Pretty Little Liars #13: Crushed

by Shepard, Sara

  Bubbles from the champagne fizzed in Spencer’s nose. She gazed at the blurry highway lights above them. When was the last time she’d just enjoyed something? Even the cruise, which was supposed to be relaxing, had been a horrible, stressful mess. And it was kind of nice to be thought of as just Spencer, a regular girl, not Spencer the Pretty Little Liar.

  “As long as you promise to show me everything as soon as that first dance ends,” she said.

  “I promise.”

  They shook on it. Chase rested his head on her shoulder. They looked out the window as the city of Philadelphia glittered on the horizon, and they started to talk. Spencer asked him about what his prom would have been like, and who he would have liked to have taken, and what he was thinking about studying in college next year. Then they talked about her upcoming semester at Princeton. Spencer even told him a little about the huge mishap at the potluck party the weekend she’d visited.

  They talked the whole traffic-jammed ride into the city, and before Spencer knew it, they were taking the off-ramp near the zoo. Her pulse had slowed. Her cheeks hurt from laughing. Talking about everything but the case was a good suggestion.

  Then, as they stopped at a light, the driver turned on the radio. And now, turning to the murder investigation of Tabitha Clark. Investigators say they’ve made headway with their questioning and have several potential suspects.

  Spencer dug her nails into her knee. Suspects?

  “That story is crazy, isn’t it?” Chase crossed his legs. “I’ve been following it a little. A few people have sent requests for me to post about it on my site.”

  “Huh,” Spencer said, shakily pushing a lock of hair off her shoulder.

  Chase grabbed his champagne flute. “Actually, you were in Jamaica when Tabitha died, weren’t you? Did you see anything?”

  Spencer turned and stared at him, a cold feeling trickling down her back. “I never told you I was in Jamaica.”

  Chase blinked. “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She started to shake all over. “I definitely didn’t.” It had been scary enough to admit who she really was. She wasn’t stupid enough to tell him about Jamaica on top of that.

  Chase drained his flute in one sip, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. Slowly, he reached into his pocket for something. It was the same way someone threatened might reach for a knife, a gun. An entirely new reality formed in Spencer’s mind. What if Chase knew Spencer was in Jamaica because he had been there, too?

  Suddenly, Spencer’s blood went cold and the whole horrible scheme clicked into place. How easy it had been to find his conspiracy theory blog. How willing Chase had been to feed her all those details about Ali, secrets no one could just happen upon. Those pictures he’d shown her were obviously from a private collection, too, not randomly mailed to him. And Chase was brilliant at hacking into computer systems, which meant he could have easily planted information on Naomi Zeigler’s laptop on the cruise, Billy Ford’s laptop, and the CVS system. If that address was even in the CVS system. Spencer had just taken his word for it.

  He’d been the one who’d taken her to the booby-trapped apartment. And then he’d fallen against that door, knocking on it. He’d made it out to be an accident, but what if it hadn’t been? Had he known that trapdoor was going to fall? Did he somehow trigger it to open with that knock? Or was it a signal to someone inside?

  Could Chase be Ali’s secret boyfriend? The other A? All this time, the girls had thought it was Noel . . . and she’d fallen right into Real Ali’s trap.

  Spencer’s hand inched toward the door handle. Suddenly, Chase clamped down on her other wrist and pulled her toward him. His eyes blazed. His happy smile was gone. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said sternly.

  “I . . .” Spencer trembled. She pointed at something out the window. “What’s that?”

  Chase released her wrist and looked. Spencer twisted to the handle and wrenched the door open. By the time Chase realized the trick, she was on the pavement. A cold breeze zipped up her skirt. Her heel turned on the sidewalk, but she kept going.

  “Spencer!” Chase called. “What are you doing?”

  He tried to scramble out of the car, too. Spencer yelped and kicked the door with her heel, slamming it in his face. The light turned green. Cars behind the limo honked.

  “Go!” Spencer screamed at the driver, who looked freaked out. Amazingly, the limo did go. Spencer turned and ran.

  She zigzagged past a couple walking hand in hand and into an alleyway. This was in a part of the city she didn’t know well at all. No cabs passed. People sat on their stoops, glaring. Kids disappeared around a corner, their charged laughter spiraling through the alleyway.

