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“Thank you so much,” Emily gushed. She felt the urge to wrap her arms around Mr. Roland, but resisted.
“Any friend of Chloe’s is a friend of mine,” Mr. Roland pivoted toward the exit. “It’s nice to see her meeting people so quickly. Nice seeing you, Emily.”
He tucked his briefcase under his arm and strode around the puddles toward the steamed-over door to the locker rooms. Suddenly, Emily felt a million times better. Whatever she’d thought she’d experienced in the Rolands’ house yesterday was all in her head.
Someone sighed behind her, and Emily turned around. Her gaze darted to the long bank of windows that led to the outside. The sun had set, dyeing the sky midnight blue and bathing the landscape in silhouette. And then she saw something next to her Volvo wagon in the parking lot. Was that a person? Skulking around, peeking through the passenger-side window?
Another flip turn splashed her legs, and she stepped back from the pool’s edge. When she looked out the window again, the sky was suddenly pitch-black, like someone had pulled a curtain over it. Emily couldn’t see anything at all.
Chapter 12
Finn Dining
On Tuesday night, Aria rang the doorbell at the Kahns’ house, a redbrick mansion with white columns, a six-car garage, various porticos and turrets, and an eleven-acre backyard that had been the site of many infamous parties. Tonight, the Kahns were hosting another party, although Aria doubted it would feature body shots or illicit hookups in the Kahns’ photo booth. It was a traditional Finnish smorgasbord to welcome Klaudia to the U.S., and judging by the number of cars in the long, circular driveway, it looked like the Kahns had invited everyone in Rosewood and several towns beyond.
Mrs. Kahn flung the door open and beamed. “Tervetuloa, Aria!” she said jovially. “That’s Finnish for welcome!”
“Uh, tervetuloa,” Aria echoed politely, trying to get the intonation correct . . . and trying not to gawk at Mrs. Kahn’s outfit. Normally, Noel’s mother was the epitome of horsey couture: Ralph Lauren riding pants, cable-cashmere sweaters, sleek Tod’s boots, and diamonds on her fingers and in her ears that were probably worth more than both Aria’s parents’ houses combined. Today, though, she wore a long red skirt that looked like it was made out of stiff felt, a shirred blouse with puffed sleeves and elaborate embroidery at the neck, and a very colorful peasant vest that featured yet more embroidery and smelled like mothballs. There was a slightly phallic bonnet on her head and black leather lace-up boots on her feet. And they definitely weren’t the kind featured in the Jimmy Choo window at the King James Mall.
“Isn’t my outfit divine?” Mrs. Kahn crowed, spinning so the skirt flared out. “It’s the traditional Finnish costume! Have you ever seen anything so colorful? I’m half Finnish, you know. Perhaps my ancestors dressed just like this!”
Aria nodded and smiled dumbly, though she doubted Finns dressed that way unless they absolutely had to. Who wanted to look like a Grimm fairy-tale character?
Then Klaudia stepped into the foyer. “Aria! We’re so happy you make it!” Noel was right behind her. Klaudia looped her arm around Noel’s shoulders like they were a couple.
“Uh, I wouldn’t miss it.” Aria stared pointedly at Noel, thinking he’d break from Klaudia and walk across the foyer to join her, his girlfriend. But he just stood next to Klaudia with a stupid grin on his face. Klaudia turned and whispered something in Noel’s ear. Noel said something back, and they both chuckled.
Prickles rose on Aria’s skin. “Is something funny?”
“It’s . . . never mind.” Noel waved away Aria’s question.
Tonight, Klaudia wore a marled sweater dress that was at least two sizes too small. Her blond hair spilled down her back, and she wore wet, glossy lipstick that drew the eye straight to her mouth. Every guy at the party stared at her—including Mr. Shay, the elderly biology teacher at Rosewood Day who Aria had always thought was legally blind.
But then Noel slithered around the knot of adoring male admirers and wrapped his arm around Aria. “I’m glad you’re here.” It made Aria feel slightly better, especially since Klaudia was watching.
Everyone turned toward the kitchen, which boomed with polka-ish music Aria could only assume was Finnish. The table had a fairy-tale quality to it, too: There were burbling cauldrons, oversized goblets, sausage bursting out of its casing, fish with their heads still on, and gingerbread cookies that looked straight out of Hansel and Gretel. A glass pitcher held soured milk. In front of a bubbling Crock-Pot Mrs. Kahn had affixed a label that said MOOSE! The Rosewood residents gathered around the table looked a little bit lost.
“Ooh, delicious!” Klaudia chirped when she reached the table. About ten guys scrambled to help her, as if she were an infant incapable of making her own plate. Mason Byers offered to spoon up Klaudia a bowl of soup. Philip Gregory asked if Klaudia wanted some sausage—nudge, nudge. Preston Wallis and John Dexter, who’d graduated from Rosewood Day but were going to Hollis and still some of Noel’s closest friends, retrieved napkins for Klaudia and poured her a mug of cider.
The girls were a different story, though. Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe shot Klaudia dirty looks from the kitchen island. Lanie Iler, who was standing near Aria in the food line, leaned over to Phi Templeton, who wasn’t nearly as much of a dork as she used to be when Aria, Ali, and the others made fun of her in seventh grade, and whispered, “You know, she’s not that pretty.”
“She’s in my English class,” Phi answered, rolling her eyes. “She barely knows how to read English. I thought people from Europe were, like, fluent.”
