Emily’s chest heaved in and out. The scratches on her skin from the brambles burned every time she moved. “Someone . . . pushed me.”

Kelsey’s eyes widened. “One of those boys?”

Emily shook her head, still finding it hard to draw in a full breath. The giggle echoed in her ears. She could sense someone else’s presence, someone looming close, watching. On instinct, she reached for her phone in her pocket. Sure enough, there was a new text message. With trembling fingers, she pressed READ.

Sometimes we all need a little push, Emily. You and your friends know all about that, huh? —A

Chapter 24

LIFE IMITATES ART

On Thursday afternoon, Spencer was flipping through the newspaper when a splashy ad caught her eye. TONIGHT AT 8 P.M., A CNN SPECIAL: ARE YOUR CHILDREN SAFE ON SPRING BREAK? THREE CASES OF FUN SPRING HOLIDAYS GONE TERRIBLY WRONG.

There was a picture of Tabitha in the corner. Spencer immediately turned the paper over, and then, because that wasn’t quite good enough, she tore it into tiny pieces and threw it in the trash. Even that didn’t seem safe. She stared at the pieces, wondering if she should burn them.

Something flickered out of the corner of her eye, and she shot up and glanced out the window. A shape moved behind the trees. It looked like someone with blond hair.

Murderer.

Spencer spun around, clutching the sides of her head. The kitchen was empty. Beatrice and Rufus dozed on the floor, their paws twitching. If someone were here, they’d be barking their heads off, right? What the hell was happening to her?

Her cell phone let out a loud dog-barking sound, and Spencer jumped. She picked it up from the side table and saw that Emily had sent a text. I’m really freaked. A just shoved me down a hill at the Stockbridge trail.

Spencer glanced toward the den, thinking again of the flashes and voice she’d just heard. Amelia and the orchestra nerds weren’t here right now, but they were scheduled to come over later this evening. Kelsey wasn’t there, was she? she wrote back.

There was a long pause. Finally, Emily’s reply popped up on the screen: No.

And you’re not hanging out with her anymore, right? Spencer typed.

Emily replied again with a one-word No.

Good, Spencer responded.

“So this was where that Alison stuff went down, huh?”

It was forty minutes later, and Spencer and Beau were standing in the Hastingses’ backyard, preparing for another Macbeth coaching session. Spencer was sure she’d be more than ready after today. She’d already made arrangements with the school’s videographer to pay special attention to her in her scenes in the play performance on Saturday night. She’d even composed a draft email to the admissions committee talking about the play; all she needed now was to attach a movie file of her brilliantly executed scenes.

Beau gazed around at the twisted, blackened, ruined tree branches from the fire Real Ali had set here over a year ago. To the left was the property’s original barn, which had once housed a lovingly restored guest suite . . . until Real Ali burned that down, too.

“Yeah,” Spencer said softly. “I rarely come out here anymore. It’s too creepy.”

“I hear you. This place feels haunted.” Beau toed the dirty slate path that used to lead to the barn. It was on this very path that she and Their Ali fought almost five years ago on the last night of seventh grade. The argument had been over Ian Thomas, whom they’d both had a crush on. Spencer had shoved Ali, who’d fallen, then quickly leapt back up and run down the path. For a long time, Spencer had assumed Ali had gone to meet Ian, her secret boyfriend, and Ian had killed her. But it was her twin sister who had intercepted her and murdered her.

“Anyway.” Beau turned around and faced Spencer. “Are you ready to get into character?”

Spencer shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Beau smiled. “You did awesome yesterday, but there’s another exercise I think we should try. You know how I said I connected being bullied to my role as Macbeth? It’s your turn to do that, too. Try to really become her. Imagine getting rid of the person standing in the way of your success. Maybe you didn’t mean to do it, but you carried it out anyway.”

Spencer stared at him. That sounded like what had happened with Tabitha . . . and Kelsey, too. “I guess I could try,” she said quietly.

“Go there,” Beau instructed. “Repeat the lines Lady Macbeth says when she’s overcome with guilt.”

“Out, damned spot,” Spencer chanted.

“Good. Now, close your eyes and say them again.”

“Out, damned spot,” Spencer repeated, shutting her eyes. “Out, damned spot.” She thought of Lady Macbeth wandering in the night, trying to clean her bloody hands of the shame she could never wash away. “Out, damned spot!” She thought of the guilt she felt for Tabitha. She opened her eyes and stared at her palms, imagining they were covered with blood—Tabitha’s blood, fresh from her fall from the roof.

She forced herself to relive that awful night in Jamaica. How Tabitha had lashed out at Hanna. How she’d fought with Aria. How Aria had shoved her over the edge. Searching for Tabitha’s body on the shore and not finding a trace. Feeling terrified to go out to the ocean each and every morning, certain the girl’s body would have washed ashore in the night. Seeing that horrible newscast about Tabitha on television a few weeks ago.

