Sara Shepard

by Pretty Little Liars 08 - Wanted (v5)

  The end-of-the-day bell rang, and everyone emerged from the classrooms. Hanna’s stomach clenched as she noticed a tall, black-haired boy walking by himself toward the art wing. Mike.

  She rolled her half-empty coffee cup between her hands, stood, and started across the café.

  “Going to see the school counselor, Psycho?” Kate teased as she passed.

  Mike watched Hanna as she approached. His black hair was mussed, and there was a cute, uncertain smile on his face. Before he could say a word, Hanna marched right up to him and kissed him on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around him, and Mike quickly did the same. Someone hooted.

  Hanna and Mike broke apart, breathing hard. Mike looked into her eyes. “Uh…hi!”

  “Hi, yourself,” Hanna whispered.

  The day Hanna returned to Rosewood from the Poconos, she’d driven straight to the Montgomery home and begged Mike to take her back. Thankfully, Mike forgave Hanna for dumping him—although he’d added, “You have to make it up to me. I think I deserve a couple of stripteases, right?”

  She leaned in to kiss Mike again when his cell phone bleated in his pocket. “Hold that thought,” he said, putting the phone to his ear without saying hello. “Okay,” he said a couple of times. When he hung up, his face was pale.

  “What is it?” Hanna asked.

  Mike glanced across the café to Aria. “That was Dad,” he called to her. “Meredith’s in labor.”

  33

  ARIA MONTGOMERY, TYPICAL ROSEWOOD KOOK

  Aria had begged her old friends to come with her to Rosewood Memorial Hospital, and now the four of them and Mike sat in the waiting room outside Labor and Delivery. An hour had passed since they’d heard anything, and they’d read the waiting room’s entire stash of Glamour, Vogue, Car & Driver, and Good Housekeeping, and had downloaded about a hundred iPhone apps. Byron was holed up in the delivery room, doing his I’m-going-to-be-a-father-again thing. It was beyond bizarre to see her dad so gung-ho about the birthing. Apparently, when both Aria and Mike were born, Byron had fainted at the first sight of blood and had to spend the rest of the evening in the ER getting IV fluids to keep his blood pressure up.

  Aria stared across the room at a nondescript painting of a desert vista and sighed.

  “You okay?” Emily asked.

  “Yeah,” Aria answered. “Except I think my butt’s asleep.”

  Emily gave Aria a concerned look. But Aria was pretty sure she was okay about all of this, unconventional as it was. The day after Ali had tried to kill them, Aria had gotten a call on her cell phone from her mom. Ella was in tears, devastated that something awful had almost happened to Aria.

  Aria had admitted why she’d stayed away, that she’d wanted to give Ella a chance to be happy with Xavier. Ella had breathed out and cried, “That scumbag! Aria, you should have told me immediately.”

  Ella promptly broke up with Xavier and things between Aria and her mother slowly returned to normal. Now Aria was back to spending half her time at Ella’s, half her time at Byron and Meredith’s. She and Ella had even talked a little about the impending new baby. Although Ella seemed a little sad about it, she also said it was the way life went. “Most things don’t work out the way you want them to,” she said. Aria knew that all too well. Practically the only thing she’d learned from the Ali experience was that some things were too good to be true.

  Including Ali herself.

  Byron pushed through the waiting room door. He wore blue scrubs, a face mask, and one of those weird anti-germ shower caps. “It’s a girl,” he said breathlessly.

  Everyone jumped up. “Can we see her?” Aria asked, slinging her yak-fur bag over her shoulder.

  Byron nodded and led them down the quiet hallway until they came to a room with a big window. Meredith sat propped up in bed. Her hair was matted to her head, but her skin glowed. In her arms was a tiny pink bundle.

  Aria stepped inside and gazed at the little creature. The girl’s eyes were little slits, her nose was nothing more than a button, and she wore a preppy-looking pink cap on her head. Ugh. Aria would definitely have to knit her something cooler.

  “Do you want to hold your sister?” Meredith asked.

  Sister.

