Ali's Pretty Little Lies Chapter 2 and 3

CHAPTER 2 – SMOKE GETS IN YOUR EYES

Later that afternoon, Ali sat in Cassie Buckley’s Jeep, in Cassie’s driveway. Cassie had just gotten her driver’s license, and she loved giving the girls rides home. They faced Cassie’s rickety Victorian house, where they a few other girls on the field hockey team had been hanging out after school. The place had a wraparound porch, stained-glass windows, and a chicken shaped weathervane on the roof. To the right was Cassie’s long and narrow side yard, which contained a garden that needed weeding, a stone wall that separated it from the neighbors, and an old claw-foot bathtub that wasn’t out of place in funky Old Hollis. Ali actually preferred Hollis’s shabby-chic vibe to Rosewood’s uberfussy perfection, but, as it didn’t seem like an opinion Alison DiLaurentis would have, she never let on.

After she finished checking her mirrors, Cassie turned the key in the ignition. “I hope we pass some hot seniors on the road.”

“Which ones?” Zoe Schwartz asked from the backseat.

“I don’t know,” Cassie said. “Someone hot.”

“I’ll find you someone,” Zoe flipped through the pages of the latest Mule, Rosewood’s yearbook, which had just come out that day. No one knew why it was called The Mule—it was an apocryphal private-school joke that the yearbook staff felt superstitious about messing with.

“Ian Thomas is pretty cute,” Zoe decided, pausing on Ian’s senior picture. His smile was wide, his eyes were ultrablue, and he actually looked cute in the graduation cap.

“Not as cute as Ali’s brother,” Cassie grabbed the communal Marlboro Light that was being passed around and took a long drag.

“Ew!” Ali said.

“What? He’s gorgeous.” Cassie nudged her. “Can you get me a date with him?”

“You wouldn’t want a date with him,” Ali said. “He’s so moody.” Then she straightened up in the front passenger seat, plucked the cigarette from Zoe’s hand, and puffed, doing her best not to wince when the smoke hit her lungs. The other girls were sophomores or juniors; she was the first seventh grader to ever make the team, even beating out I’ve-played-field-hockey-since-birth Spencer. But when Ali sat in Cassie’s Jeep with them, smoking and talking about boys, it was like they were all the same age.

“Ian’s actually really nice,” Ali said. “I hang around him all the time.”

“Really?” The girls looked at her. “When?”

Ali loved that she had their attention. “He dates Spencer Hastings’s sister. He’s over there a lot.”

Cassie wrinkled her button nose. “Melissa Hastings? What a waste.”

“She’s so prissy,” Zoe agreed. “What does he see in her?”

Ali picked at her manicure. Ironically, her brother had had a crush on Melissa Hastings, too. She didn’t know what to think of Melissa, though. Of all the people in Rosewood, Melissa was one of the few who didn’t bow down to her. Sometimes, when she was in her yard, Melissa stood at the window of the barn apartment at the edge of the Hastings’s property and just stared at her.

Cassie blew a smoke ring. “What are our summer plans, people? School’s ending in a month.”

Brianna Huston, who had glossy black hair and thick goalie’s legs, lowered her sunglasses. “Lose ten pounds. And get a boyfriend, of course.”

“A summer romance would be awesome,” Zoe sighed.

“I want a boyfriend, too,” Ali declared.

Cassie gave her a questioning look as she braked at the stop sign. “Don’t you already have one?”

Ali pictured Matt’s tearful face when he’d climbed into his family’s minivan for Virginia. She’d only responded to his earnest love-struck texts twice. “I’m not into the long-distance thing.”

They passed Hollis College. Students were sitting on benches with cups of iced coffee or talking on the stone steps. When Ali noticed three shirtless guys playing Frisbee on the lawn, she reached over and pressed on the horn. The guys looked up and grinned. Ali blew them a kiss as Cassie drove away.

“Like them, maybe,” Ali joked.

Cassie’s jaw dropped open as she looked at Ali. “You should be my new bestie,” Cassie said. “I’ll kick aside these bitches and make you my co-queen bee.”

“Hey!” Zoe said good-naturedly.

“I’m kidding,” Cassie said, then gave Ali a wink.

