But more than that, she’d been too worried about the movement outside her guest bedroom window, about the possible stalker sighting, and about A’s note—saying that Ali’s killer was closer than she thought. Aria had thrashed around for hours, alone, certain she’d look over and see the stalker—or Ali’s killer—at the foot of her bed.
“Your stepmom got all anal on me this morning, though,” Aria said, skirting around a Japanese cherry blossom tree. “I forgot to make my bed. She made me go back upstairs and do it.” She snorted. “My mom hasn’t done that in about a billion years.”
When she looked over, Sean wasn’t laughing along. “My stepmom works hard to keep the house clean. Rosewood Historic House tours come through it almost every day.”
Aria bristled. She wanted to tell him that the Rosewood Historic Society had considered her house for the tour, too—some Frank Lloyd Wright protégé had designed it. Instead, she sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just…my mom hasn’t even called me since I left a message telling her I was staying with you. I feel so…abandoned.”
Sean stroked her arm. “I know, I know.”
Aria poked her tongue into the spot at the back of her mouth where her lone wisdom tooth had been. “That’s the thing,” she said softly. “You don’t know.” Sean’s family was perfect. Mr. Ackard had made them Belgian waffles this morning, and Mrs. Ackard had packed everyone’s lunches—including Aria’s. Even their dog, an Airedale, was well mannered.
“So explain it to me,” Sean said.
Aria sighed. “It’s not as easy as that.”
They passed a gnarled, knotty tree. Suddenly, Aria looked down…and stopped short. Right in front of her was a new gravesite. The groundskeeper hadn’t dug the hole for the coffin yet, but there was a taped-off, coffin-size space. The marble headstone was up, though. It read, plainly, ALISON LAUREN DILAURENTIS.
A small, gurgling noise escaped from the back of Aria’s throat. The authorities were still examining Ali’s remains for signs of poison and trauma, so her parents hadn’t buried her yet. Aria hadn’t known they were planning to bury her here.
She looked helplessly at Sean. He went pale. “I thought you knew.”
“I had no idea,” she whispered back.
The headstone said nothing but Ali’s name. No devoted daughter, or wonderful field hockey player, or most beautiful girl in Rosewood. There wasn’t even the day, month, or year she’d died. That was probably because no one knew the exact date.
She shivered. “Do you think I should say something?”
Sean pursed his pink lips. “When I visit my mom’s grave, sometimes I do.”
“Like what?”
“I fill her in on what’s going on.” He looked at her sideways and blushed. “I went after Foxy. I told her about you.”
Aria blushed too. She stared at the headstone but felt self-conscious. Talking to dead people wasn’t her thing. I can’t believe you’re dead, Aria thought, not able to say the words out loud. I’m standing here, looking at your grave, and it still isn’t real. I hate that we don’t know what happened. Is the killer still here? Is A telling the truth?
Yesssss, Aria swore she heard a far-off voice call. It sounded like Ali’s voice.
She thought about A’s note. Someone had wanted something of Ali’s—and had killed her for it. What? Everyone had wanted something of Ali’s—even her best friends. Hanna had wanted Ali’s personality, and seemed to have appropriated it after Ali vanished. Emily had loved Ali more than anyone—they used to call Emily “Killer,” as in Ali’s personal pit bull. Aria had wanted Ali’s ability to flirt, her beauty, her charisma. And Spencer had always been so jealous of her.
Aria stared into the taped-off area that would be Ali’s grave and asked the question that had been slowly forming in her mind: What were you guys really fighting about?
“This isn’t working for me,” Aria whispered after a moment. “Let’s go.”
She gave Ali’s future grave a parting glance. As she turned away, Sean’s fingers entwined with hers. They walked quietly for a while, but halfway to the gate, Sean stopped. “Bunny rabbit,” he said, pointing at a rabbit across the clearing. He kissed Aria’s lips.
Aria’s mouth curled up into a smile. “I get a kiss just because you saw a rabbit?”
“Yep.” Sean nudged her playfully. “It’s like the game where you punch someone when you see a VW Bug. With us, it can be kisses—and rabbits. It’s our couple game.”
“Couple game?” Aria snickered, thinking he was joking.
But Sean’s face was serious. “You know, a game that’s only for us. And it’s a good thing it’s rabbits, because there are tons of rabbits in Rosewood.”
Aria was afraid to make fun of him, but really—a couple game? It reminded her of something Jennifer Thatcher and Jennings Silver might do. Jennifer and Jennings were a couple in her grade who had been going out since before Aria had left for Iceland at the end of seventh grade. They were known only as Double-J, or Dub-J, and were called that even individually. Aria could not be a Dub-J.
As she watched Sean walk in front of her, heading toward their bikes, the delicate hairs on the back of her neck stood up. It felt like someone was looking at her. But when she turned around, all she saw was a giant black crow standing on top of Ali’s headstone.
The crow glared at her, unblinking, and then spread its massive wings and took off toward the trees.
18 A GOOD SMACK UPSIDE THE HEAD NEVER HURT ANYONE
On Thursday morning, Dr. Evans shut her office door, settled into her leather chair, folded her hands placidly, and smiled at Spencer, who was sitting opposite her. “So. I hear you had a photo shoot and interview yesterday with the Sentinel.”
“That’s right,” Spencer answered.
“And how did that go?”
“Fine.” Spencer took a sip of her extra-large Starbucks vanilla latte. The interview actually had gone fine, even after all of Spencer’s worrying—and A’s threats. Jordana had barely asked her about the essay, and Matthew had told her the pictures looked exquisite.
“And how did your sister deal with you being in the spotlight?” Dr. Evans asked. When Spencer raised an eyebrow, Dr. Evans shrugged and leaned forward. “Have you ever thought she might be jealous of you?”
Spencer glanced anxiously at Dr. Evans’s closed door. Melissa was sitting outside on the waiting room couch, reading Travel + Leisure. Yet again, she’d scheduled her session for right after Spencer’s.
“Don’t worry, she can’t hear you,” Dr. Evans assured her.
Spencer sighed. “She seemed sort of…pissed,” she said in a low voice. “Usually, it’s all about Melissa. Even when my parents just ask me a question, Melissa immediately tries to steer the conversation back to her.” She stared at the undulating silver Tiffany ring on her pointer finger. “I think she hates me.”
Dr. Evans tapped her notebook. “You’ve felt like she hates you for a long time, right? How does that make you feel?”
Spencer shrugged, hugging one of Dr. Evans’s forest green chenille pillows to her chest. “Angry, I guess. Sometimes I get so frustrated about the way things are, I just want to…hit her. I don’t, obviously, but—”