  Aria approached tentatively. Meredith smiled and placed the newborn in Aria’s arms. She felt warm and smelled of powder. “She’s beautiful,” Aria whispered. Behind her, Hanna sighed with pleasure. Spencer and Emily made cooing noises. Mike looked flabbergasted.

  “What are you going to name her?” Aria asked.

  “We haven’t decided.” Meredith pursed her lips bashfully. “We thought you might like to help us choose.”

  “Really?” Aria breathed, touched. Meredith nodded.

  A nurse knocked on the door. “How are we all doing?” Aria gave the baby to the nurse, who pressed a stethoscope to her tiny chest.

  “We should go,” Spencer said, giving Aria a hug. Hanna and Emily piled on, too. They used to do mass hugs like this back in sixth and seventh grades, especially after something huge had happened. Of course, there used to be a fifth girl in the mass hugs, but Aria decided not to dwell on Ali. She didn’t want her to ruin the moment.

  After her friends disappeared through the double doors—Mike hand-in-hand with Hanna—Aria returned to the waiting room and slumped down on the couch nearest the TV. Predictably, the news was droning on about how Ali’s body still hadn’t been found in the wreckage in the Poconos. A reporter was interviewing a leather-faced woman in Kansas who’d started a Facebook group claiming that Ali was still alive. “Don’t you people think it’s strange you haven’t found even one of her teeth or bones in that fire?” the woman cackled, her eyes round and crazed. “Alison is alive. Mark my words.”

  Aria stabbed at the remote to change the channel. There was no way Ali was still out there. She’d gone down with that house and that was that.

  “Aria?” said a voice.

  Aria looked up. “Oh,” she said weakly, rising to her feet. Her heart started to thump. “H-hi.”

  Noel Kahn stood in the doorway, wearing a beat-up black T-shirt and effortlessly fitting jeans. Aria could smell his skin from across the room, a blend of soap and spices. They’d barely spoken since the Valentine’s Day dance, and Aria had figured things with him were ruined for good.

  Noel crossed the room and sat down on one of the lumpy chairs. “Mike texted me about your sister. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Aria said. Her muscles seemed hardened in place, like clay after it had been fired.

  A bunch of doctors in blue scrubs walked past the waiting room, their stethoscopes jostling against their chests. Noel stuck his finger into a tiny hole in the knee of his jeans. “I don’t know if this matters, but I didn’t kiss Courtney. Ali. Whoever she was. She kissed me.”

  Aria nodded, a lump in her throat. As soon as Ali had made her motives clear, it was painfully obvious what had happened. Ali had been desperate to get Aria to the Poconos, not because she wanted to be friends with Aria but because she wanted all the girls together so she could kill them in one fell swoop.

  “I know,” Aria answered, staring at the toy box in the corner of the waiting room. It was filled with dog-eared picture books, ugly, yarn-haired dolls, and mismatched Legos. “I’m really sorry. I should have trusted you.”

  “I’ve missed you,” Noel said quietly.

  Aria dared to look up. “I missed you, too.”

  Ever so slowly, Noel rose from his chair and sat down next to her. “For the record, you’re the most beautiful, interesting person I’ve ever met. I’ve always thought that, even in seventh grade.”

  “You liar.” Aria half smiled.

  “I would never lie about something like that,” Noel said sternly.

  And then he leaned forward and kissed her.

  34

  SPENCER HASTINGS’S BEAUTIFUL, IMPERFECT LIFE

  Andrew Campbell picked up Spencer from the hospital in his Mini Cooper and drove her home. KYW news was runnin
g the same report about how the police still hadn’t found any evidence of Ali’s body in the rubble.

  Spencer pressed her forehead to the window and shut her eyes.

  Andrew pulled up to Spencer’s curb and shifted the Mini into park. “You okay?”

  “I need a minute,” Spencer mumbled.