  She grabbed for the burner phone, the only one she’d brought tonight. Maybe she could call a cab. The screen was already blinking. When she saw the jumbled letters and numbers in the sender line, her heart dropped to her feet.

  You can run, but you can’t hide, Spence! Kisses, A

  Her phone beeped again. It was the same text. And then the same text again, and then again, jamming her phone until an alert warned that her phone had run out of memory. Spencer switched to the call function, but a new message appeared: OUT OF BATTERY. POWERING OFF.

  The screen went dark. The sky seemed to darken around her, too, the shadows deepening. Spencer was cut off. A had won again.

  25

  Wake-Up Call

  Hanna sat at the front window of her father’s house, trying not to seem too eager and pathetic as she glanced at her phone one more time. Then she dropped it back into her little jeweled bag, crossed her ankles, and admired her brand-new Dior heels. They were five inches high; she’d had to practice walking in them all week. She’d also had to practice walking in her floor-length Marchesa gown so that she didn’t trip over the hem. She’d fixed her prom crown so that the sides didn’t pinch her head, and the scepter leaned against the couch, its faux jewels sparkling. Everything looked perfect. She was, literally, all dressed up with no place to go.

  “Still nothing from Mike?” her father asked.

  Hanna shook her head. Mike hadn’t called her all day. They hadn’t spoken since the weird pseudo-makeup I-don’t-really-feel-better-about-anything conversation while she was at the burn clinic, right before Hanna saw Noel. He hadn’t written to say he’d picked up a tux. He hadn’t texted to mention if he was bringing a limo. For all she knew, he wasn’t going to show at all.

  Her father turned a page of the National Geographic he was pretending to read. There was a clang in the kitchen; surely the pot roast Isabel had made for dinner was getting cold. They’d already seen Kate off with Sean, taking a zillion pictures. If that didn’t prove to Mike that Hanna wasn’t into Sean, what would? Why didn’t he just believe her?

  And what was with Noel telling on Hanna? That seemed like an A thing to do. . . .

  Her old phone beeped, and she pounced on it. It was an e-mail from Agent Jasmine Fuji. Can I stop by tonight?

  Hanna paled. The woman was relentless. Sorry, it’s prom night! she replied, glad to have a legitimate excuse.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Mr. Marin asked, noticing Hanna’s stricken expression.

  Hanna quickly exited the e-mail program. She tried to nod, but she felt tears filling her eyes. “Not really.”

  Mr. Marin walked over to her. “You know, I bet a lot of beautiful prom queens went stag. Think of all the starlets who go alone to the Oscars—it’s really no different. It’s alluring, actually. It means you can stand on your own.” He picked up the cordless phone from the coffee table. “We’ll call my driver. I’ll have him stop at the florist’s on the way there and order you the biggest corsage money can buy.”

  That just made Hanna cry harder. “Thank you.” She snuggled into his large, solid body, inhaling the smell of his spicy deodorant and piney cologne. All of a sudden, it felt like the old Hanna and Dad, the relationship in which she could
tell him anything. Before Isabel. Before Kate. Before A.

  She took a deep breath and pulled away. “It’s not really about prom, though. It’s about . . . other stuff.” She shut her eyes. “Things are kind of . . . a mess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hanna licked her lips. If only she could tell him. If only he would accept everything she said as horrible mistakes that she totally regretted and that she’d never make again. If only he could track down A and just make this all stop.

  But she couldn’t say anything. If she told him anything, not only would his political career be ruined . . . his next job would be bending metal in a prison yard.

  “Is this about prom queen?” Mr. Marin asked gently.

  Hanna cocked her head. “Why would you ask that?”

  Mr. Marin shifted his weight, looking guilty. “Don’t be mad. But I heard you talking to Mike the other day about how you’d rather die than campaign against Chassey Bledsoe.” His brow furrowed. “That’s not really a nice thing to say, Hanna. Every rival is worthy of a good campaign.”

  Hanna’s mouth fell open. A mix of emotions surged through her—betrayal, guilt, regret, embarrassment, frustration at A.

  “It’s not what you think,” she admitted. “I didn’t really mean it.” But was that true, either? Part of her had laughed at Chassey as a competitor. Suddenly, Chassey’s teary-eyed face when she’d lost flashed in her mind.

