It was pitch-black outside, and a thin crust of frost had formed over the front yard. She heard a giggle. Her heart started to hammer. Hanna paused in the driveway. “Hello?” she called. The word seemed to freeze right in front of her face before shattering into thousands of shards on the driveway. Hanna looked right and left, but it was too dark to see anything.
There was another giggle, and then a full-throated laugh. Hanna exhaled with relief. It was coming from inside the house. Hanna crept up the front walk and slipped quietly into the foyer. Three pairs of boots sat by the front door. The emerald Loeffler Randalls were Riley’s—she had a thing for green. Hanna had been with Naomi when she bought the spike-heeled booties lying next to them. Hanna didn’t recognize the third pair at all, but when she heard another peal of giggles from upstairs, one girl’s laugh stood out from the rest. Hanna had heard an identical version of that laugh many times, sometimes at her expense. It was Courtney. And she was in Hanna’s house.
Hanna tiptoed up the stairs. The hallway smelled of rum and coconut. An old Madonna remix blared from Kate’s closed bedroom door. Hanna approached and pressed her ear to the wall. She heard whispering.
“I think I saw her car pull into the driveway!” Naomi hissed.
“We should hide!” Riley cried.
“She’d better not try and hang out with us,” Kate scoffed. “Right, Courtney?”
“Um,” Courtney said, not really sounding certain at all.
Hanna padded to her bedroom and resisted the urge to slam the door behind her. Dot, her miniature Doberman, rose from her doggie bed and danced around her feet, but she was so angry that she barely noticed her. She should’ve seen this coming. Courtney had become Naomi, Kate, and Riley’s pet project, probably because she was the new media darling. All day, they’d prowled the Rosewood Day hallways in an intimidating four-girl line, flirting with the cutest boys and rolling their eyes at Hanna whenever she crossed their path. By eighth period, students were no longer looking at Courtney with uneasiness but respect and admiration. Four guys had asked her to the Valentine’s Day dance. Scarlet Rivers, a finalist in the fashion design department’s Project Runway contest, wanted to design a dress with Courtney as her muse. Not that Hanna was stalking Courtney or anything. It had all been on Courtney’s brand-new Facebook page, which had already amassed 10,200 new friends from around the world.
There was a chime, and Hanna’s iPhone lit up inside her bag. She pulled it out. One new e-mail, said the screen. The note was from her mom. Hanna rarely heard from her—Ms. Marin ran the Singapore division of McManus & Tate, an ad agency, and she was more in love with her career than her only daughter. Hey, Han, it began. I’ve been offered six tickets to the Diane von Furstenberg fashion show in NYC Thursday, but I obviously can’t use them. Would you like to go instead? I’ve attached them via PDF.
Hanna read the message a few times over, her fingers twitching. Six tickets!
She stood up, checked her reflection in the mirror, and whipped out into the hall. When Hanna pounded on Kate’s door, the giggles instantly ceased. After some heated whispers, Kate flung open the door. Naomi, Riley, and Courtney were sitting on the floor by Kate’s bed, dressed in jeans and oversize cashmere sweaters. Bottles of foundation and trays of eye shadow were strewn across the carpet, and there was the usual array of Vogues, old Rosewood Day yearbooks, and smartphones jumbled at their feet. Four small tumblers and a bottle of Gosling’s rum sat between them. Mr. Marin had brought the rum back from a recent business trip to Bermuda. Even if Hanna ratted Kate out for swiping it, her dad would probably somehow figure out a way to blame Hanna instead.
Riley’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you want, Psycho?”
“Would you mind keeping it down?” Hanna cooed sweetly. “I need to make a phone call about some fashion week tickets I got from my mom, and I can hear your voices all the way down the hall.”
It took a few seconds for the news to sink in. “What?” Kate squeaked, curling her lip.
Naomi tossed her head. “Fashion week? Right.”
“Just turn the music down for a few,” Hanna said. “I don’t want Diane von Furstenberg’s people to think I’m a silly high school girl.” She waggled her fingers and ducked out the door. “Thanks much!”
“Wait.” Kate grabbed Hanna’s arm. “The Diane von Furstenberg?”
“You have to be someone to have tickets to that,” Riley snapped, her nostrils flaring. She had the tiniest beginning of a booger up her nose. “They don’t let psychos in.”
