Wanted pll-8

by Sara Shepard

  After a couple of seconds of Emily not answering, Carolyn shifted her weight, a smile crawling across her face. “You’re not with Isaac anymore, are you?”

  “No,” Emily admitted, choosing her words carefully. “I like someone else.”

  Carolyn’s eyes widened. It probably wasn’t hard for her to guess who: Mona-as-A had made Emily’s longtime crush on Ali very plain to the entire school.

  “Is Courtney…like that?” Carolyn whispered.

  “I don’t know.” Emily pressed her thumb into the tines of the fork. I always wanted to do that again, Ali had said. Was Ali like that? Why else would she say those things?

  The waitress set down their plates. Emily stared at her syrup-and-butter-laden waffle. She was suddenly too nervous to be hungry.

  Carolyn placed her palms flat on the table. “You should ask her to the dance,” she decided.

  “I can’t!” Emily exclaimed, a little surprised that her sister was being so open-minded.

  “Why not? What do you have to lose?” Carolyn popped a bite of omelet into her mouth. “You can ride with me and Topher. We’re renting a limo.” Topher was Carolyn’s longtime boyfriend.

  Emily opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Carolyn didn’t understand. This wasn’t a normal crush like the one she had on Maya or Isaac. For years she’d thought of being with Ali, of going to Stanford with her and then maybe—if she was lucky—getting a little house together with one of those cute rooster weather vanes out front. The idea of coming on too strong and ruining her chances with Ali paralyzed Emily. Ali’s opinion meant everything, and if Ali rejected her, Emily wasn’t sure what she’d do. There was no risk in getting crushed if she kept her feelings to herself.

  Emily’s phone buzzed again, and she yanked it open. Ali had texted back with a line of Xs. Then again, what if Ali wanted this, too?

  17 WHO’S AFRAID OF THE BAD, BIG SISTER?

  Around the same time that morning, Spencer climbed into Melissa’s idling SUV and waited as her sister ran inside to get her sunglasses. In a rare show of helpfulness, Melissa had offered to drive Spencer to school. Spencer dropped her Kate Spade tote on the backseat. The car smelled overpoweringly of cinnamon gum, and the radio blared. “After a message from our sponsors, we’ll discuss the photographs that shed new light on the Rosewood Serial Killer case,” a reporter announced.

  The broadcast cut to a commercial for Treasures in the Attic, a local antique shop, and Spencer snapped the radio off. She’d received a text from Aria this morning about the photos she’d found in the woods, but Spencer hadn’t seen them yet. All she knew was that the photographer might be a girl. Spencer had been doing her best to ignore the inconsistencies in the case against Billy, but now…

  An icy hand curled over Spencer’s hand and she jumped. “Earth to Spencer,” Melissa chirped, slamming the door. “Are you in there?”

  “Sorry,” Spencer said as Melissa pulled out of the driveway and almost backed into the Jenna shrine. It had grown to three times its original size. The Ali shrine at the base of the DiLaurentises’ old curb was going strong, too, full of candles, flowers, stuffed bears, and old photos of Ali as a kid.

  If only people really knew, Spencer thought. The girl in those old photos was still alive. It was so hard to believe.

  Melissa was eyeing the Ali shrine, too. “Has Courtney seen that?” she asked.

  Spencer’s stomach swooped. It was strange to hear the name Courtney now that she knew the truth. “I don’t know.”

  At the end of the street, Mrs. Sullivan, who lived on the corner, was out walking her two Shetland sheepdogs. Melissa turned out of their neighborhood, and they drove in silence for a few minutes, sweeping past Johnson Farm, which sold organic butter and veggies, and then the big township park. A couple of people were jogging, their heads down and braced against the wind.

  Melissa pushed her aviators to the top of her head and glanced at Spencer out of the corner of her eye. “Have you hung out with Courtney at all?”

  “Uh-huh,” Spencer answered, pulling the sleeves of her coat over her bare hands.

  Melissa tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  They paused at a stop sign. A squirrel darted across the road, its bushy tail high in the air. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Spencer asked.

  Melissa tapped her left foot on the floor. “You don’t know much about her. When Jason told me about her, he said she was really unstable.”

