by Sara Shepard
When she opened the front door, a soft voice floated out from the den, followed by a girlish peal of laughter. Spencer suppressed a groan. Amelia had certainly taken Mrs. Hastings’s “Make yourself at home” directive very seriously. She’d had friends over almost every single day, each of the guests geekier than the last.
Spencer stomped down the hall, making as much noise as she could so that Amelia would know she was coming. Sure enough, when she passed the large room, which held a giant-screen TV and comfy wraparound couches, Amelia glanced up. She was holding a shiny black flute on her lap—the ultimate dork accessory. Ten other girls sat around the room, instruments in each of their hands, too. Losers.
“What’s going on?” Spencer asked irritably.
“The St. Agnes Charity Chamber Music Group,” Amelia shot back in an equally huffy voice. “Remember how I said we’re giving a concert? Veronica said it was fine to rehearse here.”
Spencer hated how Amelia called her mother Veronica, like they were all peers at a cocktail party. She was about to make a snarky reply, but then her gaze fell on a red-haired girl on one of the couches. At first, she did a double take. Then a triple take. It was like seeing a ghost.
“K-Kelsey?” Spencer stammered.
“Spencer.” The girl placed a violin back in its hard plastic case and blinked hard, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing either. “Wow. Long time no see.”
The room began to spin. It was Kelsey Pierce, Spencer’s old friend from the Penn summer program. The one she’d ruined.
Her thoughts drifted back to the bar where she and Kelsey had met. Phineas had led Spencer and Kelsey into the tiny bathroom at the back. There was graffiti all over the walls, and a dingy toilet and pedestal sink stood in the corner. The room smelled heavily of puke and stale beer.
Phineas reached into his pockets and handed each of the girls a smooth white pill. “This is how you score fives on all your exams.”
“What is it?” Spencer turned her head away. Pills weren’t her thing. She didn’t even like taking aspirin for headaches.
“It’s called Easy A,” Phineas explained. “It’s totally amazing. Keeps you focused for hours. It’s the only way I got through junior year.”
“Where did you get it?” Kelsey’s voice cracked.
“Does it matter?” Phineas leaned against the sink. “I’m willing to let you girls try it out. Share the wealth, right?”
He thrust the pills toward them again. Spencer licked her lips. Of course she’d heard of Easy A, but only through those stupid public service announcements on TV and the gloom-and-doom flyers on the inside doors of the bathroom stalls at Rosewood Day. But Phineas’s words gripped her hard. It’ll keep you focused for hours. Spencer had no idea how she was going to get through four AP classes in six weeks. Maybe desperate times called for desperate measures.
Taking a deep breath, she reached out, snatched the pill from Phineas’s palm, and placed it under her tongue. “You won’t regret it.” Phineas turned to Kelsey. “What about you?”
Kelsey picked at her thumbnail. “I don’t know. I was busted for drugs when I was younger. I’m trying to stay away from stuff like this.”
“You won’t get in trouble,” Phineas said.
“No one will know,” Spencer urged.
Kelsey continued to rock back and forth on her heels. There was a trapped-kitten expression on her face, the same look Emily, Aria, Hanna, and Spencer herself got when Their Ali dared them to swim in Peck’s Pond, where the police had once found a dead body.
Finally, Kelsey held out her hands. “I guess I should live a little, huh?” Phineas dropped it into her palm. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed it. “Here’s to fives on our exams!”
Six weeks later, Spencer got all fives. And Kelsey, thanks to Spencer, was behind bars.
“Let’s take a break,” Amelia said now. Spencer snapped back to the moment, looking up as all the musicians were standing. Some stretched their arms above their heads. Others pulled out their phones and started to text.
Kelsey crossed the room until she was next to Spencer. “We’re twinsies,” she said, picking up a gold purse near the doorway. It was the same exact Dior tote Spencer was carrying. “So . . . long time no see.”
“Um, yeah,” Spencer answered warily, fiddling with one of the brass buttons on her blazer sleeve.
The grandfather clock in the foyer banged out the hour. Kelsey stared at Spencer, her gaze seemingly boring straight through Spencer’s skin. Spencer’s stomach swirled. Spencer hadn’t seen or heard from Kelsey since that day in the police precinct.
