Unbelievable

But when she imagined moving in with Meredith, a more appropriate quote came to mind: There are some remedies worse than the disease.



2



ABRACADABRA, NOW WE LOVE EACH OTHER AGAIN



Ali sank onto one hip and glared at Spencer Hastings, who stood across from her on the back path that led from the Hastingses’ barn to the woods. “You try to steal everything from me,” she hissed. “But you can’t have this.”



Spencer shivered in the cold evening air. “Can’t have what?”



“You know,” Ali said. “You read it in my diary.” She pushed her honey-blond hair over her shoulder. “You think you’re so special, but you’re so lame, acting like you didn’t know Ian was with me. Of course you knew, Spence. That’s why you liked him in the first place, isn’t it? Because I’m with him? Because your sister’s with him?”



Spencer’s eyes boggled. The night air turned sharp, almost acrid-smelling. Ali stuck out her bottom lip. “Oh, Spence. Did you really believe he liked you?”



Suddenly, Spencer felt a burst of anger, and her arms shot out in front of her, pushing Ali in the chest. Ali teetered backward, stumbling against the slippery rocks. Only, it wasn’t Ali anymore—it was Hanna Marin. Hanna’s body flew up in the air, and she hit the ground with a sharp crack. Instead of all her makeup and BlackBerry bursting out of her purse as from a smashed-open piñata, Hanna’s internal organs spewed out of her body, raining down on the concrete like hail.



Spencer shot up, her blond hair damp with sweat. It was Sunday morning, and she was lying in her bed, still in the black satin dress and uncomfortable thong underwear she’d meant to wear to Mona Vanderwaal’s birthday party the night before. Soft gold light slanted across her desk, and starlings chirped innocently in the giant oak next to her window. She’d been awake nearly all night, waiting for her phone to ring with news about Hanna. But no one had called. Spencer had no idea if the silence was good…or terrible.



Hanna. She’d called Spencer late last night, just after Spencer had recalled her long-suppressed memory of shoving Ali in the woods the night Ali disappeared. Hanna had told Spencer she’d found out something important, and that they had to meet at the Rosewood Day swings. Spencer had pulled up to the parking lot just as Hanna’s body flew into the air. She’d maneuvered her car to the side of the road, then run out on foot into the trees, shocked by what she saw. “Call an ambulance!” Aria was shrieking. Emily was sobbing with fear. Hanna remained immobile. Spencer had never witnessed anything so terrifying in her entire life.



Seconds later, Spencer’s Sidekick had pinged with a text from A. Still shrouded in the woods, Spencer saw Emily and Aria pull out their phones as well, and her stomach flipped as she realized they must have all received the same creepy message: She knew too much. Had A figured out whatever it was that Hanna had discovered—something that A must have been trying to hide—and hit Hanna to shut her up? That had to be it, but it was hard for Spencer to truly believe it had actually happened. It was just so diabolical.



But maybe Spencer was just as diabolical. Just hours before Hanna’s accident, she’d shoved her sister, Melissa, down the stairs. And she’d finally remembered what had happened the night Ali went missing, recovered those lost ten minutes she’d suppressed for so long. She’d pushed Ali to the ground—maybe even hard enough to kill her. Spencer didn’t know what had happened next, but it seemed like A did. A had sent Spencer a text only a couple days ago, hinting that Ali’s murderer was right in front of her. Spencer had received the text just as she was looking in the mirror…at herself.



Spencer hadn’t run into the parking lot to join her friends. Instead, she’d sped home, in desperate need to think all this through. Could she have killed Ali? Did she have it in her? But after an entire sleepless night, she just couldn’t compare what she had done to Melissa and Ali to what A had done to Hanna. Yes, Spencer lost her temper, yes, Spencer could be pushed to the limit, but deep down, she just didn’t think she could kill.



Why, then, was A so convinced Spencer was the culprit? Was it possible A was wrong…or lying? But A knew about Spencer’s seventh-grade kiss with Ian Thomas, her illicit affair with Wren, Melissa’s college boyfriend, and that the five of them had blinded Jenna Cavanaugh—all things that were true. A had so much ammo on them, it was hardly necessary to start making stuff up.



Suddenly, as Spencer wiped the sweat off her face, something hit her, sending her heart sinking to her feet. She could think of a very good reason why A might have lied and suggested that Spencer killed Ali. Perhaps A had secrets, too. Perhaps A needed a scapegoat.



“Spencer?” Her mother’s voice floated up. “Can you come downstairs?”



Spencer jumped and peeked at her reflection in her vanity mirror. Her eyes looked puffy and bloodshot, her lips were chapped, and her hair had leaves stuck in it from hiding in the woods last night. She couldn’t handle a family meeting right now.



The first floor smelled of fresh-brewed Nicaraguan Segovia coffee, Fresh Fields Danishes, and the fresh-cut calla lilies their housekeeper, Candace, bought every morning. Spencer’s father stood at the granite-topped island, decked out in his black spandex bike pants and U.S. Postal Service bike jersey. Perhaps that was a good sign—they couldn’t be too angry if her dad had gone for his regular 5 A.M. bike ride.



