Ali looked up, grinning. “Easy there, Killer! I can take care of myself!” It was the first time Ali had ever called her Killer—as in, her personal, protective pit bull—and the name had stuck.
Looking back on it now, Emily wondered if Ali had gone to meet Ian that day and covered it up with her lie about riding home with Jason. Shaking all thoughts of Ali from her head, Emily slammed the door of the Volvo, put her keys in her pocket, and made her way down the little brick path to China Rose’s front door. The inside of the restaurant was decorated to look like a thatch-roofed hut, with bamboo sheaths covering the ceiling and a big aquarium filled with bloated, silvery goldfish. Emily wove around the takeout waiting area, the smell of ginger and green onions tickling her nose. A bunch of cooks hovered over enormous woks in the chaotic open kitchen. Thankfully, she didn’t see anyone she recognized from Rosewood Day.
Isaac was waving at her from a table toward the rear. Emily waved back, wondering if her face was contorted with nerves. Feeling wobbly, she walked toward him, trying not to bump into any of the tightly grouped tables.
“Hi,” Isaac said. He was wearing a dark blue button-down that brought out his eyes. His hair was pushed back from his face, showing off his chiseled cheekbones.
“Hi,” Emily answered. There was a pregnant pause as she sat down.
“Thanks for coming,” Isaac said, rather formally.
“You’re welcome.” Emily tried to sound shy and demure.
“I missed you,” Isaac added.
“Oh,” Emily squeaked, having no clue how to respond. She took a sip of water so she wouldn’t have to answer.
A waitress interrupted, handing them menus and towels for their hands. Emily laid the towel over her wrists, trying to calm down. Feeling the moist heat against her skin made her think of the time she and Maya had gone swimming in the Marwyn trail stream in the fall. The creek water had been so warm from the midday sun, as soothing as a hot tub.
A pan clattered in the kitchen, shattering Emily’s thoughts. Why on earth had Maya popped into her head? Isaac gazed at her curiously, as if he knew what she was thinking. It made her blush even more.
Emily stared down at the place mats of the Chinese zodiac, eager to get her mind off Maya. Along the place mat margins was the regular zodiac too. “What’s your sign?” she blurted.
“Virgo,” Isaac answered promptly. “Generous, shy, and a perfectionist. What are you?”
“Taurus,” Emily answered.
“That means we’re compatible.” Isaac gave her a little smile.
Emily raised an eyebrow, startled. “You know about astrology?”
“My aunt’s into it,” Isaac explained, running the hot towel over his palms. “She’s at our house all the time, and she does my chart a couple times a year. I’ve known all about my moon and rising sign since I was six. She’ll do your chart, if you want.”
Emily grinned, thrilled. “I’d love that.”
“But actually, did you know we’re not really the astrological signs we think we are?” Isaac took a sip of his green tea. “I saw something about it on the Science Channel. People created the zodiac thousands of years ago, but between then and now, the earth has slowly moved on its axis. The zodiac constellations and the months in which they appear in the sky are out of synch by one whole astrological sign. I didn’t quite get all the logistics, but technically, you’re not a Taurus. You’re an Aries.”
Emily’s mind boggled. Aries? That was impossible. Her whole life lined up perfectly with what was right for a Taurus, from choosing what colors to wear to what her best swimming stroke was. Ali used to tease that dependable, stubborn Tauruses always had the most boring horoscopes, but Emily liked her sign. The only thing she knew about Aries people was that they were impatient, had to be the center of attention, and were sometimes kind of slutty. Spencer was an Aries. Ali had been, too. Or were they really Pisceans?
Isaac leaned forward, pushing his menu to the side. “And I’m a Leo. And we’re still compatible.” He laid down his menu. “So now that we’ve gotten the whole astrology thing out of the way, what else should I know about you?”
A niggling little voice inside of Emily’s head said there were lots of things he should know, but she just shrugged. “Why don’t you tell me about you first?”
“Okay…” Isaac took a sip of water, thinking. “Well, besides playing the guitar, I also play the piano. I’ve taken lessons since I was three.”
“Wow,” Emily exclaimed. “I took lessons when I was younger, but I found it way too boring. My parents used to yell at me because I never practiced.”
Isaac smiled. “My parents forced me to practice, too. So…what else? Well, my dad owns a catering company. And because I’m a nice guy and his son and therefore cheap labor, I work a lot of his events.”
Emily grinned. “So you can cook?”
Isaac shook his head. “Nope, I’m pathetic—I can’t even make toast. All I do is serve. Next week I’m working a fund-raiser at this burn rehab place. It’s a plastic surgery hospital too, but hopefully the party isn’t to raise money for any of that.” He made a face.
Emily widened her eyes. There was only one burn rehab/plastic surgery clinic around here. “You mean the William Atlantic?”
Isaac nodded, smiling questioningly.
Emily looked away, gazing blankly at the big bronze gong near the hostess stand. Some little boy with two missing front teeth was trying desperately to kick it while his dad held him back. The William Atlantic—or Bill Beach, as a lot of people called it—was where Jenna Cavanaugh had been treated for her burns after Ali accidentally blinded her with the firework. Or maybe Ali burned her on purpose…Emily didn’t know what was true anymore. Mona Vanderwaal had been treated there for the burns she’d received that same night.