Mr. Marin continued to b.u.t.ter his toast. "I actually didn't know her until about a week ago. She called me up to say she'd recently moved to Pennsylvania and really liked my platform. The amount of money she's promised is astounding."

"You didn't do a background check on her? What if she's, I don't know, a Satan worshipper?" Hanna's face had felt hot. Or a crazy person who's stalking your daughter?

Her father gave her a curious look. "Gayle's husband just gave a substantial donation to Princeton to build a new cancer research lab. I don't know too many Satan worshippers who would do that."

Discouraged, Hanna had gone upstairs and Googled Gayle's name, but nothing d.a.m.ning came up. She was influential in countless charities in New Jersey, and she'd partic.i.p.ated in a dressage compet.i.tion at the Devon Horse Show ten years ago. Then again, what would come up? It wasn't as if Gayle would keep a blog about how she was systematically torturing four high-school girls and calling herself A.

The door to the locker room squeaked open and a buff, sweaty woman strutted in. Hanna stuffed her duffel in a locker, spun the combination lock, and tottered toward the fitness cla.s.sroom. Mason and James stopped their pull-ups as she pa.s.sed. They nudged Mike. Hanna pretended not to notice as he turned and looked, rocking her hips back and forth and praying that her b.u.t.t looked amazing.

"Welcome!" A woman in a skimpy black leotard and tights and tall eighties bangs waved as Hanna walked through the door. "You're new, right? I'm Trixie." The instructor gestured to a spare pole in the center of the room, right next to Colleen. "That pole has got your name on it."

Hanna sauntered up to it and shot Colleen a smile. "Oh, hey!" she chirped in a mock-surprised voice, as though their meeting was completely by accident and Hanna hadn't strategically planned this out from the moment she'd heard the boys talking about it in the locker room at school.

"Hanna?" Colleen looked Hanna up and down. "OmiG.o.d! How fun! I didn't know you pole danced."

"It's not like it's hard," Hanna sniffed, summoning her inner Ali. She checked out her reflection in the mirror. Her hips were thinner than Colleen's, but Colleen had bigger b.o.o.bs.

"Well, you're going to love this cla.s.s," Colleen said. "Of course, if you pole dance all the time, you'll probably find it really easy. I bet you're really good." She leaned in closer. "And we're cool about Mike, right?"

Hanna wasn't sure if Colleen was genuinely being sweet or diplomatic, so she stuck her nose in the air. "Whatev," she said coolly. "Mike was just too much work for me. There was so much pressure to look like a Hooters hostess. And he's always checking out other girls at parties-it used to drive me crazy." She shot Colleen an apologetic smile. "I'm sure he doesn't do that to you, though."

Colleen opened her mouth to speak, looking so worried that Hanna wondered if she'd gone just a teensy bit overboard. Just then, the song "Hot Stuff" blared through the speakers. Trixie sauntered to the front of the cla.s.s, hooked her leg around her pole, lifted her b.u.t.t in the air, and did a half-raunchy, halfCirque de Soleil spin. "Okay, everyone!" she squawked into a headset. "Let's start off with some low squats!"

She bent her knees out to the side and lowered herself toward the ground. The cla.s.s followed, pumping in time with the beat. Hanna peeked at Colleen; her squats were low, balanced, and perfect. Colleen glanced back at her and gave her a broad smile. You're doing great! she mouthed. Hanna fought the urge to roll her eyes. Could she be any more nauseatingly positive?

Trixie led them through a series of neck rolls, shoulder raises, and provocative hip b.u.mps. Next, they tried out a series of dance moves that involved whipping around the pole like Gene Kelly in Singin' in the Rain. Hanna kept up just fine, her heart pounding hard and just the teensiest bit of sweat beading on her forehead. s.e.xy sweat, of course.

The next time Hanna glanced over her shoulder, the boys were sitting on the mats outside the cla.s.sroom, staring at the girls like ravenous dogs. Fueled by their presence, she scooped up her hair and dropped it behind her back, wiggling her b.u.t.t at them. James Freed visibly shuddered. Mason whistled. Colleen noticed the boys and did a s.e.xy shimmy. The boys nudged each other appreciatively.

Colleen gave Hanna a conspiratorial wink. "They can't get enough of us, huh?"

