Aria took a long sip of coffee from her thermal mug. She still ordered coffee beans from the little dive near where they’d lived in Reykjavík, Iceland. It cost a fortune just in shipping, but Starbucks didn’t cut it anymore. Aria sat down as more students swarmed in. She heard a clunk nearby and looked up.
“Hey.” Noel plopped into a seat across the aisle. Aria was surprised to see him—though Noel was technically in Aria’s study hall, he usually spent the period in the school’s weight room. “How are you doing?” he asked, his eyes wide.
Aria shrugged noncommittally, taking another hearty swig of coffee. She had a feeling she knew what Noel wanted to talk about. Everyone wanted to talk to her about it today.
“Have you talked to…you know, Courtney?” His lips twitched as he said the name.
Aria bit her thumbnail. “I talked to her a little. But hopefully I don’t ever have to again.”
Noel looked startled.
“What?” Aria snapped.
“It’s just…” Noel trailed off, fiddling with one of the Absolut bottle–shaped key rings on his backpack. “I thought you’d want to get to know her, being that she’s Ali’s sister and all.”
Aria turned away, staring at a brightly colored food pyramid display across the room. Her father, Byron, had said the same thing at dinner the previous night—that reaching out to Ali’s long-lost sister might help Aria heal from Ali’s death. Aria was pretty sure her mother, Ella, would say that, too, though she’d been avoiding her mom these days. Whenever she called Ella, she always ran the risk of getting her sleazy boyfriend, Xavier, instead.
The whole Courtney thing weirded Aria out: Courtney standing there at the podium, waving to the crowd. The DiLaurentises hiding her away for years without telling a soul. The press salivating at their every word. In the midst of the circus, Aria had glanced at Jason DiLaurentis. He had nodded along with everything his mom said, his eyes glazed like he’d been brainwashed. All remains of the burning crush Aria had on Jason vanished in an instant. He and his family were more messed up than she’d ever imagined.
Aria opened her bio book to a random page and pretended to read a passage on photosynthesis. Noel’s eyes were on her, waiting. “It feels weird to be around her,” she answered finally without looking up. “It brings back a lot of memories of Ali’s disappearance and death.”
Noel leaned forward, making the old wooden desk creak. “But Courtney went through that, too. Maybe it would be good for you guys to deal with it together. I know you’re not into the group therapy thing, but talking with her could help.”
Aria pinched the bridge of her nose. If anything, she needed group therapy to deal with Courtney’s arrival.
A scuffle at the front of the room made her look up. Kids started to whisper. When Mrs. Ives, the study hall monitor, stepped away from the door, Aria’s heart sank. Standing there was Courtney herself.
Mrs. Ives pointed Courtney to the only empty desk in the room, which was—of course—right next to Aria. Everyone in the class stared as Courtney started down the aisle, her hips swaying, her long blond hair swinging. Phi Templeton even snapped a quick picture of Courtney with her BlackBerry. “She looks just like Ali,” Imogen Smith hissed.
Courtney noticed Aria and brightened. “Hi! It’s nice to see a friendly face.”
“H-hey,” Aria stammered. She had a feeling the expression on her face right now couldn’t be categorized as friendly.
Courtney slid into the seat, slung her shiny reddish-pink tote over the chair, and removed a spiral-bound notebook and a purple pen from the front pocket. Courtney DiLaurentis was written across the front of the notebook in bubbly letters. Even her handwriting was identical to Ali’s.
Bile rose in Aria’s throat. She could not handle this. Ali was dead.
Noel twisted around and gave Courtney a huge smile. “I’m Noel.” He extended his hand, and Courtney shook it. “Is this your first day?” he added as if he didn’t know.
“Uh-huh.” Courtney pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. “This place is crazy. I’ve never been to a school where so many classrooms are in barns!”
That’s because you’ve never been to a real school, Aria thought, stabbing her mechanical pencil into a small indent in her desk.
Noel nodded enthusiastically, his face lit up like a Vegas slot machine. “Yeah, this place used to be a farm back in the day. At least the livestock aren’t still here!”
