Wanted (16 page)

Ali’s face fell. “What? Why?”

Emily fumbled for her jacket over the back of the chair. “I just remembered. I have homework.”

Ali’s eyes were round and troubled. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Emily’s chin wobbled.
Don’t cry,
she told herself.

“I meant what I said the other day about how I feel about you.” Ali grabbed Emily’s hand. Outside, the neighbor’s porch light flickered on. “But I have to get my life together first, okay?”

Emily searched for the car keys in her coat pocket. It was probably an excuse. Ali would be making fun of her for it by tomorrow. Emily shouldn’t have trusted her so quickly. She clearly
hadn’t
changed that much.

“I’m not going to ditch you,” Ali promised, like she could tell what was galloping through Emily’s mind. “The most important thing is that we’re friends again. We can still hang out at the dance. And I want all of us to get ready together.”

“All of us?” Emily blinked.

“You, me, Spencer, Hanna…” Ali looked hopeful. “Maybe even Aria? I was thinking that we could go to my family’s Poconos house afterward.” She squeezed Emily’s hands. “I want us all to be back together again, like things used to be.”

Emily sniffed, but she put her keys away.

Ali patted the cushion beside her. “
Please
stay. We need to talk about the dance, now that I know you’re going. I bet you haven’t even picked out a dress yet.”

“Well, no. I was thinking of wearing something of my sister’s.”

Ali punched her playfully. “Just like old times.”

Emily sat back down. It felt like her emotions had been on a high-spin cycle, but as Ali opened a copy of
Teen Vogue
and pointed out a series of party dresses that would complement Emily’s peaches-and-cream complexion, her mood began to thaw. Perhaps she was losing sight of things. Ali had returned—everything else would come in time.

Ali was reaching for
Seventeen
when Emily heard footsteps in the hall. Jason stood at the foot of the stairs, glaring into the den. His forehead was wrinkled, the corners of his mouth turned sharply down, and he was gripping the banister so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Emily’s mouth dropped open. But just as she was about to nudge Ali, Jason stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

20

IT’S ALL ABOUT LETTING GO

Early Saturday afternoon, Aria climbed out of the Subaru, locked up, and started across the mall parking lot. Mike walked alongside her, the hood on his jacket pulled tight around his head. Aria had volunteered to escort Mike to the optician in the King James Mall to pick up a spare pair of contacts—he was constantly ripping them, but wouldn’t
dare
wear his glasses. Lately, Meredith had been maniacally humming songs from
Cinderella
while decorating the baby’s room—in neutral yellows, as Meredith and Byron didn’t want to know the sex until the baby was born—and Aria was desperate for an excuse to get out of the house.

Aria’s phone started to bleat. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the screen.
Wilden.
A dart of fear streaked through her stomach. Why was he calling her? Could he know she’d been the one who’d sent the police that extra photo she’d found in the woods? She hit silent and dropped the phone into her pocket again, her heart thudding hard.

She knew she’d done the right thing by giving the photos to the Rosewood PD anonymously. It was an act of self-preservation—Aria didn’t want to be at the center of this case anymore. She’d considered telling the cops about seeing Melissa running into the woods, but what if it all was a big coincidence? And she
definitely
didn’t want to tell the police about seeing Courtney—Ali—at the wishing well…or what they talked about.

“So are you going to the dance tonight?” Aria asked Mike as they trudged to the Saks entrance of the mall.

Mike glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “What do
you
think?”

Aria skirted around a huge SUV whose back end was sticking way out of its parking space. “Uh…yes?” Mike had attended every single Rosewood Day event since they’d returned to Rosewood.

Mike stopped and placed his hands on his hips. A puff of air streamed out of his nostrils. “You mean you haven’t heard?” he asked incredulously.

Aria blinked.

Mike sighed. “Skidmarks?” He slapped his palms to his sides. “
Skidz?
”

Aria ran her tongue over her teeth. Come to think of it, she
had
heard that Mike had a new nickname. But she’d figured it was a weird lacrosse ritual.

“Someone planted skidmarked underwear in my locker,” Mike moaned, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and slouching toward the mall’s double doors. “They took a photo and texted it to everyone. It’s so lame. I don’t even
wear
D and G boxer-briefs.”

