When Emily got home from Santa Land that evening, she flopped on the living-room couch with an old clothbound journal in her lap. Ali used to keep a journal, and because Emily had wanted to do everything just like her, she’d started one back in middle school. Emily had only recently found out that Mona Vanderwaal had pulled Ali’s old journal from a pile of junk on the curb that Maya’s family had thrown away from Ali’s old bedroom. Mona had used the information in that journal—including Emily’s and her old friends’ darkest secrets—to become A.
In the twinkling light of the now fully decorated Christmas tree, Emily flipped through the old onionskin pages of her notebook. At first, her journal entries were mostly straightforward accounts of things she and her new friends had done together: trips to Ali’s family’s vacation house in the Poconos, manicures at the King James Mall, a sleepover where Ali dared Aria to prank-call Noel Kahn, her crush. When Aria did, Ali had blurted, “She loves you!” before Aria hung up.
In April of that year, the tone of the entries had begun to change. The Jenna Thing happened, and they’d all become so scared and worried. Emily didn’t refer to the incident directly on the pages—she was worried her mom might read it—but she’d put a sad face next to the day that it happened. Many entries after that were despairing and frantic, too.
The next school year, things began to spiral downhill even more. Ali got a spot on the JV field hockey team, even though she’s only in seventh grade, Emily had written one day in late August. She was talking about the team party she went to today and saying how cool the older girls were. She hadn’t drawn a sad face, but Emily remembered exactly what she was feeling: Ali would soon realize she wasn’t cool anymore and drift away from her. Her time with Ali had always felt borrowed and precarious, and in the back of her mind, she was always waiting for the fantasy life to come crashing down.
A few journal entries later she mentioned that Ali and Emily had attended a field hockey party where Emily had met none other than Cassie Buckley. Cassie bragged about how good vodka and Red Bulls were, Emily had written. When I asked if I could try one, Cassie ignored me, and Ali was like, “No, Em, I think vodka–Red Bulls are a little out of your league.” She and Cassie laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.
Emily still remembered that party like it was yesterday. Cassie had answered the door with the front pieces of her long blond hair braided together and fastened at the back with a clip; only a few days later, Ali showed up to school with her hair done in the same way, and then all the other girls in their grade copied her. Once inside the house, Cassie had mixed drinks effortlessly, like she was an adult. She’d slung her arm around Ali’s shoulder and invited her to a “secret” party upstairs, making it clear Emily couldn’t come. Emily had wandered around the party for a little while longer, but no one spoke to her. She’d slipped out the door, holding in her tears until she was halfway down the block.
She closed the journal, pulled her laptop onto her lap, and typed Cassie Buckley’s name into Facebook. A profile of the Technicolor-haired, pierced girl popped up. Emily scrolled through her pictures; Cassie wasn’t smiling in a single one. Nor had she included any photos from her blond, preppy, field hockey days. Why had she undergone such a dramatic makeover? If Ali would have lived and remained friends with Cassie, would Ali have transformed, too?
“Who’s that?”
Emily jumped. Carolyn stood in the doorway, a laundry basket in her arms. “Uh, no one,” Emily said.
Carolyn dropped the laundry basket on the couch and studied the screen. “Is it a new girl you have your eye on?”
The words sounded forced coming out of Carolyn’s mouth. Emily wondered what Carolyn really thought about Emily’s sexuality—she wasn’t exactly the accepting type.
“Does Emily have a new girlfriend?” Beth asked, wandering into the room with a bowl of microwave popcorn.
“Maybe.” Carolyn folded a Rosewood Day Swimming T-shirt and set it on the chair. “Show her, Em.”
“Let me see, let me see!” Beth plopped down next to Emily and tilted the laptop in her direction. When she saw Cassie’s picture, she frowned. “Whoa. She looks tough.”
“She’s just this girl who’s working at Santa Land with me,” Emily protested, figuring their mother had told her siblings about Emily’s mission. “She’s definitely not a girlfriend.”
“What about her? She’s cute.” Beth clicked on another profile. It was tiny, gamine, short-haired Heather from Santa Land. In Heather’s info section, it said she liked South Street Philadelphia, Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters, and The Anarchist Cookbook.
“What are you guys doing?” Jake grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl as he entered the room.
“Trying to find a new girlfriend for Emily.” Beth clicked on the profile of a girl named Polly whom Emily didn’t recognize.