Free Twisted by Sara Shepard

Aria clutched Emily’s hands. “You’re making something out of nothing. It’s not Ali. You have to get over her.”
    “I am over her!” Emily roared.
    Emily snapped back to the present, reaching into the pocket of her corduroys and feeling for the silky orange tassel. If anyone ever asked, if anyone recognized it, she would say she’d found it on the lawn of the DiLaurentises’ Poconos house after the explosion, even though it wasn’t the truth.
    Suddenly, Chloe leapt to her feet. “Mom! Dad! What are you doing here?”
    A young couple appeared in the hall. Chloe’s father, an athletic, dark-haired guy with smooth, flawless skin, wore a gray suit and polished leather shoes. Her mother, who had an angular brown bob and wore dark-framed hipster glasses, had on a tight pencil skirt, a shiny pink blouse, and pointy patent-leather heels. There was something edgy about them, like they went to buttoned-up jobs all day but attended indie bands and poetry readings at night. It was a nice change from the stuffy horsey types that overran Rosewood.
    “We live here, remember?” Chloe’s dad joked. Then he noticed Emily and smiled. “Hello . . . ?”
    “Hi, I’m Emily Fields.” Emily stepped forward and offered her hand.
    “The coat check girl, right?” Mrs. Roland asked, shaking Emily’s hand next. She wore a huge diamond ring Emily recognized from the party.
    “And the swimmer,” Mr. Roland added.
    “ And the babysitter while I go to my Villanova interview,” Chloe told them. “She’s wonderful with Grace, I promise.”
    Mr. Roland leaned on the banister. “Actually, Chlo, I don’t think we really need a babysitter. We’re both in for the night.” He turned to Emily. “We’ll still pay you for your trouble, of course.”
    “Oh, that’s all right,” Emily said quickly. “It was nice to come over.” As soon as she said it, she realized it was true. She’d spent the past fall and winter holed up in her room without anyone to talk to. Worrying. Brooding. She felt like she was waking up from a long nap.
    “We insist!” Mrs. Roland cried. “Henry, go get your wallet.”
    Chloe’s mom retreated to the master bedroom, and Chloe and her dad started down the stairs. Emily followed them. “What lunch period do you have?” Chloe asked over her shoulder.
    “First on Tuesdays and Thursdays, second on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays,” Emily answered.
    “I have second lunch on Wednesdays and Fridays, too!” Chloe grabbed her coat from the closet. “Want to eat together? If you’re not busy, of course.”
    “I would love that,” Emily breathed. Lately, she’d been eating lunch off-campus—seniors were allowed to leave for the hour. But it was awfully lonely.
    They made a plan to meet in front of Steam on Wednesday. Then Chloe rushed off to her interview, and Emily faced Mr. Roland again. He had pulled out a sleek leather wallet. “Really. You don’t have to pay me.”
    Mr. Roland waved away her offer. “So Chloe told me about your swimming conundrum. You’re serious about competing at the college level?”
    “Of course.”
    He paused on her for a moment, studying her face. “Good. I have a lot of pull at UNC. If you give me your times, I can get in touch with the recruiter. I know they’re still looking for kids to fill out the team.”
    Emily pressed her hand to her chest. “ Thank you so much.”
    “It’s my pleasure.” Mr. Roland handed her a twenty. His piercing blue eyes twinkled. “Is this enough?”
    Emily pushed it away. “That’s way too much.”
    “Please.” Mr. Roland placed the bill in her hand and closed her fist. Then, as he steered her toward the door, his hand snaked up her arm, slid down her shoulder, and rested on her hip.
    Emily stopped walking, her mouth falling open. She wanted to tell Mr. Roland to stop it, but the nerves around her lips felt paralyzed.
    Then Mr. Roland moved away and nonchalantly pulled out his BlackBerry. “Well, see you around, Emily.