  At first glance, her street was resplendent and picturesque, all the houses grand and impressive, all the yards fenced in and maintained, and all the driveways paved with bluestone or brick. But if Spencer looked closer, the imperfections were obvious. The Cavanaugh house had been dark since Jenna’s death, a FOR SALE sign on the front lawn. The oak where Toby’s tree house had once stood was now a rotted stump. The hole where Jenna’s body had been found was filled in with thick, black dirt. The Jenna shrine remained at the curb, so swollen that it encompassed some of the neighbor’s curb and yard. The Ali shrine, on the other hand, had been dismantled. Spencer had no idea what happened to all the photos and stuffed animals and candles—they’d disappeared overnight. No one wanted to memorialize Alison DiLaurentis anymore. She was no longer Rosewood’s blameless, beautiful darling.

  Spencer stared at the big Victorian on the corner of the cul-de-sac. You’re Spencer, right? Ali had asked Spencer the day she’d sneaked into the DiLaurentis yard to steal Ali’s piece of the Time Capsule flag. Spencer had thought Ali was only pretending not to know who Spencer was…but she actually didn’t have a clue. Courtney had to learn everything about Ali’s life—fast.

  Spencer could also see the dilapidated barn at the back of her house, forever ruined by the fire Ali had started. I tried to burn you. I tried to have you arrested. And now, here we are. The night Ali went missing, when Spencer and Ali got in that awful fight, the Ali she knew stormed out, probably on her way to meet Ian. The real Ali, the one whose life had been stolen, was waiting for her.

  I saw two blondes in the woods, Ian had told Spencer on the back porch before his trial. Spencer had seen those blondes, too. At first she’d assumed it was Ian or maybe Jason or Billy, but in the end, it had been two identical sisters. Of course the real Ali knew when the hole was going to be filled with concrete—she’d probably heard her parents talking about it when they’d picked her up from the hospital that weekend. She’d known how deep the hole was, too, and how hard she’d have to shove her sister to kill her. Ali probably thought that after the deed was done, she’d go back into the house and reclaim her life. Except that hadn’t happened.

  Spencer still had nightmares about those last moments in the Poconos before the house erupted into flames. One minute, Ali and Emily were grappling by the door. The next, the house was filled with a white fireball…and Ali was gone. Had she been blown into another room? Had they unknowingly stumbled over her dead body while trying to escape? Spencer had seen the kooks on the news who theorized that Ali was still alive. “It makes perfect sense,” a wild-haired man told Larry King last week. “The DiLaurentis parents vanished. They obviously caught up with their daughter and are hiding in another country.”

  But Spencer didn’t believe it. Ali had perished with the house, Ian’s body, and her terrifying letter. Finis. Finito. The end.

  Spencer turned back to Andrew, letting out a held breath. “It’s all so…sad.” She gestured out the window to her street. “I used to love living here. I thought it was perfect. But now it’s…ruined. There are so many terrible memories here.”

  “We’ll have to make good memories to override the bad ones,” Andrew assured her. But Spencer wasn’t convinced that anything could really do that.

  There was a knock on the window, and Spencer jumped. Melissa peered in. “Hey, Spence. Can you come inside?”

  There was a look on her face that made Spencer think something had happened, and Spencer’s stomach flipped with worry. Andrew leaned over and kissed Spencer on the forehead. “Call me later.”

  Spencer followed Melissa across the lawn, admiring her sister’s soft red cashmere V-neck sweater and black skinny jeans. She’d helped Melissa pick them out from Otter—Melissa had actually listened to Spencer when she told Melissa that she was dressing like a clone of their mother. It was one of the few good things that had come out of this nightmare—Spencer and Melissa were finally getting along for real. No more competitiveness. No more nasty comments. Surviving that fire—escaping their half sister—had put everything in perspective. So far, anyway.

  The house smelled comfortingly like tomato sauce and garlic. For the first time in two months, the living room was spotless, the floors looked waxed, and all the oil paintings in the halls hung straight and even. When Spencer peered into the dining room, she saw that the table was set. Perrier sparkled in water glasses. A bottle of wine was airing in a decanter on the rolling bar cart.

  “What’s going on?” Spencer murmured uneasily. It was highly doubtful her mom was entertaining.

  “Spence?”

  Mr. Hastings appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a gray suit from work. Spencer had barely seen him since the night she exposed the affair. Stunningly, Mrs. Hastings appeared behind him, a tired but content smile on her face. “Dinner’s ready,” she chirped, removing an oven mitt from her right hand.