“My mom got six tickets,” Hanna said nonchalantly, swiveling on her heel. “She gets stuff like that through her job all the time. But since she’s in Singapore, she gave them to me.”
She whipped out her iPhone, opened the PDF, and shoved it in Kate’s face. Everyone else sprang up and squinted at the screen. Naomi licked her lips hungrily. Riley shot Hanna her version of a genuine smile, which looked more like a grimace. Courtney lingered in the background, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. The other girls turned to her in deference, as if she were Anna Wintour and they were Assistants One through Three.
“Sweet,” Courtney declared in a voice identical to Ali’s.
Naomi clapped her palms together. “You’re obviously bringing your besties, right?”
“Of course she’s taking us,” Riley said, linking her arm with Hanna’s.
“Yeah, Hanna, you know that Psycho stuff was a joke, right?” Kate simpered. “And you should totally hang out with us tonight. We were going to ask you, but we didn’t know where you were.”
Hanna unwound her arm from Riley’s. She had to play this very, very carefully. If she gave them what they wanted too quickly, she’d look like a pushover. “I’ll have to think it over,” she said apathetically.
Naomi let out a whine. “Come on, Hanna. You have to take us. We’ll do anything.”
“We’ll take down that Facebook page,” Riley blurted.
“We’ll clean Psycho off your locker,” Naomi said at the exact same time.
Kate nudged both of them, obviously not wanting them to admit they’d been behind those things. “Fine,” she grumbled. “From now on, you’re no longer Psycho.”
“Oh, okay. Whatever,” Hanna said lightly. She started to head for the door.
“Wait!” Naomi screeched, pulling Hanna back down by the sleeve of her blazer. “Are you taking us or not?”
“Mmmm…” Hanna pretended to think. “Okay. I guess.”
“Yes.” Naomi and Riley high-fived. Kate looked appeased. Courtney gazed at them as if she thought this was all very petty. They made arrangements to meet Thursday after school at Hanna’s car, when they’d drive to the Amtrak station. And where would they get dinner after the show? The Waverly Inn? Soho House?
Hanna left them to their planning and ducked into the hall bathroom, closing the door tight. She leaned over the sink, nearly knocking over Kate’s myriad bottles of cleansers, toners, and mud masks, and smiled at her reflection. She’d done it. For the first time in weeks, she felt like herself again.
When she opened the bathroom door a few minutes later, a figure jerked out of sight. Hanna halted, her heart jumping to her throat. “Hello?” she whispered weakly.
There was a rustling sound. Then Courtney stepped into the light. Her eyes were round, and there was a ghostly smile on her lips.
“Uh, hi?” The hairs on Hanna’s arms stood on end.
“Hey,” Courtney said. She walked up to Hanna, stopping inches from her face. The hallway seemed even darker than it had moments before. Courtney was so close that Hanna could smell her rum-scented breath.
“Um, I heard you knew Iris.” Courtney tucked a strand of pale blond hair behind her ear.
Hanna’s stomach did a flip. “Uh, yeah.”
Courtney put her hand on Hanna’s arm. Her fingers were ice-cold. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “She was out of her mind. I’m glad you got away from her, too.”
Then Courtney slid back into the shadows. Her
bare feet made no sound on the plush carpet. The only way Hanna could tell she was still there was by the glowing ticking hands on her Juicy Couture wristwatch. Hanna watched the eerie green glow glide down the hall until it vanished, ghostlike, into Kate’s room.
11
A SYMPATHETIC EAR
After school the following day, Aria screeched into the parking lot of the Rosewood YMCA, an old mansion that still maintained an English-style garden and a giant carriage house that had once held twenty Rolls-Royces. Mr. Kahn had needed Noel’s SUV for the afternoon, and Aria had offered to pick Noel up from his Wednesday afternoon support group. She was also dying to tell Noel about the slinky, twenties-style red dress she’d found at a vintage store in Hollis this afternoon. Silly as it was, the Valentine’s gala was the first school-sponsored dance Aria had ever attended, and she was surprised by how excited she was.
