Sara Shepard - Unbelievable

A stately, ivy-covered building flashed on the screen over a caption that read, NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT. Another blond reporter chased after a group of students. “Jason!” she called. “Do you think the police are doing enough to find your sister’s killer?”

“Is this bringing your family closer together?” someone else shouted.

A boy in a Phillies ball cap turned around. Emily’s eyes widened—she’d only seen Jason DiLaurentis a couple of times since Ali had gone missing. His eyes were cold and hard, and the corners of his mouth turned down.

“I don’t speak to my family much,” Jason said. “They’re too messed up.”

Emily hooked her feet under her stool. Ali’s family…messed up? In Emily’s eyes, the DiLaurentises seemed perfect. Ali’s father had a good job but was able to come home on the weekends and barbecue with his kids. Mrs. DiLaurentis used to take Ali, Emily, and the others shopping and made them great oatmeal raisin cookies. Their house was spotless, and whenever Emily ate dinners at the DiLaurentises’, there was always lots of laughing.

Emily thought of the memory Hanna had mentioned earlier, the one from the day before Ali went missing. After Ali had emerged on the back patio, Emily had excused herself to go to the bathroom. As she passed through the kitchen and skirted around Charlotte, Ali’s Himalayan cat, she’d heard Jason whispering to someone on the stairs. He sounded angry.

“You better stop it,” Jason hissed. “You know how that pisses them off.”

“I’m not hurting anything,” another voice whispered back.

Emily had pressed her body against the foyer wall, befuddled. The second voice sounded a little like Ali’s.

“I’m just trying to help you,” Jason went on, getting more and more agitated.

Just then, Mrs. DiLaurentis whirled in through the side door, running to the sink to wash dirt off her hands. “Oh, hi, Emily,” she chirped. Emily stepped away from the stairs. She heard footsteps climbing to the second floor.

Emily glanced again at the TV screen. The news anchor was now issuing an advisory to Rosewood Country Club members because the Rosewood Stalker had been spotted sneaking around the club’s grounds. Emily’s throat itched. It was easy to draw parallels between the Rosewood Stalker and A…and the country club? Hanna’s party was going to be there. Emily had been very careful not to ask Hanna any questions ever since she received A’s last note, but she still wondered if they should go to the police—this had gone far enough. And what if A had not only hit Hanna but killed Ali, too, as Aria suggested the other day? But maybe Mona was right: A was close by, watching their every move. A would know if they told.

As if on cue, her cell phone trumpeted. Emily jumped, nearly teetering off her chair. She had a new text, but thankfully, it was only from Trista. Again.

Hey, Em! What are you doing this weekend? xxx, Trista

Emily wished Rita Moreno wouldn’t sing “America” so loudly, and she wished she weren’t sitting so close to a picture of the cast of Cats —all the felines leered at her like they wanted to use her as a scratching post. She ran her hand along her Nokia’s bumpy keys. It would be rude not to reply, right? She typed, Hi! I’m going to a masquerade party for my friend this Friday. Should be fun!—Em

Almost immediately, Trista sent back a reply. OMG! Wish I could come!

Me too, Emily texted back. C ya! She wondered what Trista really planned to do this weekend—go to another silo party? Meet another girl?

“Emily?” Two ice-cold hands curled around her shoulders. Emily whirled around, dropping her phone on the floor. Maya stood behind her. Emily’s mother and father and her sister Carolyn and her boyfriend, Topher, stood behind Maya. Everyone grinned madly.

“Surprise!” Maya crowed. “Your mom called me this afternoon to ask if I wanted to come to your dinner!”

“O-ohh,” Emily stammered. “That’s…great.” She rescued her phone from the floor and held it between her hands, covering the screen as if Maya could see what Emily had just written. It felt like there was a hot, beaming spotlight on her. She looked at her parents, who were standing next to a big photo of the Les Misérables actors storming the barricades. Both of them were nervously smiling, acting the same way they had when they’d met Emily’s old boyfriend, Ben.

“Our table’s ready,” Emily’s mother said. Maya took Emily’s hand and followed the rest of her family. They all slid into an enormous royal purple banquette. An effeminate waiter, who Emily was pretty sure was wearing mascara, asked if they wanted any cocktails.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Fields,” Maya said once the waiter left. She grinned across the booth at Emily’s parents.

Emily’s mom smiled back. “It’s nice to meet you too.” There was nothing but warmth in her voice. Emily’s father smiled too.

Maya pointed at Carolyn’s bracelet. “That is so pretty. Did you make it?”

Carolyn blushed. “Yeah. In Jewelry III.”

Maya’s burnt-umber eyes widened. “I wanted to take jewelry, but I have no sense for color. Everything on that bracelet goes so well together.”

Carolyn looked down at her gold-flecked dinner plate. “It’s not really that hard.” Emily could tell she was flattered.

They eased into small talk, about school, the Rosewood Stalker, Hanna’s hit-and-run, and then California—Carolyn wanted to know if Maya knew any kids who went to Stanford, where she’d be attending next year. Topher laughed at a story Maya told about her old neighbor in San Francisco who had had eight pet parakeets and made Maya parakeet-sit for her. Emily looked at all of them, annoyed. If Maya was so easily likable, then why hadn’t they given her a chance before? What was all that talk about how Emily should stay away from Maya? Did she really have to run away for them to take her life seriously?

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Emily’s father said as everyone received their dinners. “I reserved the house in Duck for Thanksgiving again.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Mrs. Fields beamed. “Same house?”

“Same one.” Mr. Fields stabbed at a baby carrot.

“Where’s Duck?” Maya asked.

Emily raked her fork through her mashed potatoes. “It’s this little beach town in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We rent a house there every Thanksgiving. The water’s still warm enough to swim if you have a wet suit.”

“Perhaps Maya would like to come,” Mrs. Fields said, primly wiping her mouth with a napkin. “You always bring a friend, after all.”

Emily gaped. She always brought a boyfriend , more like it—last year, she’d brought Ben. Carolyn had brought Topher.

Maya pressed her palm to her chest. “Well…yeah! That sounds great!”

It felt like the restaurant’s faux stage-set walls were closing in around her. Emily pulled at the collar of her shirt, then stood up. Without explaining, she wound her way around a pack of waiters and waitresses dressed up as the characters from Rent. Fumbling into a bathroom stall, she leaned against the mosaic-tiled wall and shut her eyes.

The door to the bathroom opened. Emily saw Maya’s square-toed Mary Janes under her stall door. “Emily?” Maya called softly.

Emily peeked through the crack in the metallic door. Maya had her crocheted bag slung across her chest, her lips pressed together in worry. “Are you okay?” Maya asked.

“I just felt a little faint,” Emily stammered, awkwardly flushing and then walking to the sink. She stood with her back to Maya, her body rigid and tense. If Maya touched her right now, Emily was pretty sure she would explode.