  “O-okay,” Spencer stammered. She walked into the dining room, still staring at them. Were they seriously going to pretend that nothing had happened? Could they really brush this under the rug? Did Spencer even want them to?

  Mr. Hastings poured Spencer a tiny sip of wine and gave Melissa a regular-size glass. He bustled around with Spencer’s mom, carrying bowls and spoons and a basket of garlic bread to the table. Spencer and Melissa exchanged an uneasy glance. He never helped with dinner preparations, usually sitting at the table like a king while Mrs. Hastings did all the work.

  Everyone sat down, Spencer’s parents on either end of the table, Spencer and Melissa on opposite sides. The room was very quiet. Steam rose from the bowl of pasta puttanesca. The smell of garlic and spicy wine tickled Spencer’s nose. The family stared at one another like they were strangers forced to sit together on an airplane. Finally, Mr. Hastings cleared his throat.

  “Want to play Star Power?” he said.

  Spencer’s mouth dropped open. Melissa’s, too. Mrs. Hastings let out a weary laugh. “He’s kidding, girls.”

  Mr. Hastings rested his palms on the table. “This talk is long overdue.” He paused to sip his wine. “I need to tell you that I never meant to hurt you. Any of you. But I did. That’s not going to change, and I’m not going to ask you to forgive me. But I want you to know that whatever happens, I’ll be there for all of you. Things are different now, and they’ll never go back to being the way they were, but please know that every day, I feel terrible about what I did. I’ve felt terrible about it since it happened. And I feel terrible that someone we’re related to did something horrible to both of you. I would have never forgiven myself if something had happened.” He let out a small sniffle.

  Spencer rocked her fork back and forth on the table, not sure what to say. It always made her nervous and uncomfortable to see her dad get emotional—and this was the first time he’d even hinted at being Ali’s real father. She wanted to tell her dad that it was okay—she forgave him, and it was best forgotten. But she was pretty sure that would be a lie.

  “So what’s going to happen?” Melissa asked in a small voice, kneading the cloth napkin next to her plate.

  Mrs. Hastings took a tiny sip of sparkling water. “We’re working on things, just trying to understand what happened.”

  “Are you getting back together?” Spencer blurted.

  “Right now, no,” Mrs. Hastings explained. “Your dad’s renting a townhouse closer to the city. But we’ll see how it goes.”

  “We’ll have to take it one day at a time,” Mr. Hastings said, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down. “But we want to try to meet for dinner here at least once a week. To talk to you together and hang out. So…here we are.” He reached across the table, grabbed a piece of garlic bread, and
bit off a piece with a loud crunch.

  And so they went on, not talking about Star Power achievements, not out-bragging one another, not making insidious little insults disguised as compliments. Finally, it occurred to Spencer what was going on. They were being…normal. This was probably what most families did at dinner every day.

  Spencer coiled a piece of pasta around her fork and took a big, sloppy bite. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the family she’d always dreamed of. Maybe her parents wouldn’t get back together in the end, and her dad would remain in his rented townhouse or move to a house of his own. But if they could talk about things—if they were really interested in one another—then that was a change for the better.

  As Mrs. Hastings brought in pints of Ben & Jerry’s and four spoons, Melissa tapped Spencer’s foot under the table. “Want to stay with me in the townhouse in Philly for the weekend?” she whispered. “Tons more cool clubs and restaurants have opened up.”

  “Really?” Spencer asked. Melissa had never invited her to the townhouse before.

  “Yep.” Melissa nodded. “There’s a guest room for you. And I’ll even let you reorganize my bookshelf.” She winked. “Maybe you can file the books by color and size instead of in alphabetical order.”

  “You’ve got a deal,” Spencer said, giggling.

  Two bright pink spots appeared on Melissa’s cheeks, almost like she was happy. The warm feeling in Spencer’s stomach grew and grew. Just a few weeks ago, she’d had two sisters. Now she was down to only one. But maybe Melissa was the only sister she’d ever really needed. Perhaps Melissa even could be the sister Spencer had always wanted…and Spencer could be that sister to Melissa, too. Maybe all they had to do was give each other a chance.