Wanted

13 BLAST FROM THE PAST

Spencer adjusted the scoop neck of her Milly halter dress and flashed a fake ID to a bald bouncer at Paparazzi, a two-story club in Old City, Philadelphia. The bouncer studied it, nodded, and handed it back to Spencer. Sweet.

Next came Courtney, dressed in a gorgeous gold minidress. Courtney showed the bouncer an old fake ID of Melissa’s, and the bouncer nodded her through. Emily pulled up the rear, looking surprisingly sexy in a red A-line dress, a bold beaded necklace, and strappy silver heels she’d borrowed from Courtney’s closet. Courtney had called Spencer an hour before they were supposed to leave for their big night out, saying that she and Emily had really hit it off and that she wanted to invite Emily to go dancing with them. Spencer didn’t mind—now that she’d bonded with Ali’s twin, she wanted everyone else to love her just as much.

Emily handed the bouncer her older sister’s fake ID, and after the bouncer nodded inattentively and handed it back, the three of them pushed inside. “We are going to have an awesome time,” Courtney said, grabbing their hands. “I am so excited.”

“Me too,” Emily said, giving Courtney a long, meaningful look. Spencer couldn’t help but smirk. It looked like Emily’s crush on Ali had transferred over to her twin sister.

It was crowded for a Wednesday night. The club was in an old bank with marble pillars, intricate woodwork, and a mezzanine level that looked over the dance floor. A Black Eyed Peas song was playing at a deafening volume, and a bunch of college-age kids were writhing around enthusiastically, not caring that they had no rhythm—or that they were spilling their drinks all over themselves. The place smelled overwhelmingly like beer, cologne, and too many bodies in too small a space. A bunch of guys turned when they saw Spencer and her friends, their eyes instantly zeroing in on Courtney’s blond hair, her slim hips, the way her dress skimmed her thighs. Everyone knew who she was. It was a wonder the news vans hadn’t arrived yet.

Courtney leaned over the bar and ordered them three raspberry martinis. She returned with three pinkish drinks. “Bottoms up, ladies.”

“I don’t know…” Spencer said uncertainly.

“Yeah!” Emily said at the same time. Spencer gaped at her. Who was this girl, and what had she done with the old Emily?

“You’re outvoted!” Courtney grinned. “Ready, set, chug!”

Spencer good-naturedly tilted the drink to her lips, letting the tart liquid spill down her throat. When she finished, she wiped her mouth and let out a whoop.

The others finished their drinks, too, and Courtney flagged down a seven-foot-tall bartender who looked suspiciously like a drag queen. “Let’s dance!” she said after handing them their second rounds. They shimmied toward the dance floor and began to gyrate to “Hollaback Girl.” Courtney stretched her arms over her head and closed her eyes. Emily swayed back and forth to the beat.

Spencer leaned forward and shouted in Emily’s ear. “Remember those dance contests we used to have in Ali’s living room?” They moved all the furniture to the corners, cranked up the stereo, and made up elaborate dance moves to Justin Timberlake. “This is just like that…only better.”

Emily gave Spencer a coy look. “More than you know, actually.”

Spencer frowned. “What do you mean?” But Emily took a long swig of her drink and turned away.

The crowd around them thickened. Spencer felt people staring. A bunch of guys edged close, taking advantage of every opportunity they could to bump against Courtney’s hips, Emily’s long legs, or Spencer’s bare shoulders. Girls looked on longingly, many of them waving their arms over their heads like Courtney was, hoping some of her magic would rub off on them. The wallflowers sitting in booths gaped at the three of them as if they were Hollywood starlets.

Euphoria washed over Spencer. The last time she’d felt this amazing was right after Ali had befriended all of them at the Rosewood Day Charity Drive, first inviting them for smoothies at Steam, then asking them to a sleepover at her house. Spencer had no idea why Ali had chosen her out of all the rich, pretty sixth graders at Rosewood Day—she hadn’t even made Spencer compete for her attention. When Spencer had returned to her charity booth after the smoothie, her peers had gazed at her enviously. Everyone wanted to be in Spencer’s shoes, just like they did now.

Dappled light from the disco ball slithered across the length of Courtney’s body as she moved. A dark-haired guy started to writhe against her. He was a few inches shorter than Courtney, wore a tattoo-tee, and sported an ironic, hipsterish mustache. He reminded Spencer of an emo version of a Super Mario Brother.

Courtney pointedly turned away from him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Next he ground against Emily’s hip. Emily looked mortified. Spencer nudged between them, grabbing Emily’s hands and twirling her around. Mario vanished through the crowd, but in seconds he was back, his eyes now on Spencer.

“Hide behind me,” Courtney squealed. Spencer tipsily ducked behind her. Emily moved closer, doubled over in laughter. Mario danced by himself a few feet away, his movements bizarre and jerky. Every so often he glanced at the three of them, clearly hoping they’d invite him into their circle.

