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“That’s not what I’m doing!” Emily pleaded.
Isaac shoved open the passenger door and stepped out. Icy air swirled in, harsh against her bare skin. “What are you doing?” Emily demanded.
He leaned over the open door, his mouth small and solemn. “I should go home.”
“No!” Emily cried. She lurched out her own door and followed him across the parking lot. “Come on!”
Isaac was walking toward the little wooded path that led from the Wawa lot to the street. He glanced over his shoulder. “This is my mom you’re talking about. Think about what you’re saying. Think really hard.”
“I have thought about it!” Emily shouted. But Isaac kept going, not answering. She came to a stop in front of the store, going limp. Above her, the neon Wawa sign buzzed fiercely. There was a line of kids at the counter buying coffees and sodas and candy. She waited for Isaac to turn back, but he didn’t. Finally, she walked back to her car and got in. The inside of the Volvo smelled like the Colberts’ detergent. The passenger seat was still warm from Isaac’s butt. For at least ten minutes, she stared numbly at the Dumpster, not knowing what to make of what had happened.
A little chime went off inside her backpack. Emily swiveled around, reaching for her phone. Maybe it was Isaac, writing to apologize. And maybe she should apologize too. He and his mom were close, and she certainly didn’t want to hate his family. Maybe she should’ve found another way to break the news instead of blindsiding him with it.
Emily opened the new text, swallowing a sniffle. It wasn’t from Isaac.
Too distracted to decipher my clues? Go to your first love’s old house and maybe it’ll all make sense.—A
Emily glowered at the screen. She’d had it with these vague clues. What did A want?
She slowly pulled out of the Wawa parking lot, braking to let a Jeep full of high school boys cut in front of her. Go to your first love’s old house. A obviously meant Ali. She’d take the bait; Ali’s old neighborhood was only a few blocks away. What else did she have to do right now? It wasn’t like she could bang on Isaac’s door, begging for him to come back.
She turned onto a quiet road with acres of rolling farmland, tears still stinging her eyes. The stop sign to Ali’s street came up fast. There was a WATCH CHILDREN sign at the entrance to the neighborhood. Years ago on a warm, sticky summer night, Ali and Emily had decorated the sign with smiley-face stickers they’d bought at a party store. They were all gone now.
Ali’s old house loomed at the end of the street, the Ali shrine a dark, shadowy lump at the curb. Maya’s family lived in the house now. A few of the lights were on, including the one in Ali’s old bedroom—Maya’s new bedroom. As Emily stared up at it, Maya appeared, almost as though she’d known Emily was going to be there. Emily gasped, shrank away from the window, gripped the steering wheel, and peeled around the cul-de-sac. Once she was in front of Spencer’s driveway, she pulled over, too overcome to go on.
Then she saw a flicker of something to her right. Someone in a white T-shirt was standing in the front window of the Cavanaughs’ house.
Emily turned off the headlights. Whoever was in the window was tall and somewhat broad, probably a guy. His face was obscured by a large, square-shaped floor lamp. Suddenly, Jenna appeared next to him. Emily sucked in her breath. Jenna’s dark hair cascaded down her shoulders. She wore a black T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. Her dog sat next to her, scratching his neck with his hind leg.
Jenna turned and spoke to the guy. She spoke for a long time, and then he said something back. Jenna nodded, listening. The guy waved his arms, as if Jenna could see his gestures. His face was still hidden. Jenna’s posture got defensive. The guy spoke again, and Jenna lowered her head, as if ashamed. She brushed a few strands of hair away from her big Gucci sunglasses. She said something else, her face contorted with an expression Emily couldn’t rightly determine. Sorrow? Worry? Fear? Then Jenna walked away, her dog following.
The guy rubbed his hands through his hair, obviously flustered. Then the living room lamp snapped off. Emily leaned forward, squinting hard, but she couldn’t see anything. She looked around at Jenna’s yard. There were still wood blocks fastened to the tree trunk, makeshift steps to get into Toby’s old tree house. Mr. Cavanaugh had taken the tree house down shortly after the firework blinded Jenna. It was amazing that after all this time, the Cavanaughs still blamed Toby for blinding his sister. In truth, it had been Ali who had done it. And it had been Jenna who had wanted to set up the prank to get rid of Toby for good.
The Cavanaughs’ front door opened, and Emily ducked again. The guy from the living room stomped down the front steps to the dark front path. When the motion-sensor light above the garage doors snapped on, he froze, startled. Emily saw him head-on, flooded with light. He wore running sneakers and a heavy down parka. Both hands were curled into tight, angry fists. When Emily’s eyes got to his face, her stomach dropped to the bottom of her boots. He was glaring right at her. She instantly realized who it was. “Oh my God,” she whispered. That shaggy blond hair, those bow-shaped lips, those stark blue eyes, still locked with hers.
It was Jason DiLaurentis.
Emily shifted into drive and gunned down the street. Only at the corner did she turn her lights on again. And then she heard her cell phone beep. She rifled through her purse, grabbed it, and looked at the screen. One new text message.
What do you think HE’S so angry about?—A
22
NOTHING LIKE AN ULTIMATUM TO KICK OFF THE WEEKEND
