Sara Shepard - Pretty Little Liars

‘Do you need some help?’

Spencer hesitated. But Wren looked so concerned. And it was excruciating – well, painful, anyway – to twist her back

that way, even if she was doing it on purpose.

‘If you don’t mind,’ she said softly. ‘Thanks.’

Spencer nudged the door a little more closed with her foot. She smeared the Icy Hot goop from her hand onto his. Wren’s large hands felt sexy all slimed up with balm. She caught sight of their figures in the mirror and shivered. They looked awesome together.

‘So where’s the damage?’ Wren asked.

Spencer pointed. The muscle was right below her butt. ‘Hang on,’ she murmured. She grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapped it around herself, and then slid off her pants under the towel. She motioned to where it hurt, indicating that Wren reach below the towel. ‘But, um, try not to get too much on the towel,’ she said. ‘I begged my mom to order these special from France a couple years ago, and Icy Hot ruins them. You can’t get the smell out in the wash.’

She heard Wren stifle a laugh and stiffened. Had that come out way too uptight and Melissa-ish?

Wren slicked back his floppy hair with his goop-free hand and knelt down, slathering the Icy Hot on her skin. He reached his hands under her towel and began to rub slow, gentle circles across her muscles. Spencer relaxed and then leaned into him slightly. He stood but didn’t back away from her. She felt his breath on her shoulder, and then on her ear. Her skin felt radiant and fiery.

‘Feel better?’ Wren murmured.

‘Feels amazing.’ She might have said it in her head, she wasn’t sure.

I should do it, Spencer thought. I should kiss him. He pressed his hands more firmly on her back, his nails digging in a little. Her chest fluttered.

In the hall, the phone rang.

‘Wren, dear?’ Spencer’s mother called from downstairs. ‘Are you upstairs? Melissa’s on the phone for you.’

He sprang backward. Spencer jolted forward and pulled the towel around her. He quickly wiped the Icy Hot off his hands onto another towel. Spencer was too panicked to tell him not to. ‘Um,’ he murmured.

She looked away. ‘You should . . .’

‘Yeah.’

He pushed the door back open. ‘I hope that worked.’

‘Yeah, thanks,’ she murmured back, closing the door behind him. Then she draped herself over the sink and stared at her reflection.

Something flickered in the mirror, and for a second, she thought someone was by the shower. But it was only the flapping shower curtain, lifted by a breeze from the open window. Spencer turned back to the sink.

They’d spilled a few globs of Icy Hot on the counter. It was white and gooey, sort of like frosting. With her pointer finger, Spencer spelled out Wren’s name. Then she drew a heart around it.

Spencer considered leaving it there. But when she heard Wren stomp down the hall and say, ‘Hey, love. Missed you,’ she frowned and rubbed it out with the heel of her hand.

It was just getting dark as Emily slid into Ben’s green Jeep Cherokee. ‘Thanks for convincing my parents that my punishment starts tomorrow.’

‘No prob,’ Ben answered. He didn’t give her a hello kiss. And he was blasting Fall Out Boy, who he knew Emily hated.

‘They’re kinda pissed at me.’

‘I heard.’ He kept his eyes on the road.

Interesting that Ben didn’t ask why. Maybe he already knew. Bizarrely, Emily’s father had come into her room earlier and said, ‘Ben’s going to pick you up in twenty minutes. Be ready.’ Okay. Emily had thought she was grounded for life for denouncing the Swimming Gods, but she had the feeling they actually wanted her to go out with Ben. Maybe he’d talk some sense into her.

Emily heaved a sigh. ‘Sorry about practice yesterday. I’m just under some stress.’

Ben finally turned down the volume. ‘It’s all right. You’re just confused.’

Emily licked her just-ChapSticked lips. Confused? About what?

‘I’ll forgive you this time,’ Ben added. He reached over and squeezed her hand.

Emily bristled. This time? And shouldn’t he say he was sorry too? He had, after all, stormed off into the locker room like a baby.