Courtney tittered as if this was the funniest thing in the world. She angled her body ever so slightly toward Noel. Ali used to do the exact same thing with boys she liked—it was her way of marking her territory. Was it intentional? Some weird twin connection? Aria waited for Noel to tell Courtney that he and Aria were dating, but all he did was give Aria a righteous look. See? his expression said. Courtney’s not that bad.
All of a sudden, a flood of bitter memories rushed back, fresh and sharp. In seventh grade, Aria told Ali that she had a crush on Noel. Ali assured her that she’d talk to him to see if he liked her back. But once she did, Ali told her, “Something kind of…weird happened at Noel’s house. I told him about you, and he said he likes you as a friend. And then he said he likes me. And I think I like him back. But I won’t go out with him if you don’t want me to.”
Aria had felt like her heart had been ripped from her chest and chopped into a billion pieces. “Um, okay,” she said quickly. What could she say? It wasn’t like she could compete with Ali.
Ali had gone on two dates with Noel—the first to see a chick movie of her choosing, the second to the King James Mall, where Noel waited patiently for hours while Ali tried on practically everything in Saks. Then, out of the blue, Ali broke up with Noel because she liked someone else—someone older. It must have been Ian.
And now history seemed to be repeating itself. Would Noel’s feelings for Ali resurface now that her doppelgänger was here?
Courtney and Noel were still joking about the journalism barn, which contained a hayloft and a pig trough from the days of yore. Aria cleared her throat loudly. “Um, Noel, I had some thoughts about the Valentine’s Day dance,” she said. “Were you thinking about wearing a tux or a suit?”
Noel blinked, cut off in mid-sentence. “Uh, usually guys wear suits, I think.”
“Cool,” Aria said sweetly. She kept her eyes on Courtney the whole time, making sure Courtney understood Aria’s intent. But instead of minding her business, Courtney pointed at something in Aria’s yak-fur bag on the wood floor. “Hey! You still do that?”
Aria stared into the bag. Tucked in one of the big pockets was a tangled ball of white yarn and two wooden knitting needles. She snatched her bag from the floor and pressed it protectively to her chest. You still do that? That was a strange way to word it.
“My sister told me you knit,” Courtney explained as if reading Aria’s mind. “She even showed me a mohair bra you made for her.”
“Oh.” Aria’s voice wobbled. The room suddenly smelled pungently of permanent marker and sweat. Courtney was gazing at her innocently and intently, but Aria couldn’t smile back. What else had Ali told Courtney about Aria? That she had been a kooky, friendless loser before Ali came along? That Aria had had a pathetic, teeming crush on Noel? Maybe Ali had even told her about the time they’d caught Byron and Meredith kissing in a parking lot. Ali had loved every minute of that—it was practically the only thing she talked to Aria about in the last few weeks before she disappeared.
Aria began to tremble. It was too much to sit here and pretend all of this was normal. When her Treo, which was sitting on the desk, let out a shrill chime, she nearly jumped out of her skin. A CNN news alert flashed across the screen. BILLY FORD MIGHT HAVE ALIBI.
Coffee gurgled in Aria’s stomach. When she looked up, Courtney was staring intently at the alert, too, her eyes wide and her face pale. For a split second Courtney looked as though she wanted to rip the phone out of Aria’s hands.
But in a blink, the look was gone.
8
As Emily rushed to her Tuesday gym class, Aria caught her arm. “Look at this.” She thrust her Treo into Emily’s face.
On the screen was a recent newscast. “A critical and surprising development has arisen in the William Ford murder trial,” a reporter’s voice blared.
The camera cut to a shot of a convenience store parking lot. “A witness in Florida says he met with Mr. Ford outside this 7-Eleven on January fifteenth, the day the Pretty Little Liars discovered Mr. Ian Thomas’s dead body in Rosewood,” the voice-over explained. “The witness wishes to remain anonymous because the meeting had to do with the purchase of illegal drugs, but if investigators can corroborate the story, this alibi might be enough to exonerate Mr. Ford of Mr. Thomas’s murder.”
Mr. Owens, the strictest of the gym teachers, passed by, and Aria quickly slipped the phone in her pocket—they weren’t supposed to use them during school hours. When he trundled around the corner, Aria played the video again. “How can this be possible?” she whispered, her face drawn. “If Billy was in Florida when Ian was killed, someone else must have taken those pictures and dug up that stuff on us as A.”
