Ali's Pretty Little Lies (8 page)

Emily’s eyes darted back and forth. “I can’t tell you.”

Ali burst out laughing. She knew everything about Emily, even the embarrassing stuff: that she’d gotten her period at eleven, that she’d wet the bed at a swimming sleepover in fourth grade, that she’d accidentally grazed an older boy’s erection during swim practice and hid in the locker room for the rest of the hour, terrified he thought she’d meant to do it.

“Is it someone really embarrassing?” Ali goaded. “Someone off-limits? Whoever it is, you can tell me, Em. I won’t share it with anyone, I promise.”

Emily grabbed a magazine and opened to a random page. “These shoes are cute, don’t you think?”

“Whoever it is, I could help you get him to like you. Seriously. Just tell me, okay?” Then she leaned her head on Emily’s shoulder. “I’ll be your best friend?”

Emily stiffened under the weight of Ali’s head. After a moment, she moved away and stood up from the couch. “I just remembered,” she blurted, diving for her overnight bag and stuffing it with the pajama pants and makeup bag she’d pulled out onto the floor. “I have to do this thing for my mom.”

“Now?”

“Uh-huh. I forgot.” Emily slung the bag over her arm and hurried through the kitchen. She shoved her feet into her shoes, which were waiting by the front door, not even bothering to tie them. She glanced back at Ali, who was still on the couch. “See ya.”

“Emily!”

But the door slammed shut, making the pots and pans hanging over the kitchen island clang together slightly. Ali blinked hard in the silence.
What the hell just happened?

She stood up and padded into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge but not pulling anything out. A dog-of-the-month calendar on the wall caught her eye, and she looked at the thirty-one squares that represented May. She and Emily might not have had any one-on-one time since February, but it had been much, much longer than that since Ali had actually spent a Saturday night alone.

8

FAMILY THERAPY, THIS ISN’T

On Sunday morning, Ali, Jason, and the DiLaurentis parents pulled up to a familiar sign pointing to a secluded road lined by tall, thick trees.
THE PRESERVE AT ADDISON-STEVENS
, read the calligraphy lettering. Mr. DiLaurentis put on his blinker and steered up the drive.

“Those white trees are freaky,” Ali grumbled, glancing out the window at the birches in the woods, their albino branches twisting and curling over the road. “They remind me of the people in this place.”

Her mother scowled at her in the rearview mirror, but Ali pretended not to notice, slathering on an extra coat of nail polish. Her mom hated the smell, but Ali wanted to punish her. This morning, after she’d woken up and showered, her mother had walked into her bedroom without knocking and sat on her bed. “You’re visiting your sister at the hospital today.”

“No, I’m not.” Ali had willed tears to her eyes. “It’s too hard on me, Mom. I have nightmares every time I go there.”

For some reason, the pity act wasn’t working. “If you don’t come, you can’t go to the end-of-seventh-grade sleepover with your friends,” Mrs. DiLaurentis proclaimed.

Ali’s mouth dropped. “You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do!”

Mrs. DiLaurentis stood. “I’m your mother, of course I can,” she said sternly. “She’s your
sister
, Alison. I know you two have a lot of bad history, but you need to get past it and try to have some sympathy. Have you thought any more about the therapist I recommended?”

Ali had flopped onto the bed and covered her head with a pillow. Her mom had mentioned a local therapist from time to time, saying it might help her deal with her issues with her twin. But what her mom didn’t know was that she’d been to therapists for years—and they’d never been able to solve that problem.

Now she was a prisoner in the car. The closer they got to the hospital, the tighter the knot in her stomach cinched. As her father continued up the drive, Ali’s phone beeped. She thought it might be a text from Nick—they’d sent messages back and forth all morning, and she was sure he was
this
close to asking her out. But it was from Emily instead.
I’m sorry about last night
.
Where are you? Can we talk now?

Ali gazed at the building in the distance. The hospital was a big white mansion with impressive columns, looking more like someone’s house than a mental institution. A nurse and a patient hobbled along the path. Another patient sat on a bench, just
staring.
An ambulance was parked in a side driveway, waiting for a disaster.

Can’t right now
, she wrote, then turned her phone off. She’d begun to understand why her parents kept the second twin a secret all these years: There was definitely a stigma to having a daughter or sister in a loony bin. People might assume the DiLaurentises were bad parents for putting her there. Or maybe they’d assume the rest of the family was crazy, too.

