Ali's Pretty Little Lies (16 page)

Reality came tumbling back, and Ali pulled away. “Hello?” she demanded into the phone, stopping short on the ice. A couple almost collided with her, but she didn’t care.

No answer, just breathing. “Say something!” Ali screamed. “I know who this is!”

Her sister didn’t speak, only let out a small, high-pitched giggle.

“Ali?”

Emily touched her arm. Ali stared at her, the phone limp in her hand. Emily’s eyes flicked to it. “Who is it?” she asked worriedly.

Ali shook her head quickly. “It’s just Cassie,” she said, pulling the first name she could think of out of her mind. “We’ve been pranking each other all week. No biggie.”

Emily pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. “Are you . . .
sure
?”

“Uh-huh,” Ali chirped, shoving her phone back into her pocket. It vibrated again, but she ignored it.

Another slow song started up, and Emily reached for Ali’s hand once more. But Ali pulled away, feeling sweaty and flustered and way, way too visible. What if her sister was somehow watching right now? What if she saw Ali doing this and thought she was dancing with Emily for real?

“I think one slow dance is enough for today, don’t you, Em?” she asked, trying to make her voice teasing, even though she was exhausted and frazzled.

Emily’s cheeks turned pink. “O-of course! I didn’t want to dance! I just wanted to get a hot dog—and I wanted to see if you wanted one, too!”

But the devoted smile lingered in Ali’s mind, and as they glided toward the exit, a sour feeling welled in her stomach. Saying nice things hit Emily in her sweetest, squishiest, most vulnerable spot. And while teasing out vulnerability was usually Ali’s specialty, something about this made her feel especially guilty.

Perhaps it was because Emily was her best friend. Or perhaps it was because, deep down, the things Emily said back sometimes made Ali feel squishy and vulnerable, too.

20

THE BOMB

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?” Nick asked Ali on the phone the following afternoon.

“One,” Ali said automatically, propping her feet against the wall of her bedroom and staring at the ceiling. “You?”

“I’m an only child. It was tough growing up. I was always playing by myself.”

“Yeah, but you got all the attention,” Ali pointed out.

Nick groaned. “Everyone who has siblings always says that. But it wasn’t that much fun.”

“I would have loved to be an only child,” Ali murmured, more to herself than to Nick.

She rolled over onto her stomach. She’d been on the phone with Nick for forty-five minutes and thirty-six seconds—not that she was counting. This was the longest conversation she’d ever had with a boy, and they still hadn’t run out of things to talk about.

“How about friends?” Nick asked. “You got a best friend, or a group, or what?”

“I have a group—they’re all my best friends.” Ali picked at her nail polish. “I’m not sure about things between us right now, though.”

He paused. “Are you in a fight?”

“Not exactly. They just . . . well, some of them aren’t the people I thought they were. Has that ever happened to you?”

Nick thought for a moment. “I had this friend a while ago. She was awesome—really sweet, really funny—but it turned out she had this dark side.”

Ali raised an eyebrow. “Was this a girlfriend?”

“Not exactly,” Nick said. “She was a girlfriend’s friend. A real psycho.”

The word
psycho
ripped through Ali’s body like a gunshot. “How did your girlfriend know her?”

“Hang on,” Nick said, and there was a pause. “Sorry,” he said, getting back on the line. “I thought my mom was calling me.”

Jackhammers started up in the backyard, and Ali groaned. “What’s that?” Nick asked.

Ali sighed. “Workers are digging this hole in my backyard to make way for a gazebo. It’s the longest process
ever
.”

“Why would workers need to dig a hole to build a gazebo?”

“That’s the question
I’ve
been asking,” Ali said, laughing. “Who knows? Maybe we’re putting in a bomb shelter instead. Or maybe this gazebo needs a basement.” She moved the phone to the other ear. “So I’m going to have a party before graduation. Just a small group of friends, but I’d love for you to come.” Her heart pounded unexpectedly. It surprised her how nervous she was asking Nick out. This was the first time since she’d become Alison that she worried about a boy saying no.

“When is it?” Nick asked.

“Friday,” Ali said. “Just at my house. Totally casual.”

“Um . . .”

