Ruthless

She worried, suddenly, what on earth she’d just gotten herself into.



Chapter 15



WHAT YOU SEE ISN’T WHAT YOU GET



On Sunday morning, Emily did all her laundry, cleaned her bathroom, read a chapter of history homework, and even voluntarily went to church with her mother, all to avoid a certain phone call. But by 2 P.M., after she’d driven Beth to the airport for her flight to Tucson, walked her to security, and driven home again, she knew she’d procrastinated for too long.



Finally, she dialed Spencer’s number, nerves jangling. She needed to set Spencer straight. She’d gone over it in her head a million times, and there was no reason someone as awesome as Kay, someone whom Emily had connected with instantly, someone who seemed totally guileless and fragile and vulnerable, could be A.



“Emily,” Spencer answered on the third ring, sounding like her typical tightly wound self.



“Hey.” Emily bit down hard on her pinkie nail, her heart suddenly racing. “Um, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s about Kelsey.”



Spencer paused. “What about her?”



“Well, this is going to sound weird, but I actually met her the other day. At a party. Completely randomly. She introduced herself as Kay, but when you showed me that picture yesterday, it was definitely her.”



Spencer gasped. “She sometimes went by that—the letter K, for Kelsey. Why didn’t you say anything last night? This is proof that she’s stalking us!”



Emily glanced at her expression in the mirror. There were big furrows in her forehead, and her cheeks were red, the way she always looked when she felt conflicted. It seemed like Spencer was accusing her of withholding important information—or maybe Emily was just interpreting her tone of voice that way because she felt guilty of that very thing. “I-I don’t know why I didn’t say anything,” she said. “I guess because she seemed really sweet—her meeting me didn’t seem premeditated at all. And I don’t think she has a clue who I am or that I’m friends with you. There’s no way she can be A.”



“Of course she’s A!” Spencer cried with such volume that Emily moved the phone away from her ear. “Emily, she knows exactly who you are. She’s out to get all of us. Can’t you see that?”



“I think you’re being paranoid,” Emily protested, pausing by the window to watch a spider build a silken web. “And honestly, I can’t believe you framed her. I wouldn’t have supported you on that.” She thought about the remorseful look that had crossed Kay’s—Kelsey’s—face when they’d talked about how no colleges wanted her, and the undercurrent of shame in her voice when she’d talked about how her parents didn’t trust her.



Spencer sighed. “Like I said, it’s not like I’m proud of what I did. I mean, are you proud of what you did last summer?”



Emily winced. That was low. “You’re not thinking straight,” she said after a moment, trying to push her own trouble from last summer out of her mind. “A is someone else. Someone who was in Jamaica.”



“Who, Ali?” Spencer laughed mirthlessly. “She’s dead, Em. She really is. Look, I get that Kelsey might have seemed really nice—I liked her, too, once. But she’s dangerous. Stay away from her. I don’t want you getting hurt.”



“But—”



“Do this for me, please? Kelsey’s trouble. She wants revenge.” There was a voice in the background on Spencer’s end. “I have to go,” she said after a pause and then hung up.



Emily stared at the phone’s screen, her thoughts whirling.



Almost immediately, her phone beeped again. She turned it over, wondering if it was Spencer sending a text, perhaps thinking more rationally. But it was an email from Kay—Kelsey. We’re hanging out this afternoon, right?



Sinking onto her bed, Emily thought about every moment she’d spent with Kay so far. Not for one second had she seemed anything less than fun, sweet, and amazing. She wasn’t A. There was no way. Real Ali was. Emily could feel it in her bones.



Emily opened a reply. Absolutely, she wrote. See you soon.



A few hours later, Emily walked toward the Rosewood Lanes, the old bowling-alley-slash-cocktail-lounge that had a large neon sign of a ball striking ten pins above the entrance. She spied Kelsey—Emily felt foolish for thinking her name had been Kay when really it had just been her first initial, and now she couldn’t think of her by anything other than her full name—waiting by the door, dressed in jeans, a long yellow tunic sweater, and a green anorak with a furry hood. She was taking a big swig from a Poland Spring water bottle. When Kelsey saw Emily, she jumped, quickly stuffed something back into her gold purse, and shot Emily a huge but slightly off-kilter smile. “Ready to bowl?”



Emily snickered. “We’re not really bowling, are we?”



“If the Chambermaids guys want to, I’m all for it.” The band members from the Chambermaids had challenged Kelsey and Emily to a friendly game of bowling.



The two of them walked into the darkly lit bowling alley. It smelled like old shoes and fried mozzarella sticks and was filled with the sounds of heavy balls crashing into pins. Both of them scanned the crowd, which was a mix of old guys in satin bowling league jackets, Hollis students swilling cocktails, and high-school kids drawing pornographic pictures on the big scorecards that were reflected on the ceiling. They were early, though, and the guys from the band were nowhere to be seen.