Her heart pounded fast as they pulled up to the guard’s gate and gave their name to a khaki-clad man with a walkie-talkie. They circled the driveway and passed the obsessively manicured topiaries and the glassy-eyed patients on the lawn. For a moment, Ali thought she recognized one of them from the Radley, a girl who used to scream in her bed for hours on end, but she couldn’t be sure.

They parked in the visitors’ lot and got out. Ali lagged behind her brother and parents, staring at the names on the plaques of old patients who had passed on that were mounted beside the trees and benches.
NELLY PETERSON. THOMAS RYDER. GRACE HARTLEY.
That was another thing people said about the Preserve: The suicide rate was worryingly high. People must have thought death was a better option than being trapped in here.

The lobby had marble floors, a big fountain in the center, and modern white couches. After giving their name to a lab coat–wearing receptionist, they were buzzed into the patient ward, which was markedly shabbier and older than the lobby or the outside. They entered the day room, which was big and bright with several large windows, threadbare couches pushed against the walls, and an old, blinking TV playing a movie Ali didn’t recognize. The room smelled of antiseptic cleaner and macaroni and cheese. A nurse listening to headphones sat behind a window in the corner. A woman Ali was almost positive was a psychiatrist was talking to a despondent girl with white-blond hair by a bookcase full of board games.

Then, the door opened, and a familiar girl walked into the room.

Ali sucked in her breath. Her sister’s blond hair had been blow-dried and curled to perfection. Her skin looked flawless, despite the gross hospital food she was no doubt eating, and her boobs were still a teensy bit bigger and her waist a teensy bit smaller than Ali’s. Gold earrings dangled from her ears, and she wore shimmery pink lipstick.

“Hi, everyone,” her twin chirped pleasantly, giving her parents a peck on the cheek and squeezing Jason’s arm. Only when she turned to Ali did her expression shift a little. Fury smoldered behind her eyes.

Everyone sat down on one of the plaid couches near the TV. Mrs. DiLaurentis scrambled around getting everyone Cokes from the vending machine. She presented her daughters with Diet Cokes, looking proud of herself. “I figured you girls didn’t want real sugar.”

Ali wrinkled her nose. “I don’t drink Diet Coke, either. No one at school does.”

Mrs. DiLaurentis looked abashed. “But I bought you a whole case last month.”

“But that was before I read that fake sugar makes you just as fat.” Ali pushed the can away. “I got everyone at school to drink Vitaminwater instead.”

“Courtney” snorted. “It’s fun being a trendsetter, isn’t it,
Ali
?”

Ali flinched.
Not long ago
,
you
weren’t
the girl who set the trends
, her sister was really saying.
You were nothing.
“Of course it is,” she said confidently. “Plus, I think it’s
much
healthier.”

Suddenly, the despondent girl who’d been talking to the therapist in the corner made a flying leap onto the couch and engulfed Ali’s sister in a huge hug. “C!” she whooped.

“Hey, I,” “Courtney” said, slinging her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “Everyone, this is Iris, my roommate. And Iris, this is Jason, Mom and Dad, and my sister.” She looked squarely at Ali. “
Alison
.”

Iris turned her ice-blue eyes to Ali. “So you’re the famous Alison. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ali gave Iris an equally bitchy smile back. “Don’t believe everything you hear. I’m not
nearly
as wonderful as Courtney says.”

“Oh, and Courtney
does
say you’re wonderful.” Iris didn’t blink. “But she’s pretty awesome, too. We have a lot of fun here. Tuesday’s our standing spa day, isn’t it, C? And Thursday is yoga!”

“How nice!” Mrs. DiLaurentis clapped her hands.

Ali squinted. “You have a spa here? And yoga?” The Radley didn’t have either of those.

“Uh-huh.” Iris’s smile showed all her teeth. “You’re jealous, aren’t you? I bet you want to be in here, too.”

Ali flinched, a chill running up her spine. Her sister had told this girl everything. And Iris clearly believed her.

Iris stood. “Well, I’ll let you guys catch up.” She waggled her fingers at the family and sauntered off, her jeans hanging low on her skinny hips.

Mrs. DiLaurentis set her Coke on the coffee table. “She seems . . . nice.”

“She’s a skeleton,” Jason mumbled.

