Looks like you and Caravaggio have something in common, Aria! Don’t think you’ll be spared from my wrath, murderess. You’re the guiltiest of all. —A

Chapter 27

BREAK A LEG, LADY MACBETH

On Saturday night, Rosewood students, parents, and townspeople crowded into the Rosewood Day auditorium for the one and only performance of Macbeth. The air had an electrified, anticipatory quality about it, and within minutes, the lights dimmed, the crowd quieted, the three witches took their places for the first scene, and the curtain opened. Dry ice swirled around the stage. The witches cackled and prophesized. To the audience, everything seemed composed and flawless, but backstage it was chaos.

“Pierre, I still need makeup!” Kirsten Cullen hissed to Pierre, running up to him in a servant’s uniform.

“Pierre, where do they keep the armored vests?” Ryan Schiffer asked quietly.

Seconds later, Scott Chin approached, too. “Pierre, this sword looks really lame.” He held up the blunt, foil-decorated ninth-grade art project and made a face.

Pierre glared at all of them, his cheeks turning a darker shade of pink. His hair stood up in peaks on his head, his shirttail was untucked, and he had a single women’s high-heeled shoe in his hand for reasons Spencer couldn’t even begin to surmise. Maybe it was another Macbeth superstition.

“Why didn’t you people figure these things out a little earlier than five minutes before your scene?” Pierre groaned.

Spencer sat on a props box, smoothing down the hem of the velvet Lady Macbeth dress. Usually, backstage on opening night was one of her favorite times, but today, as she listened to the witches on stage, she felt nervous for her entrance, which was in a matter of minutes. Thy met me in the day of success, she kept repeating to herself, her first line. But what came after that?

She rose from the box and peeked around the curtain. Younger brothers and sisters squirmed in seats, already bored. Kids snacked on popcorn from Steam, the school’s coffee bar that had been transformed into a refreshment stand for the night. She could just make out the school videographer, staring into the lens of a camera on a tripod. If all went well tonight, Spencer’s performance tape would sway Princeton to choose Spencer J. over Spencer F.

But what if it didn’t go well?

A blond head in the audience caught Spencer’s eye. Mrs. Hastings sat four rows from the front, her diamond earrings sparkling in the lights. Melissa and Darren Wilden were in the seats next to her, their eyes trained on the witches on the stage. Astonishingly, Amelia sat beside Wilden, leafing apathetically through the program. And Mr. Pennythistle was on the other side, dressed in a gray suit and tie, which made Spencer’s heart warm a little. It was cute that he’d dressed up for this.

Two aisles back, Spencer’s gaze halted on another face. A redheaded girl watched the stage, chewing feverishly on a piece of gum. Spencer clapped a hand over her mouth.

It was Kelsey.

Spencer’s legs felt wobbly beneath her. Then she saw the girl next to her and almost fell over. Emily’s open, kind face stared back. They were here together.

Slowly, Kelsey’s gaze turned toward Spencer. Her eyes narrowed. She raised one hand and gave Spencer a three-fingered wave, her smile large and off-kilter. Spencer lowered the curtain and staggered backward, tripping over a pile of discarded petticoats.

“Hey.”

Spencer shrieked and whirled around. Beau stepped back and covered his face. He was wearing a suit of armor that was molded perfectly to his body. “You all right? Not too nervous?”

“Of course not.” But Spencer’s heart was thrumming like an out-of-control needle on a sewing machine. She was dying to peek around the curtain again. Why was Kelsey here? Was she hoping Spencer would have a repeat of last night’s performance in the woods with Beau and blurt out all of her secrets on stage?

“Spencer!” Pierre strutted forward and looked Spencer up and down. “Get over here and take your place for your first scene!”

For a moment, Spencer’s limbs wouldn’t move. She wanted to run out the back door and all the way home. She couldn’t go out there—not with Kelsey in the audience. But then everything went into warp-speed. Pierre guided her toward the wings and out onto the stage. The lights felt like hard, iron weights on her skin. Faces from the audience tilted up at her; all of their smiles looked jagged and cruel. She spied Kelsey in the audience immediately. Kelsey was staring right at her, the same maniacal grin on her face.

Feeling guilty about something, murderer? Kelsey’s voice from her vision cackled in her ear.

We know what you did! Tabitha crowed.

The crowd was quiet, waiting. Someone coughed. Spencer knew she was supposed to say her first line, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Pierre made frantic gesticulations off-stage. Then, a small voice whispered from behind the curtain. “They met me in the day of success.” It was Edith, the assistant drama coach and prompter, delivering Spencer’s first line. Spencer had never had to use a prompter before.

Her mouth flopped open like a fish’s. A small squeak escaped from the back of her throat, amplified by the many microphones set up around the stage. Someone in the audience snickered.

Edith whispered her lines again. Finally, Spencer opened her mouth and managed to start talking. She got through her first speech, but it took great effort to say each word. She felt like she was moving through mud, yelling from the bottom of a very deep well.

