Sara Shepard: Twisted

The air throbbed with something else, too, something the four girls noticed instantly. Excitement, certainly . . . but also a hint of danger. It felt like one of those nights that could go either wonderfully right . . . or terribly wrong.

Noel stood. “Drinks? What do we want?”

“Red Stripe,” Hanna answered. Spencer and Aria nodded in agreement.

“Emily?” Noel turned to her.

“Just a ginger ale,” Emily said.

Spencer touched her arm. “Are you okay?” Emily wasn’t a big partier, but it was weird that she wasn’t splurging even a little on vacation.

Emily pressed her hand to her mouth. Then she rose clumsily from the table and wheeled toward the small bathroom in the corner. “I just have to . . .”

Everyone watched as she wove around the kids on the dance floor and shoved hurriedly through the pink bathroom door. Mike winced. “Is it Montezuma’s revenge?”

“I don’t know . . .” Aria said. They’d been careful not to drink tap water here. But Emily hadn’t been herself since the fire. She’d been in love with Ali. To have the girl she thought was her best friend and longtime crush return, break her heart, and try to kill her must have been doubly devastating.

Hanna’s cell phone buzzed, breaking the silence. She pulled it out of her straw beach bag and groaned. “Well, it’s official. My dad’s running for Senate. This dork on his campaign staff is already asking to meet with me when I get back.”

“Really?” Aria looped her arm around Hanna’s shoulders. “Hanna, that’s amazing!”

“If he wins, you’ll be a First Daughter!” Spencer said. “You’ll be in the society magazines!”

Mike skootched his chair closer to Hanna. “Can I be your personal Secret Service agent?”

Hanna reached for a handful of plantain chips from a bowl on the table and shoved them into her mouth. “I won’t be the First Daughter. Kate will.” Her dad’s stepdaughter and new wife were his true family now. Hanna and her mother were the rejects.

As Aria playfully slapped Hanna’s hand, the bracelets on her wrist rattled. “You’re better than she is, and you know it.”

Hanna rolled her eyes dismissively, though she was grateful to Aria for trying to cheer her up. That was the one good thing that had come out of the Ali disaster: The four of them were best friends again, their bond even stronger than it was in seventh grade. They’d vowed to remain friends forever. Nothing would ever come between them again.

Noel returned with the drinks, and everyone clinked glasses and said “Yeah, mon !” in faux-Jamaican accents. Emily staggered back from the bathroom, still looking seasick, but smiled cheerfully as she sipped her ginger ale.

After dinner, Noel and Mike wandered over to an air hockey table in the corner and began to play. The DJ cranked up the music, and Alicia Keys blasted over the stereo. Several people writhed on the dance floor. A boy with wavy brown hair and a buff physique caught Spencer’s eye and beckoned her to join him.

Aria nudged her. “Go for it, Spence!”

Spencer turned away, blushing. “ Uch , skeevy!”

“He looks like the perfect Andrew cure,” Hanna urged. Andrew Campbell, Spencer’s boyfriend, had broken up with her a month ago—apparently, Spencer’s ordeal with Ali and A was “just too intense” for him to handle. Wuss.

Spencer gazed at the guy on the dance floor again. Admittedly, he was cute in his long khaki shorts and laceless boat shoes. Then she spied the insignia on his polo. PRINCETON CREW . Princeton was her top-choice school.

Hanna brightened, noticing the polo, too. “Spence! It’s a sign! You guys could end up being dorm mates!”

Spencer looked away. “It’s not like I’m going to get in.”

The girls exchanged a surprised glance. “Of course you will,” Emily said quietly.

Spencer reached for her beer and took a hearty swig, ignoring their inquisitive stares. The truth was, she’d let her schoolwork go in the past few months—wouldn’t anyone, after their supposed BFF tried to kill them? The last time she checked with her guidance counselor about her class rank, she’d slipped to twenty-seventh place. No one ranked that low ever got into an Ivy.

“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

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.