Emily chewed nervously on her lips. “It doesn’t make any sense. He’s got to be lying. Maybe he paid someone to say that.”
“With what money? He can’t even afford a lawyer,” Aria pointed out.
The two of them stood in silence for a few moments. Two guys on the wrestling team whipped past, playing some deranged version of hallway tag. The newscast ended, and the option to choose two more videos appeared on the screen. One was the report from the night Jenna was murdered. The other was about Courtney DiLaurentis. Emily stared at Courtney’s picture, grief and confusion rippling through her once again. Ali lied to us, she thought, her heart breaking for the millionth time. Ali had left Emily and the others out of a huge part of her life. It was like they had never been friends at all.
Or had she dropped some hints? Ali had been obsessed with twins, for one thing—once, when Ali and Emily went shopping alone in Ardmore, Ali told everyone that they were twins, just to see how many people would believe them. And Ali used to marvel over how similar Emily and her sister Carolyn looked. “Has anyone ever thought you guys are twins?” she asked more than once. “Do people ever mistake you for each other?”
Aria noticed Emily looking at Courtney’s picture. She touched Emily’s wrist. “Be careful.”
Emily flinched. “What are you talking about?”
Aria pursed her lips. A group of girls in cheerleading uniforms marched past, practicing the arm movements for a cheer. “She might look exactly like Ali, but she’s not her.”
Heat rushed to Emily’s face. She knew what Aria was getting at. Emily’s old friends knew about her crush on Ali—many of Emily’s notes from the original A, Mona Vanderwaal, had talked about nothing else. Aria had accused Emily of letting her heart get in the way of her head before, especially when Emily clung to the idea that Ali was still alive.
“I know she’s not Ali,” she snapped. “I’m not an idiot.” She whirled into the gym locker room without saying good-bye.
The room smelled of rubber sneakers, hair spray, and floral deodorant. A bunch of girls were already changing into their T-shirts and shorts, and the air was filled with chatter about the Valentine’s Day dance that Saturday. Emily stomped to her locker, prickly with agitation. Aria had definitely hit a nerve.
Truth be told, Emily had lain awake all last night, reliving the moment Courtney had stepped onto the podium. Even though it wasn’t Ali, Emily’s heart had lifted when Courtney gave her that alluring wink. It had been thrilling to sit in the DiLaurentises’ new kitchen, too, right across from this achingly beautiful, hauntingly familiar girl. Emily had dreamed about Ali for years; how could she not feel something for her identical twin?
And what did Aria mean, be careful? There was no reason to distrust Courtney—she’d been as much a victim in this as Emily and the others were. Courtney was lucky to have narrowly escaped the fire in the woods. Billy was obviously trying to kill her, too, just like he was trying to kill Emily, Aria, and the others.
But what if the newscast was right? What if Billy hadn’t killed Ian or set that fire…or done anything else?
“Ahem.”
Emily jolted up, the white T-shirt and blue shorts she’d pulled from her gym locker slipping from her hands. A blond girl with a heart-shaped face was sitting on one of the wooden benches at the end of the aisle. “Oh!” Emily cried, clapping her hand over her mouth. It was as if Courtney had appeared just because Emily had been thinking about her.
“Hi.” Courtney was dressed in a snug-fitting Rosewood Day blazer, a white button-down, and a blue plaid skirt. Her school-issued blue socks were tight and even, stopping right below her pretty, diamond-shaped kneecaps. She stared at the gym clothes in Emily’s arms. “I didn’t know we were supposed to bring shorts and stuff.”
“Yeah.” Emily lifted her T-shirt by the collar. “You can get gym clothes at the school store.” She cocked her head. “Mr. Draznowsky didn’t tell you that?” Mr. Draznowsky was their gym teacher.
“He just gave me this locker number and combination. I guess he assumed I knew what to do.”
Emily lowered her eyes. Had Courtney ever attended a normal school? Had she ever been a member of a sports team, or played an instrument in band, or had to plot the best route to get to each class on time? Aria’s words of caution gushed through Emily’s mind again. Okay, so they didn’t know Courtney, but what was Emily supposed to do, ignore her?
