The couples paired up. Other kids turned to people they knew. Aria spun around, but everyone from Rosewood Day had already found partners. Even her roommate, a sweet, quiet girl named Sasha who’d also signed up for the scavenger hunt, had paired up with another bookish-looking girl from her school. As more and more people grouped together, she felt a self-conscious twinge. Years ago, when kids at Rosewood Day teamed up at recess, formed partnerships in art class, or picked groups for an English project, goofy, friendless Aria was often the last to be chosen. Is it because I have a pink stripe in my hair? she would wonder. Or is it because of some innate, loserish quality that I don’t even know I have?
“Those of you who don’t have a partner, raise your hands,” Gretchen announced.
Aria sheepishly lifted her palm a few inches. Several other kids did, too.
Gretchen matched those who didn’t have partners with one another. When she got to Aria, she pointed her toward the guy who’d just asked about camping and role-playing. “You two okay to work together?”
The boy looked at Aria and shrugged. “That’s cool.” He extended a hand to Aria. “I’m Graham Pratt.”
“Aria Montgomery.” She smiled at him. He had pretty hazel eyes and wore gray Toms shoes, beaten-up Army-surplus shorts, and a faded T-shirt with what looked like a shield on the front and a small hole in the shoulder.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked. He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. “Do you go to a school on the Main Line?”
Graham’s brow crinkled. “No, I go to school in Philly.” Then he brightened. “Wait. Are you in SCA?”
“What’s that?”
“Society for Creative Anachronism!” Graham grinned.
Aria hid a smile. Her cousin Stewart was in SCA, and he talked about it nonstop. It was like a year-round Renaissance Fair, where people role-play parts in a medieval society. He’d met his wife there, in fact—she’d been a kitchen wench, and he played the guy who collected dead plague victims in a wooden cart.
“Uh, no,” Aria answered after a moment. But then, in an attempt at diplomacy, she added, “But it’s always sounded really cool.”
“You should join!” Graham looked excited. “There’s a meet-up in Camden next month.”
“I’ll get back to you on that,” Aria said. “But I still think I know you from somewhere. Did you spend time overseas? I lived in Iceland for a few years, but I traveled to France, Germany, Austria, Holland …”
Graham shook his head. “The last time I went to Europe was with my parents when I was six. Last summer I backpacked through Chile, though.”
“That must have been amazing!”
“It was.” Graham looked wistful. “It was for an SCA conference—we anointed a new king.” Then he peered at her curiously. “What was Iceland like?”
“Magical,” Aria said softly, though when she opened her mouth to wax poetic about Iceland, all she could think about was her last trip to the country, the one she’d taken with Noel, Mike, and Hanna—the one she never wanted to think about again.
She fixed her gaze across the boat instead. Several kids were swimming laps in the pool. Emily, who had volunteered to lifeguard, sat on the stand, twirling a whistle around her finger. Aria considered waving, but Emily seemed like her thoughts were a million miles away.
She turned back to Graham. “So anyway, I’m really excited about the scavenger hunt,” she said, deciding to change the subject.
“Me too,” Graham said. “A buddy of mine was supposed to do it with me, but he changed his mind at the last minute.”
“Yeah, I tried to get my boyfriend into this, but he wanted to surf instead,” Aria said. “It’s cool, though. He seemed really excited for it.”
Graham nodded. “I’m not sure my girlfriend would have wanted to do this, either. She was more of the tanning type.”
“Is she on the cruise?”
Graham scratched his nose, looking uncomfortable. “No. And, uh, well, we’re actually not together anymore, so …” He trailed off and sat down on one of the benches that lined the pool. “So you’re from the Main Line, huh? Does that make you a snob?”
“Far from it!” Aria scoffed. “Most of the time, I feel really out of place there. Like it’s not really where I’m supposed to be.”
“I used to feel that way in my old town—it was a really stuffy suburb, too,” Graham said. “I was thrilled when my family moved to Philly last year.”
“Where did you live before that?” Aria asked.
“Maplewood, New Jersey,” Graham said.
“Maplewood?” Aria blurted. According to the Tabitha Clark Memorial website, Tabitha had gone to high school in Maplewood.
Graham gave a resigned sigh. “Let me guess—you’ve been following the Tabitha Clark case.”
Aria’s stomach felt like it had been filled with hot, explosive fizz. “Did you know her?”
Graham stared into the middle distance, his blue eyes muddy. And then, before he said another word, Aria knew why he looked so familiar. She recalled a video she’d seen on the Tabitha Clark website of a cute boy dancing with Tabitha at prom. She saw his name next to posts about a pizza party fund-raiser in Tabitha’s honor. She even recalled his voice on CNN, talking about the last time he saw Tabitha, a few months before she died.
All of this passed through her mind in a matter of seconds. And then Graham raised his teary eyes to Aria, uttering exactly what she feared. “Yeah. Tabitha was my girlfriend.”