“Now, this is more like it.” Mr. Hastings put his hands on his hips, arched his back a little, and stared into the brilliant blue sky.
They unlocked the front door and pulled their bags into the foyer, creating a fort of name-brand luggage. The house smelled like expensive floor wax, a smattering of sand, and lavender laundry detergent. It was utterly silent inside, and Spencer was about to ask where Nana was before she remembered she’d left for Gstaad, Switzerland, with her new boyfriend, Lawrence, yesterday morning. Nana Hastings wasn’t really into interacting with her family—she was rarely around when they visited. She in particular had never taken to Spencer. It must be genetic.
Spencer carried her bags up the sweeping, Southern plantation–style staircase to the bedroom she always stayed in, which was flooded with sunlight, had cheery yellow-and-white-striped wallpaper, a fluffy white rug, and an old brass bed. The room had a closed-up smell to it, as though no one had stayed in here for a long time.
She hoisted up her bag, pulled at the zipper, and began neatly unpacking her Florida wardrobe—bright sundresses, high-waisted sailor pants, and form-fitting polo shirts, which she refolded and placed into empty drawers. She unearthed her felt-lined travel jewelry case as she stood in front of the gleaming white bureau, ready to line up her necklaces and rings in the antique wooden jewelry box her grandmother had long ago cast off. She opened it, noticing a pair of chandelier-style earrings glistening from the top shelf. She gasped as she lifted them up, recognizing them instantly. She’d left them here the last time she’d visited, which had been over Memorial Day weekend in seventh grade. But the earrings weren’t hers—they were Ali’s.
Ali’s family also had a place down here, just across the man-made lake, and she and Spencer had divided their time between the two houses, lying out on the sand, swapping clothes, sneaking slugs from Spencer’s parents’ Dewar’s bottle, and flirting with boys downtown.
Ali had lent Spencer the earrings the night they had been invited to a house party a few streets over from Nana Hastings’s. Spencer had struck up a conversation with a guy named Chad who’d dated Melissa one holiday break; after a while, she’d felt Ali’s eyes on her. “You’re acting really slutty,” Ali had whispered nastily when Chad turned away. “Isn’t it bad enough you already hooked up with one of your sister’s boyfriends?”
Ali was referring to how Spencer had kissed Ian Thomas behind Melissa’s back a few weeks earlier. But Spencer hadn’t wanted to hook up with Chad—she was just talking to him. She and Ali had gotten into a huge, blowout fight; they didn’t speak for the rest of the vacation. Ali hung out with some older girls from town, always laughing exaggeratedly when Spencer passed by. And Spencer wandered around alone, too proud to apologize.
Now she sank down on the bed and cradled the earrings in her hands. She should have apologized. If only she’d known that Ali had been seeing Ian—that that was why she was being so weird about Spencer kissing him. Maybe she could have somehow steered Ali away from Ian. Maybe she could have prevented Ali’s murder.
Placing the earrings on her nightstand, Spencer stood back up, changed into a pair of shorts, a soft American Apparel top, and a pair of Havaianas flip-flops, and walked downstairs. A warm, sweet-smelling scent wafted from the white-tiled kitchen.
“Hello?” Spencer called out, looking around. Her voice echoed throughout the empty first floor.
She heard loud voices on the patio and peeked out the sliding-glass door. Her family was sitting at the teak table that overlooked the pool and the ocean; there were bowls of chips and nuts, a marble slab containing several cheeses, and an open bottle of white wine on the table. Spencer’s mouth watered.
The ocean roared loudly as she opened the patio door, right in the middle of a wild gesture her mother was making. Melissa looked like she’d eaten a sour plum, but Melissa always looked like she’d eaten a sour plum. Spencer glanced at her father, who was tapping on the iPad they’d given him for Christmas, probably playing Angry Birds. He’d only had it for a day and already he was obsessed.
She dragged another chair to the table just as Melissa popped a slice of aged cheddar in her mouth.
“Mom, do you want some cheese? It’s really good,” Melissa asked.
“What I want, Melissa, is for your father to put down his little toy and actually talk to us for once,” her mother snapped.
Spencer froze. Melissa looked like she’d been slapped. Their mother usually reserved that tone for Spencer. Their father only sighed and continued tapping on his screen.
“Hey, how about we rent a movie tonight?” Spencer suggested, trying to ease the tension.
“A movie might be nice,” Melissa offered. “Good idea, Spencer.”
Spencer stared at Melissa with wide eyes, unsure how to respond. When had Melissa ever used the word good in any kind of relation to Spencer?
But then their mother snorted, as if the notion of a family movie night was outlandish, and that Spencer was an idiot for having suggested it. The family lapsed back into silence, and her parents, armed behind their invisible fortresses, stewed in their own private anger.
Spencer stifled a sigh. After everything that had happened this fall—Ali, Ian, even A—Spencer had hoped to spend the next few days sunning, getting spa treatments, and winning over her family. And then when she returned to Rosewood for second semester, she’d feel restored and rejuvenated.
But with World War III brewing in Nana Hastings’s beach house, she’d be lucky to get any peace at all.
Chapter 2
Cute Boys Make Everything Better