“Uh, I have an extra pair of shorts and a T-shirt,” Emily offered, turning to her locker and digging to the bottom. She handed Courtney a swim T-shirt and a wrinkled pair of gym shorts. “The shirt isn’t technically for gym class, but I think they’ll let you slide for today.”
“Oh my God, thank you.” Courtney held the T-shirt at arm’s length. It had a picture of a swimming pool and starting blocks. “You rock the block,” she read aloud, then looked at Emily quizzically.
“My swim coach gave it to me for making captain this year,” Emily explained.
Courtney’s eyes widened. “Captain? Impressive.”
Emily shrugged. She had mixed feelings about being captain of the swim team, especially since she’d considered quitting not so long ago.
Courtney spread out the gym shorts, noticing the school crest silkscreened near the hem. “What’s this thing on the shield? A little penis?”
Emily burst out laughing. “That’s a shark. Our mascot.”
Courtney squinted. “A shark? Seriously?”
“I know. It looks more like a worm. Or a…penis.” Emily felt funny saying the word aloud. “Now that you mention it, this freshman guy dresses up in a big foam shark costume at swim meets. And by the end, the top of the costume always gets kind of…limp.”
A group of girls pushed their way out to the gym. Courtney leaned against the metal lockers. “This school is so weird. Penis sharks, that peppy music that’s played between classes…”
“Don’t get me started on that.” Emily groaned. “Sometimes they forget to turn it off once the period begins. And it’s, like, blaring while we’re trying to take a math test. Did you meet Ms. Reyes from the office? She wears those big oval pink-tinted glasses?”
Courtney laughed. “She registered me.”
“She’s in charge of the PA music,” Emily explained, talking over the sounds of a couple of toilets flushing in the bathrooms adjacent to the changing area. “And whenever the music runs long, I always picture her asleep at her desk.”
“Either that or she’s distracted because she’s staring at the oil paintings she has of that little rat dog.”
“That’s her Chihuahua!” Emily laughed. “Sometimes she brings it to pep rallies. She made it a Rosewood Day blazer and skirt outfit—even though it’s a boy!”
Courtney’s shoulders shook with giggles. Emily’s insides felt shiny and glowing. Courtne
y sat down on the bench and unbuttoned her blazer. “And I keep seeing lots of posters for a game called Time Capsule. What’s that all about?”
Emily stared at a wad of green gum someone had stuck in the grout of the beige tiles on the wall. “It’s just a stupid game,” she murmured. Time Capsule was a longstanding Rosewood Day tradition, and by coincidence, the very first time Emily had ever entered Ali’s backyard was when she’d tried to steal Ali’s Time Capsule piece. Ali had been unusually friendly to them that day, telling Emily and the others that someone else had stolen it already. Emily had only recently learned that someone had been Jason. He’d then given it to Aria, who’d kept it hidden for years.
A beep sounded from inside Courtney’s satchel. She pulled out her iPhone and rolled her eyes. “CNN again,” she said dramatically. “They really want to interview me. I even got a call from Anderson Cooper himself!”
“Wow!” Emily grinned. Someone in one of the other aisles slammed their locker closed.
Courtney dropped her phone back in her bag. “Yeah, but I don’t really want to talk to the press. I’d rather talk to you guys.” She ran her hands along the initials WD + MP that someone had etched into the wooden bench. “You were with my sister the night she…the night that Billy…?”
A shiver ran up Emily’s spine. “Yeah. We were.”
“It’s so scary.” Courtney’s voice cracked. “To think he killed Jenna Cavanaugh and Ian. And he sent you all those awful notes.”
The heat whirred on, sending little motes of dust swirling around the room.
“Wait a minute,” Emily said suddenly, a thought occurring to her. “Billy sent me a picture of Ali, Jenna, and a blond girl. I thought it was Naomi Zeigler—but it was you, wasn’t it?”
Courtney picked at a Chiquita banana sticker someone had affixed to the locker. “Probably. I met Jenna during my one visit here. She was the only person in Rosewood who knew about me.”
Sara Shepard Page 5
