“Me, neither,” Hanna whispered. “What a nightmare.”
They walked across the lobby, past a guard’s desk. Emily glanced out the revolving doors. Sunlight sparkled on the sidewalk. A group of girls in colorful sundresses and sandals passed, laughing giddily. But then, beyond them, she thought she saw a shadow slip into an alley across the street. The hair rose on the back of her neck. Ali—the real Ali—could be anywhere. Watching them. Waiting to strike.
She turned back to her friends. “You know, we could take action,” she said in a low voice. “We can look for her again.”
Spencer’s eyes widened. “No way. Absolutely not.”
Aria’s throat bobbed. “It’s impossible.”
But Hanna nodded. “I have wondered where Ali went. And Rubens did say that was the only way we could go free.”
“Hanna, no.” Spencer gave her a sharp look. “We have no leads.”
That’s right, Ali tittered in Emily’s mind. You’ll never find me.
Emily pulled out her phone again. The Nick article was still on the screen. “Nick’s so angry. Maybe he’ll help us out. Give us something.”
Spencer snorted. “Unlikely.”
“Yeah, and I hate the idea of facing him in prison,” Aria said nervously. “Don’t you?”
“If we go together, I think we can handle it,” Emily said, trying to sound firm.
“Maybe,” Aria murmured unhappily.
Hanna tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “What are the chances the cops will even let us visit someone in prison? We’re out on bail. We can’t exactly move freely and do whatever we want.”
Emily looked at Spencer. “Could your dad pull some strings?” Spencer’s father, a powerful lawyer, knew everyone from the DA to the mayor to the chief of police. He could make all sorts of things happen.
Spencer crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Please?” Emily cried.
Spencer shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to.”
Emily’s mouth hung open. “So you’re going to give up? That’s not like you, Spence.”
Spencer’s chin wobbled. “What I don’t want to do anymore is play Scooby-Doo. It only leads to more problems.”
“Spence,” Emily protested, reaching for Spencer’s arm. But Spencer shook her off, letting out a pained note that echoed through the lobby. She spun around and walked through the revolving doors.
A long silence followed. Emily felt that same weight pressing on her chest once more. She didn’t dare look at Hanna or Aria because she knew she’d burst into tears if she did. Maybe Spencer was right. Maybe it was a terrible idea to go looking for Ali again.
That’s right, Ali shrieked in Emily’s head, louder than ever. This time, I’ve got you for good.
2
SPENCER’S NEW TUTOR
Spencer Hastings walked quickly to the end of the Center City block. She glanced over her shoulder, half-sure that her friends were running after her, trying to convince her to embark on another crazy, frustrating, and fruitless Ali search. But the street was empty. Good.
She was done trying to search for Ali. After the past two weeks, after coming so close to finding Ali and then losing her so dramatically, she was giving up. She’d gotten everything she wanted only to have it all taken away—she no longer had any college future, she no longer had a book deal, and her bullying blog, which had so recently been a huge success, hadn’t had any hits in days except for people writing posts about what a horrible person she was. Fine, Ali, you win, she’d finally conceded. As far as Spencer was concerned, it was time to face her fate: prison.
Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though. She was Spencer Hastings, and if she was going to have to go to prison, then she was damn sure going to do everything she could to make it as tolerable as possible. It was the same approach she’d taken before attending Camp Rutabaga in fifth grade: She’d interviewed previous summers’ campers and counselors, read message boards, even tramped over the campgrounds during the winter to get the lay of the land. She’d learned never to swim before 11 AM, when they added new chlorine to the pool; to avoid the peas in the mess hall; and that the surest way to win Color War was by mastering the rope bridge—and she had done so by practicing on a course she’d built beforehand in her backyard. And so she’d started her prison prep by reading the bestselling memoir Behind Bars: My Time in Prison. When she realized Angela Beadling, the author, lived in Philly, Spencer had gone on her website, and found that she consulted for individual clients as a Prison Life and Acclimation Specialist. She’d immediately called and made an appointment.
Her phone bleated, startling her. She looked at the screen. Dad. Emily hadn’t called him behind her back, had she? Spencer bit her lip and answered.
“Hey, Spence,” Mr. Hastings said soberly. “How are you holding up?”
Spencer swallowed hard, all thoughts of Emily fading away. She appreciated her father’s efforts to stay in touch—it was more than her ice-queen mother was doing at the moment. “Okay,” she said, trying to sound positive. “I just came from a meeting with Rubens, actually.”
“Really?” Mr. Hastings sounded enthusiastic. “And how did that go?”
Spencer skirted a green recycling can. She didn’t have the heart to tell her dad that Rubens had told them exactly the same thing as every other lawyer. Mr. Hastings had pulled all kinds of strings to get them a meeting, after all. And though they hadn’t talked about it—and would probably never discuss it in a zillion years—a huge, dark secret lingered between them. Not long ago, Spencer had found out that her father was Ali and Courtney’s dad, too. She knew he must have conflicted feelings about how messed up both of those girls had turned out, but Real Ali was still his flesh and blood. Spencer couldn’t help thinking that his careful, deliberate supportiveness was a clear message that he didn’t believe for a second that he was letting any paternal feelings get in the way.