They pulled through the Kahns’ open wrought-iron gates. The property was set back from the road, so the driveway was half a mile long and surrounded by tall, thick pines. Even the air smelled cleaner. The redbrick house sat behind massive Doric columns. It had a portico with a little horse statue on top and a gorgeous all-glass sun room off to the side. Emily counted fourteen windows on the second floor, from one end to the other.

But the house didn’t matter tonight. They were going to the field. It was set way off from the property by high, British-racing-green hedges and a stone wall and went on for acres. Half of it housed the Kahn horse farm; on the other side were a huge lawn and a duck pond. Surrounding the whole yard were thick woods.

As Ben parked the car in a makeshift grass parking lot, Emily climbed out, hearing The Killers blaring from the backyard. Familiar faces from Rosewood climbed out of their Jeeps, Escalades, and Saabs. A group of immaculately made-up girls took cigarette packs out of their little chain-link quilted bags and lit up, talking on their tiny cell phones. Emily looked down at her worn blue Converse All-Stars and touched her messy ponytail.

Ben caught up with her and they cut through the hedges and across a secluded stretch of woods and entered the party zone. There were a lot of kids Emily didn’t know, but that was because the Kahns invited all the it kids from the area’s other private schools, in addition to Rosewood. There were a keg and a drinks table by the bushes, and they’d set up a wooden dance floor, tiki lights, and tents in the middle of the field. On the other side of the field, near the woods, there was an old-school photo booth lit up with Christmas lights. The Kahns dragged it out of their basement for this party every year.

Noel greeted them. He wore a gray T-shirt that said WILL FLEX FOR FOOD, ripped-up faded blue jeans, and no shoes or socks. ‘What up.’ He handed them both a beer.

‘Thanks, man.’ Ben took his cup and started drinking. The amber beer messily dribbled down his chin. ‘Nice party.’

Someone tapped Emily on the shoulder.

Emily turned. It was Aria Montgomery, wearing a tight, faded red University of Iceland T-shirt, a frayed denim mini, and red John Fluevog cowboy boots. Her black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.

‘Wow, hi,’ Emily said. She’d heard Aria was back but she hadn’t seen her yet. ‘How was Europe?’

‘Awesome.’ Aria smiled. The girls looked at each other for a few seconds. Emily paused, wanting to tell Aria she was glad she’d ditched her fake nose ring and pink hair stripes but wondered if it would be weird to make a reference to their old friendship. She took a sip of her beer and pretended to be fascinated with the ridges on the cup.

Aria fidgeted. ‘Listen, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.’

‘You have?’ Emily met her eyes and then looked back down.

‘Well . . . either you or Spencer.’

‘Really?’ Emily felt her chest tighten. Spencer?

‘So, promise me you won’t think I’m crazy. I’ve been away for such a long time, and . . .’ Aria made a puckered face that Emily remembered well. It meant she was considering her words carefully.

‘And what?’ Emily raised her eyebrows, waiting. Maybe Aria wanted all her old friends to have a reunion – of course, being away, she wouldn’t know how far apart they’d grown. How uncomfortable would that be?

‘Well . . .’ Aria looked around warily. ‘Was there any more news about Ali’s disappearance while I was away?’ Emily jerked back, hearing Ali’s name come out of her old friend’s mouth. ‘Her disappearance? What do you mean?’ ‘Like, did they ever find out who took her? Did she ever come back?’ ‘Um . . . no . . .’ Emily chewed on her thumbnail uncomfortably. Aria leaned into Emily. ‘Do you think she’s dead?’ Emily’s eyes widened. ‘I . . . I don’t know. Why?’ Aria set her jaw. She looked deep in thought. ‘What’s this about?’ Emily asked, her heart pounding. ‘Nothing.’ Then Aria’s eyes focused on someone behind her. She clamped her mouth shut. ‘Hey,’ said a gravelly voice behind Emily. Emily turned. Maya. ‘Hey,’ she answered, nearly dropping her cup. ‘I . . . I didn’t know you were coming.’ ‘I didn’t either,’ Maya said. ‘But my brother wanted to.