Someone cleared her throat, and Spencer turned to see Amelia’s curious gaze on both of them. Spencer padded down the hall and into the kitchen, motioning for Kelsey to follow—the last thing she wanted was for Amelia to eavesdrop. The kitchen smelled of fresh-cut rosemary, which Spencer’s mother had started steeping in water ever since she found out it was Mr. Pennythistle’s favorite scent.
“I didn’t know you played.” Spencer gestured at the bow Kelsey was still clutching tightly, almost like a weapon.
Kelsey stared at it. “I’ve played since I was little. Amelia’s orchestra group puts on concerts for charity, and my probation officer counts charity stuff as community service.”
“Probation officer?” Spencer blurted before she could stop herself.
Kelsey’s expression turned guarded. “You know. For what happened at Penn.”
Spencer cut her eyes away.
“I mean, you heard, right?” Kelsey’s posture was rigid and her left fist, the one that wasn’t holding the violin bow, was clenched tight. “I had to go to juvie for two months. You’re lucky they let you off with a warning.” She raised an eyebrow. “How’d you get away with that?”
It felt as if the temperature in the room had suddenly shot up twenty degrees. Spencer was too afraid to meet Kelsey’s gaze. She felt confused, too—she’d always assumed Kelsey knew, deep down, that she’d planted those drugs in her dorm room and told the cops about her checkered past. But what if she didn’t?
When Spencer looked up again, Kelsey was still staring at her. “Anyway, I heard you got into Princeton. Congrats.”
Spencer flinched. “H-how did you know I got into Princeton?”
“A little birdie told me,” Kelsey said lightly.
Amelia? Spencer wanted to ask, but she couldn’t make her mouth work. Kelsey had set her sights on Princeton, too, but it was doubtful the school had sent her a congratulatory early admission letter to cellblock D in juvenile hall. Then again, it seemed like they’d only sent one to Spencer by mistake.
“Kelsey?” Amelia’s nasal voice called from the den. “We need you! We’re going to run through the Schubert piece again!”
“Okay,” Kelsey yelled. Then she turned back to Spencer. Her mouth opened, as if she was going to say something, but then she seemed to change her mind and shut it again. “Good luck with Princeton, Spencer. I hope that all works out for you.” Then she walked stiffly away, the bow at her side.
Spencer sank into a kitchen chair, her heart pounding so hard it drowned out the sounds of the musicians.
Beep.
Spencer jumped. It was her cell phone, which was in the front pocket of her Dior bag that now sat on one of the chairs at the island. Swallowing hard, she paced over and pulled it out. There was a new text from an unknown sender. But before she read it, something caught her attention in the hall. Kelsey stood in the doorway to the den. She turned her head away as soon as Spencer looked up, but Spencer could tell she’d been watching. There was now a slim cell phone in the same hand that held the violin bow, too.
Stomach roiling, Spencer glanced down at the phone and pressed READ.
Think your summer bestie forgives you for being such a pill? Somehow I doubt it . . . Mwah! —A
Chapter 12
SOMEONE IS WATCHING
Later that night, Emily rolled her family’s Volvo station wagon into the Rosewood Day teach
er’s lot and turned off the engine. As it was eight on a Saturday, the campus was empty, and all of the Gothic-style arched windows were dark. She stared at the school’s stone façade, a flurry of memories flooding her mind: walking single-file into school in fifth grade, watching enviously as Real Ali, Naomi Zeigler, and Riley Wolfe stood at the front of the line; running to get to class and accidentally bumping Real Ali’s shoulder. “Watch it, Oscar the Grouch!” Ali teased. People used to call Emily that because of her chlorine-green, swim-damaged hair, but it hurt the most when Ali said it.
And then there was the day when Real Ali stood on this very strip of concrete, bragging about how her brother, Jason, had told her where a Time Capsule flag piece was hidden. She’d been so infuriatingly confident that day, filling Emily both with longing and frustration. I could steal her the piece, Emily had thought brazenly. What unfolded next led to the most wonderful, bizarre, and scary years of Emily’s life.
