Ali's Pretty Little Lies (4 page)

Cassie wrinkled her button nose. “Melissa Hastings? What a waste.”

“She’s so prissy,” Zoe agreed. “What does he see in her?”

Ali picked at her manicure. Ironically, her brother had had a crush on Melissa Hastings, too. She didn’t know what to think of Melissa, though. Of all the people in Rosewood, Melissa was one of the few who didn’t bow down to her. Sometimes, when she was in her yard, Melissa stood at the window of the barn apartment at the edge of the Hastings’s property and just stared at her.

Cassie blew a smoke ring. “What are our summer plans, people? School’s ending in a month.”

Brianna Huston, who had glossy black hair and thick goalie’s legs, lowered her sunglasses. “Lose ten pounds. And get a boyfriend, of course.”

“A summer romance would be awesome,” Zoe sighed.

“I want a boyfriend, too,” Ali declared.

Cassie gave her a questioning look as she braked at the stop sign. “Don’t you already have one?”

Ali pictured Matt’s tearful face when he’d climbed into his family’s minivan for Virginia. She’d only responded to his earnest, love-struck texts twice. “I’m not into the long-distance thing.”

They passed Hollis College. Students were sitting on benches with cups of iced coffee or talking on the stone steps. When Ali noticed three shirtless guys playing Frisbee on the lawn, she reached over and pressed on the horn. The guys looked up and grinned. Ali blew them a kiss as Cassie drove away.

“Like them, maybe,” Ali joked.

Cassie’s jaw dropped open as she looked at Ali. “You should be my new bestie,” Cassie said. “I’ll kick aside these bitches and make you my co–queen bee.”

“Hey!” Zoe said good-naturedly.

“I’m
kidding
,” Cassie said, then gave Ali a wink.

They drove out of Hollis and wound through the streets of Rosewood, where the houses got bigger and more spread out. Cassie cranked up Jay-Z, and all the girls sang along. They passed the white monolithic King James Mall, a sign for the brand-new Rive Gauche French bistro on the marquee at the entrance. Then they looped down one of the back roads past the Marwyn trail, whose parking lot was filled with cars and bikes. Next, they crossed the old covered bridge, which everyone loved to tag with graffiti, and then drove past the neighborhood of enormous, secluded mansions where Sean Ackard, Hanna’s crush, lived.

Cassie entered a neighborhood full of McMansions to drop off Zoe, then pulled up to Brianna’s gated horse farm. When it was just Ali and Cassie in the car, Cassie lit another cigarette, took a drag, and passed it to Ali. “So guess what? My mom is actually going to be home long enough to come to the sports awards ceremony next week. I guess she, like, felt guilty or something.”

“That’s awesome.” Ali squeezed Cassie’s hand. “Now we just have to get
my
mom to come to my graduation.”

Cassie looked at her sympathetically. “Is she still out all the time?”

“Yep,” Ali said tightly. “Miss Socialite Jessica DiLaurentis.” She rolled her eyes. “My dad doesn’t even go to events with her anymore.”

When Ali had told her friends that she and the field hockey girls talked about deep stuff, she wasn’t entirely lying. They talked about their parents a lot. Cassie’s were jet-setters, never making time for her. To the other girls, she made it sound like it was a good thing—her empty house was perfect for parties, she could wear whatever she wanted to school, and her parents didn’t even notice the ding she’d made in the front fender of the Jeep. But to Ali, she told the truth because Ali’s parents were also on their own planets—her mom had attended three benefits this month for her cause célèbre, children with mental illness, but rarely spent time with Ali or Jason.

They turned onto Ali’s street. The familiar houses Ali had looked at every day for a year and a half now gleamed in the late-afternoon sun. Mona Vanderwaal made loops around her family’s five-car garage on her Razor scooter. Her friends Phi Templeton and Chassey Bledsoe sat under a willow tree in her front yard, playing with a yo-yo. All three of them looked up, slack-jawed, as they saw Ali and Cassie pass.
Dorks.

The Cavanaugh house, a rambling Colonial with a big backyard, was next. Ali gazed at the large oak tree that still bore the remnants of the wooden ladder that had led to Toby Cavanaugh’s tree house. Suddenly, she noticed a face in the front window. Jenna Cavanaugh stared out, big wraparound sunglasses over her eyes. Ali felt a pull in her chest. She held up two fingers to the car window, her and Jenna’s old secret sign. Not that Jenna saw.

