“No,” Spencer said quickly, staring at her white J. Crew flip-flops.
“You ran out of the barn?” Emily tugged on one of her blondish-red ponytails. “I don’t remember that.”
“It was right after Spencer told Ali to leave,” Aria informed them, a tinge of irritation in her voice.
“I didn’t think she was going to,” Spencer mumbled, plucking a rogue, bright yellow dandelion that had sprouted beneath the willow.
Hanna and Emily picked at their cuticles. The wind shifted, and the sweet smell of lilac and honeysuckle filled the air. The last thing they remembered was Ali’s weird hypnosis: She counted down from one hundred, touched their foreheads with her thumb, and announced that they were in her power. What seemed like hours later, they’d awakened from a deep, disorienting sleep and Ali was gone.
Emily pulled her T-shirt collar over her nose, something she did when she was worried. Her shirt smelled faintly of All-Temperature Cheer and deodorant. “So what do we say to Ali’s mom?”
“We cover,” Hanna said matter-of-factly. “We say Ali’s with her field hockey friends.”
Aria tipped up her head, absently following the path of an airplane high in the cloudless blue sky. “I guess.” But deep down, she didn’t want to cover for Ali. The night before, Ali dropped some obvious hints about Aria’s dad’s horrible secret. Did she really deserve Aria’s help now?
Emily’s eyes followed a bumblebee as it meandered from flower to flower in Spencer’s front garden. She didn’t want to cover for Ali either. More than likely Ali was with her older field hockey friends—worldly, intimidating girls who smoked Marlboros out the windows of their Range Rovers and attended house parties with kegs. Was Emily terrible for wishing that Ali would get in trouble for running off with them? Was she a bad friend for wanting Ali all to herself?
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.”