"¿Cuándo es?" a voice said in her ear. "What time is it? time for Spencer to die!"
Spencer shot up. The dark, familiar figure that had been looming over her face had vanished. Instead, she was in a clean, white bedroom. There were Rembrandt etchings and a poster of the human musculature system on the bedroom wall. On TV, Elmo was teaching kids how to tell time in Spanish. The cable box said 6:04, and she assumed it was A.M.: out of the window, she saw that the sun was just coming up, and she could smell fresh bagels and scrambled eggs wafting up from the street.
She looked next to her, and it all made sense. Wren slept on his back, one arm thrown over his face, his chest bare. Wren's father was Korean and his mother was British, so his skin was this perfect, golden shade. There was a scar above his lip; he had freckles across his nose, and shaggy blue-black hair, and smelled like Adidas deodorant and Tide. The thick silver ring he wore on his right pointer finger glinted in the morning sun. He pulled his arm off his face and opened his gorgeous almond-shaped eyes.
"Hey." He slowly grabbed Spencer around her waist and pulled her toward him.
"Hey," she whispered, hanging back. She would still hear the voice from her dream: It's time for Spencer to die! It was Toby's voice.
Wren frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Spencer said quietly. She pressed her fingers to the base of her neck and felt her pulse race. "Just…bad dream."
"You want to share?"
Spencer hesitated. She wish she could. Then she shook her head.
"Well, then. C'mere."
They spent a few minutes kissing, and Spencer got a relieved, grateful rush. Everything was going to be all right. She was safe.
This was the first time Spencer had slept—and stayed over—in a guy's bed. Last night, she'd sped into Philly, parked on the street, and hadn't even bothered with the Club; her parents were probably planning on repossessing her car, anyway. She and Wren had fallen into bed immediately and hadn't gotten up since except to answer the door or the Chinese takeout delivery boy. Later on, she called and left a message on her parents' machine that she was staying the night at her hockey friend Kirsten's house. She felt silly, trying to be all responsible when she was really being so irresponsible, but whatever.
For the first time since her first A note, she'd slept like a baby. It was partly because she was in Philadelphia and not Rosewood, next door to Toby, but it was also because of Wren. Because they went to sleep, they'd talked about Ali—their friendship, what it had been like when Ali went missing, that someone had killed her—for an hour. He'd also let her choose the "crickets chirping" sound on the sound machine, even though it was his second—least favorite noise, after "babbling brook."
Spencer began kissing him more forcefully now, and slid out of his oversize Penn T-shirt, which she was wearing as a nightgown. Wren traced her naked collarbone, then pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. "Do you want to…?" he asked.
"I think so," Spencer whispered.
"Are you sure?"
"Uh-huh." She wriggled out o her underwear. Wren pulled his shirt over his head. Spencer's heart pounded. She was a virgin, and was a discriminating about sex as she was about everything else in her life—she had to do it with the perfect person.
But Wren was the right person. She knew she was passing the Point of No Return—if her parents found out, they'd never pay for anything ever, ever, ever again. Or pay attention to her. Or send her to college. Or feed her, possibly. So what? Wren made her feel safe.
One Sesame Street, one Dragon Tales, and a half and Arthur later, Spencer rolled onto her back, staring blissfully at the ceiling. So much for going slow. Then she propped herself up on her elbows and looked at the clock. "Shit," she whispered. It was seven-twenty. School started at eight; she was going to miss first period at the very least.
"I have to go." She leaped out of bed and surveyed her plaid skirt, blazer, undies, cami, and boots, all in a haphazard pile on the floor. "And I'm going to have to go home."
Wren sat on the bed, watching her. "Why?"
"I can't wear the same outfit two days in a row."
Wren was obviously trying not to laugh at her. "But it's a uniform, right?"
"Yes, but I wore this camisole yesterday. And these boots."
Wren chuckled. "You're so lovably anal."
Spencer ducked her head at the word love.
She quickly showered, rinsing her head and body. Her heart was still pounding. She felt overcome with nerves, anxious that she was late for school, troubled by the Toby nightmare, but totally blissed about Wren. When she came out of the shower, Wren was sitting on the bed. The apartment smelled like hazelnut coffee. Spencer reached for Wren's hand and slowly slid his silver ring off his finger and put it on her thumb. "It looks good on me." When she looked at him, Wren wore a small, unreadable smile. "What?" Spencer asked.
"You're just…" Wren shook his head and shrugged. "It's hard for me to remember you're still in high school. You're just so…together."
Spencer blushed. "I'm really not."
"No, you are. It's like…you actually seem more together than—"
Wren stopped, but Spencer knew he'd been going to say, More together than Melissa. She felt herself swell with satisfaction. Melissa might have won the fight for their parents, but Spencer had won the battle for Wren. And that was the one that mattered.