He’s here somewhere.’ Emily turned to introduce Aria, but she was gone. ‘So is this Maya?’ Ben reappeared next to them. ‘The girl that’s turned Emily to the dark side?’ ‘Dark side?’ Emily squeaked. ‘What dark side?’ ‘Quitting swimming,’ Ben answered. He turned to Maya.

‘You know she’s quitting, right?’ ‘You are?’ Maya turned to Emily and grinned excitedly.

Emily shot Ben a look. ‘Maya didn’t have anything to do with that. And we don’t have to talk about it now.’

Ben took another big sip of beer. ‘Why not? Isn’t it your big news?’

‘I don’t know . . .’

‘Whatever.’ He clapped his heavy hand on her shoulder a little roughly. ‘I’m going to get another beer. You want another?’

Emily nodded, even though she only ever drank one beer at parties, max. Ben didn’t ask Maya if she wanted a drink. As he walked away, she noticed his saggy jeans. Yuck.

Maya took Emily’s hand and squeezed. ‘How’s it feel?’

Emily stared at their entwined hands, blushed, but kept holding on. ‘Good.’ Or scary. Or, at some moments, like a bad movie. ‘Confusing, but good.’

‘I have just the thing to celebrate with,’ Maya whispered. She reached into her Manhattan Portage knapsack and showed Emily the top of a Jack Daniel’s bottle. ‘Stole it from the liquor table. Wanna help kill it with me?’

Emily gazed at Maya. Her hair was pulled off her face, and she wore a simple black sleeveless shirt and an army green cargo skirt. She looked effervescent and fun – way more fun than Ben in his saggy-butt jeans.

‘Why not?’ she answered, and followed Maya toward the woods.

Hanna took a sip of her vodka lemonade and lit another cigarette. She hadn’t seen Sean since they parked his car on the Kahns’ lawn two hours ago, and even Mona had vanished. Now she was stuck talking to Noel’s best friend, James Freed, Zelda Millings – a beautiful blond girl who only wore clothes and shoes made out of hemp – and a bunch of squeally, cliquey girls from Doringbell Friends, the ultra-hip Quaker school in the next town over. The girls had come to Noel’s party last year and even though Hanna had hung out with them then, she couldn’t remember any of their names.

James stubbed out his Marlboro on the heel of his Adidas shell-tops and took a swig of beer. ‘I heard Noel’s brother has a ton of pot.’

‘Eric?’ asked Zelda. ‘Where’s he at?’

‘Photo booth,’ James answered.

Suddenly, Sean darted through the pines. Hanna stood up, adjusted her hopefully slimming BCBG slip dress, and tied the straps of her brand-new pale blue Christian Louboutin sandals back around her ankles. As she ran to catch up with him, her heel sunk into the dewy grass. She flailed her arms, dropped her drink, and suddenly she was on her butt.

‘And she’s down!’ James called out drunkenly. The Doringbell girls all laughed.

Hanna quickly scrambled up, pinching her palm to keep herself from crying. This was the biggest party of the year, but she felt way off her game: Her dress felt snug around her hips, she hadn’t been able to get Sean to crack a smile during the car ride over here – despite the fact that he’d scored his dad’s BMW 760i for the night – and she was on her third calorie-laden vodka lemonade and it was only nine-thirty.

Sean held out his hand to help her up. ‘Are you okay?’

Hanna hesitated. Sean was dressed in a plain white T-shirt that accentuated his strong-from-soccer chest and flat-fromgood-genes stomach, dark blue Paper Denim jeans that made his butt look awesome, and ragged black Pumas. His blondish brown hair was messily styled, his brown eyes looked extra soulful, and his pink lips extra kissable. For the past hour, she’d watched Sean bond with every guy there and carefully avoid her.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, sticking her lip out in a Hannapatented pout.

‘What’s the matter?’

She tried to balance in her shoes. ‘Can we . . . go somewhere private for a while? Maybe the woods? To talk?’