With that, Amy hopped out of the car and slammed the door behind her, leaving Bruce wondering, a softened look in his brooding, dark eyes.

  "It's really cute. I'm tempted," Pamela confessed on Wednesday afternoon, eyeing the red-and-black checked miniskirt Amy was dangling in front of her. "But . . ." She shook her head. "I already spent my whole clothes allowance this month. I'll have to pass."

  "I was hoping you'd say that!" exclaimed Lila, snatching the skirt from Amy. "It will look great with my new red body suit. Ring this up, please," she commanded, tossing the skirt to a passing salesclerk.

  "Some people don't have clothes allowances," Amy explained to Pamela as they watched Lila flipping through a thick stack of credit cards. "The sky's the limit for Li. I just go along for the vicarious thrills."

  Pamela smiled. "It's just as well—it'll look better on her, anyway."

  Lila smiled broadly. "Oh, I like this girl!"

  Lila's purchase in hand, the three girls left the boutique laughing. I can't believe this is really me, Pamela thought as they strolled through the Mall, browsing idly. She couldn't help smiling: a dizzy, happy, optimistic smile. She felt like a different person. She wasn't alone; she had friends.

  "Let's stop here," Pamela suggested as they came abreast of Casey's Ice Cream Parlor. "My treat this time."

  They stepped up to the counter to read the list of flavors. "Dishes or cones?" asked Pamela. "Should we sit down for a minute or keep walking?"

  "Dishes," Lila opted. "Fewer calories that way."

  A minute later they were seated at a little table in the corner with their ice cream. Amy raised her eyebrows. "Fewer calories?" she said, looking pointedly at Lila's hot-fudge sundae. "Don't you think the sauce and the nuts and the whipped cream sort of cancel out any advantage you might have had by giving up the cone?"

  Lila grinned. "Don't you think you should be quiet?"

  They dug in. "Umm." Amy licked her spoon. "Casey's is the best."

  "It is," agreed Pamela. "I've been here before, actually." She lowered her eyes. "With Bruce."

  Lila and Amy exchanged glances. "Oh, well. . ." Amy murmured, making a vaguely sympathetic noise.

  "It's OK," Pamela assured her. "I don't mind talking about him. I mean, listen to me!" She laughed wryly. "For the first time in weeks, I can say his name without bursting into tears!"

  "Sounds like real progress," Lila commented.

  "I guess I've just gotten to the point where I can see the light at the end of the tunnel." Pamela leaned her elbows on the table. "These last few days—thanks to you two—I've started to feel stronger, more sure of myself. I can honestly say I still think I made the right move, transferring to Sweet Valley High." Her voice trembled, but only a tiny bit. "It'll be OK even if things don't work out with Bruce." Even though I'll never stop loving him. . . . "I'll survive."

  "You'll do better than that, Pamela," Amy predicted confidently, with another knowing look at Lila. "You'll find your niche—you'll be a star."

  Pamela sat up straighter. She tossed back her unruly mane of hair. "You're right," she said, smiling. "I will."

  Margo stood in the center of the Valley Mall, her bag at her feet. Slowly, she pivoted on her boot heel, drinking it all in. I'm here, she thought, her gray eyes shining with a triumphant light. I'm finally here!

  The time-consuming detour to San Diego had been worth it, Margo decided. It had postponed her arrival at her final destination, but this way she knew she was home free. No one had followed her to Sweet Valley; she'd erased all her trails, cut all the strings that tied her to her old life. Already, even though she'd only been in town for an hour, she felt different, as if she'd been reborn. I'm starting a brand-new life! Margo thought, grabbing her bag. And now it's time to pick up a few essentials. . . .

  She strolled in the direction of Lytton & Brown, a department store, taking her time, enjoying the scenery. On the way, she passed a small group of girls about her own age coming out of an ice cream parlor.

  Margo studied them from afar, her gaze both curious and coolly objective. One girl was slim and elegant, with long, glossy brown hair and an outfit that looked casual but had probably cost a fortune; another was dramatically pretty, with pale skin, wild dark hair, and bright blue eyes; the third girl was a gorgeous California blonde with legs about a mile long.