Spencer strode up her house's long, brick-paved driveway. It was now 9:10 A.M., and second period at Rosewood Day had already started. Her father would be long gone to work by now, and with any luck, her mom would be at the stables.
She opened the front door. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator. She tiptoed up to her room, reminding herself that she'd have to forge a tardy slip from her mother—and then realizing that she'd never had to forge a tardy slip before. Every year, Spencer earned Rosewood Day's perfect-attendance and punctuality awards.
"Hey."
Spencer screamed and whirled around, her schoolbag slipping from her hands.
"Jesus." Melissa stood in the door. "Calm down."
"W-Why aren't you in class?" Spencer asked, her nerves vibrating.
Melissa wore dark pink velour sweatpants and a faded Penn T-shirt, but her blunt-cut, chin-length blond hair was held back by a navy blue headband. Even when Melissa relaxed, she still managed to look uptight. "Why aren't you in class?"
Spencer ran her hand along the back of her neck, finding it sweaty. "I…I forgot something. I had to come back."
"Ah." Melissa gave her a mysterious smile. Chills ran up Spencer's spine. She felt like she was on the edge of a cliff, about to topple over. "Well, I'm actually glad you're here. I've thought about what you said on Monday. I'm sorry about everything too."
"Oh," was all Spencer could think to say.
Melissa lowered her voice. "I mean, we really should be nicer to each other. Both of us. Who knows what might happen in this crazy world? Look at what happened to Alison DiLaurentis. It makes what we're fighting about seem sort of petty."
"Yeah," Spencer murmured. It was sort of an odd comparison to make.
"Anyway, I talked to Mom and Dad about it, too. I think they're coming around."
"Oh." Spencer ran her tongue over her teeth. "Wow. Thanks. That means a lot."
Melissa beamed at her in response. There was a long pause, and then Melissa took another step into Spencer's bedroom, leaning up against a cherry highboy dresser. "Sooooo…what's going on with you? You going to Foxy? Ian asked me, but I don't think I'm going to go. I'm probably too old."
Spencer paused, completely thrown off guard. Was Melissa up to something? These weren't the types of things they usually talked about. "I…uh…I don't know."
"Damn." Melissa smirked. "I hope you're going with the guy who gave you that." She pointed at Spencer's neck.
Spencer ran to her mirror and saw a huge, purple hickey near her collarbone. Her hands fluttered frantically to her neck. Then she noticed she was still wearing Wren's thick silver ring.
Melissa used to live with Wren—had she recognized it? Spencer yanked the ring off her finger and shoved it into her underwear drawer. Her pulse raged at her temples.
The phone rang, and Melissa picked it up in the hall. Within seconds, her head was back inside Spencer's room. "It's for you," she whispered. "A boy!"
"A…boy?" Was Wren stupid enough to call? Who else would it be, at nine-fifteen on a Thursday morning? Spencer's mind scattered in twenty directions. She took the phone. "Hello?"
"Spencer? It's Andrew Campbell." He let out a nervous laugh. "From school."
Spencer glanced at Melissa. "Um, hey," she croaked. For a split second, she couldn't even recall who Andrew Campbell was. "What's up?"
"Just wanted to see if you have that flu going around. I didn't see you at the student council meeting this morning. You're never, um, not in student council."
"Oh." Spencer swallowed hard. She glanced at Melissa, who stood expectantly in the doorway. "Well, yeah, but I…I'm better now."
"I just wanted to say that I offered to pick up your homework for your classes," Andrew said. "Since we're in all the some ones." His voice echoed; it sounded like he was calling from the gym locker room. Andrew would be just the type to duck of gym. "For calc, we have a bunch of end-of-chapter problem sets."
"Oh. Well, thanks."
"And do you maybe want to go over some notes for the essays? McAdam says it's a huge percentage of our grade."
"Um, sure," Spencer answered. Melissa caught Spencer's eye and gave her a hopeful, excited look. Hickey? she mouthed, pointing at Spencer's neck and then at the phone.
Spencer's brain felt like it was plodding through yogurt. Then, suddenly, she had an idea. She cleared her throat. "Actually, Andrew…do you have a date for Foxy?"
"Foxy?" Andrew repeated. "Um, I don't know. I guess I didn't have any pla—"
"Do you want to come with me?" Spencer interrupted.
Andrew laughed; it sounded like a hiccup. "Seriously?"
"Um, yeah," Spencer said, her eyes on her sister.
"Well, yeah!" Andrew said. "That's be great! What time? What should I wear? Are you going out with any friends beforehand? Are there any after-parties?"
Spencer rolled her eyes. Leave it to Andrew to ask questions, like he was going to be quizzed on it. "We'll figure it out," Spencer said, turning to the window.
Then she hung up, feeling winded, as if she'd sprinted miles and miles for field hockey. When she turned back to her door, Melissa was gone.