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Most likely, A had just taken out a map of the U.S. and blindly picked any old place to ship Emily off to, eager to get her out of Rosewood. And Emily had fallen for it. Emily had tried to turn her phone back on this morning to see if A had written her again, but the battery had died. Her return bus ticket was for Friday afternoon, but she was considering leaving early. What was the point in staying here if she wasn’t going to find any answers?
But a big part of Emily didn’t want to believe that A was truly evil. A had given them all kinds of clues—maybe they’d just put the puzzle together incorrectly. What else had A told them that pointed to where Ali might be now . . . or where she’d been all along? As Emily stood on the porch, the chilly wind sneaking down her collar, she saw a dark-haired girl carrying a bucket of water into a barn across the field. From this distance, the girl looked a lot like Jenna Cavanaugh.
Jenna. Could she be the answer? A had sent Emily an old photo of Jenna, Ali, and the back of an anonymous blond girl—probably Naomi Zeigler—standing in Ali’s yard. One of these things doesn’t belong, said A’s accompanying note. Figure it out quickly ... or else.
A had also tipped off Emily that Jenna and Jason DiLaurentis were arguing at Jenna’s window. Emily had seen the fight with her own eyes, though she had no idea what it could’ve been about. Why would A show her these things? Why would A say that Jenna didn’t belong? Was A simply pointing out that Jenna and Ali were closer than everyone thought? Jenna and Ali had co-conspired in getting rid of Toby for good; perhaps Ali had confided in Jenna that she’d planned to run away. Perhaps Jenna had even helped her.
Emily and Lucy walked down the front steps and across the field to Mary’s parents’ house. A buggy was parked in the gravel lot, and there were an old-fashioned seesaw and tire swing near the front porch, crusted over with snow. Before they started up the porch, Lucy gave Emily a sidelong glance. “Thanks for everything, by the way. You’ve been a huge help.”
“No problem,” Emily said.
Lucy leaned against the porch railing, looking like she wasn’t finished. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and her eyes looked even greener in the dying, slanted light. “Why are you really here?”
Emily’s heart shot to her throat. There was a clattering sound from inside the house. “W-what do you mean?” she stammered. Had Lucy found her out?
“I’ve been trying to figure it out. What did you do?”
“Do?”
“You were obviously sent here because we’re a more traditional community.” Lucy smoothed her long wool coat under her butt and sat down on the wooden porch steps. “This is to get back on a virtuous path again, right? I’m guessing something happened to you. If you need to unburden yourself, you can tell me. I won’t say anything.”
Despite the air being bitingly cold, Emily’s palms began to sweat. Isaac’s bedroom appeared in her mind. She winced at the thought of them naked under Isaac’s covers, giggling. It seemed like so, so long ago, almost like it happened to a different person. All her life, she’d figured her first time having sex would be special and meaningful, something she’d treasure for the rest of her life. Instead, it had been an awful mistake.
“It was this thing with a guy,” she admitted.
“I thought it might be something like that.” Lucy picked at a splintered plank on the steps. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Emily watched Lucy’s face. She seemed genuinely sincere, not prying or judgmental. She sank down on the porch next to her. “I thought we were in love. It was so great at first. But then . . .”
“What happened?” Lucy asked.
“It just didn’t work.” Tears came to Emily’s eyes. “He didn’t really know me at all. I didn’t know him, either.”
“Did your parents disapprove?” Lucy goaded, blinking her long lashes.
Emily sniffed sarcastically. “No, actually, his parents didn’t approve.” She didn’t even have to lie about that part.
Lucy bit one of her small, crescent-shaped fingernails. The door to the house opened, and an older, stern-faced woman stuck her head out, scowled at them, and then disappeared back into the house. A lemony smell of cleaning solution wafted out. Inside, the women were chattering in Pennsylvania Dutch, which sounded a lot like German.
“I’m kind of in a situation like that too,” Lucy whispered.
Emily cocked her head, intrigued. Something crystallized in her mind. “Is it the guy I saw running out of your house the other day?”
Lucy slid her gaze to the right. Two older Amish women walked up the steps and into the house, smiling politely at the two of them. After they passed, Emily touched Lucy’s arm. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”
“He lives in Hershey,” Lucy said in almost a whisper. “I met him when I was buying fabric for my mom. My parents would kill me if they knew I was still talking to him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s English,” Lucy said in an uh-duh voice. English was the Amish term for regular, modern-living people. “And anyway, they already lost one daughter. They can’t lose me, too.”
Emily watched Lucy’s face, trying to figure out what she meant. Lucy’s eyes were fixed on the iced-over pond across the street. A couple of ducks were nestled at the bank, quacking irritably. When she turned back to Emily, her lips were trembling. “You asked me yesterday where my sister Leah was. She went away during rumspringa.”
