Sara Shepard: Heartless

Spencer scowled too. It wasn’t fair that Ali just assumed they’d lie for her. Last night, before Ali could touch Spencer’s forehead and put her under hypnosis, Spencer jumped up in protest. She was sick ofAli controlling them. She was sick of things being exactly the way Ali wanted.

“Come on, guys,” Hanna urged, sensing everyone’s reluctance. “We have to cover for Ali.” The last thing Hanna wanted was to give Ali a reason to drop them—if that happened, Hanna would go back to being an ugly, chubby loser. And that wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. “If we don’t protect her, she might tell everyone about the . . .” Hanna trailed off, glancing across the street at the house where Toby and Jenna Cavanaugh lived. It had fallen into disrepair over the past year, the grass in the front yard badly in need of a mow, and the bottom of the garage doors covered in a thin layer of green, speckled mold.

Last spring, they’d accidentally blinded Jenna Cava-naugh while she and her brother were in their tree house. No one knew they’d set off the firework, though, and Ali had made them promise never to tell what really happened, saying the secret would bond their friendship forever. But what if they weren’t friends anymore ? Ali could be ruthless to people she didn’t like. After she’d dropped Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe out of nowhere at the beginning of sixth grade, she’d banned them from parties, made boys prank call their houses, and even hacked into their MySpace pages, writing half-mean, half-funny posts about their embarrassing secrets. If Ali ditched her four new friends, what promises would she break? What secrets would she tell?

The front door to the DiLaurentises’ house opened, and Ali’s mom stuck her head out onto the porch. Though normally stylish and polished, Mrs. DiLaurentis had thrown her pale blond hair into a sloppy ponytail. A pair of frayed shorts hung low on her hips, and her ragged T-shirt stretched across her midriff.

The girls stood and walked up the stone path to Ali’s door. As usual, the foyer smelled like fabric softener, and photos of Alison and her brother, Jason, lined the halls. Aria’s gaze went immediately to Jason’s senior picture, his longish blond hair pushed off his face, the corners of his lips curled up into just a hint of a smile. Before the girls could perform their usual ritual of touching the bottom right-hand corner of their favorite photo from their trip to the Poconos last July, Mrs. DiLaurentis swept them into the kitchen and gestured for them to sit at the big wood table. It felt weird to be in Ali’s house without Ali here—almost like they were spying on her. There was evidence of her everywhere: a pair of turquoise Tory Burch wedges by the laundry room door, a travel-size bottle of Ali’s favorite vanilla hand cream on the telephone table, and Ali’s report card—all A’s, of course—pinned to the stainless-steel refrigerator with a pizza-shaped magnet.

Mrs. DiLaurentis sat down with them and cleared her throat. “I know you girls were with Alison last night, and I need you to think really hard. Are you sure she didn’t give you any hints about where she might have gone?”

The girls shook their heads, staring at the woven jute place mats. “I think she’s with her field hockey friends,” Hanna blurted out, when it seemed no one else was going to speak.

Mrs. DiLaurentis shredded a grocery list into small squares. “I already called all the girls on the team’s telephone tree—and her friends from hockey camp. No one has seen her.”

The girls exchanged alarmed glances. Nerves streaked through their chests, and their hearts began to thump a little faster. If Ali wasn’t with any of her other friends, then where was she?

Mrs. DiLaurentis drummed her fingers on the table. Her nails looked uneven, as if she’d been biting them. “Did she mention coming home last night? I thought I saw her in the kitchen doorway when I was talking to . . .” She trailed off for a moment, casting her eyes to the back door. “She looked upset.”

“We didn’t know Ali came back into the house,” Aria mumbled.

“Oh.” Ali’s mom’s hands trembled as she reached for her coffee. “Has Ali ever talked about someone teasing her?”

“No one would do that,” Emily said quickly. “Everyone loves Ali.”

Mrs. DiLaurentis opened her mouth to protest but then changed her mind. “I’m sure you’re right. And she never said anything about running away?”

Spencer snorted. “No way.” Only Emily ducked her head. She and Ali sometimes talked about running away together. One of their fantasies about flying to Paris and adopting brand-new identities had recently been in heavy rotation. But Emily was sure Ali had never been serious.

“Did she ever seem sad?” Mrs. DiLaurentis went on.

Each of the girls’ expressions grew more and more baffled. “ Sad? ” Hanna finally blurted. “Like . . . depressed?”

“Absolutely not,” Emily stated, thinking about how gleefully Ali had pirouetted across the lawn the day before, celebrating the end of seventh grade.

“She’d tell us if something was bothering her,” Aria added, although she wasn’t quite sure if this was true. Ever since Ali and Aria had discovered a devastating secret about Aria’s dad a few weeks ago, Aria had avoided being around Ali. She’d hoped that they could put it behind them at last night’s sleepover.

The DiLaurentises’ dishwasher grumbled, shifting into the next cycle. Mr. DiLaurentis wandered into the kitchen, looking bleary-eyed and lost. When he glanced at his wife, an uncomfortable expression came over his face, and he quickly wheeled around and left, vigorously scratching his beakish, oversize nose.

“Are you sure you don’t know anything?” Mrs. DiLaurentis asked. Worry lines creased her forehead. “I looked for her diary, thinking she might’ve written something in there about where she went, but I can’t find it anywhere.”

Hanna brightened. “I know what her diary looks like. Do you want us to go upstairs and search?” They’d seen Ali writing in her diary a few days ago, when Mrs. DiLaurentis sent them up to Ali’s room without telling Ali first. Ali had been so absorbed in her diary that she’d seemed startled by her friends, as if she’d momentarily forgotten that she’d invited them over. Seconds later, Mrs. DiLaurentis had sent the girls downstairs because she wanted to lecture Ali about something, and when Ali emerged on the patio, she’d seemed annoyed they were there, like they’d done something wrong by staying at her house while her mom yelled at her.

“No, no, that’s all right,” Mrs. DiLaurentis answered, setting down her coffee cup fast.

“Really.” Hanna scraped back her chair and started down the hall. “It’s no trouble.”

“Hanna,” Ali’s mom barked, her voice suddenly razor-sharp. “I said no.”

Hanna halted under the chandelier. Something impossible to read rumbled beneath Mrs. DiLaurentis’s skin. “Okay,” Hanna said quietly, returning to the table. “Sorry.”

After that, Mrs. DiLaurentis thanked the girls for coming over. They filed out one by one, blinking in the startlingly bright sun. In the cul-de-sac, Mona Vanderwaal, a loser girl in their grade, was making big figure eights on her Razor scooter. When she saw the girls, she waved. None of them waved back.

Emily kicked a loose brick on the walkway. “Mrs. D is overreacting. Ali’s fine.”

“She isn’t depressed, ” Hanna insisted. “What a retarded thing to say.”

Aria stuffed her hands into her miniskirt’s back pockets. “What if Ali did run away? Maybe not because she was unhappy, but because there was somewhere cooler she wanted to be. She probably wouldn’t even miss us.”