Vicious (22 page)

On Thursday morning, Hanna and Mike sat at Hanna's kitchen table for breakfast. They were dressed in monogrammed, terry-cloth bathrobes they'd received as wedding gifts, plaid pajama pants, and interesting footwear. Hanna's high-heeled slippers with a pouf on the toe were a wedding gift from Hailey Blake. Mike was wearing the ugliest Icelandic-wool socks Hanna had ever laid eyes on. When she asked him to take them off, he'd just looked at her and said, “These are my favorites. They keep my feet warm.”

Those were the intimate details you were forced to deal with when you married someone. You learned to take their ugly socks. You witnessed their drool on the pillow while they slept. You kicked them gently when they snored. She'd gotten all of that and more the past few nights.

And it had been
wonderful.

Now they were plowing through the enormous pile of wrapped gifts on the floor. Even though Hanna had explicitly said
No Gifts
on the invitation, people had bought them all kinds of crap anyway. And not just their wedding guests, but people from all over the country who'd felt for Hanna after Ali reappeared and their verdict was reversed.

“Oh look, another SodaStream!” Hanna exclaimed, removing the drink-carbonating machine from its wrapping paper. She peered at the accompanying card. “It's from a Mrs. Mary Hammond in Akron, Ohio.” She glanced at Mike. “Anyone you know?”

“Nope, sounds like a Hanna fan.” Mike made a face. “I don't even
like
sparkling water.”

Hanna added it to the duplicates pile, which also included three Keurig coffeemakers, two waffle irons, four eggbeaters, and two complete sets of kitchen knives. She let out a sigh as she took in all the loot. “Let's just hope Macy's lets us exchange this for cash.”

“Not this one!” Mike said, slicing open a small envelope. It was a twenty-five-dollar gift card to Hooters from someone in New Mexico. He tucked it into his pocket. “I'm totally treating Noel to some wings and boobs.”

“You're gross,” Hanna told him, wrinkling her nose in mock horror.

“Just kidding.” Mike grinned. “I won't even
look
at the girls.”

“Damn right,” Hanna said as she opened yet another salad spinner.

Mike peeked at the card, which was again from someone neither of them knew. “But you know that means you can't work out with any of the hot male trainers at the gym anymore.”

“What?” Hanna pouted. “That's not fair!”

Mike grinned. “You have to give up some stuff for marriage, remember?”

“Fine, I guess it's worth it.” Hanna sighed dramatically.

“It's
totally
worth it,” Mike said, and leaned in to kiss her.

When he leaned back, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, Hanna looked into his bright blue eyes. “Promise me we won't turn into a boring married couple?” she blurted out. “I don't want to be those people who sit around and watch TV and don't talk to each other.”

Mike picked up a big gift with pink-and-white striped wrapping paper. “Obviously not. We're going to be the cool married people. We'll go to parties, have tons of friends . . .”

“And we'll live in New York,” Hanna said, smiling at the thought of the Fashion Institute of Technology. She'd gotten a call yesterday saying she was still welcome there if she wanted to attend. The idea of getting out of Rosewood to somewhere exciting like New York City was pretty thrilling. She was sick of this place.

“Yeah, my parents are thrilled I got into Stuyvesant,” Mike said, referring to the prestigious public school in Manhattan. You had to take an exam to be admitted, and Mike had surprised everyone by passing easily—except for Hanna, of course, who always knew he was smart. She felt guilty that he would spend his senior year of high school somewhere new, but he'd assured her that he was ready to leave Rosewood, too. And that he wanted to be wherever Hanna was. “Plus, Aria will be there. Hey,” Mike said, his eyes lighting up as he got an idea. “Maybe we should get a big apartment with her and Noel. How awesome would that be? You guys could, like, girl-talk every night, Noel and I could watch football, we'd always have drinking buddies . . .”

Hanna shoved him playfully. “We are not having
roommates
, Mike. We're married.”