  Then she hit the gas again, jolting across the intersection. Spencer wished she could tell Melissa exactly what she didn’t know—that the unstable sister was dead. “You’ve never even spoken to her,” she said instead.

  Melissa’s voice hardened. “I just think you should be careful with her. Don’t jump into a friendship too fast.”

  They pulled up the drive of Rosewood Day and came to a stop behind a bunch of yellow school buses. Kids trudged down the bus steps and ran to the double doors, eager to escape the biting cold. Spencer pointed at her sister accusingly. “You’re just saying that because you hated Ali and you don’t like Courtney by extension.”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a drama queen. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Sure you don’t,” Spencer growled. “Because you’ve certainly never tried to hurt me.” She jerked the door open, climbed out, and then slammed it behind her.

  The halls smelled like freshly baked pastries from Steam. As Spencer approached her locker, Ali emerged from the bathroom. Her blue eyes twinkled, perfectly matching her school blazer. “Hey!” she cried, wrapping an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “Just the person I wanted to see. We’re going to get ready for the dance tomorrow together, right?”

  “Yeah,” Spencer said, spinning the combination dial of her locker too fast and missing one of the numbers. Frustrated, she kicked the metal door.

  Ali frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  Spencer rolled her head around her neck, trying to settle down. “Melissa is driving me crazy.”

  Ali put her hands on her hips. A couple of guys on the soccer team passed, giving her appreciative whistles. “Did you have another fight about your mom?”

  “No…” Spencer finally got her locker open. She shrugged out of her coat and jammed it on the hook. “Actually, it was about you.”

  “Me?” Ali pressed her palm to her chest.

  “Yeah.” Spencer barked out a laugh. “I told her we were hanging out. She said I should stay away from you.”

  Ali picked at an invisible imperfection on her blazer. “Well, maybe she’s looking out for you.”

  Spencer sniffed. “You know Melissa. She definitely wasn’t looking out for me.”

  A muscle in Ali’s neck tensed. “So why did she say it?”

  Spencer chewed on her bottom lip. Melissa and Ali had never gotten along. Ali was the only one who hadn’t sucked up to Melissa back then. Right before she’d disappeared, Ali had even teased Melissa that Ian might get a new girlfriend while Melissa was on vacation in Prague. And Melissa had definitely suspected that Ali was fooling around with Ian. A couple of months ago, Spencer and Melissa were in the family’s hot tub in the backyard, and Melissa said she’d known that Ian had cheated on her in high school. “Ian is going to regret it for the rest of his life,” she’d said. Spencer asked what she was going to do to the girl he’d cheated with, and Melissa smiled deviously. “Who says I haven’t done something to her already?”

  A locker slammed close by. Someone’s cell phone tinkled. The between-classes music halted, a clear indication that they had to get to homeroom. Spencer glanced up at Ali, who was staring at her, probably wondering what she was thinking. “Do you think there’s any way Melissa could know you aren’t Courtney?” she asked.

  Ali backed up. Her forehead wrinkled. “No. No way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.” Ali brushed her long blond hair over her shoulder. A freshman boy nearby double-tak
ed and dropped his biology textbook on the marble floor. “Honestly, Spence? Melissa’s probably just jealous. You both have another sister now…and I like you better.”

  A warm, comforting feeling seeped into Spencer’s bones as Ali said her good-byes and headed down the art wing. Spencer cut through the lobby toward homeroom, but when she passed Steam, a rack of today’s Philadelphia Sentinel made her stop short. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  The Polaroid Aria had found last night was splashed on the front page, the blurry, spooky eyes gazing straight at Spencer. Spencer recognized the face immediately.

  Melissa.

  18 TWO FASHIONISTAS, ONE CUNNING PLAN

  Even though it was barely four o’ clock on Friday, Rive Gauche, the French bistro in the King James Mall, was teeming with well-dressed, well-groomed prep school girls. Gorgeous leather purses were slung over empty seats, and large, glossy shopping bags embossed with luxe designer labels were tucked under tables. Waiters dressed in crisp white shirts and skinny black pants swirled around the diners, delivering bottles of wine and crèmes brûlées. The air smelled like clarified-butter-drenched escargot and wonderfully greasy Belgian fries.