Hanna wanted to smack her. Didn't she realize they were competing?

"Advanced students only for this next move," Trixie announced as the soundtrack shifted to a sultry Adele song. She marched up to the pole, wrapped her arms and legs around it, and climbed it like a monkey. "Use your thighs to grip the pole, girls!"

Colleen proceeded to wriggle up the pole. She took one hand off, arched her back, and hung upside down for a moment. The boys applauded.

Hanna gritted her teeth. How hard could the move be? She grabbed the pole and began to climb. She was able to stay up for a moment, but then her thighs gave out, and she began to slip toward the ground. She sank farther and farther until her b.u.t.t kissed the floor. Her reflection in the mirror looked ridiculous.

"Good try, Hanna," Colleen chirped. "That move is really hard."

Hanna dusted off her b.u.t.t, then gazed around at the other girls in the room all making love to their poles. Suddenly, they didn't look like strippers, just chubby middle-aged women making fools out of themselves. This was the most idiotic fitness cla.s.s she'd ever taken. There was a much easier way to get the boys' attention.

She turned to the window again and eyed the boys. When she was sure they were looking at her, she casually tugged down her leopard-print, too-small shirt, exposing the top of her red, scalloped-lace bra.

By the looks on the boys' faces, she knew they saw it. Their jaws dropped. James grinned. Mason pretended he was going to faint. Mike didn't crack a smile, but he couldn't keep his eyes off her. It was good enough for Hanna. She sauntered out of the cla.s.s, swishing her hips to the strip-club beat.

"You're not staying?" James called out, his voice full of disappointment.

"Gotta leave something for your imagination, don't I?" Hanna said coyly. She could tell without turning around that Mike was still staring. She also knew that Colleen was watching her in the mirror, probably feeling a little confused. But whatever. She knew what Their Ali would say if she were still alive: All's fair in love and pole dancing.

12.

WORDS OF WISDOM.

That night, Emily stood in the hallway at Holy Trinity, the church her family attended. A bunch of construction-paper balloons bearing psalms and Bible verses were tacked up on the walls. A long gold runner stretched from one end of the hall to the other. The air smelled like a mixture of incense, stale coffee, and rubber cement, and the wind whistled noisily under the door. Years ago, Ali had told her that the whistling wind was the wails of the people buried in the cemetery out back. Sometimes Emily still believed that was true.

A door at the far end of the hall opened, and a graying man peered out. It was Father Fleming, the oldest and sweetest priest at the church. He smiled. "Emily! Come in, come in!"

For a second, Emily considered turning and bolting back to her car. Maybe this was a huge mistake. Yesterday, when she'd come home from swim practice, her mom had sat her down at the kitchen table and said she and her dad were considering postponing their trip to Texas. "Why?" Emily had asked. "You've planned this trip for months!"

"You just don't seem like yourself," Mrs. Fields said, folding and unfolding a cloth napkin again and again. "I'm worried about you. I thought, with the scholarship to UNC, you'd turn a corner and put everything behind you. But it's still weighing on your mind, isn't it?"

Tears inadvertently filled Emily's eyes. Of course everything was still weighing on her-nothing had changed. Even worse, the woman who'd wanted her baby had found her. If A didn't tell everyone about her pregnancy, Gayle probably would. And then what would happen? Would Emily still have a home to live in? Would her parents ever speak to her again?

She put her face in her hands and murmured that everything was so hard. Mrs. Fields patted her shoulder. "It's okay, honey." Which made Emily feel even worse-Emily didn't deserve her mom's sympathy.

"I have an idea." Mrs. Fields picked up the cordless phone from its cradle. "Why don't you talk to Father Fleming at the church?"

Emily made a face, thinking about Father Fleming. She'd known him forever. He'd listened to her first confession when she was seven years old, telling her not to sweat calling Seth Cardiff a walrus in the schoolyard. But admitting to a priest she'd had premarital s.e.x? It seemed so wrong.

The thing was, Mrs. Fields wouldn't take no for an answer-in fact, she'd already set up a meeting with Father Fleming the following day without asking Emily first. Emily relented, if only to rea.s.sure her parents that it was okay for them to go to Texas as planned. They'd left for the airport that morning, although Mrs. Fields had left a miles-long list of emergency contacts on the kitchen table and arranged for several neighbors to check in on Emily during the time they would be gone.

