Perfect (Book Two)

There: Is There An Amish Sign-Up Sheet Somewhere?

Emily Fields stood in front of the Gray Horse Inn, a crumbling stone building that was once a Revolutionary War hospital. The current-day innkeeper had converted its upper floors into an inn for rich out-of-town guests and ran an organic cafe in the parlor. Emily peered through the cafe's windows to see some of her classmates and their families eating smoked-salmon bagels, pressed Italian sandwiches, and enormous Cobbs salads. Everyone must have had the same post-funeral brunch craving.

"You made it."

Emily swung around to see Maya St. Germain leaning against a terra-cotta pot full of peonies. Maya had called as Emily was leaving the Rosewood Day swings, asking that she met her here. Like Emily, Maya still had on her funeral outfit—a short, pleated black corduroy skirt, black boots, and a black sleeveless sweater with delicate lace stitching around the neck. And also like Emily, it seemed that Maya had scrounged to find black and mournful-looking stuff from the back of her closet.

Emily smiled sadly. The St. Germains had moved into Ali's old house. When workers started to dig up the DiLaurentises' half-finished gazebo to make way for the St. Germains' tennis court, they uncovered Ali's decayed body underneath the concrete. Ever since then, news vans, police cars, and curiosity seekers had gathered around the property 24/7. Maya's family was taking refuge here at the inn until things died down.

"Hey." Emily looked around. "Are your folks having brunch?"

Maya shook her thick brownish-black curls. "They went to Lancaster. To get back to nature or something. Honestly, I think they've been in shock, so maybe the simple life will do them some good." Emily smiled, thinking of Maya's parents trying to commune with the Amish in the small township west of Rosewood.

"You wanna come up to my room?" Maya asked, raising an eyebrow.

Emily pulled at her skirt—her legs were looking beefy from swimming—and paused. If Maya's family wasn't here, they'd be alone. In a room. With a bed.

When Emily first met Maya, she'd been psyched. She'd been pining for a friend who could replace Ali. Ali and Maya were really similar in a lot of ways—they were both fearless and fun, and they seemed to be the only two people in the world who understood the real Emily. They had something else in common: Emily felt something different around them.

"C'mon." Maya turned to go inside. Emily, not sure what else to do, followed.

She trailed Maya up the creaky, twisty stairs of the inn to her 1776-themed bedroom. It smelled like wet wool. It had slanted pine floors, a shaky, queen-size four-poster bed with a giant crazy quilt on top, and a puzzling contraption in the corner that looked like a butter churn. "My parents got my brother and me separate rooms." Maya sat down on the bed with a squeak.

"That's nice," Emily answered, perching on the edge of a rickety chair that had probably once belonged to George Washington.

"So, how are you?" Maya leaned toward her. "God, I saw you at the funeral. You looked...devastated."

Emily's hazel eyes filled with tears. She was devastated about Ali. Emily had spent the past three-and-a-half years hoping Ali would show up on her porch one day, as healthy and glowing as ever. And when she started receiving the A notes, she was sure Ali was back. Who else could have known? But now, Emily knew for certain that Ali was really gone. Forever. On top of that, someone knew her squirmiest secret—that she'd been in love with Ali—and that she felt the same way about Maya. And maybe that same someone knew the truth about what they'd done to Jenna, too.

Emily felt bad, refusing to tell her old friends what her notes from A said. It was just...she couldn't. One of A's notes was written on an old love letter that she'd sent to Ali. The ironic thing was that she could talk to Maya about what the notes said, but she was afraid to tell Maya about A. "I think I'm still pretty shook up," she finally answered, feeling a headache coming on. "But, also...I'm just tired."