  Hanna sighed with pleasure. She hadn’t been to Rive Gauche in a while, and she’d missed it. Merely standing in the lobby of Rive Gauche gave her an extreme sense of well-being. It was like instant therapy.

  The hostess led Hanna and Ali through the dining room. Both girls toted heavy bags from Otter. They’d spent the past hour and a half trying on almost everything in the store. For once, it wasn’t all about Ali twirling in front of the three-way mirrors in size-two dresses and twenty-five-inch-waist skinny jeans while Hanna slumped on the couch like an ugly, pimply manatee. Today, Hanna looked just as beautiful in high-waist trousers, wrap dresses, and slinky shifts. Ali had even asked Hanna for some fashion advice on light denim—she had been locked up in a hospital for three years, after all, and was out of touch.

  The only teensy annoyance was when Hanna remembered the last time she’d been in Otter’s dressing room with a friend—Mike had taken Hanna there on her first date, and he’d picked out all kinds of skanky, waytoo-tight outfits for her to try on. She’d mentioned Mike briefly to Ali, asking if Naomi and Riley were behind the Skidz thing. Ali said she didn’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise her.

  Ali and Hanna plopped down in a booth. Ali pulled a silk scarf out of her Otter bag and wound it around her neck. “I want everyone to come to the Poconos house tomorrow after the Valentine’s dance. We can get drunk, go in the hot tub, reconnect….”

  “That would be awesome.” Hanna clapped.

  Ali looked uncertain for a moment. “Do you think the others will go for it?”

  “Spencer and Emily definitely will,” Hanna answered. Aria, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop talking about some old wishing well. “Ali said it was the inspiration for the well on her flag,” she’d whispered urgently to Hanna last night on the phone. “Did she ever tell you about a well?”

  “No, but who cares?” Hanna had answered, not understanding where Aria was going with this. So Ali had a secret wishing well she kept all to herself. Who cared?

  “We’ll have to pick up alcohol and snacks,” Ali said, ticking the items off on her fingers.

  Hanna imagined a trip to the Poconos. They’d play drinking games and tell secrets. They’d climb into the hot tub, clad in string bikinis, except this time Hanna wouldn’t self-consciously cover her chubby stomach. Back in the day, Hanna had been plagued by the worry that she was the joke of the group, the girl who was always on the verge of being ousted. But there was a new Hanna in town—a pretty, skinny, confident Hanna.

  A skinny waitress with a French twist and high cheekbones flitted to their table. Hanna handed back the menu without looking at it. “We’ll get moules frites.”

  The waitress nodded and left, pausing to check on a table of Quaker schoolgirls by the window.

  Ali whipped out her iPhone from its cracked leather case. “Okay. On to Operation TTBD—Take Those Bitches Down.”

  “Great,” Hanna chirped. She was so ready. Kate, Naomi, and Riley had strutted around school today, telling everyone that all Hanna’s couture was as fake as the DVF fashion show tickets. And that morning at breakfast, Kate had complained to Hanna’s father that Hanna had dragged her all the way to New York as a joke, making her miss the Hamlet rehearsal. As usual, Hanna’s dad believed Kate. Hanna didn’t even bother to defend herself. What was the point?

  “I’ve figured out the perfect thing to do.” Ali tapped her iPhone’s screen. “So at the sleepover the other day?”

  “Yeah.” Hanna shoved her Otter carrier bags under the booth.

  Ali started pressing buttons on the phone. “Well, before you got home, we were buzzed on rum, and they all wrote love letters to their crushes.”

  “Love letters? Really?” Hanna wrinkled her nose. “That’s so…”

  “Seventh grade?” Ali rolled her eyes. “I know. Anyway, you should’ve seen the letters they wrote. Really juicy stuff.” She leaned across the table, her mouth so close that Hanna could smell her strawberry lip gloss. “I stayed out of it, of course, because as Courtney, I haven’t been here long enough to have a crush on anyone yet. But right before I left, I stole the letters and scanned them on the machine in your mom’s old office. They’re all on my phone. We can print them and pass them out at the dance. Valentine’s Day is all about unrequited love, after all!”