Cassie pulled into Ali’s driveway, coming to a stop behind a construction truck filled with ladders and shovels. Next to it was a battered black sports car, its interior full of Burger King cups, empty wrappers, and schoolbooks. “What’s going on in your backyard?” Cassie asked.

Ali sighed dramatically. “My parents are building gazebo-zilla. It’s going to seat a zillion people for all their parties. Those disgusting workers showed up yesterday to consult with my parents about what needed to get done.”

Cassie raised her butt off the seat and gazed at something in the backyard. “They don’t look so disgusting to me.”

Ali followed her gaze. A trio of guys in sweat-stained shirts and ripped jeans traipsed through her yard, passing the tree house in which she and Emily had spent many hours talking. One of the workers had tattoos up and down his arms and carried a shovel over his shoulder. Another had dirt all over his face and was talking on his cell phone. But the third guy, who was younger, was staring right at Ali, his green eyes piercing, an impish smile on his face.

“Oh my God, I’m in love,” Cassie whispered.

“With Darren Wilden?” Ali made a face.

Cassie gaped at her. “You know him? I’ve only seen him in the halls.”

“He’s Jason’s friend.” Ali made a noise at the back of her throat. “His idea of fun is tagging the wall outside the tennis courts.”

“Bad boys are hot.” Cassie pulled out a tube of sheer lip gloss and slowly spread it across her lips.

“He’s all yours,” Ali murmured.

They fell silent as Darren approached, still staring at Ali. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t be smoking, Ali,” he said sternly.

Ali looked down. The Marlboro Light Cassie had lit was still in her hand, white ash curling into the air. Anger flared inside her. Darren was a fixture at her house, as moody as Jason and just as irritating. Who did he think he was, her dad? As if he had any power over what she did!

Ali took another long drag of the cigarette, then flicked it out the window. She stepped out of the car slowly, her eyes on his. She sauntered up to him, not saying a word, until she was right next to him. Then she pulled up her skirt and gave him a little peek of leg. Darren’s eyes went right there and widened not with horror or disgust, but with what was definitely inappropriate lust. Smirking, Ali waved good-bye to Cassie, then turned and strutted into the house, knowing he and Cassie were still staring.

There. She was the one in control, after all.

3

PARTY ON THE DOWN LOW

“One Swiss fondue with four skewers.” A waitress laid a bubbling cauldron of melted cheese in the center of the table. “Enjoy!”

Ali’s mother, a tall, elegant woman with long blond hair, a heart-shaped face, and a perma-Botoxed forehead, placed her napkin in her lap and daintily picked up a skewer. Her father made an
mm
sound and smacked his lips, which Ali had always thought were a tad thick and rubbery. A long string of cheese stretched uncouthly from the skewer to his mouth.
That
was probably the reason her mom never brought him to her charity dinners.

Ali wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What is this? It looks like Velveeta.”

“It’s fondue.” Mrs. DiLaurentis pushed a skewer toward her. “You’ll love it.”

“I’d probably love full-fat ice cream, too, but you don’t see me eating
that
.”

Her mother sipped from her glass of white wine. “It’s French, honey. Therefore it has no calories.” She twisted her mouth like it was a funny joke.

Ali folded her hands across her empty plate and gazed around the restaurant. It was Thursday night, and she was with her family at Rive Gauche, the new French bistro that had opened up in the luxe section of the King James Mall. The place was decorated with distressed mirrors, retro alcohol ads, and Paris street signs. Groups of well-dressed Main Line women shared mussels and French fries at almost every table. A group of college kids who looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of J. Crew tucked into tureens of French onion soup in the corner.

Ali considered taking a Polaroid of the cool new restaurant, but then decided against it—this place was awesome, but she’d rather take a photo of it with her friends. She couldn’t even believe her family was out to dinner; they hadn’t done this in ages. Even so, her parents sat as far apart as possible in the booth, as though they were two awkward junior high kids at a dance. Mrs. DiLaurentis was glued to her cell phone as if she were messaging with the President, and Mr. DiLaurentis kept peeking at a sheaf of legal briefs he had in his bag.

“Jason, you’ll try some, won’t you?” Mrs. DiLaurentis placed her phone by her plate and nudged a skewer in Ali’s brother’s direction.

