“Seriously,” Spencer mumbled, wondering what Chase would say if he knew those very twins were her half sisters.
She flipped to the next photo and gasped at the familiar image. Two blond girls stood in the DiLaurentises’ Rosewood backyard. Ali—or was it Courtney?—faced the camera, and the second blonde, who they’d all thought was Naomi Zeigler once upon a time, turned away. An innocent-looking Jenna Cavanaugh was next to them, a trapped expression on her face. Spencer had seen this photograph before: Real Ali-as-A had sent it to Emily along with a note that said, One of these things doesn’t belong . Figure it out quickly . . . or else. They’d never quite figured out why Ali had sent it to Emily. To frame Jenna, perhaps—she’d died shortly after and probably knew way too much for her own good.
Spencer looked up. “Are you going to post these on your blog?”
Chase shook his head. “I’m not posting anything until I have more proof.”
“I wish you knew who sent you these. There wasn’t a note with them? Nothing?”
Chase shrugged. “They just showed up.”
Spencer shivered. Had Real Ali sent them? Only, why? To tease them? To show them how invincible and evasive she was?
She flipped to the last photo. In this one, Ali faced the camera. She looked older, nearly as old as the girl they’d met last year, and she wore a pair of white pajamas. She stood in The Preserve’s dayroom—Spencer recognized the construction-paper cutouts on the wall. Someone stood next to her, too, but Ali’s raised palm blocked out his face. Was it another patient? Her boyfriend? Helper A?
Chase’s phone beeped again. He typed a response, then put the phone away. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go.”
“Already?” she blurted.
Chase seemed surprised by her reaction. “W-would you want to hang out more?” he asked, a note of hope in his voice.
Spencer nodded quickly, then felt like a desperate idiot. “To talk about the Ali case, I mean. You have some really good ideas.”
For a split second, Chase almost seemed disappointed, but then he smiled. “Definitely,” he said. “I’d like that . . . a lot.” He stuck out his hand for Spencer to shake, but Spencer pulled him in and gave him a hug. He smelled like leather and citrus-scented deodorant. It took all of Spencer’s willpower not to run her fingers through his hair.
Chase pulled away from Spencer, studied her once more, and let his thumb trail across her cheek. Tingles shot up Spencer’s spine. “Maybe next time you’ll tell me who you are, Britney,” he teased. And then he turned around and strode out of the museum, his sneakers barely making a sound.
Spencer followed him from a distance and watched as he strolled up the side street and made a right on Market. When he was gone, she melted to the stoop of a building in a full-on swoon. That. Was. Amazing.
Crack. Something sounded across the street. Spencer shot up, suddenly alert. An empty Diet Coke bottle rolled under a car. A face appeared in the windshield of a van to her right, but when she turned to see, there was no one there.
When her phone beeped, she almost expected it. But it was her old phone ringing—she’d received an e-mail on her school account. Although it wasn’t from A, Spencer blinked hard at the words.
Spencer, I have a few more questions for you. I’m coming by tomorrow to have a chat. Your house, 4 PM. Please reply to let me know you got this message.
Sincerely,
Jasmine Fuji
Spencer’s finger hesitated over the REPLY button. But then, swallowing a lump in her throat, she pressed DELETE.
17
And the Winner Is . . .
On Wednesday morning, just three days before prom, all of the Rosewood Day Upper School students gathered in the auditorium. Girls were texting and playing Plants vs. Zombies and a group of drama kids near the left exit were acting out a duel from Macbeth , which the school had put on the month before. A big banner over the stage read MAY DAY PROM KING AND QUEEN. Two ancient-looking, gold-plated, fake-jeweled crowns that had adorned the heads of kings and queens from years past waited on a table. Two royal scepters, which the king and queen carried to prom, sat on the stage, too. Voting had occurred that morning, and Rosewood Day had tallied the votes immediately. The assembly was to announce the winners.
Hanna sat with the other candidates up on the stage, her heart going a zillion miles an hour. She glanced around the filling auditorium. Where the hell was Mike? He wouldn’t miss this assembly, would he? She’d seen him before first period this morning, so she knew he wasn’t sick.
Then she peeked at Chassey Bledsoe two stools down from her. Chassey kept peering at the crowd, giving everyone hopeful, gracious smiles. Then Chassey turned to Hanna, and her eyes lit up. “Are you excited?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Hanna nodded in response. She was too hyped up and freaked out to speak. All the days of noncampaigning weighed heavily on her. What if Chassey won ? Would she ever live it down?
Noel, who sat next to Hanna, stretched his arms behind his head and yawned loudly. Hanna turned to him. “ You don’t seem very nervous.”
Noel shrugged. “This isn’t as important for guys.” Then a serious look settled over his features. “Hey, do you know what’s going on with Aria?”
Hanna blinked. “What do you mean?”
“She’s acting . . . strange.” He tugged on the sleeve of his Rosewood Day blazer. “I thought she’d be into the prom decor chairman thing, but it’s almost like she’s pissed that I got her the job.”
Hanna sat back. “ You got her that job?” Aria hadn’t told them that.
Noel nodded. “Has she said anything about why she doesn’t want it?”
Hanna studied her nails, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe she just feels overwhelmed.”
“That’s what she said, but I think there’s another reason.” Noel stared into the crowd. “She’s acting just like she did when we got back from Iceland.”
Every muscle in Hanna’s body went still at Noel’s words. What was he getting at? Spencer and Emily had shared their theory that Ali’s helper was a guy, and she’d agreed. Well, Noel was a guy. A guy who already knew too much because of his association with Aria. What was he capable of?
With every passing day, more weird memories about Noel had tugged at her. In sixth grade, after Scott Chin had inferred that Noel and Ali were getting hot and heavy, Hanna had gotten weirdly obsessed with spying on them. During the second week of school, when she was supposed to be in music class, she’d looked out the window and noticed two heads running toward the playground. One of them was Ali, and one of them was Noel.
She’d grabbed the bathroom pass and snuck outside. What would they do when they kissed? Would they close their eyes, or keep them open? Where would their hands go? When— if —Hanna ever kissed anyone, she wanted to be ready.
But when she’d climbed the hill to the playground, they were sitting side by side on the swings. Ali’s head was down, and Noel had his hand on her back. After a moment, Hanna realized she was crying. It was even more shocking than seeing them kiss—she’d assumed that Ali had never cried a day in her life.
“I can’t believe it’s happening,” Hanna had heard Ali say.
“It will be okay,” Noel had answered. “I promise.”
Hanna had had no idea what they were talking about at the time. But what if it had been something to do with her twin sister? Courtney, Their Ali, was still at the Radley then, but the switch had happened only days later. Maybe Ali had found out that Courtney was coming back. Maybe she’d been worried. And maybe she’d confided in Noel about everything.
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