The Good Girls

Chapter 12

FRIDAY NIGHT, JANE PULLED INTO the parking lot of Umami, a trendy Thai restaurant in downtown Seattle. She popped her Ford Escape into park and sat quietly in the driver's seat for a moment, watching people stream in and out of the low-slung building festooned with fairy lights. The place was packed, and Jane could smell their famous spicy wings even from here.

She was running late—she and a bunch of the Juilliard kids, including Oliver, had all made plans to get dinner tonight, too excited to wait until the next welcome event to meet up again. She flipped down the mirror and checked her makeup one last time. She'd tried to pull off a smoky eyeliner look and liked the way it made her eyes really pop. Just as she was about to open the door and head out, a snippet of news on the radio caught her attention.

"Police are still questioning the suspect they have in custody for the murder of Auradon Prep's teacher Jay Maraj," a commentator said. "Some believe Maraj's death was also connected to that of Auradon student Ben Florian."

Jane raised her eyebrows. Interesting. Were they saying that Chad was responsible for both deaths? Not that she really knew Chad that well, but he didn't seem the type to poison anyone with cyanide. Then again, it felt like she didn't really know anyone's true nature these days.

Just hearing Jay's and Ben's names gave her stomach pains, and she took a few more deep breaths to recover. Everything still felt so up in the air. She just wished someone would confess already to the Ben thing. Chad. . . a stranger . . . whoever. The police might not have her and the other girls behind bars, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't safe yet.

With a resigned sigh, Jane shut off the engine, threw her leather bucket bag over her shoulder, and ducked out. As she crossed the asphalt, she hummed a few measures of a tune that had been running through her head that she couldn't quite place. A few measures in, she realized what it was: a song for Carlos's band that he'd written himself.

She stopped in her tracks. Why the hell had that popped into her head? It annoyed her to no end. She needed to stop thinking about Carlos for good. Especially now that she might be starting something with Oliver.

Her stomach fluttered giddily. The other day at the Juilliard cocktail party, Jane had rustled up an A game she didn't even know she had. As everyone started leaving, she'd sauntered up to Oliver and asked for his iPhone. "Here," she'd said, typing in her number and handing back his phone with a confident wink. "Now you can call me." Oliver had blinked at her. "Okay," he'd said, grinning. When Jane looked up again, Lonnie was gaping at them. Ha.

And guess what? Oliver had texted her yesterday, and they'd spent the entire afternoon exchanging texts about music, the things they wanted to do first in New York City (Lincoln Center for her, jazz clubs downtown for him), what TV shows they watched. Jane had been tempted to ask Oliver what he thought about Lonnie, but she knew that would make her sound jealous.

She pushed through the front door and into the lively restaurant, where palm fronds hung low over laughing diners and waitresses delivered sweating glasses of Thai iced tea and coconut drinks. She spotted a long banquet table against the back wall where the group, most of whom she recognized, was chatting excitedly. They looked a lot like her, in chunky knit sweaters, thick black or tortoiseshell glasses, ironic little-girl hair clips on the girls, ratty Mostly Mozart and Interlochen T-shirts on the guys. Jane spied Oliver leaning back in his chair at the far left end of the table, his hands folded behind the back of his blond head, revealing sculpted biceps and tan forearms. He was even more handsome than she remembered.

Oliver turned and caught her eye, stopping his conversation mid-sentence to smile at her. He held her gaze as she walked over.

"Hey," Jane said, standing by his chair.