“What happened?”
Emily pretended to be fascinated by the laminated place mat in front of her, a kitschy, fact-filled map of the United States. Her parents and sister still thought she’d gone on a choir trip to Boston with Isaac a few weeks ago, but she’d really been in Amish Country, unearthing information on Wilden’s past. When the cops brought Emily home the night she’d almost broken into the Rosewood PD evidence room—the same night Jenna was killed—she’d told her mom she was dressed in Amish garb for a role-playing game she’d taken part in during the Boston trip. Emily was pretty sure her mom didn’t believe her, but Mrs. Fields hadn’t pressed the issue.
After a couple of seconds of Emily not answering, Carolyn shifted her weight, a smile crawling across her face. “You’re not with Isaac anymore, are you?”
“No,” Emily admitted, choosing her words carefully. “I like someone else.”
Carolyn’s eyes widened. It probably wasn’t hard for her to guess who: Mona-as-A had made Emily’s longtime crush on Ali very plain to the entire school.
“Is Courtney…like that?” Carolyn whispered.
“I don’t know.” Emily pressed her thumb into the tines of the fork. I always wanted to do that again, Ali had said. Was Ali like that? Why else would she say those things?
The waitress set down their plates. Emily stared at her syrup-and-butter-laden waffle. She was suddenly too nervous to be hungry.
Carolyn placed her palms flat on the table. “You should ask her to the dance,” she decided.
“I can’t!” Emily exclaimed, a little surprised that her sister was being so open-minded.
“Why not? What do you have to lose?” Carolyn popped a bite of omelet into her mouth. “You can ride with me and Topher. We’re renting a limo.” Topher was Carolyn’s longtime boyfriend.
Emily opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Carolyn didn’t understand. This wasn’t a normal crush like the one she had on Maya or Isaac. For years she’d thought of being with Ali, of going to Stanford with her and then maybe—if she was lucky—getting a little house together with one of those cute rooster weather vanes out front. The idea of coming on too strong and ruining her chances with Ali paralyzed Emily. Ali’s opinion meant everything, and if Ali rejected her, Emily wasn’t sure what she’d do. There was no risk in getting crushed if she kept her feelings to herself.
Emily’s phone buzzed again, and she yanked it open. Ali had texted back with a line of Xs. Then again, what if Ali wanted this, too?
17
WHO’S AFRAID OF THE BAD, BIG SISTER?
Around the same time that morning, Spencer climbed into Melissa’s idling SUV and waited as her sister ran inside to get her sunglasses. In a rare show of helpfulness, Melissa had offered to drive Spencer to school. Spencer dropped her Kate Spade tote on the backseat. The car smelled overpoweringly of cinnamon gum, and the radio blared. “After a message from our sponsors, we’ll discuss the photographs that shed new light on the Rosewood Serial Killer case,” a reporter announced.
The broadcast cut to a commercial for Treasures in the Attic, a local antique shop, and Spencer snapped the radio off. She’d received a text from Aria this morning about the photos she’d found in the woods, but Spencer hadn’t seen them yet. All she knew was that the photographer might be a girl. Spencer had been doing her best to ignore the inconsistencies in the case against Billy, but now…
An icy hand curled over Spencer’s hand and she jumped. “Earth to Spencer,” Melissa chirped, slamming the door. “Are you in there?”
“Sorry,” Spencer said as Melissa pulled out of the driveway and almost backed into the Jenna shrine. It had grown to three times its original size. The Ali shrine at the base of the DiLaurentises’ old curb was going strong, too, full of candles, flowers, stuffed bears, and old photos of Ali as a kid.
If only people really knew, Spencer thought. The girl in those old photos was still alive. It was so hard to believe.
Melissa was eyeing the Ali shrine, too. “Has Courtney seen that?” she asked.
Spencer’s stomach swooped. It was strange to hear the name Courtney now that she knew the truth. “I don’t know.”
At the end of the street, Mrs. Sullivan, who lived on the corner, was out walking her two Shetland sheepdogs. Melissa turned out of their neighborhood, and they drove in silence for a few minutes, sweeping past Johnson Farm, which sold organic butter and veggies, and then the big township park. A couple of people were jogging, their heads down and braced against the wind.
Melissa pushed her aviators to the top of her head and glanced at Spencer out of the corner of her eye. “Have you hung out with Courtney at all?”
“Uh-huh,” Spencer answered, pulling the sleeves of her coat over her bare hands.
Melissa tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
They paused at a stop sign. A squirrel darted across the road, its bushy tail high in the air. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Spencer asked.
Melissa tapped her left foot on the floor. “You don’t know much about her. When Jason told me about her, he said she was really unstable.”
Then she hit the gas again, jolting across the intersection. Spencer wished she could tell Melissa exactly what she didn’t know—that the unstable sister was dead. “You’ve never even spoken to her,” she said instead.
Melissa’s voice hardened. “I just think you should be careful with her. Don’t jump into a friendship too fast.”