Finally.

The aroma of coffee brewing in the kitchen wafted into her nostrils. When she looked over the railing, her family was already awake. Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis sat at the kitchen table, staring blearily at each other. Jason paced the hall, looking worried.

Just one family member was missing, though Ali certainly wouldn’t miss her.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her eyes had always been bluer than her sister’s, the cheekbones in her heart-shaped face more pronounced. She was the more beautiful twin, the rightful queen bee of Rosewood Day. Now it was time to reclaim her throne from that bitch. Just thinking of her, just picturing her face, still filled Ali with rage. How dare she go outside in sixth grade and pretend she was someone she wasn’t. How dare she show up at the Preserve during those visits and pick at her perfect manicure or text with her friends while their parents tried to make conversation. That bitch deserved everything she got. And now Ali would never have to worry about her again.

She walked downstairs, her head held high. But when she entered the kitchen, her family looked up and paled as if they’d seen a ghost. Mrs. DiLaurentis stepped forward and touched her arm. “I think you should go back upstairs, Courtney.”

Ali stopped short. “I already told you. I’m not Courtney. I’m Ali.”

Her parents exchanged a worried glance. A thin ribbon of fear began to niggle its way into Ali’s brain. She knew that look. It is happening again.

And now their other daughter was missing.

Last night, when she’d come home, Ali hadn’t expected her father to be awake—or for her mother to be home—but she still thought she’d pulled it off okay. They’d both caught her as she was sneaking up the stairs and yelled out her name—her real name.

“Hey, Mom, hey, Dad,” she’d said breezily, staying in the shadows so they couldn’t see her disheveled hair or the bruise on her cheek. “The sleepover was a bust. We kind of got into a fight. I’m off to bed.”

She made it to her old bedroom and shut the door. Once inside, she’d scrubbed at her hands and brushed her hair. Her brain had whirled, trying to come up with what she and her friends had been fighting about. It had looked like her sister was trying to hypnotize them or something, right? But Spencer wasn’t into it. And then her sister and Spencer got into that stupid fight about Ian Thomas outside the barn—Ali heard everything.

Then a knock had sounded on her door.

She’d jumped up and offered her parents, who were standing nervously in the hall, a twitchy smile. Their gazes zipped to Ali’s pointer finger, which, of course, was missing its initial ring. Then they looked at her wrist. It was naked; no Jenna Thing string bracelet. Crap.

“Courtney?” Mrs. DiLaurentis asked tentatively. “Honey, were you outside?”

“I’m not Courtney,” Ali said, frowning. “I’m Ali. See? This is why I didn’t want you to bring her home. It’s so confusing.”

She tried to shut the door, but Mr. DiLaurentis stuck his hand on the jamb before she could. “This isn’t your room, Courtney,” he said with authority.

And you aren’t my dad, Ali wanted to snap. “Yes, it is,” she said instead, and then glowered at him. “And please don’t call me Courtney. It’s insulting.”

Mrs. DiLaurentis looked confused. “Were you trying to hang out with your sister and her friends? Did you go into Spencer’s barn?”

Ali shrugged. “Yeah, I was in Spencer’s barn—I’m Ali. But the sleepover sucked. We had a fight, and we all went home. I already told you.”

Mrs. DiLaurentis blinked hard. “So no one’s in the barn anymore?”

“Yeah. They went home.”

Looking like she didn’t quite believe her, Mrs. DiLaurentis walked swiftly to the window in the bathroom, which offered a view of the backyards. Ali already knew the barn’s windows were dark. Seconds later, her mom wheeled back into Ali’s room. “Where’s your sister?”

“Courtney?” Ali stared at her innocently. “I have no idea. She’s not in her room?”

Mrs. DiLaurentis poked her head into the dark guest room, then shook her head.

Ali widened her eyes. “She got out? You weren’t watching her? It’s the only thing I asked you to do!” She made her voice rise and fall, the same way her sister had when she’d freaked out to her mother when she’d found out that Ali had met her friends.

Frazzled, Mrs. DiLaurentis ran her hands through her hair. “We’ll get it sorted out.” She touched her daughter’s arm. “Good night . . . Ali.” The name sounded awkward coming out of her mouth, like she’d never used it in her life.

“Good night,” Ali had said, grabbing pajamas from the top drawer. Her sister liked Pink boxers from Victoria’s Secret—so lame. But she’d dutifully pulled them on, feeling a rush of triumph. Her parents might have been a little confused at first, but they had bought it in the end. She was sleeping in her old room. Yes.

But this morning, with her parents staring at her and calling her Courtney, doubt crept into her mind. Maybe her panic had seemed too staged. Maybe she’d grabbed a pair of pajamas that her sister would have never chosen. Maybe they were hung up on that missing A ring. And she had heard them downstairs until all hours of the night, pacing, murmuring into the phone, opening the front door and shutting it again. She’d heard them moving around at midnight, and then two, and then four, and then five thirty. They might not have slept at all.