But as she said the line a few more times, a different memory overtook her thoughts. She saw herself in that hot, poorly lit police station on Penn’s campus. It was about a half hour after she’d spoken to Hanna and outlined her plan. Spencer didn’t know if Hanna had gone through with it, but she had heard a lot of scuffling and ringing phones outside. Finally, the cop burst back in and looked at her. “You’re free to go,” he said gruffly, holding the door open for her.

“I-I am?” Spencer had sputtered.

He handed her back her iPhone. “Take my advice, Miss Hastings. Finish your summer program and go home to the suburbs. Be a good girl. You don’t want to get mixed up with pills.”

“What about Kelsey?” Spencer had blurted as she walked into the hall.

The corners of the cop’s mouth curled into an ugly smile. At that very moment, a second holding room door opened. Two cops walked Kelsey down the hall. She screamed and flailed. “What are you talking about?” she said. “What did I do?”

“You know what you did,” the cops growled at her.

Kelsey met Spencer’s eyes for a moment and gave her a pleading look. What are they talking about? But there was something else in her expression, too, something Spencer hadn’t wanted to think about until now.

It was fury. Like she knew exactly what Spencer had done.

“Out, damned spot,” Spencer repeated once more now, staring down at her hands, just as Lady Macbeth did in the play. Suddenly, her palms were filled with small, white, round pills. Were those . . . Easy As? Shrieking, she flung them into the air. Where had they come from?

She looked for Beau, but Beau was gone. The yard was empty. “Beau?” she cried. No answer. It was dark out now. How much time had passed?

The trees whispered in the wind. An owl hooted in the distance, and the faintest smell of smoke from last year’s fire tickled Spencer’s nostrils. She looked down at her palms again; somehow, the Easy A pills had returned. “Get off!” She tried to jettison them away, but they remained glued to her skin. “Get off!” she shrieked, scratching at her palms with her fingernails until red, jagged lines appeared on her skin. “I can’t be seen with these!” she screamed. “They can’t catch me!”

But the pills wouldn’t budge from her palms. Whirling around and breathing hard, Spencer staggered toward the small pond behind the barn. “Get off, get off, get off!” she shrieked, plunging her hands into the stagnant, half-frozen water. She barely felt the cold. She swished her hands around for a moment and then drew them back. The pills were still there. “No!” she screamed, running her wet palms through her hair. Frigid, fetid water streamed down her face and dripped into her ears and mouth.

Another twig snapped. Spencer shot to her feet, hands and hair dripping. “Who’s there?” she cried out, her heart pounding hard. Was it the cops? Were they here for her? Would they see the Easy As on her palm and take her away?

Someone snickered behind a bush. Shh, another voice said. Two figures stepped out from the trees. One was Kelsey. The other was Tabitha. They stood hand in hand, staring at Spencer.

“Hey, Spence,” Kelsey teased, staring at Spencer’s dripping palms. “Feeling guilty about something, murderer?”

“You can’t run from us,” Tabitha whispered. “We know what you did.”

She smiled mysteriously and advanced down the slope. Spencer wheeled back, her ankle catching on a thick, twisted root. Within seconds, her butt hit the creek bank and her head and right shoulder plunged into the icy water. Her face instantly went numb. When she opened her eyes, Kelsey and Tabitha stood over her, their arms outstretched. Ready to drown her. Ready to exact their revenge.

“I’m sorry!” Spencer sputtered, flailing in the freezing water.

“Not sorry enough,” Kelsey growled, plunging her chest down.

“You weren’t sorry when you did it,” Tabitha screamed, holding her neck.

“I’m sorry now!” Spencer struggled to break free of the girls, but they held her tight. “Please! Don’t!”

“Spencer?”

Someone lifted her out of the creek. Ice slid down her back. Cold air slapped her cheeks. When she opened her eyes again, Kelsey and Tabitha were gone. Instead she saw Beau standing before her, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” he cooed. “It’s okay.”

Spencer felt Beau leading her out of the woods. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked around, half crying, half hyperventilating. She was in her backyard again. When she looked at her palms, they were empty. But while the visions she’d had of Kelsey and Tabitha had vanished, the real Kelsey stood a few feet away on the lawn with Amelia and some of the other orchestra girls, here for their evening practice. Her eyes were wide and there was a satisfied smirk on her face.

“What’s wrong with her?” Amelia said in a disgusted voice.

“She’s fine,” Beau answered, walking Spencer toward the house. “We were doing a drama exercise.”

“W-what happened?” Spencer whispered dazedly as they climbed the patio stairs.

Beau grinned. “You were amazing. You totally went for it. You immersed yourself in the Method—literally. Most actors have to study for years to make that much of an emotional connection. You’re going to rock the part tomorrow.”

As he helped her through the sliding door, Spencer tried to smile as if she’d known what she’d been doing all along, but her insides felt weak and decimated, like a town ravaged by a tornado. And when she turned around, the real Kelsey was still watching her. That smirk was still there, as if she knew the root of Spencer’s bizarre behavior.