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Mrs. Fields cut the cake and served everyone a slice. Thankfully, the adults engaged in their own conversation, leaving Emily and Chloe alone. Emily caught Chloe’s eye. “I need to talk to you.”
Chloe turned away, pretending she didn’t hear her. But Emily couldn’t let Chloe go on believing something that wasn’t true. She grabbed Chloe’s arm and dragged her into the kitchen. Chloe went willingly, but she leaned against the island, crossed her arms over her chest, and pretended to be fascinated by the chicken cookie jar that sat on the counter. She wouldn’t look Emily in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” Emily whispered. “You have to believe me when I tell you I had no idea that was going to happen with your dad. And I didn’t want it to happen.”
“Yeah, right,” Chloe hissed, her head still turned toward the cookie jar. “Were you ever really my friend? Or were you just using me to ensure you got the scholarship?”
Emily’s mouth fell open. “Of course not! I would never do anything like that!”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “I heard my dad in that room by the pool, you know. He said you were acting like you wanted it on Thursday night. When I went to bed, drunk, did something happen between you guys?”
Emily turned away, biting her bottom lip hard. “He was the one who kissed me, I swear. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Chloe winced, then finally stared Emily in the face. “You knew about this for three whole days and didn’t say anything to me?”
Emily ducked her head. “I didn’t know how to—”
“We were supposed to be friends.” Chloe placed her hands on her hips. “Friends tell friends things like that. And why should I believe that you’re totally innocent, anyway? I barely know you. All I know, really, is that you had a baby this summer and—”
“Shhh!” Emily shrieked, clapping a hand over Chloe’s mouth.
Chloe wrenched away, knocking against one of the kitchen chairs, which was decorated with a chicken-printed cushion. “I should tell your parents. Ruin your life like you’ve ruined mine.”
“Please don’t,” Emily begged. “They’ll kick me out. It will absolutely shatter them.”
“So?”
Emily grabbed her hands. “I told you that secret because I felt I could trust you. I felt like we were really becoming friends. And . . . and I haven’t had a real friend in so, so long, not since last year. It’s been so lonely.” She wiped away a tear. “I hate myself for screwing up and not telling you. I just wanted to protect you. I just wanted you to be happy. I hoped it wouldn’t happen again. That it was all just a horrible mistake.”
Chloe jutted her chin to the left, saying nothing. Was that good or bad? Emily couldn’t tell.
“Please, please don’t tell anyone what I told you,” Emily whispered. “I certainly won’t tell anyone about your dad. I’ll wipe it out of my mind completely, I promise. I wish it had never happened.”
Chloe’s head remained turned for a long while. The chicken-shaped clock over the stove ticked loudly. The adults murmured in the other room. Finally, she looked at Emily with cold, tired eyes and sighed. “I won’t tell your secret if you leave my dad alone.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. “And of course I will.”
She moved toward Chloe for a hug, but Chloe pushed her away like Emily was a rude dog nosing for table food. “That doesn’t mean I want to be friends.”
“What?” Emily cried. “W-why?”
“I just can’t.” Chloe turned on her heel and walked toward the kitchen door. “Tell my parents I got a phone call and I’m in the car, okay?” she said over her shoulder. “No offense, but I don’t really want to do the ‘Yay, Emily’ cake thing right now.”
Emily watched as Chloe yanked on the kitchen door and then slammed it shut again. It felt like someone had just scooped out her heart and run it through a potato masher. Everything was ruined. Sure she had a scholarship, sure her future was set, but it felt like she’d won it at too great a cost.
Squeak.
Emily turned around, squinting in the blinding sunlight that poured through the windows. What was that? She scanned the cabinets and the floors, then noticed a thin sheet of paper at the foot of the door Chloe had just passed through. Her heart kicked in her chest. She ran to the window and stared outside, searching for whoever had put it there. Was that a shape disappearing through the trees? What was that movement in the cornfield?
She opened the back door, letting the cold air rush in. “Ali?” she screamed. “Ali!” But no one answered. “Chloe?” she called next, thinking Chloe might have seen something. But Chloe didn’t answer, either.
The adults laughed at something in the other room. Grace let out a happy cry. Trembling, Emily picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. Spiky handwriting blurred before her eyes.
She may not tell, but I can’t make the same promise—about
ANY of your secrets. Sorry! –A
Chapter 32
Ali, the cunning cat
“Um, excuse me?”
Hanna looked down from the elliptical trainer she was chugging away on and saw a petite girl with big doe eyes and a size 23 waist staring up at her. “There’s a thirty-minute limit on these machines,” the girl complained. “And, like, you’ve been on for sixty-three.”
“Too bad,” Hanna snapped back, wheeling faster. Let the gym police kick her off.
It was later that Saturday afternoon—the anniversary of Alison DiLaurentis’s death, all the news channels blared, not that Hanna could ever forget—and Hanna was at the Rosewood Country Club’s state-of-the-art gym. The room smelled like ylang-ylang candles, MTV appeared on every TV mounted over the machines, and a very hyper Zumba instructor was screaming so loudly in the fitness room that Hanna could hear her over the hip-hop music blaring on her iPod. She’d hoped the elliptical would exorcise the memories of Tabitha, Jamaica, the elevator incident, and especially A, but it wasn’t really working. She kept feeling Tabitha’s—Ali’s—hands on her shoulders, ready to push her off the roof. She kept hearing her friends’ screams. And then Aria had stepped in, and everything moved so fast . . .