  Mr. Marin put his hand over hers. “You know what I do think? That you’re a good person. That you do the right thing—when you win and lose.”

  Then his gaze lighted on something out the window. Mike’s car had pulled up to the curb. He stepped out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a tux. He held a huge bouquet of roses in his hand.

  Hanna shot to the mirror in the hallway and checked her makeup. She smoothed her dress and adjusted her crown. When the doorbell rang, she whipped it open. “Where have you been?”

  Mike shrugged. “Sorry, I was running a little late. There was a crazy line at the florist’s.”

  Hanna placed her hands on her hips. “Haven’t you heard of calling? I’ve sent you a million texts today! I wasn’t even sure you were coming!”

  Mike looked her up and down and smirked. “You must have been pretty sure.” He sighed. “I told you I was coming, Hanna. And you always jump all over me when I call while driving.” Then he eyed Mr. Marin, who had drifted into the kitchen. “I shouldn’t have been so mad about the burn clinic, either. I talked about it a little bit to Aria, and she made me feel like an idiot for even considering you might be with Sean. I should have just believed you.”

  Hanna eyed the roses. They were purplish-black, her favorite. Mike had a worried, pleading, please-love-me hangdog expression on his face, too. Maybe he did feel bad. Then she glanced at her father lurking in the kitchen. She did sort of want to take pictures.

  “Fine,” she said, primly kissing his cheek. “You’re forgiven.” And then she turned to grab her dad so he could take all those awkward pictures she’d always wanted.

  After a traffic-heavy drive to the Four Seasons, Hanna walked into the large, ornate ballroom. The air smelled overpoweringly of grilled scallops. Girls in long silk gowns giggled in twos and threes. Boys in well-fitting tuxes looked almost like adults. A few couples were already slow-dancing, and there was a line for prom pictures in the corner. Every wall was awash with color, the Van Gogh masterpieces come alive. Irises took up the wall behind the dance floor. A huge Starry Night mural covered the space behind the tables, whose linens and plates were replicas of other works. The prom committee had bought huge stars and moons made out of papier-mâché and arranged them around the room in art installations.

  “Whoa.” Mike nodded appreciatively. “Trippy.”

  “Aria did a really good job in such a short amount of time,” Hanna murmured, searching for her in the crowd. She didn’t see her anywhere.

  “Hey, Hanna, congratulations!” Jillian Woods said as she swirled past.

  “Hey there, prom queen!” a group of boys called from a table. Hanna gave them a beauty-queen wave.

  More and more people flocked to her. Heather Jonas, who’d had a thing for Hawaii since spending last summer there, placed a lei around Hanna’s neck. Becky Yee and Olivia Kurtz, who were nerdy but sweet, asked to have their picture taken with her. Even Hanna’s old friend Scott Chin, who was there with a tall guy who looked like a male model, gave her a huge bear hug. “You’re a way hotter queen than that freak-show Chassey Bledsoe,” he whispered.

  Normally, Hanna would have laughed, but she pulled away, feeling prickly. After her conversation with her dad, she felt kind of guilty about how she’d treated Chassey.

  Something off to the left caught her eye. There was an upright plywood replica of Van Gogh’s self-portrait, a cutout where his face was. Phi Templeton’s face poked through the hole. She crossed her eyes and shouted, “Ow! My ear’s cut off!” Chassey Bledsoe, dressed in a shimmery gold raw-silk gown, snapped her photo and laughed.

  Hanna ran her tongue over her teeth. Chassey looked awesome tonight. And she had worked harder than Hanna had for this.

  Rolling back her shoulders, she broke away from Mike and walked over to Chassey and tapped her arm. The girl turned. Her smile dimmed a little as she saw the crown on Hanna’s head.

  Hanna undid the bobby pins in her hair, removed the crown, and handed it to Chassey. “Here,” she said. “This is for you.”

  Chassey stared at the crown in her hands, clearly not understanding. Hanna rolled her eyes. “Put it on, idiot,” she said. She thrust the scepter at her, too.

  Chassey blinked hard. “W-what?”

  “Just do it before I change my mind,” Hanna growled. And then she turned away, leaving the crown behind. But as she walked back toward Mike, a smile spread across her face like liquid. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She looked a million times better. That silver crown had really clashed with her skin.