She was about to say something else, but she trailed off, her attention turned to the object Mike had pulled from the pink-and-white wrapping. It was a robin's-egg-blue Tiffany box.

“Ooh!” she squealed, yanking it from Mike and opening the lid. Inside, instead of a pair of crystal champagne glasses or one of those gorgeous silver picture frames like she'd expected, was a silver bracelet with a Tiffany heart charm. She blinked. It was exactly like the one she'd shoplifted from the King James Mall years before. That bracelet had landed her in the police station and had triggered the first message from A, about looking fat in prison garb. Except there was one difference: This charm had an initial engraved on it. The letter
A.

There was a note with the bracelet, too. Hanna opened it up.

Hanna felt the blood drain from her face. Was this from the
real
A? Maybe before Emily apprehended Ali in Florida? She wished she knew when UPS had delivered the box.

Mike grabbed the note and stuffed it in his pocket. “We'll turn it over to Fuji. But you shouldn't worry about it.”

“Uh huh,” Hanna said quickly.

But that didn't stop her heart from pounding. It was going to take some time to really understand that Ali was truly gone. Nick wouldn't be getting out of prison, either, and even Mrs. DiLaurentis had been arrested for hiding Ali and pulling a gun on Emily. And even if, by a horrible twist of fate, Ali
did
escape from prison, at least Fuji believed them this time. Hanna and the others were no longer the Pretty Little Liars but the Pretty Little Truth-tellers. Not that that had a particularly good ring to it on the cover of
People.

Her phone chirped, and she put the strange box aside and looked at the number on the caller ID, afraid for a split second that A might be calling. It was a number from Los Angeles. Puzzled, Hanna answered and heard a gruff voice. “Hanna? This is Hank Ross.”

“Oh!” Hanna shot up from her chair. Hank was the director of
Burn It Down
. “H-how are you?”

“I'm all right, Hanna, though probably not as well as you are.” Hanna could tell by the tone of Hank's voice that he was smiling. “Congratulations on everything. I also heard you got married?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hanna said. She looked over and Mike squeezed her arm.
Who is it?
he mouthed, but she held up a finger, indicating she'd tell him in a moment.

“So listen, Hanna.” Hank cleared his throat. “You might not know this, but our production has been put on hold for a little bit. The story kind of got . . .
bigger
than what we'd written. Alison faking her death, Emily also faking her death and finding Alison in Florida—we wanted to use all of it.”

“Yeah,” Hanna said faintly. “Emily is a hero.”

“Indeed,” Hank agreed. “So we've gone back to the drawing board and rewritten quite a few of the scenes. Compressed some stuff, added a bunch of new drama as well. But our backers and the studio are very, very impressed with our new script, and we've gotten the green light to continue. It's going to be an even more incredible movie than before.”

“That's great,” Hanna said. It made sense to tell the story all the way to the end.

“I think you should come back and play yourself,” Hank said. “If you're still interested, that is.”

Hanna held the phone outstretched. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Everyone loves you. And now that you've gotten the trial out of the way, there's only one catch: The movie is filming in L.A. now, not Rosewood. A few of our stars had dual commitments out West, and because we didn't want to lose them we were forced to relocate. We'll shoot it at the Warner studio in Burbank this summer. It'll have the same feel and look as Rosewood though, don't worry. So what do you say?”

Hanna peeked at Mike. He stared back excitedly, probably sensing what the call was about. “I'm supposed to go to college in the fall . . . ,” she said, trailing off.

“Not a problem. We plan on wrapping in mid-August, so that will give you plenty of time. We do start shooting next week though,” Hank said, sounding nervous.

“I'll have to check with my husband,” Hanna told him. “I'm assuming the salary package is competitive?”

“Naturally,” Hank answered quickly. “We'll give you a raise from your last offer.”

“Good to hear,” Hanna said in a clipped voice. “Well, my agent will get back to you shortly.”