There was a creak behind her, and Ali turned. Her mother was standing in the hall, a nervous expression on her face. It was the kind of look one didn’t ignore.

Ali clutched the phone to her ear. “I have to go. To be continued.” Then she pushed
END
.

Mrs. DiLaurentis took a few steps into the room. “Can you come downstairs for a sec? Your dad and I want to talk to you and Jason about something.”

For a moment, Ali’s legs felt glued to the bedspread. Her mind flashed instantly to her mom and whoever that guy from the mall was the other day. The way that guy had touched her mom’s cheek. Maybe it would be better not to go downstairs at all.

“Come on,” Mrs. DiLaurentis said, offering her hand.

Ali didn’t know what else to do but follow her. Her heart thudded loudly as she trudged down the stairs and made the turn into the kitchen. Mr. DiLaurentis sat at the table, and Jason leaned against the counter, snacking on an open box of Cheez-Its. Ali tried to make eye contact with him, but he looked away.

She sat down at the table and stared at the floral centerpiece.

Mrs. DiLaurentis broke the silence. “Honey, we have some news about Courtney.”

Ali’s head shot up.

“She’s been doing really well lately. She isn’t calling herself Ali anymore. She’s taking her meds and getting along with the other patients and the staff. You saw it yourself at the hospital a few weeks ago—she seemed happy.”

“She seemed crazy,” Ali interrupted sharply.

Her mother held up a finger. “Just let me finish, okay? We had a long talk with her doctors, and they’ve recommended that we try her out at home for a while. She’ll be here next week, and then we’ll go from there.”

Ali understood each word individually, but together they made no sense. “Next
week
?” she asked, then scooted the chair backward. “But what about my end-of-school party? I invited lots of boys, kids from Rosewood Day.”

“We’ll pick her up the Tuesday after—how does that sound?”

Ali just blinked. “But she’ll be here for graduation? The sleepover? She’s not
coming
to graduation, is she?” And she
definitely
wasn’t coming to the sleepover.

“Oh, no, one of us will stay with her.” Mr. DiLaurentis placed a hand on her arm. “It’ll be okay, honey. We promise.”

“No, it
won’t
.” Ali’s voice cracked. “This is a terrible idea.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Mrs. DiLaurentis said gently. “And we’ll be here to help you through it. But, honey, we really think she’s not going to hurt you anymore. Try to look at this compassionately—if it were you in the hospital, wouldn’t you want us to get you out of there?”

Yes!
Ali wanted to scream.
I wanted that so badly, and you never did!

She looked around the room. Everything seemed different somehow, the walls closer together, the clock bigger, the oven too shiny. Outside, a huge crow perched on top of the tree house, looking ominous. “She’s not calling herself Ali anymore?” she croaked.

“That’s right,” Mrs. DiLaurentis said. “That’s a really good thing, don’t you think?”

Ali wasn’t so sure. Unless she really
had
gone insane, the most logical reason her sister had for not calling herself Ali anymore was so that doctors would deem her sane and send her home. And
then
what would happen? Would she take her rightful place as the real Ali and force Courtney to keep quiet or else? Or—more likely—would she figure out a way to get
Courtney
to go back to the hospital so she’d be the one-and-only DiLaurentis girl again?

“Are you going to tell everyone who she is?” Ali asked. “Will I have to tell my friends? Everyone at school? What are people going to
think
?”

“Let’s take this one step at a time,” Mrs. DiLaurentis said. “Right now, we’ll just try her at home for a few days. We’ll keep Courtney inside like we did the last time she was here.”

“Except she
didn’t
stay inside,” Ali snapped. “She went out and talked to Jenna Cavanaugh. She practically exposed all of us.”

“We’ll watch her more carefully this time,” Mr. DiLaurentis insisted, setting down his mug. “We hope that you girls talk a little, too. We’ve scheduled a counselor to come out here and help us through the transition. We really need to start dealing with some of these issues instead of avoiding them.”

“But I don’t want to
talk
with her!” Ali screamed. She knew she sounded wild, but she couldn’t help it. Then she looked at Jason. There was a little smile on his face, like he was actually happy. “Did you
know
about this?”

Jason nodded. “They told me last night. I think it’s a good idea, too.”

