“Yeah,” Spencer mumbled.
“He’s in your neighborhood. Hanging out in the woods.”
Spencer dodged a divot in the dry grass. “It’s probably just some loser,” she huffed. But Spencer couldn’t help but think of A. How many times had A texted her about something that it seemed no one could have seen? Now she looked out into the trees, almost certain she’d see a shadowy figure. But there was no one.
They started running normally again, passing the Rosewood Day duck pond, the sculpture garden, and the cornfields. When they looped toward the bleachers, Kirsten squinted and pointed toward the low metal benches that held the girls’ hockey equipment. “Is that your sister?”
Spencer flinched. Melissa was standing next to Ian Thomas, their new assistant coach. It was the very same Ian Thomas Melissa had dated when Spencer was in seventh grade—and the same Ian Thomas who had kissed Spencer in her driveway years ago.
They finished their loop and Spencer came to a halt in front of Melissa and Ian. Her sister had changed into an outfit that was nearly identical to what their mother had been wearing earlier: stovepipe jeans, white tee, and an expensive Dior watch. She even wore Chanel No. 5, just like Mom. Such a good little clone, Spencer thought. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, out of breath.
Melissa leaned her elbow on one of the Gatorade jugs resting on the bench, her antique gold charm bracelet tinkling against her wrist. “What, a big sister can’t watch her little sister play?” But then her saccharine smile faded, and she snaked an arm around Ian’s waist. “It also helps that my boyfriend’s the coach.”
Spencer wrinkled her nose. She’d always suspected Melissa had never gotten over Ian. They’d broken up shortly after graduation. Ian was still as cute as ever, with his blond, wavy hair, beautifully proportioned body, and lazy, arrogant smile. “Well, good for you,” Spencer answered, wanting out of this conversation. The less she spoke to Melissa, the better—at least until the Golden Orchid thing was over. If only the judges would hurry the hell up and knock Spencer’s plagiarized paper out of the running.
She reached for her gear bag, pulled out her shin guards, and fastened one around her left shin. Then she fastened the other around her right. Then she unfastened both, refastening them much tighter. She pulled up her socks and then pulled them down again. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
“Someone’s awfully OCD today,” Melissa teased. She turned to Ian. “Oh, did you hear the big Spencer news? She won the Golden Orchid. The Philadelphia Sentinel is coming over to interview her this week.”
“I didn’t win,” Spencer barked quickly. “I was only nominated.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will win,” Melissa simpered, in a way Spencer couldn’t quite read. When her sister gave Spencer a wink, she felt a pinch of terror. Did she know?
Ian let out a whistle. “A Golden Orchid? Damn! You Hastings sisters—smart, beautiful, and athletic. You should see the way Spence tears up the field, Mel. She plays a mean center.”
Melissa pursed her shiny lips, thinking. “Remember when Coach had me play center because Zoe had mono?” she chirped to Ian. “I scored two goals. In one quarter.”
Spencer gritted her teeth. She’d known Melissa couldn’t be charitable for long. Yet again, Melissa had turned something completely innocent into a competition. Spencer scrolled through the long list in her head for an appropriate fake-nice insult but then decided to screw it. This wasn’t the time to pick a fight with Melissa. “I’m sure it rocked, Mel,” she conceded. “I bet you’re a way better center than I am.”
Her sister froze. The little gremlin that Spencer was certain lived inside Melissa’s head was confused. Clearly it hadn’t expected Spencer to say something nice.
Spencer smiled at her sister and then at Ian. He held her gaze for a moment and then gave her a little conspiratorial wink.
Spencer’s insides flipped. She still got gooey when Ian looked at her. Even three years later, Spencer remembered every single detail about their kiss. Ian had been wearing a soft gray Nike T-shirt, green army shorts, and brown Merrills. He smelled like cut grass and cinnamon gum. One second, Spencer was giving him a good-bye peck on his cheek—she’d gone out to flirt, nothing more. The next second, he was pressing her up against the side of his car. Spencer had been so surprised, she’d kept her eyes open.
Ian blew the whistle, breaking Spencer out of her thoughts. She jogged back to her team, and Ian followed. “All right, guys.” Ian clapped his hands. The team surrounded him, taking in Ian’s golden face longingly. “Please don’t hate me, but we’re going to do Indian sprints, crouching drills, and hill running today. Coach’s orders.”
Everyone, including Spencer, groaned. “I told you not to hate me!” Ian cried.
“Can’t we do something else?” Kirsten whined.
“Just think how much butt you’re going to kick for our game against Pritchard Prep,” Ian said. “And how about this? If we get through the entire drill, I’ll take you guys to Merlin after practice tomorrow.”
The hockey team whooped. Merlin was famous for its low-calorie chocolate ice cream that tasted better than the full-fat stuff.
As Spencer leaned over the bench to fasten her shin guards—again—she felt Ian standing above her. When she glanced up at him, he was smiling. “For the record,” Ian said in a low voice, shadowing his face from her teammates, “you play center better than your sister does. No question about it.”
“Thanks.” Spencer smiled. Her nose tickled with the smell of cut grass and Ian’s Neutrogena sunscreen. Her heart pitter-pattered. “That means a lot.”