“She’s pretty cool.” “Courtney” fiddled with her earrings. “She’s in here for an eating disorder. But I guess she’s doing a lot better—she’s leaving on Wednesday. Who knows who I’ll get stuck with. I liked the roommate I had before her, too—her name was Tabitha. But I feel like I can’t get lucky three times.”

“So how are your classes?” Mr. DiLaurentis asked. Everyone at the Preserve had a private tutor who kept them on pace with their grade level.

“They’re going really well,” “Courtney” answered eagerly. “I’ve definitely aced English. Geometry, too. I’m not so sure about history and science.” Her face brightened. “But I’ve had a lot of help. A friend of mine, Tripp, tutored me. He’s awesome.”

Mrs. DiLaurentis exchanged a surprised glance with her husband, who looked just as floored. “That’s so nice!” she chirped. “Is Tripp here?”

“Courtney” shook her head. “He was. But he transferred elsewhere.” She ran her finger in a groove in the table. “It’s a bummer, but we’ve been emailing a lot.”

She trailed off and stared at her lap. The DiLaurentises exchanged a charged look Ali couldn’t quite decipher. “You seem much happier,” Mrs. DiLaurentis said.

“I’ve been feeling pretty good,” Courtney said. “I guess it’s the new meds they have me on.”

“And your nurses said you’ve been really cooperative,” Mr. DiLaurentis added.

“They’ve been nice to me,” “Courtney” said. “They all work
so
hard.”

Ali turned her head and rolled her eyes. What was with the sweet-as-pie act? And why was her twin acting so
normal
? Usually when they came here, “Courtney” was combative and angry, barely speaking to any of them.

“In fact, I’ve been doing so well that they’ve given me permission to leave campus every once in a while,” “Courtney” added.

Ali flinched. “By yourself?”

“No.” Her sister smiled sweetly. “With a chaperone.”

“Goodness.” Mrs. DiLaurentis smiled. “You
must
be improving.”

Ali pulled a loose string on the upholstered couch they were sitting on so vigorously a whole row of stitches unraveled in her hands. What lunatics allowed her sister to leave campus? Didn’t they realize what she was capable of?

After a while, a nurse tapped Mrs. DiLaurentis on the shoulder to say that Courtney’s group session would begin soon. Everyone hugged, Ali gritting her teeth as she wrapped her arms around her sister’s shoulders. Then her twin disappeared out of the day room, an odd spring in her step.

Ali excused herself to use the bathroom—she felt light-headed and needed a few seconds to herself. She pushed through the door of the visitors’ bathroom in the hall, wrinkling her nose at the acrid scent of bleach and the ring of rust around one of the sinks. Then the door opened again, and two girls walked inside. One of them was Iris. Another was her twin.

“H-hi?” Ali stammered. “Don’t you have group therapy?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,
sis
,” “Courtney” sneered, glancing at Iris. The roommate marched to the door and stood guard in front of it, her skinny arms crossed over her chest.

Ali’s heart started to pound. She glanced at the door Iris was guarding. “Mom’s going to look for me soon.”

“Oh, this won’t take long,” “Courtney” simpered, moving closer.

Ali flinched. All kinds of horrible scenarios flashed through her mind. She saw her sister pouncing on her in bed when they were seven years old, forcing her to do whatever she asked.
If you don’t, you’ll be sorry
. She pictured her sister pushing her into a closet and binding her wrists with a bungee cord. She remembered her snapping the head off her precious doll, the only thing her grandmother had given her. And then she saw herself snap, tackling her sister to the ground, her sister’s eyes full of glee as she screamed for help. Her twin had set her up again and again and again.

“I just want to tell you something, okay?” Ali’s sister stood so close to Ali that Ali could see the pores on her cheeks, the sparkly sweep of eye shadow on her lids. “I know what you’ve been doing. And pretty soon, you’re going down.”

It felt like she’d just run a cold spike through Ali’s chest. “Please don’t lock me up again,” she blurted, twisting away from her sister’s face. Then she gasped, realizing what she’d just admitted. After the switch, she’d vowed never,
ever
to reveal what had happened to anyone, not even the girl whose identity she stole.

“Courtney” smiled nastily, catching what she’d said, too. She reached down and grabbed Ali’s finger, touching the silver ring with the curly
A
in the center. “Your time is running out,
Ali
,” she sneered, dropping Ali’s finger once more and brushing past her toward the exit. “Say your good-byes.”