“You
would
,” Ali snapped. She leapt up from the table and stormed out the door.

“Alison, where are you going?” Mrs. DiLaurentis cried.

“Out,” Ali snapped, her voice making an embarrassing crack.

“We’re not done talking!”

Ali just waved them away, but Mrs. DiLaurentis started after her, reaching out to grab the back of Ali’s shirt. Ali twisted away and broke free, but instead of continuing on, she whirled around and stared her mother down. Her eyes burned. Her nostrils flared. All of a sudden, Ali was filled with rage for the woman standing across from her. Her limbs literally contorted with hate.

“I know what you’re doing,” she spit out. “I’ve seen you with . . .
him
. I know the truth.”

At first, Mrs. DiLaurentis’s brow creased, but then her face went very pale. She looked nervously at her husband, then at Jason. Ali’s skin prickled. So it
was
true. Maybe all of it.

Ali whipped around and fled out the door. “Alison!” Mr. DiLaurentis called after her. “Damn it! Come back!”

But Ali was already halfway across the yard toward the trees in the back. Tears streamed down her face. Her throat felt clogged with screams. Suddenly, it felt like everything she was desperately trying to hold together was now a big ball of unraveled yarn. She pictured it lying in a tangled mess of impossible knots on the ground. No matter how much she tried to work out the kinks, it would never, ever be the same again.

What if they sent her to the Preserve? What if there was a bed waiting for her
right now
? She thought of the stack of Polaroids in her top drawer, all her mementos from the past year and a half. They would be all she had left of this life. Of
any
life. She would die before she had to go back. She would literally kill herself.

“Alison!” her mother called from the porch, but Ali kept going. Only when she came to the gazebo hole did she stop and glare into its dark abyss. It had to be a ten-foot drop. If her parents found out, if “Courtney” somehow masterminded sending Ali to the Preserve in her place, she would jump in the hole and never come out. What would her parents do? Would they try to save her? Would they miss her? Would they even
care
?

“Ali!” her mom called one more time, and Ali raised her middle finger up high. She kicked at a pile of dirt and watched little pebbles cascade down, down, down, filling up the empty bottom, and then continued on into the woods, where she could cry without anyone hearing.

21

AN OFFER SHE CAN’T REFUSE

Two afternoons later, Ali and Spencer sat at Spencer’s big dining room table, watching the rain stream down the windows. They’d cleared some of the china plates, napkins, and candlesticks off the table—Mrs. Hastings was the type who always had the table set so she could wine-and-dine a guest at a moment’s notice—to make way for Ali’s laptop and a stack of index cards. They were using Ali’s iTunes to pick a playlist for the impromptu end-of-school party Ali had put together for Friday. The flash cards contained vocabulary words for their English final tomorrow.

“Okay,
megalomaniac
,” Spencer said.

Ali tipped the chair back. “Is that a band or a vocab word?”

Spencer giggled. “Vocab, silly.”

Ali threw up her hands. “You got me.”

Spencer flipped the card over. “Someone who has delusional fantasies of power, relevance, and omnipotence.”

“Got it,” Ali said, turning away. That definition reminded her of someone: her psychotic sister. Wanting to be the only DiLaurentis girl. Pushing her out of the family by any means possible. And now they were bringing her
back.

It was six days, one hour, and twenty-three minutes—roughly—until her sister returned, and Ali had no idea what to do about it. Worse, her family had thrown themselves into preparing for her twin’s return: getting a new quilt for the guest bedroom, buying her a laptop and a desk, inquiring about membership for her at the Rosewood Country Club, setting up an account at the Rosewood pharmacy so they could easily refill her meds. Mrs. DiLaurentis had even had the balls to ask Ali if she had any clothes that she wouldn’t mind giving up—“Courtney” probably needed a few things to start her off. As if Ali was really going to let her wear her jeans and T-shirts! It was incredible: Even though her parents believed the girl in the hospital was the real Courtney, they were
still
treating her better than they’d ever treated Ali when she was there.

She’d tossed and turned all night, having nightmares about the corridors of the Preserve and the moans she used to hear at the Radley. Could her sister prove, unequivocally, that Ali had lied for all these years—and forced her to take her place in the Preserve? And what could Ali do if she did? It was true, after all.