“I think one of us has to dance with him to make him go away,” Emily said.

Courtney put her finger to her lips. She glanced at Emily and smiled mischievously. Then, Courtney tipped her head toward Spencer. “Not it.”

The words sank in slowly. Spencer suddenly tasted sticky martini at the back of her throat. “W-what?”

“Not it,” Courtney repeated, still bobbing to the beat. Even her eyes danced. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our old favorite game, Spence.”

Our old favorite game? Spencer stepped away from Courtney, nearly colliding with a tall girl with waist-length brown hair. Lightning crackled through her veins. Something was wrong here. Very, very wrong.

Emily and Courtney exchanged another knowing look. Then Courtney took Spencer’s arm and guided her and Emily away from the dance floor to a quieter part of the bar. Spencer’s heart rocketed. Something about this seemed planned, staged.

They made her sit down in an empty booth. “Spence, I have something to tell you,” Courtney said, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. “Emily already knows.”

“Knows?” Spencer repeated. Emily smiled conspiratorially. “Knows what? What’s going on?”

Courtney reached out and grabbed her hands. “Spence. I’m Ali.”

Spencer’s head snapped up. “That’s not funny.”

But Courtney had a serious look on her face. Emily did, too.

The music warped. The strobe light was giving Spencer a migraine. She slid farther into the booth. “Stop it,” she demanded. “Stop it right now.”

“It’s true,” Emily said, her eyes wide and unblinking. “Honest. Just hear her out.”

Courtney began to explain what had happened. When Spencer heard the word switch, the martinis she’d downed crawled up the back of her throat. How was this possible? She didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it.

“How many times were you two in Rosewood together?” Spencer croaked, woozily gripping the edge of the banquette.

“Just once,” Courtney—Ali?—said, her eyes downcast. “The weekend my sister died.”

“No, wait.” Emily frowned, raising a finger. “Wasn’t she here one other time?” She reached into her black patent clutch, pulled out her phone, and showed them the old photo text A had sent. Ali, Jenna, and a third blond girl whose back was to the camera stood in the DiLaurentises’ yard on what looked like a late-summer afternoon. The third blond girl could definitely be Ali’s twin.

“Oh.” Courtney pushed her hair out of her eyes and snapped her fingers. “Right. I forgot. She was home for a couple hours when she was switching hospitals.”

Spencer counted the funky glass tiles on the wall along the back of the booth, trying to make some sense and order out of the chaos. “But if Courtney always pretended she was Ali, how do I know you aren’t Courtney?”

“She’s not,” Emily urged. The blond girl shook her head, too.

“But what about the ring?” Spencer pressed, pointing to Courtney’s naked finger. “The girl in the hole was wearing Ali’s initial ring on her pinkie. If you’re Ali, why was Courtney wearing it?”

Courtney made a pinched face, as if she’d done a shot of Sour Apple Pucker schnapps. “I lost the ring the morning before our sleepover. I’m sure my sister stole it.”

“I don’t remember you wearing it that night,” Emily said quickly.

Spencer shot Emily a look. Of course Emily wanted to believe this was Ali—this was what she’d wanted for the past four years. But as Spencer struggled to remember, she wasn’t sure, either. Had Ali worn her ring the night of their sleepover?

A bunch of spiky-haired guys in button-downs passed by, looking as though they wanted to approach and hit on them, but they must have sensed something weird was going down and ambled away. Courtney took Spencer’s hands. “Remember that day we fought in the barn? I’ve thought about that for three and a half years. I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry about other stuff I did, too—like hanging my JV hockey uniform in my window so you’d see. I knew it got to you. But I was jealous…and insecure. I always worried that you deserved to be on the hockey team, not me.”

Spencer clutched the seat of the leather-upholstered booth, trying to breathe. Anyone could’ve known about the fight in the barn—Spencer had had to relay that information to the police. But the hockey uniform in the window? That was something Spencer hadn’t even told her friends.

“And I’m sorry about all that stuff with Ian, too,” Courtney—or was it really Ali?—said. “I shouldn’t have said I was going to tell Melissa you two had kissed when I was the one in a relationship with him. And I shouldn’t have said that I’d made him kiss you. That wasn’t even true.”

Spencer gritted her teeth, all the shameful, angry feelings from that fight bubbling up again. “Gee, thanks.”

“I was bitchy, I know. I felt so bad afterward that I didn’t even bother to meet Ian. I ran up to my room instead. So in a way, you saved me, Spence. If we hadn’t had that fight, it would have been me out there in the woods, easy prey for Billy.” Ali wiped her eyes with a cocktail napkin. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I knew we were sisters. I only found out a little bit before our last sleepover, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

“How did you even find out?” Spencer asked weakly.

