“I’d rather hang out with you guys,” Spencer said. She didn’t want to think about school on vacation.
Aria, Emily, and Hanna shrugged, then raised their glasses once more. “To us,” Aria said.
“To friendship,” Hanna agreed.
Each of the girls let their minds go to a Zen-like place, and for the first time in days they didn’t automatically think of their horrible past. No A notes blinked in their minds. Rosewood felt like it was in a different solar system.
The DJ put on an old Madonna song, and Spencer rose from her seat. “Let’s dance, guys.”
The others started to jump up, too, but Emily grabbed Spencer’s arm tightly, pulling her back down. “Don’t move.”
“What?” Spencer stared at her. “Why?”
Emily’s eyes were saucers, her gaze fixed on something by the spiral staircase. “Look.”
The girls turned and squinted. A thin blond girl in a bright yellow sundress had appeared on the landing. She had striking blue eyes, pink-lined lips, and a scar over her right eyebrow. Even from where they were sitting they could make out more scars on her body: puckered skin on her arms, lacerations on her neck, withered flesh on her bare legs. But despite the scars, she radiated beauty and confidence.
“What is it?” Aria murmured.
“Do you know her?” Spencer asked.
“Can’t you see?” Emily whispered, her voice quivering. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“What are we supposed to be looking at?” Aria said softly, worriedly.
“That girl.” Emily turned to them, her face pale, her lips bloodless. “It’s . . . Ali.”
TEN MONTHS LATER
Chapter 1
Pretty Little Party
A pudgy caterer with impeccably manicured hands thrust a tray of steaming, gooey cheese into Spencer Hastings’s face. “Baked Brie?”
Spencer selected a cracker and took a big bite. Delicious. It wasn’t every day that a caterer served her baked Brie in her very own kitchen, but on this particular Saturday night, her mother was throwing a party to welcome a new family to the neighborhood. Mrs. Hastings hadn’t been in the mood to play hostess the last few months, but she’d had a burst of social enthusiasm.
As if on cue, Veronica Hastings bustled into the room in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, fastening dangling earrings to her earlobes and sliding a large diamond ring onto her right finger. The ring was a recent purchase—her mother had exchanged every piece of jewelry Spencer’s dad had ever bought her for all-new baubles. Her ash-blond hair hung straight and smooth to her chin, her eyes looked wide and huge thanks to expertly applied makeup, and she wore a fitted black sheath dress that showed off her Pilates-toned arms.
“Spencer, your friend’s here to work coat check,” Mrs. Hastings said hurriedly as she put a couple of stray dishes from the sink into the dishwasher and gave the island yet another spray with Fantastik, even though she’d had a team scour the house only an hour before. “Maybe you should see if she needs anything.”
“Who?” Spencer wrinkled her nose. She hadn’t asked anyone to work tonight’s event. Usually her mom hired students from Hollis College, the university down the road, to do it.
Mrs. Hastings let out an impatient sigh and checked her flawless reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator door. “Emily Fields. I’ve set her up by the study.”
Spencer stiffened. Emily was here? She certainly hadn’t invited her.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to Emily—it had to be months. But her mother—and the rest of the world—still thought they were close friends. The People magazine cover was to blame—it hit newsstands shortly after the Real Ali tried to kill them and featured Spencer, Emily, Aria, and Hanna entangled in a four-girl hug. VERY PRETTY, BUT DEFINITELY NOT LIARS, the headline said. Recently, a reporter called the Hastings house to request a reunion interview with Spencer—the anniversary of that terrible night in the Poconos was next Saturday, and the public wanted to know how the girls were doing a year later. Spencer had declined. She was sure the others had, too.
“Spence?”
Spencer whirled around. Mrs. Hastings was gone, but Spencer’s older sister, Melissa, stood in her place, her body wrapped in a chic gray belted raincoat. A pair of skinny black pants from J. Crew covered her long legs.
“Hey.” Melissa reached out and gave Spencer a big hug, and Spencer got a huge whiff of—what else?—Chanel No. 5. Melissa was a mommy clone, but Spencer tried not to hold it against her.
“It’s so good to see you!” Melissa crooned as if she were a long-lost aunt who hadn’t seen Spencer since she was a toddler, even though they’d gone skiing at Bachelor Gulch, Colorado, two months ago.
Then, someone stepped out from behind her. “Hi, Spencer,” said the man to Melissa’s right. He looked odd in a jacket, tie, and khaki pants with perfectly ironed creases in the legs; Spencer was used to seeing him in a Rosewood Police Department uniform with a gun on his belt. Darren—aka Officer Wilden—had been the lead detective in the Alison DiLaurentis murder investigation. He’d questioned Spencer about the missing Ali—who had actually been Courtney—countless times.
“H-Hey,” Spencer said as Wilden wound his fingers around Melissa’s. The two of them had been dating for almost a year now, but it still seemed like a crazy match. If Melissa and Wilden registered profiles on eHarmony, the service wouldn’t connect them up in a trillion years.