Sara Shepard - 0.5 Ali's Pretty Little Lies

“There you are,” Aria said, touching Ali’s shoulder. Ali spun around and took in her friend. It seemed as though the pink streaks in Aria’s hair had multiplied, and she wore long feather earrings that grazed her shoulders. Tucked under her other arm was her stuffed pig puppet, Pigtunia, which her father had brought her from Germany.

“Only babies carry stuffed animals,” Ali chided.

Aria spun around and shrugged, holding up the puppet and making her oink. “Pigtunia wanted to go for a ride. How could I say no?”

Because she’s a puppet? Sometimes Aria was such a freak.

“Hey.” Aria touched a Tiffany-style lamp on the table with Pigtunia’s snout. “What do you think? Aren’t these things worth a lot of money? And look—it’s only twenty-five dollars!”

Ali snorted. “I’m sure it’s a knockoff.” This was the Main Line, after all. Even junk shop owners knew what a real Tiffany lamp was worth.

Up ahead, Mr. Montgomery, who Aria called Byron, turned to a smaller, round table with a tile top. “How about this one?”

Mrs. Montgomery—Ella—sniffed. “That won’t fit all four of us. Or is that the point?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mr. Montgomery demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. His tweed blazer had a hole in the elbow.

Mrs. Montgomery pushed a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “Forget it.”

“I don’t want to forget it.” Aria’s dad guided his wife around a corner. They spoke in whispers. Mike looked up from the pinball machine, his brow furrowed.

Ali turned to Aria. “What’s up with your parents?”

Aria shrugged. “They always get like this when they shop for antiques.”

By the way Aria’s throat bobbed when she swallowed, Ali knew she’d hit a nerve. But you had to be blind not to notice that Aria’s parents’ relationship had changed. In sixth grade, Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery spoke French at the dinner table when they wanted to say romantic things in front of their kids. These days, they barely ate dinner at the same time. And once, not that long ago, when Ali had slept over at Aria’s, she’d gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and noticed that Aria’s mom was sleeping in the guest room. Aria said it was because her dad snored, but the house had been awfully quiet that night.

Ali wanted Aria to confide in her if she was worried—maybe if Aria did, Ali could open up about her own family worries. But Aria didn’t work that way. While the other girls had their own reasons for ingratiating themselves to Ali, spilling their secrets if she so much as asked how their day was, it was hard to get Aria to open up. In fact, Ali wasn’t exactly sure sometimes what Aria got out of the friendship. Sure, she liked being part of a clique, but she often held Ali at arm’s length, keeping her feelings close to the vest. Sometimes, it made Ali fight for her affection and attention even more. Other times, it just annoyed her.

Suddenly, Ali spied something on one of the tables. An old, silver pocket mirror with delicate engravings on the handle and the back was propped up next to a stack of books. Her doctors had used a very similar mirror during group sessions at the Radley.

She shut her eyes, a memory flooding back. Miss Anna, the psychologist, would pass the mirror around to each girl, telling her to look into it and share with the group what she most wanted to be. Most girls would give touchy-feely answers: I want to be strong; I want to be better; I want to be happy. But Ali had gazed at her reflection, her features matching her sister’s. She hadn’t said she wanted to be her sister, though, as most people at the hospital would have thought. She’d said, I want to be free.

She slipped the mirror into her bag and walked away.

“This place smells like my grandma’s basement,” she said, grabbing Aria’s arm and steering her out the door. “Let’s go outside.”

They wove through the piles of wicker baskets and around a large wooden butter churn and emerged into the late afternoon sun. The air was scented with lilacs. A horse neighed from a nearby pasture. Despite the idyllic setting, Ali suddenly felt that familiar prickle in her spine. A car passed, and when she looked through the windshield, Melissa Hastings’s scowling face stared back. Ali flinched. They weren’t far from their neighborhood, but this was a back road, not one that Melissa would have much reason to travel on.

Then Ali spied two guys emerging from the enormous Colonial-style house down the path from the barn. “Is that Noel Kahn?” she asked.

Aria whipped around. They both watched as Noel and a guy they didn’t recognize grabbed a basketball from the grass and shot hoops in the huge, circular driveway.

“C’mon,” Ali said, starting across the parking lot. “Let’s go talk to them.”

“Wait!” Aria shrieked, grabbing her arm. “How do I look?”

Ali inspected Aria, from her Technicolor hair to her sparkly blue eye shadow to the swirly patterned hippie top that showed off her skinny arms and big-for-seventh-grade boobs. “You look great,” she said. “But ditch the pig, okay?”

Aria stuck Pigtunia on the roof of her parents’ car, and then she and Ali started over. The boys looked up when they saw them coming. Noel’s brown hair was tousled, and there was a smudge of dirt on his face. He and the other guy, who had curly blond hair, freckles, and pinchable cherub cheeks, wore sleeveless T-shirts, long mesh shorts, and white sneakers that looked enormous on their feet.

“Hey, Ali. Hey, Aria,” Noel said.

Aria grabbed Ali’s hand. He knows my name! the squeeze said. Of course he does , Ali wanted to tell her. She’d only introduced them six million times.

“Hey, Noel,” Ali said. Then she looked at Cherub Cheeks. “Who’s your friend?”

The guy stepped forward. “Mason Byers. I just moved here from Atlanta.”

“He’s going to be on the lacrosse team next year,” Noel said. “Coach asked me to show him around.” He gestured across the street. “Were you girls antiquing?”

“My parents are,” Aria said, rolling her eyes. “They’re obsessed with old stuff.”

“That’s cool.” Noel turned his green eyes to Aria. “My parents are, too. My dad collects scale models of ships. They’re taking over his office.”

“My dad’s into books,” Aria admitted, fiddling with her fake nose ring. “Sometimes he goes to flea markets and brings back a whole crate of them, looking for one that’s valuable. My mom wants to kill him most of the time—we don’t have room for all of them.”

“Flea markets can be pretty cool,” Noel said. “I once found a killer neon beer sign at the one in Bryn Mawr.”

Ali snorted. “Noel, when have you ever gone to a flea market?” Noel’s family was one of the richest in Rosewood.

Noel gave Ali a playful poke. “I’ve been to plenty. And if you’re not interested, when Aria and I go to a flea market, you don’t have to come.”

Ali rolled her eyes. “As if I’d want to.”

A loud beep sounded from across the road. Aria’s parents were trying to fit a round table with ornately carved legs into the back of their Subaru. The table fell to the ground with a clonk , and Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery started arguing.

Clouds rolled across Aria’s face. “We should probably head back over.”

“Good luck with that table,” Noel said.

“Nice meeting you,” Ali said to Mason as they walked away.

Once the boys went back to playing basketball and they were out of earshot, Aria grabbed Ali’s arm excitedly. “Oh my God, he wants to go to a flea market with me!”

Ali snorted. “He didn’t exactly say that .”