never confronted Aria about it. And Aria had never admitted what she had done. It was obvious what would happen if Aria told Ali the truth—Ali’s face would crinkle in confusion, then slowly morph to rage. She’d drop Aria for good, just when Aria was getting used to having friends. As October faded into November, Aria’s secret withered away. Time Capsule was a stupid game, nothing more.
Xavier coughed in the hallway. “Hey,” he said, poking his head into the room. “Can we talk?”
Aria sucked in her stomach. “Um…okay.”
Xavier slowly walked up to Spencer’s bed and sat down. Aria settled into the paisley-covered chair at Spencer’s vanity, staring at her lap. A few long, awkward seconds went by. The sounds of the party throbbed below, everyone’s voices muddled together. A glass shattered to the wood floor. A little dog yapped viciously.
Finally, Xavier let out a guttural sigh and looked up. “You’re killing me, Aria.”
Aria cocked her head, confused. “I’m sorry?”
“A guy can only take so many mixed signals.”
“Mixed…signals?” Aria repeated. Maybe this was some weird-artist way to break the ice. She waited for the punch line.
Xavier stood up and slowly padded across the room until he was right next to her. He curled his hands over the edge of the top of the vanity chair, and his hot, pungent breath brushed against Aria’s neck. It smelled like he’d had a lot to drink. Suddenly, Aria wondered if this wasn’t an icebreaker at all. Her head started to ache.
“You flirt with me at my opening, but then you get all weird when I draw a picture of you at the restaurant,” Xavier explained in a low voice. “You walk around at breakfast in a see-through shirt and shorts, you spill your guts, you initiate a pillow fight… but when I kiss you, you get all freaked out. And now, you run up to a bedroom. I’m sure you knew I was going to follow you.”