But now here she was, shuffling toward Father Fleming's office. Before she knew it, she was hanging her coat on a hook shaped like a hand making a thumbs-up sign on the back of the door and looking around the room. The decor took her aback. A ceramic head of Curly from The Three Stooges leered from the windowsill. The sanctimonious preacher from The Simpsons gave her a puckered-lipped pout from next to a gooseneck lamp. There were a lot of religious texts on the bookshelves, but Agatha Christie mysteries and Tom Clancy thrillers as well. On the desk were two tiny handmade Guatemalan worry dolls.

Father Fleming noticed her looking at them. "You're supposed to put them under your pillow to help you sleep."

"I know. I have some, too." Emily couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. She didn't think priests were superst.i.tious. "Do they work for you?"

"Not really. What about you?"

Emily shook her head. She'd bought six worry dolls at a head shop in Hollis shortly after what happened in Jamaica, hoping that placing them under her pillow would calm her down at night. But the same thoughts still zoomed through her mind.

Father Fleming sat down in the leather chair behind his desk and folded his hands. "So. What can I do for you, Emily?"

Emily stared at her chipped green nail polish. "I'm okay, really. My mom was just worried about my stress levels. It's not a big deal."

Father Fleming nodded sympathetically. "Well, if you want to talk, I'm here to listen. And whatever you say goes no further than this room."

One of Emily's eyebrows shot up. "You won't tell my mom about . . . anything?"

"Of course not."

Emily ran her tongue over her teeth, her secret suddenly feeling like a festering sore inside of her. "I had a baby," she blurted. "This summer. No one in my family knew about it except for my sister." Just saying it out loud in such a holy place made her feel like the devil.

When she snuck a peek at Father Fleming, though, he still had the same unflappable expression on his face. "Your parents had no idea?"

Emily nodded. "I hid in the city for the summer so they wouldn't find out."

Father Fleming fingered his collar. "What happened to the baby?"

"I gave her up for adoption."

"Did you meet the family?"

"Yes. They were very nice. It all went very smoothly."

Emily stared at the cross on the wall behind Father Fleming's desk, nervously hoping it wouldn't shoot off of its hook and impale her for lying. Her baby was with the Bakers, but things had gone the opposite of smoothly.

After Gayle had met with Emily and Aria in the cafe, Emily couldn't get Gayle's offer out of her mind. The Bakers seemed special, but what Gayle brought to the table was special, too. Aria had scolded Emily for being so preoccupied with Gayle's money, but she didn't want this baby to grow up the way she had, listening to her mom agonize about money every Christmas, missing out on a Washington, D.C., field trip because her dad was out of a job, being forced into keeping with a sport she wasn't interested in anymore because it was her only ticket to college. Emily wanted to say that money didn't matter to her, but since she'd always had to think about money, it definitely did.

Two days later, after her shift at the restaurant, Emily called Gayle and said she wanted to talk more. They arranged to meet at a coffee shop near Temple that very night. A little before 8 PM, Emily cut through a small Philadelphia park, and a hand had shot out from the darkness and cupped her belly. "Heather," a voice said, and Emily screamed. A figure stepped into the light, and Emily couldn't be more surprised to see Gayle's smiling face. "W-what are you doing here?" she gasped. Gayle shrugged. "It was such a nice night I thought we could talk outside. But someone's jumpy," she said with a laugh.

Emily should have turned around and left, but instead she told herself that maybe she was being jumpy. Maybe Gayle was just playful. So she accepted Gayle's carryout cup of decaf coffee and stayed. "Why do you want my baby?" she asked. "Why can't you go through an adoption agency?"

Gayle patted the seat next to her, and Emily plopped down on the bench. "The wait with an adoption agency is too long," she said. "And we suspect that potential mothers wouldn't choose me and my husband because of what happened to our daughter."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "What did happen to her?"

A faraway, uncomfortable look came over Gayle's face. Her left hand kneaded her thigh. "She had problems," she said quietly. "She was in an accident when she was younger and never quite recovered."

"An . . . accident?"

Suddenly, Gayle put her head in her hands. "My husband and I are dying to be parents again," she said with urgency. "Please let us have the baby. We can give you fifty thousand dollars cash for your trouble."

