Everyone lingered outside the courthouse. The weather was nothing like that sublime, cloudless fall day of Ali’s memorial service just weeks earlier. Today, the sky was blurred with dark clouds, making the whole world dull and shadowless. Emily felt a hand on her arm. Spencer wrapped her arms around Emily’s shoulders.
“It’s all over,” Spencer whispered.
“I know,” Emily said, hugging back.
The other girls joined in on the hug. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw a camera flash. She could already imagine the newspaper caption: Alison’s Friends Distraught but at Peace. At that moment, a black Lincoln idling near the curb caught her eye. A chauffeur sat in the passenger seat, waiting. The tinted back window was rolled down the tiniest crack, and Emily saw a pair of eyes staring straight at her. Emily’s mouth fell open. She’d only seen blue eyes like that one other time in her life.
“Guys,” she whispered, clamping down hard on Spencer’s arm.
The others broke out of their hug. “What?” Spencer asked, concerned.
Emily pointed to the sedan. The back window was now closed, and the chauffeur was shifting the car into gear. “I swear I just saw…” she stammered, but then paused. They’d think she was crazy—fantasizing that Ali was alive was just another way to cope with her death. Emily swallowed hard, standing up straighter. “Never mind,” she said.
The girls turned away, drifting back to their own families, promising to call one another later. But Emily remained where she was, her heart pounding as the sedan pulled away from the curb. She watched as it cruised down the street, turned right at the light, and disappeared. Her blood chilled. It couldn’t have been her, she told herself.
Could it have?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, I want to thank those I’ve mentioned in the dedication—the people who encouraged Spencer to kiss her sister’s boyfriends, Aria to kiss her English teacher, Emily to kiss a girl (or two), and Hanna to kiss the dorky boy in school. The people who aided and abetted in Alison’s murder first laughed at the phrase “pussies who ride small, gay horses,” and were excited about this project from the very beginning…which was, wow, three whole years ago. I’m talking, of course, about my friends at Alloy—Lanie Davis, Josh Bank, Les Morgenstein, and Sara Shandler. Being a working writer is something of an oxymoron for most, and I am immensely appreciative for all you’ve done for me. I’m lucky to work with all of you, and I seriously doubt these books would be half as good without your wonderfully creative minds…and humor…and, of course, baked goods. Here’s to more fabulous twists and turns in the future!
I’m grateful also to all those at Harper who champion these books—Farrin Jacobs, for your careful reading, and Kristin Marang, for all your dedication, attention, and friendship. And a big thanks to Jennifer Rudolph Walsh at William Morris for your belief in this series’ future. You are truly magical.
Love to the slew of people I mention in every book: Joel, my husband, for your ability to predict the future—strangely, it always involves tickling. To my father, Shep, because you like to impersonate French travel agents, because we thought you got lost in the desert this December, and because you once threatened to leave a restaurant because they had run out of red wine. To my sister, Ali, for creating the greatest team ever (Team Alison) and for taking pictures of Squee the stuffed lamb with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. And to my mom, Mindy—I hope you never take a vaccine for silliness. Thank you so much for your support of all of my writing.
I also want to thank all of the Pretty Little Liars readers out there. I absolutely adore hearing from you guys, and I’m so glad you care as much about the characters as I do. Keep your amazing letters coming!
Finally, much love to my grandma, Gloria Shepard. I’m touched that you read the Pretty Little Liars series—and I’m so happy you think the books are funny! I’ll try to include more jokes about nose hair in the future.
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT…
So after big bad Mona departed this dear world and Ian was sent away to a cold prison cell, our Pretty Little Liars were finally able to live in peace. Emily found true love at Smith College; Hanna ruled as queen bee of Rosewood Day and married a billionaire; Spencer graduated first in her class at Columbia School of Journalism and went on to be managing editor of the New York Times; Aria got her MFA from Rhode Island School of Design and moved to Europe with Ezra. We’re talking sunsets, fat babies, and blissful happiness. Nice, huh? Oh, and none of them ever told a lie again.
Are you effing kidding me? Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. There’s no happily ever after in Rosewood.
I mean, have you learned nothing? Once a pretty little liar, always a pretty little liar. Emily, Hanna, Spencer, and Aria just can’t help but be bad. That’s what I love best about them. So who am I? Well, let’s just say there’s a new A in town, and this time our girlies aren’t getting off so easily.
See ya soon. And until then, try not to be too good. Life’s always more fun with a few pretty little secrets.
Mwah!
—A
Credits
Hand Lettering by Peter Horridge
Photography by Ali Smith
Doll design by Tina Amantula
Excerpt from The Lying Game
I woke up in a dingy claw-foot bathtub in an unfamiliar pink-tiled bathroom. A stack of Maxims sat next to the toilet, green toothpaste globbed in the sink, and white drips streaked the mirror. The window showed a dark sky and a full moon. What day of the week was it? Where was I? A frat house at the U of A? Someone’s apartment? I could barely remember that my name was Sutton Mercer, or that I lived in the foothills of Tucson, Arizona. Had someone slipped me something?
“Emma?” a guy’s voice called from another room. “You home?”
“I’m busy!” called a voice close by.
A tall, thin girl opened the bathroom door, her tangled dark hair hanging in her face. “Hey!” I leapt to my feet. “Someone’s in here already!” My body felt tingly, as if it had fallen asleep. When I looked down, it seemed like I was flickering on and off, like I was under a strobe light. Freaky. Someone definitely slipped me something.
The girl didn’t seem to hear me. She stumbled forward, her face covered in shadows.
“Hello?” I cried, climbing out of the tub. She didn’t look over. “Are you deaf?” Nothing. She pumped a bottle of lavender-scented lotion and rubbed it on her arms.
The door flung open again, and a snub-nosed, unshaven teenage guy burst in. “Oh.” His gaze flew to the girl’s tight-fitting T-shirt, which said new york new york roller coaster on the front. “I didn’t know you were in here, Emma.”
“That’s maybe why the door was closed?” Emma pushed him out and slammed it shut. She turned back to the mirror. I stood right behind her. “Hey!” I cried again.