Usually, thinking about Real Ali filled Emily with ambivalence. How could she both fear and feel for someone at the same time? How could she have let a psychopath go free? And why did she find herself looking around for Real Ali everywhere, desperate to prove that she was still here, even though that would mean certain death for her and her friends?
But today, she felt too dazed and tired to dwell on it for long. She couldn’t stop thinking about Kay. At the end of the show last night, both of them a little more than tipsy, they’d set up a time to hang out next week. This morning, Kay had already sent a couple of steamy IMs. Can’t wait to see you again, hot stuff. And, Hope you got your cute butt out of bed this morning! Emily hadn’t received such provocative notes since Maya. But maybe Kay was flirty in general.
Now, she glanced at her cell phone again. About an hour ago, Spencer had sent a group text to Emily, Aria, and Hanna. We need to talk. Come to the swings. Eight p.m. Emily had texted her back, wanting details, but Spencer hadn’t answered. She wondered if this was about A.
Shivering, she climbed out of the car and trudged over to the swings by the elementary school, the spot where Emily and her friends had regularly met through the years—long ago to gossip, but more recently to talk about A’s chilling notes. The climbing dome towered in the distance, looking like a many-legged giant spider. The large avant-garde shark a local artist had created for the school loomed in the field beyond, the moonlight reflecting eerily off its smooth planes. Spencer was sitting on the middle swing, bundled up in a blue duffel coat and Ugg boots. Hanna leaned against the slide, arms crossed over her slender chest. And Aria, who had a faraway, dreamy expression on her face, huddled by the infamous spinning disc kids called the Hurl Wheel.
Spencer cleared her throat when Emily approached. “I got another note from A.”
Emily’s stomach twisted. Aria swallowed audibly. Hanna kicked a boot against the slide, making a hollow sound.
“Has anyone else?” Spencer went on.
“I did,” Hanna said in a quavering voice. “On Wednesday. But I took care of it.”
Spencer’s eyes bulged. “What do you mean, ‘took care of it’?”
Hanna wrapped her arms around her body. “It’s personal.”
“Was your note about Kelsey?” Spencer demanded.
“Who’s Kelsey?” Hanna squinted.
Spencer settled back on the swing. “Kelsey, Hanna. The girl you . . . you know . . . this summer. At Penn. The one you . . .”
Hanna flinched. “My note wasn’t about her. It was about . . . something else.”
“Well, my note was about Kelsey,” Spencer said.
Aria frowned. “Kelsey, your friend from the summer program?”
“Uh huh,” Spencer said. “A knows what I did to her.”
Emily shifted her weight, vaguely remembering Spencer mentioning Kelsey. Spencer had called Emily a few times last summer, since they’d both been in the city, but Emily hadn’t hung out with her at all. And as June dragged into July, there was something . . . off about Spencer’s tone of voice on the phone. She spoke so fast, like she was trying to set a world record for the most number of words said in a minute. Once, Emily had been sitting outside Poseidon’s on Penn’s Landing with her friend Derrick, who worked at the restaurant as a line cook. Derrick was the only person Emily had told her secrets to—well, some of her secrets, anyway. She’d been pouring her heart out about how she was going to have this baby without her parents knowing when Spencer’s name flashed on her cell phone screen. Emily answered, and Spencer instantly launched into a story about how her new friend, Kelsey, did the funniest impression of Snooki from Jersey Shore. She was talking so quickly her words all ran together.
“Are you okay, Spence?” Emily asked.
“Of course I’m okay,” Spencer answered breathlessly. “I’m better than okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“You sound weird, that’s all. Like you’re on something.”
Spencer snickered. “Well, I mean, I took a little something, Em. But it’s no biggie.”
“You took drugs?” Emily whispered, awkwardly leaping to her feet. A few passersby stared at her giant 16 and Pregnant stomach.
“Chill,” Spencer answered. “It’s just these pills called Easy A.”
“Just? Are they safe?”
“God, Emily, don’t freak out, okay? It’s a study drug. This guy I get it from, Phineas, took it for a year with no side effects. And he’s doing better here at Penn than I am.”