Jason’s floppy blond hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t you feel well?” Mrs. DiLaurentis reached out to feel Jason’s skin.

Jason pulled away. “I’m fine.”

Ali snorted. “Looks like someone’s in one of his Elliott Smith moods,” she said, referencing the moody, miserable music he always listened to when he was depressed.

Jason glanced at Ali for a split second, then sniffed and turned away. Ali wondered if he was pissed because he’d heard that she’d been smoking with Cassie, or maybe that she’d flirted with Darren. But why would he care about either of those things? Most of the time, Jason pretended like Ali didn’t even exist.

Which really hurt. Ali was grateful her parents hadn’t guessed who she was—they were too wrapped up in their own lives to pay attention. As long as she acted
enough
like Ali, they didn’t question anything. But she’d thought Jason would have noticed something. Wasn’t he supposed to know her the best of anyone? He’d visited her practically every weekend at the Radley, after all, playing spit with her in the day room, telling her about the girls he’d liked—one of whom had been Melissa Hastings, with whom he’d struck up a friendship. “This is how you get her to like you back,” Ali had coached him, giving him pointers that she’d picked up from
Cosmo.

But when she’d taken over her sister’s life, she’d discovered that Melissa was dating Ian Thomas, and Jason was single. She’d wanted to ask Jason if he was okay, but it seemed out of character—Alison thought Jason was annoying and insufferable. If she wanted to play this part properly, she had to pretend she thought that, too. If she told even one person the truth, her secret would be one step closer to being revealed.

The waitress set down everyone’s drinks. Across the table, Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis whispered.

“Now?” Ali’s mother looked alarmed. “We should wait.”

“It
can’t
wait,” Mr. DiLaurentis said firmly.

“Yes, it can.”

“What can?” Ali asked, grabbing a piece of cheese-saturated bread and popping it in her mouth. The cheese melted warmly on her tongue. It was so good she almost swooned.

Her mother fumbled with her utensils. “Um, nothing, honey. We’re just a little stressed right now. Sending Jason to Yale is quite an expense, and we’re trying to figure out how to manage our finances.”

Ali burst out laughing. “If you guys are so worried about money, then why are you building that huge gazebo in the backyard?”

There was a long pause. Mr. DiLaurentis jumped up to use the bathroom, shaking the table so hard he almost knocked over the fondue pot. Ali’s mom’s phone rang, and she answered in a false, bright voice.

Ali grabbed her mother’s wineglass when she wasn’t looking and took a long sip.
Whatever.
A year ago, she would’ve taken their bizarre behavior personally—maybe her parents sensed who she really was and refused to share things with her. But they kept lots of secrets, things they didn’t tell Jason, either.

Mr. DiLaurentis returned from the bathroom and immediately reached for his wineglass. When Mrs. DiLaurentis got off the phone, she looked at Ali. “So. We’re going to the hospital this weekend.”

Ali’s stomach flipped. “
Again?
We were just there.”

“
You
were there two months ago. It’ll be good for you to visit your sister.”

“I have plans,” Ali said quickly.

Mr. DiLaurentis’s brow furrowed. “Your mother didn’t even tell you which day we were going.”

“I have plans
every
day.” Ali smiled weakly. “
Please
don’t make me go. It’s so
hard
on me emotionally. I spend hours crying in bed whenever I come back from there.”

Mrs. DiLaurentis looked tormented. Ali felt a dart of triumph. Playing the emotional card always worked.

The rest of the dinner was stilted and silent, no one really talking. Mrs. DiLaurentis jumped up halfway through her entrée because she saw a few women she knew from the Junior League. As they pulled into their neighborhood, there were tons of cars parked on the curb. More cars were jammed in Spencer’s driveway, most of them Jeeps, SUVs, banged-up BMWs, and Hondas. Loud bass thundered from the backyard.

“Looks like someone’s having a party,” Mrs. DiLaurentis murmured.

Mr. DiLaurentis made a face. “On a Thursday night?”

Ali got out of the car to get a better view. Kids stood on the Hastingses’ patio and near the backyard barn where Melissa lived. Melissa sat with her legs crossed at one of the patio tables—with her chin-length blond hair and pearls, she looked like a clone of Mrs. Hastings. Spencer’s father, who was tall and broad with a long, slender nose; strong jaw; and thick head of curly dark hair, stood on the deck, swirling a snifter of cognac.