Felicity McDowell, who was playing her attendant, entered the scene. Spencer fumbled her next line, then the next. She gazed desperately at the blinking eye of the videographer, recording everything. Her nervousness was infectious; Felicity missed a line, too, then tripped over a set piece. By the time Beau strutted onto the stage, announcing that the king was coming to see them tonight, Spencer felt like she was going to cry. At the end of the scene, Spencer staggered off stage, feeling like she’d completed an Iron Man triathlon.

Pierre blocked her way, hands on hips. “What the hell was that?”

Spencer kept her head down. “I’ll get it together. I promise.”

“You promise? It was unacceptable!”

Pierre snapped his fingers, and Phi Templeton scurried over like an eager dog. She was dressed in a similar gown to Spencer’s. In her hand was the Macbeth script, Lady Macbeth’s parts underlined.

“Why is she dressed like me?” Spencer exclaimed.

“Thank God I told her to get dressed,” Pierre spat. “I was afraid something like this might happen, so I told her to get ready to take over the role.”

Spencer’s jaw dropped. “You can’t switch out actresses in the middle of a play!”

Pierre put his hands on his hips. “Watch me. You get one more chance. If you choke again, Phi’s in.”

Spencer sank dizzily against a low table as Pierre stormed away, wondering if she should give the role over to Phi now. There was no way she could send the scene she’d just performed to Princeton. She’d hear them laughing all the way from New Jersey.

“Hey.”

Spencer looked up and saw Beau standing next to her, his jaw clenched and his green eyes hard. “Don’t listen to that asshole, okay?” he whispered. “So you psyched yourself out. It happens to everyone from time to time. You can still turn it around. Go to that place you were in yesterday. Access that fire.”

“I can’t access that fire.” Tears welled in Spencer’s eyes. “It made me crazy!”

“No, it didn’t.” Beau clutched her hands and squeezed them hard. “It made you good. Whatever baggage you have, use it. Conquer it. Don’t let it stop you.”

Spencer stared at him. Beau was leaning so close, almost like he was about to kiss her.

But then Pierre swept through the backstage again, and the two of them shot apart. “Lady M, you’re on again shortly. Are you up for it, or do you want to save yourself the embarrassment now?”

Spencer glanced at Beau in desperation, wishing he’d make the decision for her. “If you get nervous, look for me offstage, okay?” he whispered.

Spencer nodded. “I can do it,” she told Pierre.

In no time, it was her cue to step on the stage again. The hot lights were punishing. The actors turned to Spencer, and Seth Cardiff, who was playing Duncan, said his first line.

It was Spencer’s turn to speak next, but the same icy freeze immobilized her. For a split second, she was afraid she was going to choke again. The actors shifted uncomfortably. The crowd covered their eyes. Pierre shook his fists in fury. And suddenly, Spencer realized. This was exactly what A—what Kelsey—wanted. For her to bomb. To make sure Princeton wouldn’t happen.

Spencer peeked backstage and found Beau’s encouraging face. And then, like a light switch snapping on, fire flooded into her veins. She’d worked too damn hard for Kelsey to bring her down. That bitch wasn’t going to win.

“All our service in every point twice done, and then done double,” she said loudly, and she was off. The words flowed easily out of her mouth and her gestures were sharp and precise. The other actors and the audience relaxed. By the time Beau entered and the two of them argued about whether or not killing the king was a good idea, Spencer felt almost like her old self again. When she exited the stage, there was even a smattering of relieved applause.

Pierre loomed in the wings, tapping his lips with a pen. “Well, I suppose that was better.”

Spencer swept past him, not really caring what he thought anymore. Then, Beau caught her arm and whirled her around. “You were amazing.” At first, she thought he was just pulling her into a hug, but then he gave her a long, passionate kiss. Spencer was so startled that she just stood there for a few seconds. Then, she kissed him back. Despite the fact that she was wearing a heavy velvet dress, she felt chills.

Someone nearby let out a gasp. Spencer turned and saw Naomi, Riley, and Kate gawking at her. Triumphant, she leaned in and kissed Beau even deeper. Deep down, she wished the curtain would open so the audience could see this, too—so Kelsey would know just how badly her plan had failed.

Chapter 28

THE TRUTH WILL OUT

After the play was over, Emily walked through the double doors of Otto, the upscale Italian restaurant where the Macbeth cast party was being held. The familiar scents of rosemary, olive oil, and warm mozzarella tickled her nostrils, and she recognized the gray-haired, no-nonsense woman behind the hostess stand. Emily had been to Otto with her family after Carolyn, Beth, and Jake had each graduated from Rosewood Day, sitting in one of the large banquettes and sharing the family-style portions of penne alla vodka and Caprese salad. For Beth’s graduation, when Emily was in sixth grade, she’d brought Her Ali along, too, and the two of them had sent silly texts to one another and then snuck off to the patio area to flirt with a bunch of graduates from the boys’ basketball team. Well, more accurately, Ali flirted with them. Emily had stood around feeling uncomfortable.

Tonight, Otto looked utterly different from how it had during those graduation dinners. The drama class had decorated the Italian-tiled rooms with happy-sad drama masks and big posters of Macbeth playbills. The room was stuffed with people, and a large buffet table had been set up on one end, bearing a zillion types of pasta, a huge bowl of salad, eight different kinds of breads, and a bevy of desserts.