Then she hung up, placed her phone on the table, and selected another gift from the floor. Mike blinked at her hard. “Um, hello? I'm dying over here!”

Hanna looked up at him, ready to explode from excitement. “How would you feel about going to L.A. for the summer?”

Mike's eyes gleamed. “Is my wife going to be a star?”

“I think so,” Hanna said giddily. “So what do you say? Will you come with me?”

Mike opened his arms. And Hanna knew, just from the way he hugged her, that he was going to say yes.

 

 

 

Six months later

Emily sat on her bed, looking around her old bedroom. She hadn't been in here in months, and it felt both the same and different. The same old Michael Phelps posters were on the walls, and some of her old clothes still hung in the closet. But Carolyn's side was now overrun by a big Singer sewing machine and a bunch of plastic bins full of thread and fabric. The carpets had also been changed to pale white instead of their old candy pink. The room felt emptier, no longer as full of life.

And as Emily sprang out of bed and looked at herself in the mirror,
she
was different, too. Her face was no longer drawn and freaked-out looking. Her hair still had highlights from the summer she'd spent working at the surf shop in Monterey, California. She felt utterly . . . well,
herself.
To be honest, it actually felt stifling being back in the house—she'd left soon after she came back from Florida, and she hadn't had a ton of contact with her parents since. But she was only here for a night to celebrate the big premiere of
Burn It Down.

She was dressed in her new uniform as of late: Toms shoes, oversize snowboarding-style pants, and a fitted Hurley shirt—a perk of being one of the new faces of the brand, thanks to her newfound fame. With one more glance at her reflection, she rolled back her shoulders and padded downstairs. The Christmas tree was up in the family room, and lights were strung on the staircase. Her mother was in the kitchen, stuffing some things in a large, holiday-themed basket. When she turned and saw Emily, she broke into a twitchy smile. “Want breakfast?”

Emily didn't answer, her eyes on the basket. It was yet another one of her mother's Welcome Wagon efforts for someone who'd just moved to the community. It gave her a spiky twinge. More than two years before, her mom had prepared a basket just like this one—albeit autumn-themed—for Maya St. Germain's family, who'd moved into Ali's house. As it turned out, though, she'd been totally
un
welcoming to them, after she found out Emily was in love with Maya.

Her mom noticed Emily's gaze on the basket and flinched. Emily could tell her mom was groping for a way to break the ice. Last night, when Emily had gotten in, Mrs. Fields had looked at her in the same longing way, full of questions she didn't feel like she could ask anymore. Emily knew her well enough to know what they might be:
Are you going to go to college? Why are you still living at the beach? Why won't you
talk
to me?

But Emily wasn't going to take her family back that easily, not after what her friends had told her about the funeral. Emily had confronted her mom about not letting Hanna, Spencer, or Aria speak, and Mrs. Fields had just given her a crazy jumble of excuses. “We were so confused about what had happened,” she'd said in a scattered voice. “We didn't know if your friends were the problem or the solution.”

“Yeah, but they knew me best,” Emily had snapped. “And if it was really
my
funeral, with my wishes, you would have let them speak no matter what they had to say.”

Her mother had shrugged and said that was out of the question. And all at once, it had hit Emily.
She
was out of the question, too—at least in her parents' eyes. Her parents were so worried about how she appeared to other people—first when Emily wanted to quit swimming, then when she came out to them, and then the domino effect of Ali and A and everything else. They couldn't even eulogize her properly. They'd been forced to turn her into the perfect little Emily they'd always
wanted.

But she wasn't that Emily, and she never would be. What she had to understand, though, was that her parents weren't going to change, either. And so she'd let her family go for a while. She would always love them, but it was easier to do so from afar, at least until they came to terms with who she really was. And for now, that was okay. Because she had another family, a
real
family, people who accepted her no matter what.

Her friends.