The music changed to a Lady Gaga song and the whole bar erupted into cheers around them. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” she said. “What matters right now is what I said to you yesterday at my house—I want to start fresh. To be the sisters we’ve always wanted.”

The room spun wildly. There was a clamoring, greedy crowd three-deep at the bar. Spencer stared at the girl sitting across from her in the booth, scrutinizing her small, pink hands, her round fingernails, and long neck. Could this be Ali? It was like looking at a very well-made knockoff Fendi bag, trying to distinguish it from a real one. The differences had to be there.

And yet…it made sense. Spencer had had a funny feeling the moment this girl had stepped onto the stage at the press conference that something was…off. The secret twin had looked at all of them so knowingly. She’d called Emily Killer. She’d decorated her room exactly as Ali had. She’d gotten every element of Ali right, something even a good impersonator—even a twin—couldn’t pull off. This was the girl who’d befriended her that day of the charity drive. The one who’d made her feel wanted, special.

But then she thought about the eerie photographs Billy had taken the night of the sleepover. If only Ali would have let Spencer open the blinds, if only she hadn’t insisted on doing everything her way, they would’ve seen who was out there. None of this might have happened.

“We spent every day together for two years. How come you never told us about your sister?” Spencer asked, lifting her hair off the back of her neck. It seemed like a hundred more people had just entered the bar. She felt trapped and panicky, like the time she and Melissa got stuck in an overstuffed Saks elevator on Black Friday.

Ali blew her blond bangs off her face. “My parents asked me not to. And also…I was ashamed. I didn’t want you guys to ask all kinds of uncomfortable questions.”

Spencer let out a frustrated sniff. “Like the kinds of questions you used to ask us?”

Ali stared at her helplessly. Emily pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. The music throbbed in the background.

“You knew all our secrets,” Spencer said, her voice trembling. Her anger was accumulating fast, like a snowball that grew bigger and bigger as it rolled down a hill. “You held them over us for power. You were afraid that if we knew this, we’d hold it over you. You wouldn’t have any leverage anymore.”

“You’re right,” Ali conceded. “I guess that’s true. I’m sorry.”

“And why didn’t you try to contact us from the hospital?” Spencer went on, her skin pulsing with fury. “We were your best friends. You should have said something. Do you have any idea what we went through after you vanished?”

Ali’s mouth did acrobatics as she tried to assemble a response. “I…”

Spencer cut her off. “Do you have any clue how hard that was?” Tears were now streaming down her face. A couple of people gaped at her as they passed, then scuttled on.

“It was hard for me, too!” Ali protested, shaking her head. “I wanted to tell you guys, I swear! I didn’t contact you at first because I couldn’t. It took me months to get phone privileges, and by the time I could call you, eighth grade had started. I thought…well, after all I did to you guys, you wouldn’t want me back anyway.” She gazed stubbornly into the crowd. “You were probably happy I was gone.”

“Ali, that’s not true,” Emily protested immediately, touching Ali’s arm.

Ali shook her away. “Come on. It’s a little true, isn’t it?”

Spencer stared into the half inch of pink liquid left in her martini glass. It was true. After Ali disappeared, Spencer had been relieved to escape her taunts and tormenting. But if Ali had contacted her from the hospital, Spencer would have run the entire way to Delaware.

The three of them were quiet for a while, staring out at the masses around the bar and the DJ bopping and jerking behind the booth. A redhead climbed on a table to dance, a cadre of seven boys surrounding her like vultures. A bartender cleared a full bottle of beer from the adjacent table, and a girl with blunt-cut blond hair slipped out of the restroom. Spencer sat up straighter. Was that…Melissa? She squinted hard, trying to find the figure again, but she was gone. Spencer’s head pounded and she felt feverish. Her eyes were obviously playing tricks on her—weren’t they?

Spencer let out a long sigh. Ali stared at her, her face full of vulnerable anxiety. It was obvious how badly she wanted Spencer to forgive her. Finally, Ali crossed to the other side of the booth and flung her arms around Spencer. Spencer lightly patted Ali’s back.

“Hot,” someone behind them whispered. They broke away and turned. Emo Super Mario was leaning against one of the columns, casually watching them over a tall glass of beer. “Can I join you?” he said in a slimy voice.

Emily let out an embarrassed titter. Ali giggled into her hand. She exchanged a naughty glance with both of them. Even Spencer knew what was coming.

“Not it!” they all cried at exactly the same time. Emily and Ali burst into hysterical laughter. Spencer laughed, too, first a bit uneasily, but then a little harder, and then harder still, until the weird, shocking tension slowly began to dissolve away.

She squeezed Ali’s hand and drew her into a bear hug. Somehow, against all the odds, she had her friend—and her sister—back.