Twisted. (Book Nine)

Eight: You've Got Mail!

Aria sat cross-legged on the floor of her father's den, listening to a podcast called Find Your Inner Zen she'd downloaded from Ella's computer. "Envision your third eye," a gravelly voiced man whispered in her ears. "Let your past blow away in the breeze. Be in the moment, now."

The past is blowing away in the breeze, Aria repeated silently, willing herself to believe it was true. After Jamaica, she'd listened to tons of relaxation recordings, but none of them did the trick. Maybe she didn't have a third eye. Or maybe the past was just too heavy to blow away.

"Damn it!" Her brother, Mike, said next to her, gripping the PlayStation controller. He was playing Gran Turismo, and every time he crashed his Lamborghini Murcielago into a chicane, he swore violently and beat the controller on the couch. That certainly wasn't helping Aria find her third eye, either.

"I hope you don't drive like that in real life," Meredith, her father's fiancée, murmured as she passed down the hall. Lola, her baby, was strapped to a Babybjörn holder that would be around her arms and connected to her lower back. It looked like a torture device.

"Shut up, both of you," Mike snapped.

"Got something on your mind, Speed Racer?" Aria asked.

"No," Mike said agitatedly. "I'm fine."

But Aria knew better—something was definitely up with him. For one thing, Mike had gotten a ride with her this morning instead of waiting for Hanna to pick him up. Then, on her walk from biology to photography, Aria noticed that the little couch in the lobby where Mike and Hanna snuggled between periods was glaringly unoccupied.

When the game ended, Mike laid down his control paddle. "So you've met the Nordic goddess, right?"

Aria glanced up at him warily. "Excuse me?"

Mike rolled his eyes. "Duh. Klaudia, which I'm pretty sure is Scandinavian for sex vixen."

"Scandinavian isn't a language." Aria groaned.

Mike reached the coffee table and took a big handful of Smartfood popcorn from the ceramic bowl. "You have to tell me everything about her. Take a picture of her in the gym showers..."

Aria wound her iPod headphones around the device, trying not to overreact. "I don't think she'd appreciate that. And anyway, no one showers after gym."

"They don't?" Mike looked disappointed, and Aria stifled a laugh. Why did every guy have a secret fantasy of a bunch of butt-naked girls frolicking under the school's communal shower spray? Like girls ever did that!

"Well, whatever," Mike said, undeterred. "Get invited to Noel's for a sleepover and take pictures there. I bet Klaudia walks around the house naked twenty-four/seven. I heard Finns do that. They're huge sex addicts, too—there's nothing else to do there."

"Mike, ew." Aria threw a piece of popcorn at him. "And what would Hanna think about your new little obsession?"

Mike shrugged and didn't answer.

A-ha. "Did something happen with you and Hanna?" Aria pressed.

Mike started a new race, this time driving a Ferrari. "I couldn't believe it when Klaudia got out of Noel's car this morning," he said. "That dude seriously hit the jackpot. But he's not telling me anything. He's acting like he doesn't even realize Klaudia's a babe, but come on. You'd have to be blind not to want to hit that."

Aria balled up her fists. "Have you forgotten Noel's my boyfriend?"

One of Mike's shoulders rose. "It's not a crime to appreciate the view. It doesn't mean anything's going to happen between them."