There was some talk of arresting the DiLaurentis family as accessories to Ali’s crimes, but Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis and even Jason had fled the area without a trace. Hanna took another sip of her coffee, letting the hot liquid wash over her tongue. Had they suspected all along that one sister had killed the other? Was that why they’d quickly whisked her back to the mental hospital after the girl everyone thought was Ali went missing? Or had Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis vanished simply out of shame and horror that their beautiful, perfect daughter had done such barbaric things?
As for Hanna and the others, the Ali aftermath had been insane. Reporters banged on their doors at all hours of the night. The girls traveled to New York for an interview on the Today show and did a photo shoot in People. They attended a society-studded gala concert sponsored by the Philadelphia Orchestra to raise money for Jenna’s Seeing Eye Dogs Fund and a new scholarship set up in Ian Thomas’s name. But things had just begun to calm down, and life had almost returned to semi-normal.
Hanna tried not to think about what had happened with Ali, but that was like asking her to go a whole day not counting calories—pointless. All this time, Hanna had thought Ali had chosen her because she’d seen some special spark in Hanna that simply needed to be nurtured and encouraged. But she’d befriended her for the exact opposite reasons. Hanna had been unspecial. A joke. A ploy for revenge. The only saving grace was that Ali had done this to all of them, not only her. And now that Hanna knew both sisters were crazy, would she really have wanted to be singled out by either of them?
Aria tipped back her coffee cup so far that Hanna could see the recycled paper mark on the bottom. “So when are the movers coming?”
Hanna straightened up. “Tomorrow.”
“You must be thrilled.” Spencer tied her hair back in a loose ponytail.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
That was the other big news: A few days after Ali nearly killed them, Hanna had received a call while she was lounging in bed watching Oprah. “I’m at the Philadelphia airport,” her mother barked on the other end. “I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“What?” Hanna squawked, startling Dot from his Burberry doggie bed. “Why?”
Ms. Marin had asked for a transfer back to the ad agency’s Philadelphia office. “Ever since you called me about those fashion show tickets, I’ve been worried about you,” she explained. “So I spoke to your father. Why didn’t you tell me he sent you to a mental hospital, Hanna?”
Hanna hadn’t known how to answer—it wasn’t exactly something she could’ve written in an e-mail or on the back of a Greetings from Rosewood! postcard. And anyway, she’d figured her mom already knew. Didn’t they get People in Singapore?
“It’s absolutely deplorable!” Ms. Marin ranted. “What was he thinking? Or maybe he wasn’t thinking at all. All he cares about is that woman and her daughter.”
Hanna sniffed and there was static on the line. Ms. Marin said, “I’m moving back in, but things need to change between us. No more relaxed rules. No more me looking the other way. You need to have a curfew and boundaries, and we need to talk about things. Like if someone tries to institutionalize you. Or if a crazy friend tries to kill you. Okay?”
A lump formed in Hanna’s throat. “Okay.” For once in her life, her mom had said exactly what Hanna needed her to say.
Everything after that happened so fast. There were arguments, bartering, and crying—on Kate’s and Isabel’s parts—but Hanna’s mom was firm. She was staying, Hanna was staying, and Tom, Isabel, and Kate had to go. The house-hunting started that weekend, but apparently Kate went total diva and thumbs-downed every property they looked at. Because the process was taking so long, they were going to have to move into a townhouse in East Hollis, the most hippie-ish, unkempt district of Rosewood while they continued to look.
A flash of blond hair caught Hanna’s eye across the café. Naomi, Riley, and Kate strutted in, settled into one of the tables nearest the door, and gave Hanna a nasty smirk. Loser, Naomi mouthed. Bitch, Riley seconded.
Not that Hanna really cared. More than a month had passed since Hanna lost her queen bee status, and all the things she’d most feared hadn’t happened. She hadn’t spontaneously gained back the weight she’d lost. She hadn’t sprouted volcanic zits. She hadn’t woken up to find her teeth were snaggled and crooked. In fact, she’d lost a couple pounds, not having to binge fretfully whenever some other girl stole away a bit of her power. Her skin glowed, and her hair shone. Guys from other prep schools still ogled her at Rive Gauche, and Sasha at Otter still held clothes for her. Cheesy as it was, Hanna had begun to wonder if it wasn’t popularity that made her truly beautiful but something much deeper. Maybe she really was fabulous Hanna Marin, after all.
The end-of-the-day bell rang, and everyone emerged from the classrooms. Hanna’s stomach clenched as she noticed a tall, black-haired boy walking by himself toward the art wing. Mike.
She rolled her half-empty coffee cup between her hands, stood, and started across the café.
“Going to see the school counselor, Psycho?” Kate teased as she passed.
Mike watched Hanna as she approached. His black hair was mussed, and there was a cute, uncertain smile on his face. Before he could say a word, Hanna marched right up to him and kissed him on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around him, and Mike quickly did the same. Someone hooted.
Hanna and Mike broke apart, breathing hard. Mike looked into her eyes. “Uh…hi!”
“Hi, yourself,” Hanna whispered.