She maneuvered around the big parking lot, veering so as not to hit a Mercedes SUV whose driver was backing out of a space without bothering to check behind him. Suddenly the Grateful Dead song on the college radio station went silent. “We have an update on the Rosewood Serial Killer,” a reporter broke in. “Billy Ford, the alleged murderer in custody, claims he has an alibi for both the night Alison DiLaurentis went missing and the night Jenna Cavanaugh was killed. Police will look thoroughly into these findings. If his lawyers can prove his alibis, he may be able to go free. This will open up what investigators thought was an airtight case.”
The double doors to the Y opened wide, and Aria looked up. A crowd spilled down the massive stone steps. Two people walked apart from the others, deep in conversation. Aria recognized Noel’s dark hair right away. The person with him had a mane of blond hair. When she pushed her hair behind her ear, Aria gasped. It was Courtney.
She wanted to duck, but Noel had already spied the Subaru and was on his way over. Courtney followed. Aria watched them approach helplessly, feeling like a firefly caught in a jar.
“Hey,” Noel said, opening the passenger door. “You wouldn’t mind driving Courtney home, too, would you? Her mom’s supposed to pick her up, but she called and said she was going to be really late.”
Courtney waved at Aria sheepishly, lingering a safe distance away. Aria scrambled for an excuse, but she couldn’t come up with anything fast enough. “Fine,” she muttered.
Noel mouthed Sorry. But he didn’t look particularly sorry. He shut the front door and clambered into the backseat, beckoning for Courtney to follow. Anger surged into Aria’s chest—were they both going to sit in the back and make Aria look like a chauffeur?
But then Courtney opened the front passenger door and slid in next to Aria. Aria tried to meet Noel’s eyes in the mirror, but he was typing on his iPhone. Was this his way of getting them to bond? Hadn’t she already told him that being around Courtney brought back too many unhappy memories?
The first mile was quiet. They passed the empty playground, an organic restaurant, and the entrance to the Marwyn running trail. Courtney sat prim and straight in her seat; Noel pounded away on his keyboard. Finally, Aria couldn’t stand it anymore. “So you’re both in the sibling support group, huh?”
“I told Courtney that she should check it out,” Noel said. “I said it helped me.”
“I see.” Aria resisted the urge to drive the car into the icy duck pond on their left. When had Noel and Courtney had that conversation?
Noel leaned his elbows on the backs of the front seats. “Do you like it, Courtney? I think the counselor is really cool and down-to-earth.”
“A little too down-to-earth,” Courtney laughed. “‘Now, fall back into your partner’s arms!’” she imitated, using a deep, dopey voice. “‘The idea is to trust someone else as much as you would trust a tree or a brook.’” She snorted. “You were totally about to drop me, too.”
“I was not!” Noel insisted. His cheeks were pink.
Aria clenched her teeth. “You guys were partners?”
“Well, yeah. We’re the youngest ones there by far.” Noel switched his STX baseball cap so that the brim faced backward.
“Noel saved me from being partners with a randy old man with hair growing out of his ears,” Courtney said, turning her head to smile at him.
“How chivalrous of you, Noel,” Aria said frostily. She wasn’t going to make him feel better about flirting with Ali’s look-alike. Courtney wasn’t exactly innocent, either—Aria had made it clear in study hall that she and Noel were an item, and yet she had no qualms about hanging all over him. Like sister, like long-lost twin.
“You can drop me first.” Noel finally broke the silence. His street was coming up on the left.
“Are you sure?” Courtney asked, looking distressed. Aria wondered if she didn’t want to be alone with Aria any more than Aria wanted to be alone with her.
“No worries,” Noel said. Aria didn’t answer, digging her nails so hard into the leatherette steering wheel that they left little half-moon-shaped dents.
When they pulled up to the gate at Noel’s house, Courtney gaped at the Kahns’ half-stone, half-brick mansion with its towers and four chimneys. Her eyes swept from the expansive side yard, which went on for another quarter mile over a series of small hills, to the guesthouse behind the mansion, to the detached garage, which held Mr. Kahn’s antique car collection and Cessna airplane. “You live here?” she gasped.
“It’s not that great inside,” Noel mumbled. He climbed out of the car and walked over to Aria’s side. He looked repentant. Good. She rolled down the window. “Can I call you later?” he said softly, touching Aria’s arm. Aria nodded begrudgingly.