Her phone buzzed, and she looked at the screen.
I'm out front
, Hanna texted. “See you,” Emily said to her mother, grabbing a bagel from the platter and heading out the door.

The December air was crisp, and huge piles of leaves overran the lawn. Emily skipped across the grass to Hanna's parked Prius. She whooped when she saw Spencer, Aria, and Hanna inside. “Oh my
God
!” she squealed, yanking open the door.

All three girls inside yelped, too. “You look awesome!” Hanna, who was wearing a short, studded dress she'd designed herself during her first semester at FIT, cried.

“Are you, like, a pro surfer by now, Em?” Aria asked. “When are you going to teach me?”

“Whenever!” Emily lilted, sliding in next to her. “But you have to come visit. It's been too long.”

It
had
been too long. In late June, Emily had visited Hanna in L.A., where she was filming
Burn It Down
, but they hadn't seen each other since. The northern and southern parts of the state weren't exactly close. And then the film had wrapped and Hanna and Mike had returned to New York, where Hanna was going to FIT and Mike was finishing up high school, and they were living together in what Hanna claimed was “the cutest West Village one-bedroom you've ever seen.” Aria was living in Brooklyn, painting and schmoozing the art gallery circuit and going to Parsons—and Noel was in New York, too, but uptown at Columbia, where he'd walked on to the lacrosse team. Aria and Hanna said that they saw each other, but not as much as they wanted given their grueling school schedules. And Spencer had taken a job at Legal Aid in Philly and was still dating Wren.

Emily had meant to visit all of them in the past six months, but she'd been busy, too. Sure, by most standards she'd been a beach bum, learning how to surf, logging long hours at the shop, doing a few Hurley ads, and giving a few lucrative interviews about her harrowing debacle with Ali. She'd also met a pretty new surfer girl named Laura and . . . and started
something
, though it was too early yet to tell what. Mostly, Emily had been finding herself. Being truly
her
, which was something Rosewood had always prevented. Not that she knew that until she left.

“It is so weird to be back in my house,” Hanna moaned as she pulled away from the curb. “My dad keeps calling, like, every hour, wanting to see me. And my mom keeps giving me marriage tips.” She made a face. “Stuff like, ‘Don't go to bed mad.'”

“It's weird for me, too!” Aria sighed. “Especially because Mike and I are both gone. Ella is mooning around, moaning that her kids grew up too fast.”

“And doesn't everything seem so . . . I don't know,
small
here?” Emily looked at the houses swishing past. “I don't remember the Wawa being so teeny-tiny. Even Rosewood Day doesn't seem as impressive.”

“That's what happens when you leave somewhere,” Spencer teased, cuffing her playfully on the shoulder.

Hanna drummed on the steering wheel. “Listen, I have everyone booked for hair at eleven and makeup at noon, and then we'll try on a bunch of dresses my stylist brought in so we look totally and completely fabulous for the event. Okay?”

“You don't have to do all that, Han,” Aria complained, crossing her slender, leather-clad legs. She was wearing the most fabulous black studded booties Emily had ever seen, and with her new, choppier haircut, she looked like a true New York City artist.

Hanna snickered. “Of course I do.
Rosewood's
footing the bill—when they found out we were holding the premiere here, they said they'd pay for everything, including a spa day for all of us.”

“Well, they owe us,” Spencer sing-songed, stifling a giggle.

“Agreed,” Emily said.

Spencer frowned into the rearview mirror. “Shit, guys. I just realized I left my camera at home—I really want to document all of this. Mind if we swing by and grab it?”

“Sure,” everyone said in unison, and Hanna turned into Spencer's neighborhood.

“So,” Hanna said. “From now on, we are hanging out at least once a month, okay? I'm going to fly all of us out to L.A. in February. Which will be perfect, since it's freezing in New York around then. What do you say?”

“Totally,” Aria answered, and Emily let out a cheer.