  “Ms. Marin?”

  Hanna turned. A woman in a Four Seasons uniform stood behind her. “Are you Hanna Marin?” she asked. Hanna nodded, and the woman took her arm. “There’s a call for you at the front desk. She says it’s urgent.”

  Mike gave Hanna a curious look, then followed her out into the lobby. Hanna took the phone, her heart pounding with the possibilities. But when she said hello, a surprising voice spoke back to her. “Hanna?” a muffled girl’s alto asked. “It’s Kelly. From the William Atlantic.”

  “Kelly?” Hanna blinked hard. “What is it?”

  “It’s that guy you’re friends with,” Kelly said. “Graham. He’s waking up. I called your house and your dad said you were at the prom, but you told me to call you whenever, wherever, so—”

  “Thank you,” Hanna cut her off, gripping the phone hard. She gazed at the cabs just outside the lobby, her mind spinning in a million directions. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Then she hung up, trying to figure out the best route for a cab driver to take. Mike cleared his throat behind her. “You’re going to be where in fifteen minutes?”

  Hanna froze. Mike looked crushed . . . and confused . . . and worried. Then she glanced into the crowd. Suddenly, Aria swam into view, Noel at her side. She pictured Graham rolling around in his bed. Muttering things. Remembering things. They could solve everything in a matter of minutes.

  She turned back to Mike. “Graham woke up. I need to talk to him.”

  Mike stepped closer to her. “Fine, let’s go.”

  “Let’s?” Hanna shook her head. “No way.”

  “You’re not winning this one.” Mike placed his hands on his hips. “I’m not letting you talk to that psycho alone.”

  Hanna searched his face. There was no way he was taking no for an answer. What did it matter, really? Everything would be out in the open soon. Maybe she did need the protection.

  “If you insist,” she mumbled. “But let’s go!” And then she grabbed his arm and ran into the nigh
t.

  26

  Who Do You Love?

  “Aria!” Ryan, dressed in a fringed flapper gown and with her hair piled atop her head, ran up to Aria and gave her a huge hug. “This room looks incredible!”

  Aria paused from taking photos, a part of her decor chairwoman duty, and peered around the Four Seasons ballroom as though she’d never seen it before—even though she’d been here since three PM setting up. “Thanks,” she told Ryan. “But really, it was the other girls who did this. I just gave direction.”

  Ryan waved her hand dismissively. “It was your vision.” She gazed at Aria’s outfit, from her ringlets to her simple-but-elegant vintage black dress to the high velvet shoes she’d bought in France years ago for this occasion. “You look awesome, too.” She turned to someone next to her. “Doesn’t she?”

  Aria flinched. Noel had appeared by her side soundlessly. He looked dapper in his tux, his prom king crown askew on his head. “Amazing as always,” he said, like a good boyfriend.

  Was he a good boyfriend? Noel had said she looked beautiful at least twenty times tonight already. And he had gotten her the decor position, something she’d wanted. He even stood by her when she acted like a freak, like she was doing right now.

  Or was it all a sham? Aria’s mind hadn’t stopped spinning in the same maddening loop of thoughts. It was possible that Noel knew Tabitha. In his e-mail with Fuji, he’d called her a friend—or had he meant Ali? If he had meant Tabitha, was that how he’d gotten her necklace? Was that why he’d told Aria to stay away from Graham on the boat? Maybe Graham had known that Tabitha and Noel were friends, too. Maybe Noel worried he might say something. He hadn’t, of course—but he was going to tell Aria who was watching her.

  And if Noel did know Tabitha, it meant he would have known her stepmother, Gayle, as well. He could have had inside information on Emily’s secret baby. He could have lurked around Gayle’s old mailbox, waiting for Hanna to return that cash, without seeming too suspicious—maybe he’d told Gayle he’d come over to pick up something Tabitha had borrowed before she disappeared. He might have kept in touch with Gayle after she and her husband moved to Rosewood—he would have known where to find her. And when Gayle saw Noel on the driveway the night Aria, Emily, and the others had gone to her house in fear that Gayle had kidnapped Emily’s baby, he’d killed her before she could yell out his name and expose him.