“Do you know who did it?” Aria asked.

“Someone who hates me, I guess.”

The hair on Aria’s neck rose. It sounded like something A would do. She looked around the parking lot, but it was mostly filled with bedraggled mothers and baby carriages. No one was watching.

“And now everyone’s dissing me. They even tried to make me turn in my lacrosse bracelet,” Mike went on.

“Did you?” Aria asked, stepping up on the curb.

“No.” Mike sounded sheepish. “Noel rallied for me.”

Aria felt a little rush of pleasure. “That’s nice.”

“But I might as well go back to Iceland and join an elf-spotting commune,” Mike whined.

Aria snorted and held the door for him. A whoosh of hot air blew her hair back. “It’s just a stupid nickname. It will blow over.”

Mike sniffed. “Doubt it.”

As they walked through the big double doors into Saks, Aria noticed a table off to the left with two small shrines on it: one for Ali, one for Jenna. Memorials like this had popped up in all kinds of places in Rosewood—the local Wawa, a gourmet cheese store on Lancaster Avenue, and the Mighty Quill, a tiny bookshop near Hollis College that Aria and Ali used to visit and covertly read the books about sex. Aria paused, a photo of Jenna catching her eye. It was the same photo A had sent Emily of Jenna, Ali, and a hidden blond girl they now knew was Courtney. Aria snatched the silver frame and turned it over. How long had this been here? Was this how Billy—or whoever A was—had gotten the photo?

“
Shit,
” Mike whispered sharply, tugging Aria’s arm. “Let’s go this way.” He pivoted to the right and led her toward housewares.

“W-why?” Aria asked.

Mike shot her another nasty look. “
Duh.
I want to avoid Hanna. We broke up.”

“Hanna’s here?” Aria squeaked, turning her head. And just then, as she peered over her shoulder, she saw Hanna, Spencer, Emily, and Ali standing at the Dior makeup counter. Emily made kissy-faces at the mirror, her cheeks shiny and bright. Spencer leaned over the counter and pointed out a foundation to the salesgirl. Hanna and Ali seemed deep in discussion about shades of eye shadow. They stood in that way that only best friends would. If Aria squinted, Spencer, Hanna, Emily, and Ali could be in seventh grade again. There was just one thing missing: Aria herself.

“Emily, that color looks awesome on you,” Ali said.

“We should buy some extra makeup and bring it up to the Poconos after the dance,” Spencer said, opening a compact and peering into the little mirror. “We could give each other makeovers.”

Aria’s heart hurt. It ached to see them having fun without her, almost like she didn’t exist. And had she heard them right—were they seriously going to Ali’s Poconos house?

Just think about it,
Ali had said to Aria in the woods.
Try to see things from my perspective.
It seemed like the other girls had done just that.

Aria ducked behind a pile of Ralph Lauren cable-knit sweaters and followed Mike away from cosmetics. But as she wound around a table display of crystal vases, Aria couldn’t help but remember the first time she and her old friends had raided the Saks makeup counter. It had been a couple days after the Rosewood Charity Drive, when Ali had chosen Aria to be in her new clique. Ali had marched right up to Aria’s table and complimented her on the peacock-feather earrings her father had brought her from Spain. It was the first time someone at school had paid Aria a compliment,
especially
someone like Ali. From that day forward, Aria had felt so included, so special. It was amazing to have a tight group of friends—girls who gave her advice, who found her in the halls between classes, who invited her to parties and shopping trips and excursions to the Poconos on the weekends. She’d never forget the time at the Poconos when they’d hidden in one of the secret stairways off a guest bedroom, waiting to scare Jason DiLaurentis when he returned home from hanging out with friends. They’d thought they heard Jason’s car in the driveway, and when a plate rattled in the kitchen, Ali burst out of the secret stairway door and cried “Booga Booga Booga!” But it wasn’t Jason—a stray cat had sneaked in through the screen door. Ali had screamed in surprise, and they’d all run back up the stairs and collapsed in a heap on the bed, laughing their heads off. Aria wasn’t sure she’d laughed that hard since.

