Wicked

20 SO MUCH FOR A NEW FATHER FIGURE

An hour later on Thursday, Aria sat rigidly on the couch in her den. Mike sat beside her, clicking through the setup windows of his Wii, which Byron had bought him for Christmas as an attempt to apologize for wrecking the family and impregnating Meredith. Mike was making yet another Mii character, flipping through the options for eyes, ears, and noses. “Why can’t I make my biceps bigger?” he grumbled, assessing his character. “I look so puny.”

“You should make your head bigger,” Aria grumbled.

“Want to see the Mii Noel Kahn made of you?” Mike clicked back to the main screen, tossing Aria a someone still likes you look. Noel had had a thing for Aria back in the fall. “He made one of himself, too. You guys could get it on in Wii-land.”

Aria just slumped down in the couch, reached into the big plastic bowl that sat in the middle of the couch for another cheese curl, and said nothing.

“Here’s the Mii Xavier made.” Mike clicked over to a large-headed character with short hair and big brown eyes. “That dude kills at bowling. But I kicked his ass at tennis.”

Aria scratched the back of her neck, an ambivalent heaviness in her chest. “So you…like Xavier?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool.” Mike clicked back to the Wii’s main menu. “Why, don’t you?”

“He’s…okay.” Aria licked her lips. She wanted to point out that Mike suddenly seemed to be taking their parents’ divorce in stride, considering that after they’d split up, he’d obsessively played lacrosse in the rain. But if she said something like that, Mike would roll his eyes and ignore her for a week.

Mike glared at her, turning off the Wii and switching the television back to the news. “You’re acting like you’re on drugs or something. Are you nervous about the trial tomorrow? You’re going to rock on that witness stand. Just do some Jäger shots before you go up there. It’ll be all good.”

Aria sniffed and stared at her lap. “Tomorrow’s just opening statements. I won’t be testifying until late next week at least.”

“So? Do a shot of Jäger tomorrow anyway.”

Aria shot him a weary look. If only a Jäger shot could cure all her problems.

The six o’clock news was on. The screen showed yet another shot of the Rosewood courthouse. A reporter was getting more civilians’ thoughts about the start of tomorrow’s big murder trial. Aria buried her head into the pillow, not wanting to watch.

“Hey, don’t you know that chick?” Mike asked, pointing at the TV.

“What chick?” Aria asked, her voice muffled by the pillow.

“That blind chick.”

Aria whipped her head up. Sure enough, Jenna Cavanaugh was on television, a microphone thrust under her chin. She was wearing her fabulous, oversize Gucci sunglasses and a bright red wool coat. Her seeing-eye golden retriever was standing obediently by her side.

“I hope this trial is over quickly,” Jenna said to the reporter. “I think it’s bringing a lot of bad press to Rosewood.”

“You know, she’s pretty sexy for a blind chick,” Mike remarked. “I’d do her.”

Aria groaned and smacked her brother with a pillow. Then, Mike’s iPhone bleated, and he jumped up and rushed out of the room. As he clomped up the stairs, Aria turned her attention back to the television. Ian’s mug shot popped up. His hair was a mess and he wasn’t smiling. After that, a camera panned over the snowy hole in the DiLaurentises’ backyard where Ali’s body had been found. The wind made the police tape flap and dance. A blurry shadow shimmered between two enormous pine trees. Aria leaned forward, her pulse suddenly racing. Was that…a person? The picture changed again, back to another shot of the reporter in front of the courthouse. “The case is proceeding as planned,” the reporter said, “but many are still saying the evidence is too thin.”

“You shouldn’t put yourself through this torture.”

Aria whirled around. Xavier leaned against the doorway. He was wearing an untucked striped button-down, baggy jeans, and Adidas sneakers. A chunky watch dangled from his left wrist. His eyes flicked from the TV screen to Aria’s face.

“I, um, think Ella is still at the gallery,” Aria said. “She had to work a private show.”

Xavier took a step into the room. “I know. We had coffee before she had to go back. There’s no electricity at my place, though—I guess ice knocked down some power lines. She said I could hang out here until we’re sure it’s back on.” He grinned. “Is that okay? I could make dinner.”

Aria ran her hands through her hair. “Sure,” she said, trying to act natural. Things were fine between them, after all. She scooted to the corner of the couch and put the bowl of cheese curls on the coffee table. “You want to sit?”

Xavier plopped down two cushions away. The news was walking through their projection of the night of Ali’s murder, complete with reenactments. “Ten thirty P.M., Alison and Spencer Hastings get into an argument. Alison leaves the barn,” a voice-over said. The girl who played Spencer looked pinched and sour. The petite blond girl who played Ali wasn’t nearly as pretty as the real Ali was. “Ten forty P.M., Melissa Hastings wakes up from a nap and notices that Ian Thomas is missing.” The girl who played Spencer’s sister looked like she was about thirty-five.

Xavier looked at her hesitantly. “Your mom said you were with Alison that night.”

Aria winced and nodded. “Ten fifty P.M., Ian Thomas and Alison are near the hole in the DiLaurentises’ backyard,” continued the voice-over. A shadowy Ian fought with Ali. “It’s alleged that there was a struggle, Thomas pushed DiLaurentis in and was back inside the house by eleven-oh-five.”

“I’m so sorry,” Xavier said softly. “I can’t even imagine what this must be like.”

Aria bit her lip, hugging one of the couch’s chenille throw pillows to her chest.

Xavier scratched his head. “I gotta say, I was really surprised when they announced Ian Thomas was their suspect. It seems like that kid had it all.”

Aria bristled. So what if Ian was a groomed, well-mannered rich kid? It didn’t make him a saint.

“Well, he did,” Aria snapped. “End of story.”

Xavier nodded sheepishly. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. Goes to show that you don’t really know anything about anyone, huh?”

“You can say that again,” Aria groaned.

Xavier took a long sip from his water bottle. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Aria stared blankly across the room. Her mother still hadn’t taken down any of the family photos with Byron in them, including Aria’s favorite, one of all four of them standing on the edge of the Gullfoss waterfall in Iceland. They’d walked all the way out to the slippery edge of the cliff above the waterfall.

“You could beam me back to Iceland,” Aria said wistfully. “Because, unlike you and my brother, I loved it there. Puny horses and all.”

Xavier smirked. His eyes twinkled. “Actually, I have a secret for you. I really like Iceland too. I said that stuff to get on Mike’s good side.”

Aria’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe it!” She smacked him with her pillow. “You’re such a kiss-ass!”

Xavier grabbed the pillow on his side of the couch and held it menacingly over his head. “A kiss-ass, huh? You’d better take that back!”

“Okay, okay.” Aria giggled, raising a finger. “Truce.”

“It’s too late for that,” Xavier cackled.

He lowered down to his knees, his face close. Too close. And all of a sudden, his lips were pressed to hers.

It took Aria a few stunned seconds to realize what was going on. Her eyes bulged. Xavier held her shoulders, his hands digging into her skin. Aria let out a small squeak and wrenched her head away. “What the hell?” she gasped.

Xavier shot back. For a moment, Aria was too baffled to move. Then she shot up as fast as she could.

“Aria…” Xavier’s face crumpled. “Wait. I’m…”

She couldn’t answer. Her knees buckled out from under her, and she nearly twisted her ankle as she climbed off the couch. “Aria!” Xavier called again.

But Aria kept going. As she reached the top of the stairs, her Treo, which was sitting on the desk in her bedroom, started to chime. One new text message, the screen taunted.

Gasping, she pounced on it and opened it up. The text was one simple word: Gotcha!

And, as usual, it was punctuated with a crisp, concise letter A.