“Let’s grab some snacks.” Kelsey headed to the bar. They settled on two plush red stools. The bartender, a stout guy with a bushy beard and several large tattoos on his biceps, strolled over and gave them a dirty look. He didn’t seem the type who’d tolerate underage drinkers. Emily asked for water. Kelsey ordered a Diet Coke and some fries.



When the bartender trundled away, silence fell between them. All Emily could think of was her conversation with Spencer. On one hand, she felt like a traitor for defying Spencer’s wishes. On the other, she was certain Spencer was wrong about Kelsey being A.



“I think we know someone in common,” Emily blurted out, not able to hold it in any longer. “Spencer Hastings. We used to be best friends, actually. Spencer said she met you at the Penn summer program.”



Kelsey flinched. “Oh,” she said quietly, peering down to inspect her strawberry-colored split ends. “Yeah. I knew Spencer.”



Emily turned over an old coaster for Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, its corners chipped away. “Actually, I’m surprised you haven’t recognized me. I was one of Alison DiLaurentis’s best friends, too. One of the Pretty Little Liars.”



Kelsey’s lips made a small O. After a moment, she smacked the side of her head. “God, right. Spencer told me about all of that. You must think I’m a huge idiot. I knew you looked familiar . . . I just didn’t know from where.”



“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Emily said quickly, noting that Kelsey genuinely seemed surprised about who she was. “I didn’t feel like talking about it. I hate people defining me by what happened.”



“Of course.” Kelsey nodded like she was absolutely tuned in to the conversation, but her eyes darted distractedly all over the bar area. Her hands were shaking a little, too, as if she’d drunk a hundred cups of espresso.



The bartender returned and plunked down their drinks and a large plate of fries. Kelsey busied herself with dousing them in ketchup and salt. After taking a sip of her Diet Coke and eating a fry, she raised her eyes to Emily again. “Spencer and I lost touch last summer. It was because I . . .” A muscle at her temple twitched. “I was sent away to juvie.”



Emily blinked. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” She hoped she sounded surprised.



Kelsey shrugged. “I haven’t told that many people—a lot of kids at school think I did an exchange program. But the cops found drugs in my dorm room at Penn, and it was my second strike. I don’t even know if Spencer knew about it, even though she was with me the night it went down. I saw her the other day and told her, but she reacted really strangely. Maybe it’s because she . . .” She was talking very quickly, so it was jarring when she trailed off. “I’m sorry. She’s your friend. I shouldn’t talk about her.”



“We’re not as close as we used to be.” Emily pushed her straw around her water glass, making a mini whirlpool with the ice cubes.



Kelsey’s hands shook faster. When she reached for the fries, she could barely hold one without it wobbling all over the place. “Are you okay?” Emily asked worriedly.



“I’m fine.” Kelsey shot Emily a tight smile and tucked her hands in her lap. “Just a little overwhelmed, I guess.”



Emily touched Kelsey’s shoulder. “I’m not judging you, you know. We’ve all made mistakes. I’m really flattered you told me about juvie. It must have been really rough.”



“It was.”



Kelsey’s quavering voice made Emily’s heart break. She felt terrible that Kelsey had been sent to juvie for something she wasn’t entirely guilty of. How could Spencer have done such a thing? And it appeared that Kelsey had no idea, either. Should Emily tell her?



Kelsey leaned into Emily. “Going to juvie was horrible, but probably not as awful as losing a best friend. And you were stalked, too, right? By her twin?” Her eyes widened.



The sound of bowling balls striking pins thundered behind them, and a group of bowlers burst into applause. “I can hardly think about it,” Emily whispered. “Especially because . . .” Now it was her turn to trail off. She’d been about to say, Especially because I think the Real Ali is still alive.



Suddenly, a scrawny older woman in a baggy wife-beater and child-sized acid-washed jeans clonked by in rented bowling shoes. “Oh my God,” Kelsey blurted. “Velma!”



Emily craned her neck to look, then burst out laughing. “You know her, too?” Velma was an institution at this place—Emily had noticed her ever since she started coming here as a second grader with her Brownie troop. She always bowled by herself, got some insane score, and then sat at the bar and smoked a zillion cigarettes. Everyone was afraid to talk to her. Now, when Velma passed a greasy-haired guy with a huge beer gut, he actually cowered.



“Of course I know her,” Kelsey said. “She’s always here.” Then she touched Emily’s arm. “I have a challenge for you, bad girl. Steal one of her Marlboros.” She pointed to a pack of Marlboro Lights in Velma’s back pocket.



Emily thought about it for a moment, then slid off the bar stool. “That’s easy.”



Velma had paused at the end of the bar to study a scorecard. Emily crept up behind her, giggling with every few steps. When she was almost behind Velma, the cigarettes within reach, the old woman turned around and peered at Emily with lined, rheumy-blue eyes. “May I help you, darlin’?”



Emily’s mouth dropped open. She’d never actually heard Velma speak before, and was surprised by her clear, songbirdlike voice and oozing-with-sweetness southern accent. It was so disarming that she took a few big steps backward, waving her arms in front of her body and blurting, “Never mind. Sorry to bother you.”