Mike stopped and leaned over a counter, noticing a bunch of stainless steel chronograph watches. Aria peeked across the store at Ali’s pale pink, catlike smile. Ali was wearing the same tall, sexy black boots she’d worn the day she’d flirted with Noel in study hall—back when she was still pretending to be Courtney. Suddenly, all Aria could remember was how Ali had gone out with Noel, even though she knew Aria liked him. And how Ali had told Aria that Pigtunia, the stuffed pig Byron had given her, was lame. And how Ali had tormented her about Meredith and Byron’s affair.

A door in Aria’s mind slammed closed again. All at once, the decision was clear and obvious: Everything was pushing her toward no. For all kinds of reasons, Aria just couldn’t put the past behind her like her friends had done. Something about this just wasn’t right.

“Come on,” Aria said, and this time she was the one to grab Mike’s sleeve and pull him out of the store. She didn’t trust Ali, and she didn’t want her back. And that was that.

21

BLUSH, BONDING, AND BREAKDOWNS

An hour later, Spencer, Ali, Emily, and Hanna were gathered in Spencer’s bedroom. Bottles of foundation, trays of blush, and a variety of makeup brushes were splayed out before them. The room smelled better than the inside of Sephora, thanks to their recent raid of the Saks perfume counter. The TV played softly in the background.

“It’s not like I threw myself at Wren,” Spencer was telling the group, applying a second coat of Bobbi Brown mascara to her top lashes. “We had this instant…
connection.
He wasn’t right for Melissa at all, but of course she blamed their breakup on me.” Ali had asked each of them to fill her in on what had happened while she was away. They had a lot of ground to cover.

Ali splayed her fingers out to admire her freshly applied manicure. “Were you in love with Wren?”

Spencer twirled a tube of mascara between her fingers. Her affair with Wren felt like a million years ago. “Nah.”

“What about Andrew?”

The tube of mascara slipped out of Spencer’s hand. She felt Hanna’s and Emily’s eyes on her, too. Part of her still felt certain Ali was going to make fun of Andrew, just like she’d made fun of him in the past.

“I don’t know,” Spencer answered hesitantly. “Maybe.”

Spencer braced herself for Ali’s laughter, but to her delight, Ali grabbed Spencer’s hands and squealed.

Hanna pressed one of her bed pillows to her chest. “What about you, Ali? Do you miss Ian?”

Ali turned back to the makeup table. “Definitely not.”

“How did you guys get together, anyway?” Spencer asked.

“Long story.” Ali tested a shade of Chanel lipstick on the side of her hand. “I’ve moved way on.”

“Totally,” Hanna piped up, spreading white eye shadow across her eyelids.

“Ancient history.” Emily nodded.

Ali laid the lipstick on the dresser. “So are you guys ready for the Poconos tonight?”

“
Absolument,
” Spencer trilled.

“I wish Aria were game,” Ali said sadly, pressing her thumb into some spilled powder on the dresser.

“She’s been through a lot lately,” Emily said, uncapping a bottle of nail polish. “I think she finds it really hard to trust people.”

Extreme Makeover
suddenly cut out, and the words
Breaking News
flashed across the screen. Spencer looked over, a queasy feeling in her stomach. Every time there was a breaking news segment, it had something to do with her life.

“The new developments in the Rosewood Serial Killer case throw William Ford’s guilt into question,” a reporter said in an authoritative voice. The Polaroid of the ghostly face in the window of the Hastings barn filled the screen. “Could this be the face of Ms. DiLaurentis’s real killer?”

The camera switched to a close-up of Officer Wilden. There were purple circles under his eyes and his skin looked papery. “Our forensic experts have done facial analysis on the new photo found two nights ago. There’s a strong chance this is
not
Mr. Ford.”

The news reporter popped back on screen and assumed a grave frown. “This data brings up questions about the photos discovered in Mr. Ford’s car and on his computer and just how they got there. If anyone has information, please call the police immediately.”

The news alert ended, and
Extreme Makeover
resumed. Spencer and the others remained silent. Worry hung over the room like a soupy fog. A chain saw growled in the backyard, followed by the thud of a branch crashing to the ground. A bunch of ducks in the nearby pond quacked.

Ali picked up the remote and turned down the volume. “This is crazy,” she said quietly. “Billy killed my sister. I know it.”

“Yeah,” Hanna said, twisting her hair into a bun. “But that face doesn’t look like Billy’s.”