  As Margo walked by them—so close, she could have reached out and touched them—she overheard a few words that stopped her dead in her tracks. ". . . Elizabeth Wakefield . . . Sweet Valley High . . ."

  The laughing, chattering girls continued on, Margo staring after them. Sweet Valley High . . . those girls are part of my new life, too! she realized, thrilled. She'd be their friend soon; soon, all of Sweet Valley would adore her, fight for her favor. But that tall, blond one, Margo thought resentfully, she's too pretty, too perfect. She might have to go.

  Margo sauntered into Lytton and Brown, humming to herself. A saleswoman accosted her immediately. "May I help you, miss?"

  Margo blinked, startled. Why is she looking at me like that? What does she want?

  "Are you shopping for anything in particular?" the woman pressed, her smile ingratiating.

  Margo relaxed. "No, thank you, I'm just looking."

  She wandered on, scoping out the store with hungry, practiced eyes. I could really use a couple of new tank tops, she thought, pausing to flick a silk scarf from a rack and quickly stuff it into her jacket pocket. And I wonder if they sell wigs here? As she strolled past the costume jewelry counter, snatching a bracelet from the display as she went, Margo smiled to herself. I'm going to like Sweet Valley!

  Chapter 13

  Lila pushed aside the straps of her new underwire bikini, baring her shoulders to the warm afternoon sun. "I'm so glad tomorrow is Friday," she remarked to her mother, who was reclining on the chaise lounge next to hers. "It's going to be a really fun weekend. Daddy said he'd try to get tickets to the ballet for Saturday night. Wouldn't that be great?"

  "Hmm," Grace murmured.

  "And I invited my new friend Pamela to come over for brunch on Sunday. You'll really like her," Lila promised. "She just transferred to Sweet Valley High. She was having a lot of social problems at her old school, so she decided to switch schools—to make a brand-new start. I think that's really gutsy, don't you?"

  "It is," Mrs. Fowler agreed.

  "Maybe I should ask Jessica over, too," Lila mused. "She's still moping like crazy—she hardly ever leaves the house. Or maybe I should just leave her alone for a while, let her have time to herself if that's what she needs. What do you think, Mom? Mom?" she repeated when her mother didn't respond.

  Mrs. Fowler blinked. "I'm sorry, honey. What were you saying?"

  "It doesn't matter." Lila studied her mother's face. "Mom . . . are you OK?" she asked quietly.

  Her mother gave her a brief smile. "I'm fine. I'm just a little . . . preoccupied. That's all."

  "What are you thinking about?" Lila prompted.

  Grace shifted sideways in her chair, facing her daughter. "I'm thinking about what happens next," she confessed. "You know, Lila, when I left Paris I left a lot of work behind. I left my home, my job . . . my life. Not that I regret coming here to be with you," she added, putting out a hand to touch Lila's cheek. "No, when your father called, there was no question in my mind that my place was here, with you. But now . . ."

  Lila's eyes lit up, her heart flooding with joy. I was right! There are sparks rekindling between Mom and Dad! At first, she'd thought it was too much to hope for, that her parents might actually get together again. She'd figured she would just work on persuading her mother to move back to the States, specifically to Southern California. But now. . .

  "But now that you've spent some time here with Daddy and me," Lila said eagerly, "you don't want to leave, right?"

  Mrs. Fowler bit her lip. "No," she admitted, after a long moment. "No, I don't want to leave. But it's not as simple as that, Lila."

  "Why not?" Lila wanted to know. "Why can't you just move back to Sweet Valley and live with—"

  "Ssh." Sitting up, Mrs. Fowler swung her slender legs over the side of the chaise. "Lila," she said, taking both her daughter's hands, "maybe it's time you knew the truth about your father and me."

  Lila stiffened. She wasn't at all certain that she did want to hear the truth. And her mother's solemn tone scared her. The truth can't be good, if she talks about it like that, Lila guessed. But it would be worse to remain in the dark, ignorant about her parents' past. "The . . . the truth?" she said, her voice quavering.

  Grace Fowler took a deep breath. "I was very young when I met your father," she began. "He was twenty-seven, but I was only nineteen. He . . ." She smiled, blushing slightly. "He was my first love. Well, we were very impetuous—we decided to get married after knowing each other for less than two months. Just about everybody we knew tried to talk us out of it."

