Her fork dropped to her plate with a loud, clear clang. “Okay,” she decided. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”
Chapter 12
All the Whos Down in Whoville
“Should we have our usual turkey for Christmas dinner or try something else, like steak?” Mrs. Fields asked as she spooned squares of lasagna onto her children’s plates that night for dinner. “Or how about if we went out for dinner this Christmas Eve? That would be special, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m not sure we should be spending money on extravagant restaurants,” Mr. Fields said as he filled the water glasses at the fridge.
“It’s only once a year,” Mrs. Fields interrupted, thrusting her chin into the air. “And anyway, I think we’ll find a way to afford it.”
She raised her eyebrows at Emily, but Emily kept her gaze trained on her empty plate. In one hour, she would be joining the elves on their pranking mission—but not as a narc.
Mrs. Fields launched into the regular family prayer, and everyone started to eat. “We’ll have to decide about Christmas Eve dinner soon,” Mrs. Fields said as she spooned some green beans onto her plate, picking up on the topic again. “All of the restaurants probably book up fast.”
“I vote for Ruth’s Chris Steak House.” Jake stabbed a piece of lasagna.
“Uch, that place is so boring.” Beth bit off a piece of a roll. “Let’s go somewhere nicer. Like somewhere in the city, maybe.”
“I’m fine with Applebee’s,” Carolyn said meekly, always the sensible girl.
They argued about this for the rest of the dinner. Emily didn’t dare contribute a word, feeling like a pent-up volcano ready to blow. Finally, fearing she was going to blurt out everything if she sat at the table for another minute, she rose from her seat. “Uh, I have to go to the library. I have a ton of homework.”
“On a Tuesday night before the break?” Beth looked surprised. “Rosewood Day is working you hard.”
“Uh, it’s a last-minute test,” Emily fumbled, carrying her plate to the sink.
Mrs. Fields rose too and caught her arm. “You hardly ate any of your dinner.” Her eyes were wide and concerned. “Is everything okay?”
Emily kept her eyes locked on the chicken-printed trivet sitting next to the stove. “I’m fine,” she mumbled, placing her plate on the counter. “See you later.”
As she walked into the living room, she could feel her mother’s gaze on her back. Don’t turn around, she silently willed. She made herself think about lyrics to Christmas songs instead, though the only one that rattled through her mind was “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.” Only when she reached the stairs did she glance over her shoulder again. When she did, her mother had turned away, like she didn’t suspect a thing.
“Don’t drive us into a ditch!” Heather cried as Cassie steered her car onto the side of a dark, secluded road that paralleled the Rosewood Country Club. The car pitched to the side, definitely off-balance, and Emily, Sophie, and Lola, who were riding in the back, squished together against the door.
“I know what I’m doing.” Cassie jammed the gear into park and shut off the engine. When the headlights clicked off, darkness descended around them. A faint light glowed over the hills of the golf course, but otherwise, Emily couldn’t see a foot in front of her face.
Cassie rummaged around the front seat, pulled out a flashlight, and snapped it on. Everyone squinted when the golden light beamed in their eyes. “Okay, bitches. We ready?”
“Totally,” Lola whispered, pulling a black ski cap over her head. The other girls followed, Emily along with them. Then they climbed up the hill. Every nerve in Emily’s body felt electrified. There was a sour taste in her mouth, and her stomach rumbled from the few bites of lasagna she’d eaten at dinner. She’d had to hide her hands under her butt the whole drive over so the elves wouldn’t see how badly she was shaking.
Cassie’s flashlight made golden crisscross stripes across the golf course. The girls darted over the green, circumnavigating the giant man-made pond and a couple of amoeba-shaped sand traps. Every few steps, Emily looked behind her, sure someone was following them. The rounded hills loomed in the distance, dark silhouettes against the purplish sky. She didn’t see a soul.
The lights of the clubhouse glimmered on the horizon. Dread filled Emily as she took in the long windows and the stone façade. This had been the place where Mona Vanderwaal had held a party for Hanna after her car accident—the one that Mona had caused. And it was at this very party that Hanna realized that Mona was A—and that Mona wanted to kill them.
The girls looped around the country club until they found a back entrance to the kitchen. “Voilà,” Lola whispered, pulling out a key on a Philadelphia Eagles ring, which she’d procured from a friend who worked in the kitchen earlier that day. The key twisted in the lock, and the door creaked open. Emily braced herself for alarms to sound, but none did.
They flipped on the kitchen lights, and Emily shaded her eyes. The pots and pans were neatly put away, the stainless-steel countertops gleamed, and a long spray nozzle dangled limply in the sink.
“Come on,” Cassie hissed, tiptoeing toward a swinging door to the right. She pushed it open with her shoulder to reveal the dining room Emily had eaten in countless times with Ali’s and Spencer’s families. Thirty or so round tables with heavy wood chairs were scattered around the room. An Oriental rug stretched across the floor, and an oak bar took up the whole back wall. An enormous Christmas tree stood in the corner, its lights still blazing, tons of wrapped presents waiting underneath.