Emily didn’t answer. She watched as people boarded the Moshulu restaurant clipper ship in the harbor, looking happy and problem-free.
Finally, Spencer sighed. “I’m fine, Em. I promise. You don’t have to worry about me, Killer.” It was the nickname Their Ali had given Emily long ago when she thought Emily was too protective. Then Spencer hung up without saying good-bye.
Emily looked at Derrick, who was sitting quietly on the bench next to her. “Is everything okay?” he asked in a heartbreakingly sweet voice.
All of a sudden, Emily felt like she was going to cry. What was happening to her friends? Spencer wasn’t the kind of girl who turned to drugs. Emily wasn’t the type of girl who got pregnant. “What do you know about a drug called Easy A?” she asked Derrick.
He frowned. “It’s not something I would try.”
Now, Aria wrapped her fingers around the pole that supported the swings, and Emily came back to the present. “What did you do to Kelsey?” Aria asked.
Hanna’s head shot up. “You don’t know?”
“I don’t, either,” Emily said, looking back and forth at both of them.
Spencer stared off into the trees. “It was that night when I called you from the police station, Aria. The cops had caught Kelsey and me with drugs. They questioned us separately, and I was sure Kelsey was placing all the blame on me. That’s what the police told me, at least. So I called all of you. Emily didn’t pick up, and you . . .” She trailed off, staring down at the ground.
“I didn’t think it was right to help,” Aria filled in, sounding defensive.
“Right.” Spencer’s voice was tight. “So I called Hanna next. I had her plant pills in Kelsey’s room and then call the cops and say she was a known dealer.”
Emily stepped back, feeling her shoes sink into a muddy patch of grass. “Seriously?”
“I didn’t know what else to do!” Spencer raised her hands in protest. “I panicked.”
“Don’t forget the part about finding out that Kelsey didn’t tell on you after all,” Hanna said nervously, casting her eyes around the empty playground.
“I only found out after it was too late,” Spencer said.
“So you did it for no reason?” Aria squeaked, her tone a tad sanctimonious.
“Look, I’m not proud of it,” Spencer said, her cheeks reddening. “But Kelsey showed up at my house today to hang out with my stepsister, and she was acting all cagey and weird. At first, I wasn’t sure if she knew I sent her to juvie, but this note pretty much proves it.” She held her phone screen up. Thi
nk your summer bestie forgives you for being such a pill?
Hanna picked nervously at her bottom lip. “How would Kelsey know you sent her to juvie? You said there was no way for the cops to trace it back to us.”
“I have no idea.” Spencer sounded exasperated. “Maybe Kelsey figured it out. Maybe she’s A. She had her phone out when I got my text!”
Aria spun the Hurl Wheel with the tips of her fingers. “But Kelsey wasn’t in Jamaica, was she?”
“And I don’t know why Kelsey would be after all of us,” Emily added. “Aria and I didn’t do anything to her.”
“Maybe she thinks we were all in on what I did to her,” Spencer said.
“That would make sense.” Hanna gave an empty swing a slight push. “Think of that People article. It said we were best friends. Told each other everything. Kelsey could have assumed all of us had a hand in framing her and protecting Spencer.”
Emily’s stomach swirled. Could that be possible?
“I’m still not sure,” Aria said. “Maybe A is one of Tabitha’s friends. Or someone who knew Mona Vanderwaal or Jenna Cavanaugh.”
“Jenna’s friends would be after Ali, not us,” Spencer argued.
“Maybe A is Ali,” Emily suggested hesitantly.
Everyone swung around and glared at Emily. “What?”
Emily lifted her hands in surrender. “Two weeks ago, we thought Ali survived the fire. Who’s to say Ali wasn’t in Jamaica, feeding Tabitha those crazy lines about all of us? We still don’t know how Tabitha knew our secrets or had Ali’s string bracelet. Maybe Ali followed us back here after Tabitha died and watched us all summer.”
Spencer slapped her arms to her sides. “Em, Ali died in the Poconos. There’s no way she made it out of that house.”
“Why didn’t the cops ever find her body?”
“Haven’t we been over this?” Spencer said through her teeth.
Hanna leaned against the slide. “I really think she’s gone, Em.”