“Go upstairs, okay?” Mrs. DiLaurentis’s patience was wearing thin. “Spencer and the other girls are coming over soon. I’d like to ask them questions without explaining anything.”

Ali made her breathing quicken like she was afraid. “So Courtney did take off? See? This is why I didn’t want her back! She’s totally mental, Mom. That’s why you locked her up. Who knows what she’s going to do now! What if she tries to hurt me?”

Mrs. DiLaurentis gave her husband a plaintive glance. Mr. DiLaurentis just looked at her helplessly. She turned back to Ali. “Just go upstairs until we figure all this out.”

Sighing dramatically, Ali thumped up the stairs, trying to hold it together. Once in her old bedroom, though, she sank to her knees, her mind thrumming. Why wasn’t this working? Why didn’t they believe her? She needed an airtight alibi. If those girls were coming over, they were probably going to ask where she’d gone last night, and when. There were probably twenty minutes that were unaccounted for—her parents would ask where she was. Talking on the phone, she could say. Walking around, blowing off steam.

But they were supposed to just believe her. They weren’t supposed to shoo her away or question those girls without her around.

The doorbell rang. The door squeaked open, and the sounds of Mrs. DiLaurentis’s and the girls’ voices rang through the foyer. There were footsteps, and then the scrape of the chairs being pulled back for everyone to sit. Ali crept out of her room and slipped to the bottom of the stairs. All four girls sat around the table, staring at their hands. All of them were quiet, as though they were hiding something. Emily picked at her cuticles. Spencer drummed her fingers on the table. Aria inspected a pineapple-shaped napkin holder, and Hanna chewed voraciously on a piece of gum.

“Alison hasn’t come home,” Mrs. DiLaurentis said.

The girls all looked up, shocked. Ali clapped a hand over her mouth by the stairs. How was this happening?

“Now, I don’t know if you girls had a fight or what, but did she give you any hints as to where she might have gone?” Mrs. DiLaurentis continued.

Hanna twisted a piece of hair around her ear. “I think she’s with her field hockey friends.”

Mrs. DiLaurentis shook her head. “She’s not. I’ve already called them.” She cleared her throat. “Has Ali ever talked about someone teasing her?”

The girls glanced at one another, then looked away. “No one would do that,” Emily said. “Everyone loves Ali.”

“Did she ever seem sad?” Mrs. DiLaurentis pressed.

Spencer wrinkled her nose. “Like depressed? No.” But then a troubled look came across her face. She stared blankly out the window.

“You wouldn’t know where her diary is, would you?” Mrs. DiLaurentis asked. “I’ve looked everywhere for it, but I can’t find it.”

“I know what her diary looks like,” Hanna offered. “Do you want us to go upstairs and search?”

Alison scampered halfway up the stairs, picturing the diary in her mind’s eye. She knew where it was—somewhere very, very safe. But she wasn’t telling.

“No, no, that’s all right,” Mrs. DiLaurentis answered.

“Really.” Hanna scraped back her chair. There were footsteps in the hall. “It’s no trouble.”

“Hanna,” Ali’s mom barked, her voice suddenly razor-sharp. “I said no.”

There was a pause. Ali wished she could see the looks on everyone’s faces, but her view was obstructed. “Okay,” Hanna said quietly. “Sorry.”

After a while, the girls filed out. Mrs. DiLaurentis shut the door behind them and stood for a moment in the hall, just staring. Ali crouched behind the wall on the second floor, barely breathing. She had to think—and fast. She needed to convince everyone she was the real Ali.

She ran to her old bedroom window and watched her sister’s friends as they stood in a circle in the yard. They looked worried, maybe even guilty—especially Spencer. Emily burst into tears. Hanna gnawed nervously on a handful of Cheez-It’s. It seemed like they were arguing, but Ali couldn’t really tell. Should she go outside and talk to them? Maybe she could tell the truth—that there were twins, that the other girl was a crazy Ali impersonator, that she’d gotten out last night but her parents were confused and thought the girls had switched places. She needed those stupid bitches to convince the world, just as her sister had used them a year and a half before.

She started down the stairs, but suddenly there was a deafening grumble from the backyard. It was the bulldozer. It barreled toward the hole, its huge tires ripping up the grass.

“Just what we need right now,” Mrs. DiLaurentis groaned. “That thing is so loud I can hardly hear myself think.”

“Do you want me to tell them to stop?” Mr. DiLaurentis asked.

The words rippled through Ali. A horrible thought gonged in her brain. Her parents could not go out there. What if they saw her sister at the bottom of the hole? She’d piled a lot of dirt on her, but it had been dark out—maybe she hadn’t been thorough enough.

She sprinted to the window in the bathroom and looked out. Men stood around the hole, positioning a chute that connected from the cement truck to a spot just inside. No one looked down the hole. There were no shouts of terror or backward steps of surprise. Ali thought again of the handfuls of dirt she’d thrown on the body, then about the person who’d helped her. She was glad her accomplice had shown up, just as she’d asked. For a few weeks there, she wasn’t sure if it was going to happen.