Aria blinked in disbelief. Xavier kept smiling, like this was funny. The room swirled dizzily, but Aria tried to remain calm. “Fine,” she blurted out. “If you’re not going to leave, then I will.”
Xavier looked unimpressed. “Where are you going to go?”
Aria bit her lip, turning away. It was, of course, a valid question—where could she go? But there was only one place. She shut her eyes and pictured Meredith’s swollen belly. The small of her back began to ache, anticipating the cramped bed in Meredith’s studio/spare bedroom.
It would be painful watching Meredith start to nest and Byron get all new-parent giddy. But Xavier had made things crystal clear. Things could get so easily twisted around, and he seemed more than happy to twist them if need be. Aria would do everything she could not to wreck her family ever again.
29 THE WHOLE, PATHETIC TRUTH
Spencer had an advantage over everyone else at the benefit who might have wanted to leave without Wilden noticing—it was her house, and she knew all the secret exits. Wilden probably didn’t even know that there was a door at the back of the garage that led straight into the backyard. She paused only to grab a small flashlight by her mom’s gardening supplies, put on a forest green rain slicker that was hanging on a peg on the wall, and stuff her feet into a pair of extra riding boots, which were flung haphazardly on the garage floor next to her dad’s old Jaguar XKE. The boots weren’t lined, but they’d do a better job keeping her feet warm than her strappy Miu Miu heels.
The sky was purplish black. Spencer ran along the perimeter of the yard, grazing the frozen blueberry bushes that separated her property from Ali’s old house. The flashlight’s tiny beam danced against the uneven ground. Luckily, most of the snow had melted, so it would be easy to see where they’d buried the trash bag.
Halfway across her yard, Spencer heard a twig snap and froze. She turned around slowly. “Hello?” she whispered.
There was no moon tonight, and the sky was eerily clear, filled with stars. Muffled noises from the party drifted across the lawn. Somewhere very far away, a car door slammed.
Spencer bit down hard on her lip and kept going. Her boots sloshed through the half-slush, half-mud. The barn was just ahead. Melissa had turned on the porch light, but the rest of the barn was dark. Spencer walked right up to the edge of the porch and stood very still. She was breathing hard, as if she’d just run six miles with her old field hockey team. From back here, her house seemed so small and far away. The windows glowed yellow, and she could see the vague shapes of people inside. Andrew was in there, as were her old friends. Wilden too. Maybe she should have left this to him. But it was too late now.
A little breeze curled around her neck and down her bare back. The hole they’d dug for the trash bag was easy to find, a few paces to the left of the barn near the winding bluestone path. Spencer shuddered, overcome by a foreboding sense of déjà vu. Their seventh-grade sleepover had been on a moonless night a lot like this. After their argument, Spencer had followed Ali out here, demanding that she come back inside. And then they’d had that stupid fight about Ian. Spencer had suppressed the memory for so long, but now that it was out in the open again, she was sure she’d never forget Ali’s twisted face as long as she lived. Ali had laughed at Spencer, taunting her for taking Ian’s kiss seriously.
Spencer had been so hurt, she’d shoved Ali hard. Ali had gone flying, her head making a horrible crack against the rocks. It was a wonder the cops had never found the rock Ali hit—it must have had a trace of blood on it, or at least a hair. In fact, the cops barely investigated anything back here besides the inside of the barn those first crucial weeks after Ali went missing. They’d been pretty convinced Ali had run away. Had that just been a sloppy oversight? Or was there some reason they didn’t want to look more carefully?
There’s something you don’t know, Ian had said. The cops know it, but they’re ignoring it. Spencer gritted her teeth, chasing the words from her head. Ian was crazy. There wasn’t some secret the world was hiding. Just the truth: Ian had killed Ali because she was going to reveal that they were a couple.
Spencer hiked up her dress, knelt down, and plunged her hands into the soft, dug-up dirt. Finally, her hands touched the edge of the plastic garbage bag. Condensed water from the melted snow dripped off the ends as she pulled it out. She set the bag on a dry patch of dirt and undid the ties. Everything inside was still dry. The first thing she pulled out was the string bracelet Ali had made for them after The Jenna Thing. Next was Emily’s pink quilted purse. Spencer forced it open, feeling around the interior. The faux-patent leather squeaked. It was empty.
Spencer found the piece of paper Hanna had dropped in and shined the flashlight on it as best she could. It wasn’t a note from Ali, as she’d originally thought, but a student evaluation form Ali had filled out, ranking Hanna’s oral report on Tom Sawyer. All the Rosewood Day sixth-grade English classes had to rate their peers’ reports, sort of as a schoolwide experiment.
Ali’s assessment of Hanna’s report was fairly mild—nothing too nice, nothing too mean. It seemed like she’d dashed it off quickly, busy with something else. Spencer pushed it aside. She pulled out the last thing at the bottom of the bag, Aria’s drawing. Even back then, Aria had drawn people remarkably well. There was Ali, standing in front of Rosewood Day, a smirk on her face, as if she was laughing about someone behind their back. A few of her underlings stood in the background, snickering.
Spencer let it flutter to her lap, disappointed. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about this, either. Had she really expected a miracle answer? Was she really that big an idiot?
But she shined the flashlight over the drawing once more. Ali was holding something in her hands. It looked like…a piece of paper. Spencer pressed the flashlight right against the paper. Aria had sketched the headline. Time Capsule Starts Tomorrow.
This drawing and the photo propped up against the Eiffel Tower had both been from the same day. Just like the photo, Aria had captured the precise moment when Ali ripped down the flyer and announced that she was going to find a piece of the Time Capsule flag. Aria had sketched someone behind Ali, too. Spencer pressed her flashlight against the paper. Ian.
A chilly gust of wind danced across Spencer’s face. Her eyes kept tearing up from the cold, but she struggled to keep them open. Aria’s sketch of Ian wasn’t as diabolical or conniving as Spencer had thought it would be. Instead, Aria had made him look kind of…pathetic. He was gazing at Ali, his eyes wide, a dopey smile on his face. Ali, on the other hand, was turned away from him. Her expression was cocky, as if she was thinking, Aren’t I the shit? Even gorgeous upperclassmen are wrapped around my little finger.
The paper crinkled in Spencer’s hands. Aria had drawn this right as it was happening. She certainly hadn’t known anything about Ali or Ian back then, but had merely sketched what she saw—Ian looking lovesick and vulnerable. And Ali looking…like Ali. Like a bitch.
Ali and I flirted a lot, but that was all. She never seemed interested in taking it further than that, Ian had said. But then…suddenly…she changed her mind.
The trees around the pool made black, spidery shadows. The wooden wind chimes that hung from the eave of the barn knocked together, sounding like bones rattling. A shiver ran from the base of Spencer’s neck all the way to her coccyx. Could it be true? Had Ian and Ali harmlessly flirted with each other, merely having a little fun? What, then, had made Ali change her mind and decide to like him?