The day Hanna returned to Rosewood from the Poconos, she’d driven straight to the Montgomery home and begged Mike to take her back. Thankfully, Mike forgave Hanna for dumping him—although he’d added, “You have to make it up to me. I think I deserve a couple of stripteases, right?”
She leaned in to kiss Mike again when his cell phone bleated in his pocket. “Hold that thought,” he said, putting the phone to his ear without saying hello. “Okay,” he said a couple of times. When he hung up, his face was pale.
“What is it?” Hanna asked.
Mike glanced across the café to Aria. “That was Dad,” he called to her. “Meredith’s in labor.”
33
ARIA MONTGOMERY, TYPICAL ROSEWOOD KOOK
Aria had begged her old friends to come with her to Rosewood Memorial Hospital, and now the four of them and Mike sat in the waiting room outside Labor and Delivery. An hour had passed since they’d heard anything, and they’d read the waiting room’s entire stash of Glamour, Vogue, Car & Driver, and Good Housekeeping, and had downloaded about a hundred iPhone apps. Byron was holed up in the delivery room, doing his I’m-going-to-be-a-father-again thing. It was beyond bizarre to see her dad so gung-ho about the birthing. Apparently, when both Aria and Mike were born, Byron had fainted at the first sight of blood and had to spend the rest of the evening in the ER getting IV fluids to keep his blood pressure up.
Aria stared across the room at a nondescript painting of a desert vista and sighed.
“You okay?” Emily asked.
“Yeah,” Aria answered. “Except I think my butt’s asleep.”
Emily gave Aria a concerned look. But Aria was pretty sure she was okay about all of this, unconventional as it was. The day after Ali had tried to kill them, Aria had gotten a call on her cell phone from her mom. Ella was in tears, devastated that something awful had almost happened to Aria.
Aria had admitted why she’d stayed away, that she’d wanted to give Ella a chance to be happy with Xavier. Ella had breathed out and cried, “That scumbag! Aria, you should have told me immediately.”
Ella promptly broke up with Xavier and things between Aria and her mother slowly returned to normal. Now Aria was back to spending half her time at Ella’s, half her time at Byron and Meredith’s. She and Ella had even talked a little about the impending new baby. Although Ella seemed a little sad about it, she also said it was the way life went. “Most things don’t work out the way you want them to,” she said. Aria knew that all too well. Practically the only thing she’d learned from the Ali experience was that some things were too good to be true.
Including Ali herself.
Byron pushed through the waiting room door. He wore blue scrubs, a face mask, and one of those weird anti-germ shower caps. “It’s a girl,” he said breathlessly.
Everyone jumped up. “Can we see her?” Aria asked, slinging her yak-fur bag over her shoulder.
Byron nodded and led them down the quiet hallway until they came to a room with a big window. Meredith sat propped up in bed. Her hair was matted to her head, but her skin glowed. In her arms was a tiny pink bundle.
Aria stepped inside and gazed at the little creature. The girl’s eyes were little slits, her nose was nothing more than a button, and she wore a preppy-looking pink cap on her head. Ugh. Aria would definitely have to knit her something cooler.
“Do you want to hold your sister?” Meredith asked.
Sister.
Aria approached tentatively. Meredith smiled and placed the newborn in Aria’s arms. She felt warm and smelled of powder. “She’s beautiful,” Aria whispered. Behind her, Hanna sighed with pleasure. Spencer and Emily made cooing noises. Mike looked flabbergasted.
“What are you going to name her?” Aria asked.
“We haven’t decided.” Meredith pursed her lips bashfully. “We thought you might like to help us choose.”
“Really?” Aria breathed, touched. Meredith nodded.
A nurse knocked on the door. “How are we all doing?” Aria gave the baby to the nurse, who pressed a stethoscope to her tiny chest.
“We should go,” Spencer said, giving Aria a hug. Hanna and Emily piled on, too. They used to do mass hugs like this back in sixth and seventh grades, especially after something huge had happened. Of course, there used to be a fifth girl in the mass hugs, but Aria decided not to dwell on Ali. She didn’t want her to ruin the moment.
After her friends disappeared through the double doors—Mike hand-in-hand with Hanna—Aria returned to the waiting room and slumped down on the couch nearest the TV. Predictably, the news was droning on about how Ali’s body still hadn’t been found in the wreckage in the Poconos. A reporter was interviewing a leather-faced woman in Kansas who’d started a Facebook group claiming that Ali was still alive. “Don’t you people think it’s strange you haven’t found even one of her teeth or bones in that fire?” the woman cackled, her eyes round and crazed. “Alison is alive. Mark my words.”
Aria stabbed at the remote to change the channel. There was no way Ali was still out there. She’d gone down with that house and that was that.
“Aria?” said a voice.
Aria looked up. “Oh,” she said weakly, rising to her feet. Her heart started to thump. “H-hi.”
Noel Kahn stood in the doorway, wearing a beat-up black T-shirt and effortlessly fitting jeans. Aria could smell his skin from across the room, a blend of soap and spices. They’d barely spoken since the Valentine’s Day dance, and Aria had figured things with him were ruined for good.