  Ali brought up the images on her phone and waved the screen in Hanna’s face. Kate’s letter gushed about how she had a secret crush on Sean Ackard, Hanna’s ex, vowing to attend V Club sessions with him. Riley’s love letter was to Seth Cardiff, a stocky swimmer. Apparently she loved how he looked in his tight Speedo. Naomi’s letter was to Christophe Briggs, the flaming senior director of the Rosewood Day drama club, saying she wanted a crack at “turning him straight.” Each girl had signed their love letter with a red-lipstick kiss. They must have been wasted when they wrote them.

  Humiliating.

  “Sweet.” Hanna high-fived Ali.

  “So until the dance, I need to pretend Naomi, Riley, Kate, and I are still BFFs. They can’t know we’re talking, otherwise it’ll blow the whole thing.”

  “Of course,” Hanna agreed. It would be such an appropriate, satisfying repeat of the first time Ali ditched Naomi and Riley, just before the Rosewood Day Charity Drive in sixth grade. Hanna would never forget the mortified looks on Naomi’s and Riley’s faces when they’d realized they’d been replaced. So satisfying.

  “Why did you ditch Naomi and Riley back in seventh grade anyway?” Hanna asked. It was something she and Ali had never discussed—Hanna had been too afraid to bring it up, worried that it might jinx her friendship with Ali. But that was years ago, and they were finally equals.

  The double doors to the kitchen swished open, and a waitress emerged carrying a tray of dishes. A muscle near Ali’s mouth twitched. “I realized they weren’t really my friends after all.”

  “Did they do something to you?” Hanna pressed.

  “You could say that,” Ali mumbled vaguely.

  A group of girls a few tables over flipped through a copy of Us Weekly, gossiping about a starlet’s botched plastic surgery. An old married couple shared a piece of molten chocolate cake. A steaming plate of mussels and fries appeared in front of Hanna and Ali. Ali dove in right away, but Hanna hung back for a moment, trying to figure out what Naomi and Riley had done.

  “The letter thing is an awesome plan.” Hanna grabbed a fry from the top of the pile. “It’ll be like the famous Will Butterfield note!”

  Ali paused, a shiny mussel shell between her thumb and forefinger. There was a wrinkle between her eyebrows. “Huh?”

  “You know,” Hanna encouraged. “The time you found that note Will Butterfield wrote to his math teacher and got Spencer to read it over the morning announcements? It was classic.”

  The haze slowly dissolved from Ali’s eyes and
her lips curved up. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” Her smile quickly wobbled into a frown. “Sorry. It just seems so long ago.”

  Hanna popped a mussel into her mouth, wondering if she shouldn’t have brought it up.

  “It’s cool,” Hanna said, patting Ali’s arm. But Ali’s attention was elsewhere. Hanna followed her gaze to the mall atrium. Someone was crouched behind the burbling fountain, staring at them. Hanna’s stomach seized. There was a flash of blond hair and Hanna thought about the Polaroids Aria had found. That face in the window. Now the news was saying that Billy might not be guilty of any of the murders. It was like a nightmare coming true.

  Hanna sneaked a peek at Ali. “Who is that?”

  “I don’t know,” Ali whispered back. Her hands quivered.

  Hanna held her breath, watching, waiting, but then a group of kids passed, blocking her view. By the time they’d bounded into Banana Republic, whoever had been watching was gone.

  19 THE BIGGEST QUESTION OF EMILY’S LIFE

  Sheets of cold rain pounded on the roof of Emily’s Volvo wagon as she turned into Ali’s new neighborhood. The development’s duck pond, with its quaint wooden gazebo and rickety footbridge, was silent and still in the cold, wintry darkness. Emily had already envisioned sitting with Ali by the duck pond’s edge in the springtime, holding hands and blowing dandelion seeds across the grass. She’d imagined riding bikes with Ali around the winding streets of the development and camping out in her big backyard, waking up every few hours to kiss. And she’d pictured pulling up to Ali’s house tomorrow to pick up Ali for the Valentine’s Day dance, Ali descending the staircase dressed in a gorgeous red silk gown and red satin heels.