  "How come?" Lila wondered. "Just because of the difference in your ages?"

  "No, that was only part of it. The major problem, really, was that we came from very different backgrounds. As you know, your father wasn't raised with money." Grace waved a hand, indicating the sumptuous grounds of Fowler Crest. "All this he created himself. My family, meanwhile, was what was known then as 'old money.' My father didn't even have to work, and George's father was a butcher." She laughed, her eyes crinkling. "I bet you didn't know that!"

  Lila was dumbfounded. "No, I didn't."

  "Well, I guess it's a classic story. Boy meets girl, but he's from the wrong side of the tracks. They rebel against the disapproval of their families and society, idealistically believing love conquers all."

  Lila frowned. She knew what was coming. "It doesn't?"

  Grace shook her head sadly. "No, it doesn't. True love can overcome a lot of barriers, but sometimes there are just too many challenges at one time, too many stumbling blocks. That's the way it was for me and George. We hadn't been married very long when we started to have problems. He felt threatened by all the money in my family and set out to make his own. He thought that was what I wanted, when all I really wanted was to be with him, to be a family. But he worked constantly, nonstop. I began to feel like I wasn't even married—I saw him so infrequently. And when he was home we'd fight. Boy, did we shoot off some fireworks! Eventually I started turning away, going back to my family and old friends for company and advice, and so he felt hurt and excluded. Finally, when you were still a very small baby, I threatened to leave him. I was desperately unhappy and just couldn't raise you in an atmosphere like that."

  Lila sat very still, trying to imagine the scene. "God, what did he do?"

  "He begged me to stay. He promised he'd change—that everything would change. But I'd made up my mind. Maybe I didn't know much, but I knew people didn't change, just like that, overnight. If nothing else, we needed a break from each other. So, I packed my bags, and I packed you, and I went back to my parents' house."

  "But . . ." Lila knew that couldn't be the end of the story. Because her father had raised her, not her mother. "What happened then?"

  "Your father came after me, and he gave me an ultimatum. Either I came home with him, or . . . or . . ." Grace faltered, momentarily overcome with emotion. "Or he'd take you away from me. He'd use his newly acquired money, power, and influence to have me legally declared an unfit mother."

  Lila's jaw dropped. "He said that?"

  "He said it, and he did it." Mrs. Fowler's face grew pale; her eyes were pained and distant. "When I insisted on a separation, he made good on his threat. He took me to court and I lost custody of you—I was even denied visiting rights. It was devastating," she said quietly. "But I wouldn't go crawling back to him the way he wanted me to. Instead, I ran in the other direction—all the way to Europe."

  Lila was shocked down to her very core. In a million years, she'd never imagined anything like this. She didn't know whose behavior was more incomprehensible, more unforgivable, her father's or her mother's. "But how could you?" she whispered, gulping down the tears. "I understand . . . I suppose . . . how you could leave him. But how could you leave me?"

  Grace shook her head. "Maybe part of me believed the things he accused me of. The custody hearing was so demoralizing, so disorienting. And even though what your father did to me was horrible, I knew he loved you with all his heart. I knew you'd be brought up with everything a little girl could want."

  Everything a little girl could want, Lila reflected. Sure, every thing. But no mother. It hadn't been a fair trade.

  "You were in good hands with him," Grace continued. "You see, in a strange twist of fate my family lost almost all their money soon after you were born. So there I was, with no money, no education, no job skills—nothing. Eventually, I acquired all those things. I learned to be assertive and independent; I learned not to be intimidated by other people's power, not to let myself be bullied. I guess I finally grew up. But it took a long time." She looked deep into her daughter's eyes. "I always vowed I'd return to you, though, Lila—someday, somehow."

  Lila shook her head, still struggling to untangle the threads of the story, and to clarify her own mixed feelings. "How could Daddy be so cruel?" she asked, unable to reconcile the picture her mother had painted with her own knowledge of her father.

  "Please don't blame him," Grace said softly. "You can't know what he was like way back then—what I was like. Just remember, the important thing is that he called me—he brought me home to you. He did that because he loves you very much. It took a lot of courage."

