Perfect (Book Three)

Six: Siblings Rivalry's A Hard Habit To Break.

Monday afternoon at field hockey practice, Spencer pulled ahead of her teammates on their warm-up lap around the field. It had been an unseasonably warm day and the girls were all a little slower than usual. Kirsten Cullen pumped her arms to catch up. "I heard about the Golden Orchid," Kirsten said breathlessly, readjusting her blond ponytail. "That's awesome."

"Thanks." Spencer ducked her head. It was amazing how fast the news had spread at Rosewood Day—her mother had only told her six hours ago. At least ten people had come up to talk to her about it since then.

"I heard John Mayer won a Golden Orchid when he was in high school,"Kirsten continued. "It was, like, an essay for AP music theory."

"Huh." Spencer was pretty sure John Mayer hadn't won it—she knew every winner from the past fifteen years.

"I bet you'll win," Kirsten said. "And then you'll be on TV! Can I come with you for your debut on the Today show?"

Spencer shrugged. "It's a really cutthroat competition."

"Shut up." Kirsten slapped her on the shoulder. "You're always so modest."

Spencer clenched her teeth. As much as she'd been trying to downplay this Golden Orchid thing, everyone's reaction had been the same—You'll definitely win it. Get ready for your close up!—and it was making her crazy. She had nervously organized the money in her wallet so many times today that one of her twenties had split right down the center.

Coach McCready blew the whistle and yelled, "Crossovers!" The team immediately turned and began running sideways. They looked like dressage competitors at the Devon Horse Show. "You hear about the Rosewood Stalker?" Kirsten asked, huffing a little—crossovers were harder than they looked. "It was all over the news last night."

"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 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 paly?" 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 fear 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 Spencer 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 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 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."

"And I meant the other stuff, too." The left corner of Ian's mouth up into a half-smile.

Spencer felt a faint, trembling thrill. Did he mean the "smart" and "beautiful" stuff? She glanced across the field to where Melissa was standing. Her sister leaned over her BlackBerry, not paying a bit of attention.

Good.