{six}

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Ariana froze, unable to move or speak. Justin's expression slammed shut and he pushed through the door, the shop bell clanging like a wakeup call in Ariana's ears.

Really? After being the only one to defend his innocence, this is what she got? A lethal glare and silence? If anyone should be glaring, it should be her!

Heat flooded her cheeks, and something snapped. Ex-convict or not, it would take more than a dark stare to erase their years of friendship. Nearly vibrating, she stalked to the door.

"Wait—" Lisa reached out to stop her, but Ariana shrugged off her hand.

Out on the street, she spotted Justin almost at the corner of the block. For a wild moment, she considered rushing after him and tackling him to the ground, but instead she stalked forward and yelled at the top of her lungs, "Why did you come back here?"

He stopped, his shoulders tensing as his head tilted, and she caught a glimpse of his hard profile. Ariana waited, glaring at his back, bracing for a fight. But Justin didn't take the bait. He just turned and walked away, dismissing her like they hadn't been friends since they were five, like she hadn't written to him every day for months.

Ariana puffed out a breath and spun on her heel, heading in the opposite direction. She walked fast—down the sidewalk, around a couple holding hands, past Bill's grocery, her heart racing as if she'd done a 100-yard dash. The lights of the outdoor patio of Postman's Tavern streaked her vision, laughter and the clink of glassware swirling in her ears like a funhouse recording.

Ariana slowed her pace at the corner, waiting for a car to pass, her breath coming in short gaps. Oh no. Fighting against the rising panic, she didn't hear Lisa approach.

"Hey, you dropped this back there."

Ariana took the bag of clothes in numb fingers and crossed the street.

Oblivious to Ariana's escalating distress, Lisa quipped, "Who was that mouth-watering specimen?"

"Justin." Ariana scraped a breath through her pinched throat.

"That was Justin?"

Ariana couldn't find enough air. But she pushed her legs faster.

"If all felons look like him," Lisa continued, "I'm signing up for prison guard duty today!"

"Lisa! Not helping." Ariana clutched a fist to her heaving chest.

"Hey." Lisa gripped Ariana's arm, pulling her to a stop. "Are you all right?"

"I just . . . I just . . ." Ariana couldn't focus, her eyes darting, her fingers tingling.

Lisa gasped. "You're not okay." She grabbed Ariana's hand and led her off the main road and into a tree-shaded park.

Trembling, Ariana stumbled to the closest bench and sank down. The world spun as she leaned her head back. She hated this. Hated that her body betrayed her at the first sign of stress. Hated that her new friend would see her weakness. Glimpsing a patch of vivid blue between the pink and purple streaks of the setting sun, she focused on it and began to mumble her panic script.

When the steel bands loosened from her chest, she sat up and turned to meet Lisa's wide eyes. "Sorry about that. I . . . er . . . sometimes—"

"Freak out when you run into your ex–best friend four years after he was convicted of murder and he looks at you like you're his next victim?"

Ariana huffed, blowing the bangs off her forehead. "Um, yeah."

"It's cool." Lisa shrugged. "My granny used to have panic attacks. But hers weren't triggered by stress . . . more like lack of attention."

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