Free Ruthless by Sara Shepard

cried. “I need a good grade in this class.”
    “Then get your head into this play and focus .” Pierre slapped his script shut. A red velvet bookmark covered with kissing lips floated out, but he made no motion to grab for it. “If you nail this role, I’ll give you an A for the year. But if you don’t . . .” He trailed off and raised his eyebrows ominously.
    A cough sounded from the left. Naomi, Riley, and Kate snickered from the witches’ cauldron. Everyone stared at her from the audience, too.
    “I’ve got it under control,” Spencer said, marching off the stage and up the aisle as confidently as she could, pointedly stepping on the strap of Phi’s backpack.
    Pushing open the auditorium’s double doors, she emerged into the windowed lobby, which was filled with Macbeth posters and smelled like spearmint gum. Suddenly, a faint whisper swirled in her ear.
    Murderer.
    Spencer shot up and looked around. The lobby was empty. She walked quickly to the stairwell, but there was no one there, either.
    A creak sounded, and Spencer jumped again. When she turned, Beau was standing behind her.
    “I can help you practice, if you want,” he said.
    Spencer stiffened. “I don’t need your help, thank you very much.”
    Beau pushed back a lock of silky brown hair that hung in his face. “Actually, I think you do. If you look bad, I look bad, and Yale wants all my performance tapes. It will impact what classes I’ll get into in the fall.”
    Spencer let out an indignant squeak. She was about to turn away, but the letter from Princeton whooshed back to her. Beau had gotten into Yale Drama. Pompous ass or not, he probably knew a thing or two about acting. She needed all the help she could get.
    “Okay,” she said frostily. “If you really want, we can rehearse together.”
    “Great.” Beau pushed against the auditorium door. “Sunday. At my place.”
    “Wait!” she called. “How am I supposed to know where you live?”
    Beau gave her a strange look. “My address is on the drama club call sheet, just like everyone else’s. You can find it there.”
    He pivoted into the auditorium and swaggered down the rows of seats. Naomi, Riley, Kate, and all the other drama club fangirls nudged each other and gawked at him appreciatively. Even though Spencer would have died if Beau had caught her, she couldn’t help but ogle his cute butt as he moved down the aisle, too.

Chapter 7
    THANK GOODNESS FOR CELL PHONE ADDRESS BOOKS
    Before the last period on Friday afternoon, Aria lingered outside her art history class with her phone open, stalking the Tabitha Clark Memorial website. There were a few new postings, mostly from friends and family offering condolences. She also noticed a mention of a CNN special about spring break alcohol abuse that would air next week; apparently, Tabitha’s story would be mentioned. Aria swallowed a huge lump in her throat. It felt so weird and terrible to just let the world think that Tabitha had perished because of drinking.
    She looked up just in time to see Mike stop at his locker. He was talking to Colleen Lowry, a pretty cheerleader in his grade; rumor had it they were in a scene in the school play together. As he slammed the locker shut and turned a corner, Mike placed his hand on Colleen’s butt. He’d spent the last few weeks moping over his breakup with Hanna, but it looked like he was moving on.
    Despair filled her. Would there come a time when Aria was over Noel, too? Would she eventually be able to look at random items around her room—an empty plastic cup from an outdoor concert on the Camden waterfront she and Noel had attended this past summer, a large temporary tattoo template of Robert Pattinson, who Noel teased Aria about loving, the schedule of the cooking class they were taking together at Hollis—and not burst into tears? She couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d done wrong in the relationship. Dragged him to too many poetry readings, probably. Acted bored at the