Emily struggled down the beach steps and planted her feet in the cold sand. The waves whipped to and fro with no discernible pattern. They crashed angrily, caustically, with such power that they were sure to rip apart anything that got in their way. All at once, she thought she heard something over the surf and the wind. A laugh? Someone breathing? She whipped around, eyeing the dark beach stairway, glaring and glaring until her eyes began to play tricks on her. Was that a girl crouched in the dunes, watching? Could Ali be here?
Emily stood up straighter, staring hard, but as much as she wanted to see something, there was nothing there. She shut her eyes and pictured what Ali would do if she saw her right now. Would she laugh? This wasn’t part of her plan, after all. Maybe she’d respect Emily for what she was about to do. Maybe she’d even fear her.
Like the other girls, Emily had an Ali Cape May memory, too—but she and Ali hadn’t come here together. Her memory was from fifth grade, before Emily and Ali were friends—so the memory was of the Real Ali, not of Courtney. Ali had sat a few towels away from Emily’s family, looking mysterious in her large-framed sunglasses, whispering and snickering with Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe. Emily had stared at her hard, feeling a spangled sensation inside her. She didn’t just want to be Alison DiLaurentis, the girl everyone adored. She wanted to be with her. Touch her. Braid her hair. Smell her clothes when she stepped out of them at bedtime. Drink her up.
Ali had looked up at Emily and smirked. Then she’d nudged Naomi and Riley, and all three of them had laughed. Certain Ali had sensed her desires, Emily had jumped up and run for the water, then dived under the waves. She’d swum hard and fast, into the roaring breakers, ignoring the lifeguard’s whistles that she’d gone too far. That sort of girl would never be friends with you, a voice in her head pounded. And she’d certainly never be into you.
A wave had caught her and pushed her under. When she’d surfaced, she was sputtering and winded. Everyone was staring at her, probably knowing her impure, ridiculous thoughts. As she’d walked back to her towel, Ali was watching her again, although this time she looked a little bit awed. “The water doesn’t scare you, does it?” she pointed out.
The question had taken Emily by surprise. “No,” she said calmly. It was the truth. It wasn’t the waves she was afraid of.
Nor was she afraid of them now.
Emily turned to face the waves again, holding that memory of Ali—the Real Ali, the crazy Ali—tight inside her. Little did she know then that someday, that beautiful, horrible girl would be the center of her life. Little did she know that Ali would take everything from her.
“I’m not afraid,” Emily whispered, pulling off her tee. She waited for the Ali in her head to answer, but surprisingly, the voice was silent.
The waves tumbled, kicking up white foam. Emily understood the power of the ocean; she knew that it might take her down fast, even faster than it had in fifth grade. In these conditions, it would pull her under, spin her like a pebble. She pictured her head hitting rock, or the nearby jetty, or simply sinking down, down, down, until she felt nothing.
I’m not afraid, she thought again, stepping out of her shorts. And with that, she walked down the beach and into the sea.
6
RESCUE EFFORTS
Crack.
Spencer sat up in bed. At first, she had no idea where she was . . . and then she saw Aria next to her and felt the scratchy motel comforter. The digital clock on the side table said it was 5:30. The room was still dark, though the wind outside was howling fiercely.
She stumbled for the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light. After she flushed, she stood by her bed again, sensing something was wrong. It didn’t take her long to realize what it was.
Emily wasn’t there.
Spencer rushed to Emily’s side of the bed and patted it, but the lump of pillows and blankets wasn’t concealing a girl. She slid open the closet door—apparently, after Jordan died, Emily had taken to sleeping in her closet—but Emily wasn’t there, either. Spencer spun around the room, breathing heavily. Something was off. Where could Emily have gone this early in the morning?
And then she saw it.
A stark white piece of paper, folded, on the desk. Spencer, Aria, and Hanna, it read in Emily’s handwriting. Spencer snatched it up, ran to the bathroom, and turned on the light. She unfolded the paper with shaking hands. There, in messy scrawl, were four terrible sentences.
I just can’t do this anymore. You guys are much stronger than me. Please don’t come after me. I’m sorry.
The note fluttered from her hands. Spence rushed back into the room and grabbed her flip-flops, shoved them on her feet. “Oh my God, oh my God.”
Aria shifted sleepily. “Are you okay, Spence?”
Spencer didn’t answer. Staying here, explaining—it would take too long. “I’ll be back,” she blurted, then darted out the door and dashed down the motel stairs.
It was just getting light outside. The first place Spencer checked was Hanna’s car, but it was still in the parking space; Emily wasn’t inside. She ran to the pool; the surface was windswept, but no one was swimming. She gazed up the sidewalk, then in the other direction. The streets were empty. Clearly the storm was rolling in early; most people had probably left. No one would be on the beach on a day like today.