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The feeling made Ali hot and itchy, like she’d just been bitten by ants. Suddenly, she was hit with a thought. It was around this time when she’d made her discovery in the alley. Maybe there was something to discover there today, too. She suddenly wanted Aria to suffer as much as she was.
She looked up at Aria. “Did you say your dad got this offer?”
“Yep.” Aria smiled. “They are going to make him the head of the department. He’s thinking of doing his research on trolls. Crazy, huh?”
Ali sniffed. “Your dad isn’t going to leave Hollis.”
Aria squinted. “Why not?”
Ali rocked back and forth in her heels. She searched Aria’s expression for any sign of recognition, but Aria just stared at her with narrowed eyes. Shrugging, Ali whipped around and started out of the store. Aria followed as she sauntered down the sidewalk. “Where are you going?” she called. “Are you mad?”
“I’m not mad,” Ali said breezily. “I just needed some air. Walk with me.”
“I’m sorry, Ali.” Aria sounded defensive. “But I thought you’d be happy. It’s an amazing opportunity for my dad—for all of us.”
“Uh-huh,” Ali chirped. “I’m very happy for you, Aria. Your life is going to be truly perfect.” That’s what you think, she added in her head.
They passed the familiar Kinko’s, then the place at the curb where she and Jason had parked a few weeks back. When Ali turned down the alleyway that butted up to the art history building, lo and behold, there was the battered Subaru in its regular faculty-only parking spot. Yes.
Aria rounded the corner behind her. “Ali, why are we . . .” She trailed off, looking at her dad’s car. “Oh, hey! Let’s leave my dad a note.”
Aria reached into her bag, perhaps looking for a notepad and a pen, when something in the car caught her eye. Her brow furrowed when she saw her father’s head pop up over the seats. She was about to call out, but then the girl’s head appeared as well. Ali saw the exact moment Aria realized what was happening. Her purse dropped from her hand. She took a big step back, stumbling over a sewer grate. Byron Montgomery leaned toward the girl and kissed her on the mouth.
“Dad?” Aria blurted.
The figures in the car shot apart. Mr. Montgomery turned and looked at Aria, the color draining from his face. The girl, who was blond and pretty and most definitely a grad student, stared at Aria impassively, a whisper of a smile on her lips.
“Aria!” Mr. Montgomery said, kicking open his door.
Aria took another step back. She glanced at Ali, her eyes round. Her expression conveyed all kinds of questions. Did you see that? Is this happening? And maybe, just maybe, Did you know they were here? And then, before her father could reach her, she turned around and ran.
23
THE TANGLED WEB
That evening, Ali lay on her stomach on her bed, her diary splayed out before her. She had a lot to write; plenty had happened. These days, she was writing more about her friends’ lives and transgressions than she was writing about her own. It was kind of like writing a juicy novel but not having to work for any of the details, since all of them were there in her memory. She wrote a final sentence about Aria spying her philandering father in the car, then laid down her pen, picked up her cell phone, and composed a text to Aria herself.
How are you doing? she wrote. Wanna talk?
There was no response. Ali ran her tongue over her teeth. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Aria was supposed to break down to her, need her, and then Ali would confess what she was going through in turn. Instead, Aria was being so silent, almost like this was Ali’s fault.
Her phone beeped, and for a second, Ali thought Aria had written back. But the text was from Nick. Miss you.
Ali’s heart flipped over. Miss you back, she responded. Are you coming to the party?
Not sure if I can, Nick responded. I might have to work that night.
No! Ali replied. Try to get the night off!
A knock sounded on her door, startling her into dropping her phone to the carpet. Her mother stood in the doorway. “It’s so nice out,” she said softly. “Why don’t we sit on the deck?”
Ali scooped up her phone and met her mother’s gaze with a stony stare. “Are you asking me to sit on the deck, or telling me?”
Mrs. DiLaurentis looked tormented. “Please?”
Ali chewed on the inside of her lip as she followed her mother down to the huge wood deck at the back of the house. Her mother had set up a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses with several sprigs of mint propped on the lip, an old tradition from when the girls were small. At their old house, wild mint had grown in the side yard; Ali and Courtney used to love picking it and pressing it close to their noses to inhale the fresh scent. They drank their lemonades like sophisticated ladies, pretending they were cocktails. She smiled at the memory and then, seconds later, coughed to conceal a small whimper.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. DiLaurentis asked, pouring lemonade into her glass.
Ali shrugged and stared out at the lawn. It was immaculately green and manicured, thanks to weekly landscapers. Only the ugly hole at the back marred the pastoral scene. “Whatever.”
“Looking forward to your party?” Mrs. DiLaurentis asked.
“Uh-huh.” She took a sip of lemonade.
“Your dad set up the speakers on the deck. And the workers will be gone by then, but there’s going to be a big hole. Just make sure no one goes out there, okay? We don’t want anyone falling in.”
“Okay.” If she gave one-word answers, maybe her mom would leave her alone.