On the kitchen table was a copy of the Sunday Philadelphia Sentinel. At first Spencer thought it was there because it had news of Hanna’s accident. But then she saw her own face staring back at her from the paper’s front page. She wore a sleek black suit and was giving the camera a confident smirk. Move Over, Trumps! the headline said. Golden Orchid Essay Contest Nominee Spencer Hastings Is Coming!



Spencer’s stomach heaved. She’d forgotten. The paper was on everyone’s doorsteps right now.



A figure emerged from the pantry. Spencer stepped back in fear. There was Melissa, glaring at her, clutching a box of Raisin Bran so tightly Spencer thought she might crush it. There was a tiny scratch on her sister’s left cheek, a Band-Aid over her right eyebrow, a yellow hospital bracelet still around her left wrist, and a pink cast on her right wrist, clearly a souvenir of yesterday’s fight with Spencer.



Spencer lowered her eyes, feeling a whole mess of guilty feelings. Yesterday, A had sent Melissa the first few sentences of her old AP economics paper, the very one Spencer had pilfered from Melissa’s computer hard drive and disguised as her own AP economics homework. The same essay Spencer’s econ teacher, Mr. McAdam, had nominated for a Golden Orchid essay award, the most prestigious high school–level award in the country. Melissa had figured out what Spencer had done, and although Spencer had begged for forgiveness, Melissa had said horrible things to her—things way worse than Spencer thought she deserved. The fight had ended when Spencer, enraged by Melissa’s words, had accidentally shoved her sister down the stairs.



“So, girls.” Mrs. Hastings set her coffee cup on the table and gestured for Melissa to sit. “Your father and I have made some big decisions.”



Spencer braced for what was coming. They were going to turn Spencer in for plagiarizing. She wouldn’t get into college. She’d have to go to trade school. She’d end up working as a telemarketer at QVC, taking orders for ab rollers and fake diamonds, and Melissa would get off scot-free, just like she always did. Somehow, her sister always found a way to come out on top.



“First off, we don’t want you girls to see Dr. Evans anymore.” Mrs. Hastings laced her fingers together. “She’s done more harm than good. Understood?”



Melissa nodded silently, but Spencer scrunched up her nose in confusion. Dr. Evans, Spencer and Melissa’s shrink, was one of the few people who didn’t try to kiss Melissa’s ass. Spencer began to protest but noticed the warning looks on both her parents’ faces. “Okay,” she mumbled, feeling a bit hopeless.



“Second of all.” Mr. Hastings tapped the Sentinel, squashing his thumb over Spencer’s face. “Plagiarizing Melissa’s paper was very wrong, Spencer.”



“I know,” Spencer said quickly, terrified to look anywhere in Melissa’s direction.



“But after some careful thought, we’ve decided that we don’t want to go public with it. This family’s been through too much already. So, Spencer, you’ll continue to compete for the Golden Orchid. We will tell no one about this.”



“What?” Melissa slammed her coffee cup down on the table.



“That’s what we’ve decided,” Mrs. Hastings said tightly, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “And we also expect Spencer to win.”



“To win?” Spencer repeated, shocked.



“You’re rewarding her?” Melissa shrieked.



“Enough.” Mr. Hastings used the tone of voice he typically reserved for underlings at his law practice when they dared call him at home.



“Third thing,” Mrs. Hastings said. “You girls are going to bond.”



Her mother pulled two snapshots out of her cardigan pocket. The first was of Spencer and Melissa at four and nine years old, respectively, lying on a hammock at their grandmother’s beach house in Stone Harbor, New Jersey. The second photo was of them in the same beach house’s playroom, a few years later. Melissa wore a magician’s hat and cape, and Spencer had on her Tommy Hilfiger stars-and-stripes ruffled bikini. On her feet were the black motorcycle boots she’d worn until they’d gotten so small that they cut off all the circulation to her toes. The sisters were performing a magic show for their parents; Melissa was the magician, and Spencer was her lovely assistant.



“I found these this morning.” Mrs. Hastings passed the photos to Melissa, who glanced at them quickly and passed them back. “Remember how you girls used to be such good friends? You were always babbling in the backseat of the car. You never wanted to go anywhere without each other.”



“That was ten years ago, Mom,” Melissa said wearily.



Mrs. Hastings stared at the photo of Spencer and Melissa on the hammock. “You used to love Nana’s beach house. You used to be friends at Nana’s beach house. So we’ve decided to take a trip to Stone Harbor today. Nana isn’t there, but we have keys. So pack up your things.”



Spencer’s parents were nodding feverishly, their faces hopeful.



“That’s just stupid,” Spencer and Melissa said together. Spencer glanced at her sister, astounded they’d thought the same thing.



Mrs. Hastings left the photo on the counter and carried her mug to the sink. “We’re doing it, and that’s final.”



Melissa rose from the table, holding her wrist at an awkward angle. She glanced at Spencer, and for a moment, her eyes softened. Spencer gave her a tiny smile. Perhaps they’d connected just then, finding common ground in hating their parents’ naive plan. Perhaps Melissa could forgive Spencer for shoving her down the stairs and stealing her paper. If she did, Spencer would forgive Melissa for saying their parents didn’t love her.