Sara Shepard - Ruthless

Emily touched Kelsey’s shoulder. “In a good way. Nothing fazed her. She was kind of . . . amazing.”

Kelsey pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. She eased a little bit closer to Emily until Emily could smell the faint tinge of bug spray on her skin. “Well, I think you’re pretty amazing, too.”

Lightning bolts zinged up and down Emily’s arms. She leaned closer. She expected Kelsey to pull away, but she remained where she was, inches from Emily’s face. Emily stared at Kelsey’s long, pale eyelashes. The freckles on her earlobes. The tiny speck of gold in her green eyes. Their lips touched. Emily’s heart banged hard.

After a beat, Kelsey pulled away, a shy smile on her face. “Wow.”

They leaned into each other, about to kiss again, when a group of boys pushed through the clearing for the water fountain. Kelsey turned away. The boys ogled Kelsey and Emily and grunted out hellos. Kelsey glanced at them, her fingers twitching. Her expression was nervous, a complete transformation from what it had been moments before.

“Do you mind waiting here for a sec?” Kelsey whispered in Emily’s ear after a moment. “I have to pee.”

“Sure,” Emily said.

As Kelsey trekked off into the bushes, Emily remained where she was, studying her phone so she wouldn’t have to make conversation with the boys. After they’d all had a drink of water, they disappeared through the bushes again and started back up the trail.

Footsteps sounded down the slope, followed by the screech of a hawk. Then, all went silent. The trees seemed to close in around her, making her claustrophobic. When the sun went behind a cloud, it was downright dark out. Emily stared into the trees, wondering what was taking Kelsey so long.

All of a sudden, Emily heard a whooshing sound of a body moving through the brush. A split second later, two strong hands shoved her between her shoulder blades. “Hey!” she screamed, staggering forward. Her feet went out from under her, slipping in the soft mud. Before she knew what was happening, she was tumbling down the sharp, muddy hill, her arms flailing to grab on to something to stop her fall. Branches and shrubs and stumps rose up before her, and she barreled into them, sharp brambles cutting her skin. She rolled onto her side, hitting her elbow hard. Sharp pain shot through her, and she screamed out. Finally, after digging her nails into the earth, she felt her body slow. She came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, caught in a tangle of briars and dead tree limbs, mud covering her jeans, her hands and her arms. She tasted blood in her mouth and felt something wet and sticky on her cheek.

Heart pounding, she turned and looked up. A figure stood at the top of the hill next to the water fountain, half in the shadows. Emily gasped, taking in the person’s blond hair and lithe frame. A haunting giggle snaked through the trees, filling Emily’s body with shivers. Ali?

“Emily!”

When Emily blinked, the blonde was gone. A moment later, Kelsey was standing in her place, her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God!” she screamed. She started down the hill, grabbing on to branches for balance, her shoes sliding in the mud. By the time she’d reached Emily, Emily had stood up and determined that no bones were broken. But she was still practically hyperventilating at what had just happened . . . and who she’d just seen.

Kelsey studied Emily at arm’s length. The corners of her mouth turned down anxiously, and beads of sweat stippled her forehead. She still had that same jittery look on her face, and her hands were trembling. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Emily’s chest heaved in and out. The scratches on her skin from the brambles burned every time she moved. “Someone . . . pushed me.”

Kelsey’s eyes widened. “One of those boys?”

Emily shook her head, still finding it hard to draw in a full breath. The giggle echoed in her ears. She could sense someone else’s presence, someone looming close, watching. On instinct, she reached for her phone in her pocket. Sure enough, there was a new text message. With trembling fingers, she pressed READ.

Sometimes we all need a little push, Emily. You and your friends know all about that, huh? —A

On Thursday afternoon, Spencer was flipping through the newspaper when a splashy ad caught her eye. TONIGHT AT 8 P.M., A CNN SPECIAL: ARE YOUR CHILDREN SAFE ON SPRING BREAK? THREE CASES OF FUN SPRING HOLIDAYS GONE TERRIBLY WRONG.

There was a picture of Tabitha in the corner. Spencer immediately turned the paper over, and then, because that wasn’t quite good enough, she tore it into tiny pieces and threw it in the trash. Even that didn’t seem safe. She stared at the pieces, wondering if she should burn them.

Something flickered out of the corner of her eye, and she shot up and glanced out the window. A shape moved behind the trees. It looked like someone with blond hair.

Murderer .

Spencer spun around, clutching the sides of her head. The kitchen was empty. Beatrice and Rufus dozed on the floor, their paws twitching. If someone were here, they’d be barking their heads off, right? What the hell was happening to her?

Her cell phone let out a loud dog-barking sound, and Spencer jumped. She picked it up from the side table and saw that Emily had sent a text. I’m really freaked. A just shoved me down a hill at the Stockbridge trail.

Spencer glanced toward the den, thinking again of the flashes and voice she’d just heard. Amelia and the orchestra nerds weren’t here right now, but they were scheduled to come over later this evening. Kelsey wasn’t there, was she? she wrote back.

There was a long pause. Finally, Emily’s reply popped up on the screen: No.

And you’re not hanging out with her anymore, right? Spencer typed.

Emily replied again with a one-word No.

Good , Spencer responded.

“So this was where that Alison stuff went down, huh?”

It was forty minutes later, and Spencer and Beau were standing in the Hastingses’ backyard, preparing for another Macbeth coaching session. Spencer was sure she’d be more than ready after today. She’d already made arrangements with the school’s videographer to pay special attention to her in her scenes in the play performance on Saturday night. She’d even composed a draft email to the admissions committee talking about the play; all she needed now was to attach a movie file of her brilliantly executed scenes.

Beau gazed around at the twisted, blackened, ruined tree branches from the fire Real Ali had set here over a year ago. To the left was the property’s original barn, which had once housed a lovingly restored guest suite . . . until Real Ali burned that down, too.

“Yeah,” Spencer said softly. “I rarely come out here anymore. It’s too creepy.”

“I hear you. This place feels haunted.” Beau toed the dirty slate path that used to lead to the barn. It was on this very path that she and Their Ali fought almost five years ago on the last night of seventh grade. The argument had been over Ian Thomas, whom they’d both had a crush on. Spencer had shoved Ali, who’d fallen, then quickly leapt back up and run down the path. For a long time, Spencer had assumed Ali had gone to meet Ian, her secret boyfriend, and Ian had killed her. But it was her twin sister who had intercepted her and murdered her.

“Anyway.” Beau turned around and faced Spencer. “Are you ready to get into character?”

Spencer shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Beau smiled. “You did awesome yesterday, but there’s another exercise I think we should try. You know how I said I connected being bullied to my role as Macbeth? It’s your turn to do that, too. Try to really become her. Imagine getting rid of the person standing in the way of your success. Maybe you didn’t mean to do it, but you carried it out anyway.”