  Lila smiled through her tears. "And it took a lot of courage for you to come."

  Grace Fowler clasped her daughter's hand tightly. "You bet it did. I was terrified at the prospect of seeing you—my little baby Lila, a teenager! I had no idea what you'd heard about me, what your fa—what you'd been told. What if you hated me? I wouldn't have blamed you if you did. Nevertheless, I couldn't stay away—that simply wasn't an option. You're my one and only daughter. And no matter what happened, or what may happen, George is the father of my child."

  Grace gave Lila's hand one more squeeze and then drew back, reclining once more in her chair. The story was over, Lila reflected. But then again, maybe it wasn't. . . .

  A tiny smile played over Lila's lips; her eyes grew dreamy, but also determined. It may be a long shot, but I'm going to reunite this family, she vowed silently. Even if they didn't realize it themselves, Lila knew her parents were falling in love again, and she didn't intend to let them blow it this time. She was sick and tired of being Lila Fowler, poor little rich girl. She was going to have a happy family whether her parents liked it or not, and she had a feeling they were going to like it.

  I wonder if Elizabeth stuck around after school today, Todd thought as he strode idly down the deserted hallway after basketball practice on Thursday. Maybe she's catching up on her work at The Oracle. . . .

  Instead of taking the shortest route straight from the gym to the parking lot, Todd was cutting through the high school toward the main lobby. He hadn't consciously decided to go by a route that made it possible he'd run into Elizabeth, but now he had to admit to himself that he was doing just that. And there's a pretty good chance, he wagered as he neared the newspaper office.

  Maybe there was too good a chance. Suddenly, Todd's heart was pounding harder than it had during the workout he'd just completed. What if he did bump into Elizabeth? What would he do—what would he say? It had been a week since he'd poured out his heart in the letter he'd delivered to her house, and so far he hadn't received any response—not the sign he'd asked for, not a word, not a glance. They saw each other at school every day, but it was only too obvious Elizabeth was avoiding any contact with him; whenever he looked at her, trying to catch her eye, she turned away.

  It wouldn't be a good idea, catching her off guard, Todd decided. Forget it. Changing course abruptly, he ducked into the nearest stairwell . . . and bumped right into Elizabeth, who was just about to open the door from the other side.

  "Oh!" Elizabeth said in a high-pitched voice, startled. "Oh, I—excuse—"

  "Sorry," said Todd, trying to sidestep out of her way and feeling like a clumsy, oversized oaf. "I was just. . ."

  They stood for a moment, not knowing where to look. When Todd dared to look into Elizabeth's soft, clear eyes, he felt his heart breaking. He knew he was totally unworthy of her. He'd been a jerk—he'd abandoned her, he'd gotten involved with her sister. He knew he didn't deserve her, but he wanted her back so badly! Couldn't she tell that from my letter? Todd thought in anguish. Doesn't she know I'd do anything to make it up to her? Why doesn't she say something?

  Maybe if he mentioned the letter . . . Todd opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, remembering what Jessica had told him. She ripped it up and threw it away. If she wanted to talk about the relationship, she would, but obviously she didn't.

  "Well. . . I was just on my way home from practice," he said lamely.

  "Of course," Elizabeth responded quickly. "I've got to—"

  She pointed toward the door. Todd held it open for her and she hurried off.

  He let the door swing shut again, stood alone for a moment in the empty stairwell, then pounded his fist against the wall. It was the closest he'd been to Elizabeth in weeks, and it might as well have been an encounter between total strangers. Bitter disappointment flooded his heart. Elizabeth still hadn't given him the sign that would let him know she was willing to forgive him. And more and more, Todd was starting to believe she never would.

  Bruce shuffled down the sidewalk on his way to the parking lot, his chin on his chest and his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his khakis. Once again, tennis team practice had been a total waste of time. It didn't matter that Pamela wasn't playing on the next court; he still couldn't concentrate. It didn't matter that he never saw her or spoke to her; he still thought about her—all the time.

  Bruce kicked a pebble with the toe of his tennis shoe, smiling crookedly to himself. And to think that, of all people, bubble-headed Amy Sutton was the one who set me straight, he thought, bemused. It just goes to show, shallow waters run deep, or something like that.