She walked through the bushes and into her yard. But just as she was about to open the front door to her house, her skin prickled. It felt like there was someone standing behind her, watching, but when she turned, the street was empty. She narrowed her eyes at the Cavanaughs’ house across the street. The blinds were drawn. No lights were on.
Something fluttered out of the doorjamb and fell to her feet. She bent down, picked it up, and frowned at the Polaroid photo before her. It was the picture she’d taken of herself and Ian at Romeo and Juliet a few weeks before. Only now there was red-lipsticked writing over her and Ian’s smiling faces. Ali drew in a breath as she read the message, then looked around once more.
“Hello?” she said quietly, her voice cracking. “Ali?” No answer.
Swallowing hard, she looked down at the message once more. You’re dead, bitch, it said, in handwriting that looked eerily like her sister’s.
22
DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL
On Thursday afternoon, Ali and Aria stood in the aisles of Sparrow, a dusty record store in the heart of Hollis’s shopping district. Cut Copy played over the speakers, and a couple of unwashed-looking college kids stood at the registers, bopping to the music with their eyes closed. Sparrow was one of the only stores left in the Philadelphia area that sold actual record albums. Even though Ali’s family didn’t even own a record player, it was fun to flip through the stacks, looking at the album covers.
“I’m really excited for this party,” Aria said as she rifled through the dance records. “That was nice of you to throw it, Ali.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Ali said calmly. Then she looked down at her beeping phone. For once, it wasn’t a call from an anonymous number, but a text from Spencer. Took the history final today, it said. Do you want the answer key?
That’s okay, Ali wrote back, feeling a ripple of satisfaction. This was the third bargaining text she’d received from Spencer today, all to keep Ali from saying anything to Melissa. In the first text, Spencer had said Ali could have her Burberry tote instead of just borrow it. In the second, she’d said she was working her hardest to get the barn for the sleepover. Ali could probably ask for the moon right now and Spencer would offer to pull it down with a lasso. It felt good to have Spencer back in her control. “Maybe I should get into DJing,” Aria murmured, her bangle bracelets clanging together as she picked up a big pair of plastic headphones and clapped them over her ears. “Do I look cool? Maybe a college boy would be into it.”
“You look like an air-traffic controller,” Ali said, ripping them off her. “Big headphones screw up your hair.”
Aria pouted, then shrugged and put the headphones back on the shelf. She held up an old Rolling Stones record. “You should get this for Noel. He really likes classic rock.”
Ali blinked. “Why would I get it for Noel?”
Aria looked surprised. “Because you’re going out with him?”
Ali stared pointedly at a dust bunny in the corner; it was the type of store that had probably never seen a Swiffer. She’d almost forgotten that she’d told Aria that Noel was into her instead. She’d even told her they’d gone out on two dates, even though they hadn’t. “Right,” she said tepidly. “You must be really hurt about Noel, though, huh?”
Aria strolled into the rare-records room, which had a couple of listening booths in the back and aqueous, neon-colored lava lamps on tables in the corners. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “I got some news today that lessens the sting a little.”
Ali looked up at her. “What kind of news?” She worried, suddenly, that there was an innocent excuse for what happened between Mr. Montgomery and that girl. That Aria’s family was fine—it was only her family that was messed up.
Aria picked up a Fleet Foxes album, then set it down again. “My dad got an offer to teach at the University of Iceland next year. We might all go.”
Ali blinked. “Iceland? I thought only penguins lived there.”
“That’s Greenland,” Aria said knowingly. “Iceland is lush and beautiful. We looked at pictures of it on the Internet last night, and it looks awesome—it’s full of volcanoes and glaciers and has amazing snowboarding. There’s a great music scene there, too, and apparently all the guys are tall and gorgeous.”
Ali stared at her. Just picturing Aria’s family happily sitting around a computer made her light-headed. The last DiLaurentis family gathering was when her parents had told her that her sister was coming home, and look how well that had gone. “Isn’t Iceland the place that, like, stays light out all the time in the summer and dark in the winter? That would suck!”
Aria shrugged. “I guess you get used to it.”
“And what if they don’t speak English there?”
“They do. We checked. Everyone speaks perfect English. And the literacy rate is a hundred percent.”
Ali sniffed, unconvinced. “What if they make you learn how to yodel?”
“I think that’s Sweden,” Aria said. “Or Norway.”