“As long as Melissa doesn't have the baby early,” Spencer reminded them. “She's due right around then, and she wants me to be her labor coach.” She made a freaked-out face, then
glanced at Emily, who smiled sadly. “I can only imagine, Em,” she said softly. “I wish I'd been there to help you through it.” It hadn't been so long ago that they'd all been there in Emily's hospital room for her C-section.

“How is Violet, anyway?” Hanna asked, seeming to read their minds.

Emily grinned. “She's great. She's even starting to say some words!” That was something else that had changed: After the Ali stuff, Emily had decided that she wanted some contact with Violet, after all. She'd reached out to Violet's family, saying that things were absolutely safe—no A was going to swoop down and try and steal Violet away—and they'd given her regular updates on the little girl, who was now a year and a half old. The family was planning to take Violet to Disneyland in California once she turned two, and they'd invited Emily along. She couldn't wait.

They pulled up to Spencer's house, and Spencer entered the key code into her gate. “Be right back,” she said, dashing inside.

Emily sat back and gazed at Spencer's lawn, which was covered in a fine layer of frost. Even though she'd been there a thousand times since, all she could think of, suddenly, was the seventh-grade sleepover, when she and her friends and Courtney had convened on this very street. She could almost hear their words verbatim:
I'm so glad this day is over. I'm so glad seventh
grade
is over.
And then, from Mona Vanderwaal:
Hey, Alison! Hey, Spencer!
It was hard to imagine that a second DiLaurentis twin had been watching from the window the whole time. Waiting. Scheming. And that, hours later, Courtney would be dead.

Three months before, Real Ali had been officially sentenced to life in prison. Emily had considered going to the arraignment, but she decided she didn't need to see Ali again. Still, she sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, certain that Ali was out there. Something about all of this felt unfinished. Emily wished she could have made Ali understand exactly what she'd done to them. But maybe she needed to let that go. Ali was crazy. She didn't listen to reason.

“What the hell is
that
?”

Hanna pointed at something on the DiLaurentis's curb. There was a jumble of candles, several stuffed animals, and a few bouquets of flowers wrapped in cellophane. A vanity license plate propped among them read
Alison
in glittery pink letters.

Emily's insides seized. Another Ali shrine?
Really?

Aria made a disgusted face. “Wonder how long
that's
been up.”

Spencer swung back into the car with her camera, then glanced where the girls were looking. “Oh, yeah.” She made a face. “
That.
Amelia says it went up right after Ali was sentenced to life in prison.”

Emily squinted. “Three
months
ago?”

“Uh huh,” Spencer said.

Aria clucked her tongue. “I can't believe there are still Ali Cats.”

“There probably always will be,” Emily said softly. She perused Ali Cat boards every so often, astonished at how many people still sympathized with Ali's plight. “But we also know that the FBI has it under control. No one's talking to her in prison. And no one is going to hurt us.”

“Damn right,” Hanna said. She glanced at Emily in the rearview mirror. “
We
won this time.”

Emily's phone beeped. She looked down at the screen, feeling suddenly worried. Maybe it was being back in Rosewood, maybe it was being
here
, in front of Ali's house, but she couldn't help but think she'd just received a new text from A.

But it was from Laura.
Miss you, chica
, it said.
Hope you're having fun!

Emily looked up and smiled. She typed back that she missed Laura, too. Laura would never be Jordan, she knew.
No one
would be Jordan. But maybe that was okay. Emily was just happy going with the flow, seeing where things with Laura went.

Spencer cast one more glance at the Ali shrine, then shrugged. “You know what? Who cares if the Ali shrine is there. People can love Ali all they want.
We
have better things to do.”

“Hells yeah!” Hanna whooped, shifting into drive. “We have a premiere to get to!”

And just like that, the four of them took off, leaving the Ali shrine—and maybe Ali herself—far behind. To Emily, it felt like a huge moment. They were going off into their new lives. Into a world where they were understood and safe. Into a world where they could be anything they wanted.

And into a world where they'd always have each other.