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“Thank you so much,” Courtney said now, in a gracious tone. “This is all so nice of you.” She raised a modern-day Polaroid camera to her eyes and took a picture of her mother. “Say cheese!”
“Cheese!” Mrs. DiLaurentis said, smiling. The camera made a whirr sound, and a photo spit out. At first, Ali had thought it was her Polaroid camera, but Mrs. DiLaurentis had quickly said that Courtney had noticed Ali’s in the kitchen and had seemed interested in it, so they’d gotten her one today, too.
Ali cleared her throat. “Funny you’re interested in photography, Courtney. That’s my favorite hobby, too.”
Courtney blinked innocently. “Don’t worry, sis. I’m not going to pretend I’m you.”
She tilted her chin down and winked. Ali curled her toes inside her shoes. What if that was exactly what her sister had planned?
Mrs. DiLaurentis took a square of lasagna. “Lots of people can like photography, girls.”
Courtney smiled bashfully, then reached for the Parmesan, which was in a little silver bowl Ali had never seen—usually, they just used the shaker.
“Oh, I’ll do that for you,” Mr. DiLaurentis said, spooning a bit of cheese onto Courtney’s lasagna. As if she was an invalid and couldn’t do it herself.
“So we had a very nice chat with the doctors today,” Mrs. DiLaurentis said between bites, staring at Ali as she spoke. “Courtney was a model patient this past year at the Preserve. She made a lot of friends, really participated in the group programs, did great at her studies. . . .” She clapped a hand on Courtney’s shoulder.
“They even let you play on an intramural field hockey team that met close by, didn’t they, honey?” Mr. DiLaurentis piped up, smiling at his daughter.
Ali sat up straighter. “You left the grounds for whole practices?”
Courtney offered her a grin that probably looked genuine to everyone else but to Ali looked absolutely sinister. “Yes. Isn’t that great?”
“Did you go anywhere else?” Ali blurted.
Her sister lowered her chin. “Why? Did you think you saw me somewhere?”
Ali flinched. So her fears weren’t unfounded. Her sister had been watching.
But then Courtney sniffed and gave her parents a reassuring head-shake. “Please. The supervisors were on my butt the whole time. I played intramurals, went to a local ice cream parlor a couple of times, and that’s it.”
“But you don’t like ice cream,” Ali pointed out, hoping to catch her sister in a lie.
Courtney speared a piece of zucchini with her fork. “You don’t know everything about me.”
There was a long pause. It felt like the temperature in the room had dropped about twenty degrees. Jason reached for more bread, chewing obliviously. Mr. DiLaurentis sipped his wine.
“Ali?” Mrs. DiLaurentis’s voice broke the silence. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Ali stared down at the lasagna, then felt her sister’s gaze on her, as sizzling as a heat lamp. The last thing she could think of was eating right now, but if she didn’t, her sister might sense just how anxious she was feeling. She cut a tiny square, her fingers shaking, and pushed it into her mouth. It tasted like sawdust. Courtney held up the camera again, pointing it to Ali as she might a barrel of a gun. Ali threw a hand in front of her face and turned away, but Courtney snapped a shot anyway.
Mrs. DiLaurentis wiped her mouth. “On the drive home, we all were talking. We were thinking that perhaps we would introduce Courtney to a few people around Rosewood, see how that goes.”
The bite Ali had just swallowed rose back up her throat. “Like who?”
“Well, the neighbors, for starters.” Mrs. DiLaurentis stabbed a tomato from the salad. “I mean, we can’t keep her cooped up like we did before—Courtney said that might have been part of the problem.”
“Definitely,” Courtney said, nodding emphatically.
“Letting her out is part of the problem,” Ali squeaked. She peeked at her sister. Courtney’s head was lowered, but she was trying to hide a smile.
“We were just thinking people on the block,” Mrs. DiLaurentis went on, ignoring her. “We think it would be a little much to bring Courtney to, say, graduation, but letting a few people know might not be a bad thing.”
“So you’re going to tell the Hastingses?” Ali practically shrieked. There was no way Spencer could know about this. Absolutely. No. Way.
“Well, naturally.” Mrs. DiLaurentis dabbed at her mouth with her cloth napkin. “But we thought you might like to tell Spencer yourself, Ali. Maybe at your sleepover.” She turned to Courtney. “Your sister is having an end-of-seventh-grade sleepover with her friends on Thursday night.”
Ali gaped at her family. They were all smiling at her like they’d been brainwashed. “Telling Spencer at the sleepover means, basically, that I’m telling all my friends. And personally, I don’t want to tell any of them. Courtney isn’t really a family member I’m proud of having.”
“Alison!” Mr. DiLaurentis lowered his fork. “Your sister is sitting right here.”
All eyes darted to Courtney, who was hiding yet another smile. She straightened up and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s okay, really. I was ready for some . . . animosity. Honest. I can’t imagine what this is like for Ali to have me back.” Her voice cracked, and she turned to Ali and gave her a big, doe-eyed, starving-puppy stare. “I know it’s going to take some time to heal, but I really, really hope we can. You know, I used to be really angry, but now I understand that that anger came from jealousy. You were totally right for wanting me in the hospital, Ali. You saved my life.”
