Twisted. (Book Nine)

Eighteen: Friends Tell Friends Everything.

The Rolands' SUV was already gone when Emily pulled into the driveway that same Thursday night. When she went to ring the doorbell, she noticed the front door wasn't completely closed. "Hello?" Emily pushed it open and stepped into the foyer. A cartoon was on in the living room. Grace was in her baby swing in the corner, her head lolled to the side and her eyes closed. The Roland parents had sprung a last-minute outing on Chloe, and Emily had offered to help her babysit Grace.

"Emily?" Chloe called from the kitchen. "Is that you?"

"Hey, Chloe!" Emily walked toward her. "I'm so sorry I'm late!"

"It's cool! I'm making nachos!"

Emily passed through the living room into the big, bright kitchen. Boxes of Cheerios, drying bottles, stacks of unopened Pampers, and a container of baby wipes littered the table. A bag of Tostitos and a jar of cheese dip sat on the island along with an open bottle of champagne. Chloe noticed Emily at it. "Want a glass?"

Emily glanced at the snoozing baby in the living room. "But what about Grace?" All she could think of were those TV shows featuring police officers hauling drunk babysitters off to jail.

"One glass won't hurt." Chloe's limbs moved loosely as if she'd already had a glass or two before Emily arrived. She poured champagne into two crystal flutes. "And anyway, we need to toast."

"To what?"

"To being friends." Chloe chanced a smile. "It's awesome to come to a new school and immediately bond with someone."

Emily smiled. She'd always been a sucker for cheesy friendship rituals—Best Friends necklaces, secret languages, complicated inside jokes—and it had been so, so long since anyone wanted to share one with her. "One glass," she relented, grabbing the flute.

The girls toasted and sipped. The microwave dinged, and Chloe retrieved the plate of machos, and they carried the plates, glasses, and bottle of champagne to the living room so they could keep an eye on Grace.

"So where are your parents?" Emily asked after she'd settled on the couch.

"At a romantic dinner." Chloe crunched on a chip. "My mom says they need to rekindle their relationship."

Emily frowned. "I thought you said things were great between them."

"They were...but things have been different since we moved here." A faraway look washed over Chloe's face. "I swear it's because of this house. It has bad mojo."

Emily stared blankly at the cover of the large book called Rome in Pictures on the coffee table, her heart pumping hard between her ears. "When you mentioned one of your parents cheating, was it your mom or your dad?"

Chloe wiped a blob of cheese from her chin. "My dad. But I never found out if it was true or not." Then she gave Emily a funny look. "Why do you care so much about my parents, anyways?"

"I don't!" Warmth rose to Emily's face. "Or, I mean, I do, but..." She trailed off.

"We should be talking about our relationships, not theirs." Chloe slurred her words a little. "I'll tell you a secret of mine if you tell me one of yours."

"I already told you mine," Emily said. "Dating the girl? Remember?"

"Yeah, but you didn't give me details." Chloe crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

Emily traced a large gash in the wooden table with her index finger. "How about you go first?"

"Okay." Chloe tapped her lips, thinking. "I dated someone I wasn't supposed to. My soccer instructor."