Ali's Pretty Little Lies (Prequel)

Twenty-One: An Offer She Can't Refuse.

Two afternoons later, Ali and Spencer sat at Spencer's dining room table, watching the rain stream down the windows. They'd cleared some of the china plates, napkins, and candlesticks off the table—Mrs. Hastings was the type who always had the table set so she could wine-and-dine a guest at a moment's notice—to make way for Ali's laptop and a stack of index cards. They were using Ali's iTunes to pick a playlist for the impromptu end-of-school party Ali had put together for Friend. The flash cards contained vocabulary words for their English final tomorrow.

"Okay, megalomaniac," Spencer said.

Ali tapped the chair back. "Is that a band or a vocab word?"

Spencer giggled. "Vocab, silly."

Ali threw up her hands. "You got me."

Spencer flipped the card over. "Someone who had delusional fantasies of power, relevance, and omnipotence."

"Got it," Ali said, turning away. That definition reminded her of someone: her psychotic sister. Wanting to be the only DiLaurentis girl. Pushing her out of the family by any means possible. And now they were bringing her back.

It was six days, one hour, and twenty-three minutes—roughly—until her sister returned, and Ali had no idea what to do about it. Worse, her family had thrown themselves into preparing for her twin's return: getting a new quilt for the guest bedroom, buying her a laptop and a desk, inquiring about membership for her at the Rosewood Country Club. Setting up an account at the Rosewood pharmacy so they could easily refill her meds. Mrs. DiLaurentis had even had the balls to ask Ali if she had any clothes that wouldn't mind giving up—"Courtney" probably needed a few things to start her off. As if Ali was really going to let her wear jeans and T-shirts! It was incredible: Even though her parents believed the girl in the hospital was the real Courtney, they were still treating her better than they'd ever treated Ali when she was there.

She'd tossed and turned all night, having nightmares about the corridors of the Preserve and the moans she used to hear at the Radley. Could her sister prove, unequivocally, that Ali had lied for all these years—and forced her to take her place in the Preserve? And what could Ali do if she did? It was true, after all.

"Ali?"

Spencer was staring at her, a pencil hovering halfway between her mouth and the paper. Her blue eyes were wide, and strands of hair come loose from her ponytail. "I asked if you thought Nas would work for the playlist."

"Oh." Ali spun her initial ring around her finger. "That sounds good."

Spencer cocked her head. "Are you okay?"

"Of course!" Ali blurted. Then she shrugged. "I just had a crappy night's sleep last night. Jason was playing his awful music again; you know how that goes."

Spencer flipped a page of the textbook. The grandfather clock in the hall banged out the hour. Just as Ali's mind started to wander into the wasteland of hysteria once more, Spencer slapped the book shut and looked at her phone. "Yes," she whispered, tapping the screen.

Ali looked up. "What is it?"

Spencer smiled slyly. "Nothing."

Ali shifted her chair over to get a peek, but Spencer hid the screen with her hand. Not before Ali could see Ian Thomas's name at the top of a text message, though. "You're texting Ian," Ali stated.

Spencer placed her phone face down on the table. "Maybe I am."

Ali stared at her, shocked by the snarky, haughty tone of voice Spencer was using. That tone was reserved for her and only her. She held Spencer's gaze for several beats. She was not going to ask Spencer about this. She was not stooping so low that she had to beg.