Courtney shifted in her seat as they pulled away. Aria considered turning up the radio, but what if they broke in with yet another news bulletin about Billy? She certainly didn’t want to get into a discussion about him. “The bypass is the quickest way to Yarmouth, right?” she said stiffly, her eyes on the road.
“Right,” Courtney said quietly.
“Okay then.” Aria made a jerky right onto the highway, almost jumping the curb.
They drove past a huge parking lot for the local Barnes & Noble and Fresh Fields grocery store. Aria stared straight ahead, pretending to be fascinated by the COEXIST bumper sticker on the Honda in front of her. Each of its letters was comprised of a different religious symbol. She could feel Courtney watching her, but she didn’t take the bait. It was like the Buckingham Palace Guard game Aria and Mike used to play on long, boring car trips: Aria would stare straight ahead like a palace guard while Mike tried to make her laugh.
Courtney took a deep breath. “I know what you’re thinking. What everyone’s thinking.”
Aria broke from her spell and shot Courtney a brief, puzzled look. “Um…”
Courtney continued, her voice low. “Everyone is wondering how I coped, living so far away from my family for so long. They want to know how I can forgive my family for keeping me out of the loop all those years.”
“Uh,” Aria wavered. Truthfully, she was thinking that.
“But that’s really not my biggest problem,” Courtney continued. “What’s worse is that my parents are basically living this lie, pretending their issues don’t exist.” She turned to face Aria. “Did you know my mom had an affair?”
Aria got too close to the Honda in front of her and slammed on her brakes. “You knew about that?”
“Yeah. Ali and I both knew for years. And what’s more, my dad isn’t even my dad. Surprise!” Courtney laughed wearily. Her voice was thick, as if she was about to cry.
“Huh.” Aria pressed on the gas and whipped past a white BMW, then a red Jeep Cherokee. The speedometer said she was doing almost eighty, but it felt like she was standing still. Spencer had told her about her dad’s affair—and that she was Ali and Courtney’s half sister. But she’d had no clue that Ali had known about the affair.
Aria took the exit off the highway into Yarmouth. The sign for Darrow Farms loomed ahead. Aria would never forget the day she and Ali caught Byron a
nd Meredith making out in the Hollis parking lot. Ali had relentlessly teased Aria about the affair, talking about it as if it was a celebrity scandal on TMZ. Has anything happened at home? said Ali’s texts. Does Ella suspect? Remember the look on your dad’s face when he caught us? You should look through his stuff to see if he’s written his girlfriend any love letters!
Ali had tortured Aria, but all that time she’d been going through the exact same thing.
Aria glanced over at the girl in the passenger seat. Courtney had her head down and was fidgeting with a beaded bracelet on her right wrist. With her hair over her face and her bottom lip stuck out ever-so-slightly, she looked much more fragile and weaker than Ali ever had. Much more innocent, too.
“A lot of parents are messed up,” Aria said softly.
A few brown, dead leaves swirled past the car. Courtney pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowed. For a moment, Aria was afraid she’d said the wrong thing. She pulled into the DiLaurentises’ driveway, and Courtney quickly opened the car door. “Thanks again for the ride.”
Aria watched as Courtney ran across the yard and disappeared into the house. She remained at the curb for a few moments longer, her thoughts swarming. She certainly hadn’t expected that conversation.
She was about to shift into drive when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. It felt like someone was staring at her. Aria swiveled around and peered into a dark knot of trees across the street. Sure enough, someone was standing there, her eyes on Aria’s car. The figure disappeared into the woods fast, but not before Aria caught a quick glimpse of a head of pale blond hair, cut bluntly at the chin. She gasped.
It was Melissa Hastings.
12
DREAMS REALLY DO COME TRUE
Late Wednesday afternoon, Emily stood in front of her bedroom mirror, turning first to the right, then to the left. Should she have used a curling iron on her stick-straight, reddish-blond hair? Did her sister Carolyn’s pink lip gloss look stupid? She pulled off the striped T-shirt she was wearing, threw it on the floor, and slid on a pink wool-cashmere sweater instead. That looked wrong, too. She checked the digital clock on the nightstand again. Courtney would be here any minute.
Sara Shepard Page 7