Emily felt a palpable jolt of surprise. "Fifty thousand dollars?" she repeated. That could pay for all four years of college. She wouldn't have to swim on scholarship every year. She could take a gap year and travel the world. Or she could donate it all to charity, to other babies who wouldn't have an opportunity like this one.

"Maybe we can work something out," Emily said quietly.

Gayle's face twitched. She let out a whoop of joy and wrapped her arms around Emily tight. "You won't regret this," she said.

Then she jumped up, rattled off information on how they would meet again in a few days, and was gone. The darkness swallowed Gayle up entirely. Only her laugh lingered, a haunting cackle that echoed through the woods. Emily sat on the bench for a few more minutes, watching the long, bright line of traffic on the 76 expressway in the distance. She wasn't left with a feeling of comfort, as she'd hoped. Instead, she just felt . . . weird. What had she just done?

A single pipe-organ note echoed through the church hall. Father Fleming lifted a jade paperweight on his desk and put it back down. "I can only imagine how much of a burden this has been for you. But it sounds like you did the right thing, giving the child up to a family who really wanted her."

"Uh huh." Emily's throat itched, a sure sign she was about to cry.

"It must have been hard to give her up," Father Fleming went on. "But you'll always be in her heart, and she'll always be in yours. Now, what about the father?"

Emily jolted up. "What about him?"

"Does he know about this?"

"Oh my G.o.d, no." Emily's face felt hot. "He and I broke up long before I knew I was . . . you know. Pregnant." She wondered what Father would think if he knew that the dad was Isaac, one of his parish members. Isaac's band had played at quite a few church functions.

Father Fleming folded his hands. "Don't you think he deserves to know?"

"No. Absolutely no way." Emily shook her head vehemently. "He would hate me forever."

"You can't know that." He picked up a ballpoint pen and clicked it on and off. "And even if he's angry with you, you might feel better if you tell the truth."

They talked for a while longer about how Emily had weathered having a baby on her own, what her recovery had been like, and what her college plans were. Just as the pipe organist launched into a long, droning variation of Canon in D, Father Fleming's iPhone chimed. He smiled at her kindly. "I'm afraid I'll have to leave you now, Emily. I've got a meeting with the church board of trustees in about ten minutes. Do you think you'll be all right?"

Emily shrugged. "I guess."

He stood, patted Emily's shoulder, and guided her toward the door. Halfway down the hall, he turned and looked at her. "It goes without saying, but everything you've told me is just between us," he said softly. "Still, I know you'll do the right thing."

Emily nodded dumbly, wondering what the right thing was. She considered Isaac again. He'd been so nice at Hanna's dad's town hall meeting. Maybe Father Fleming was right. Maybe she owed it to him. It was his baby, too.

Heart thumping, Emily pulled out her cell phone and composed a new text to Isaac.

I have something to talk to you about. Can we meet tomorrow?

Before she could change her mind, she pressed SEND.

13.

RING, RING, IT'S REAL ALI A few hours later, Aria sat in the kitchen at Byron and Meredith's house, her laptop on the table in front of her. An IM from Emily appeared on the screen. Any news?

Emily obviously wanted to know if Aria had gotten a message from A. Nope, Aria replied. I haven't gotten anything yet. She hoped to keep it that way. As far as she was concerned, she didn't know anything interesting about Mr. Kahn. A had no new reasons to torment her. The secret would stay locked away forever.

Are we still on for Sat.u.r.day? Emily wrote next.

It took Aria a moment to remember that Emily had wanted her to go to the open house at the property on Ship Lane. Definitely.

The front door slammed, and then came the sounds of keys dropping into a bowl and Meredith cooing soothingly to Lola. Meredith strode into the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. She was dressed in stretch pants and a baggy white sweatshirt, a yoga mat tucked under her arm. Her dark hair was in a ponytail, her cheeks were flushed, and she looked very relaxed. Lola was strapped to her torso in a baby carrier, sound asleep.

"Ugh, I'm so out of shape," Meredith moaned, rolling her eyes. "Maybe I went back to teaching a little too soon. I couldn't even do a handstand today."

"I was never able to do a handstand," Aria said, shrugging.

"I could teach you how if you want," Meredith offered.