They drove out of Hollis and wound through the streets of Rosewood, where the houses got bigger and more spread out. Cassie cranked up Jay-Z, and all the girls sang. They passed the white monolithic King James mall, a sign for the brand-new River Gauche French bistro on the marquee at the entrance. Then they looped down one of the back roads past the Marwyn trail, whose parking lot was filled with cars and bikes. Next, they crossed the old covered bridge, which everyone loved to tag with graffiti, and then drove past the neighborhood of enormous, secluded mansions, where Sean Ackard, Hanna’s crush lived.

Cassie entered a neighborhood full of McMansions to drop off Zoe, then pulled up to Brianna’s gated horse farm. When it was just Ali and Cassie in the car, Cassie lit another cigarette, took a drag, and passed it to Ali. “So guess what? My mom is actually going to be home long enough to come to the sports awards ceremony next week. I guess she, like, felt guilty or something.”

“That’s awesome.” Ali squeezed Cassie’s hand. “Now we just have to get my mom to come to my graduation.”

Cassie looked at her sympathetically. “Is she still out all the time?”

“Yep,” Ali said lightly. “Miss Socialite 

“Yep,” Ali said tightly. “Miss Socialite Jessica DiLaurentis.” She rolled her eyes. “My dad doesn’t even go to events with her anymore.”

When Ali had told her friends that she and the field hockey girls talked about deep stuff, she wasn’t entirely lying. They talked about their parents a lot. Cassie’s were jet-setters, never making time for her. To the other girls, she made it sound like it was a good thing—-her empty house was perfect for parties, she could wear whatever she wanted to school, and her parents didn’t even notice the ding she’d made in the front fender of the Jeep. But to Ali, she told the truth because Ali’s parents were also on their own planets---her mom had attended three benefits this month for her cause celebre, children with mental illness, but rarely spent tome with Ali or Jason.

They turned on to Ali’s street. The familiar houses Ali had looked at every day for a year and a half now gleamed in the late-afternoon sun. Mona Vanderwaal made loops around her family’s five-car garage on her Razor scooter. Her friends Phi Templeton and Chassey Bledsoe sat under a willow tree in her front yard, playing with a yo-yo. All three of them looked up, slack-jawed, as they saw Ali and Cassie pass. Dorks.

The Cavanaugh house, a rambling Colonial with a big backyard, was next. Ali gazed at the large oak tree that still bore the remnants of the wooden ladder that had led to Toby Cavanaugh’s tree house. Suddenly, she noticed a face in the front window. Jenna Cavanaugh stared out, big wraparound sunglasses over her eyes. Ali felt a pull in her chest. She held up two fingers to the car window, her and Jenna’s old secret sign. Not that Jenna saw.

Cassie pulled into Ali’s driveway, coming to a stop behind a construction truck filled with ladders and shovels. Next to it was a battered black sports car, its interior full of Burger King cups, empty wrappers, and schoolbooks. “What’s going on in your backyard?” Cassie asked.

Ali sighed dramatically. “My parents are building a gazebo-zilla. It’s going to seat a zillion people for all their parties. Those disgusting workers showed up yesterday to consult with my parents about what they needed to get done.”

Cassie raised her butt off the seat and gazed at something in the backyard. “They don’t look so disgusting to me.”

Ali followed her gaze. A trio of guys in sweat-stained shirts and ripped jeans traipsed through her yard, passing the tree house in which she and Emily had spent many hours talking. One of the workers had tattoos up and down his arms and carried a shovel under his shoulder. Another had dirt all over his face and was talking on his cell phone. But the third guy, who was younger, was staring right at Ali, his green eyes piercing, an impish smile on his face.

“Oh my God, I’m in love,” Cassie whispered.

“With Darren Wilden?” Ali made a face.

Cassie gaped at her. “You know him? I’ve only seen him in the halls.”

“He’s Jason’s friend.” Ali made a noise at the back of her throat. “His idea of fun is tagging the wall outside the tennis courts.”

“Bad boys are hot.” Cassie pulled out a tube of sheer lip gloss and slowly spread it across her lips.

“He’s all yours,” Ali murmured.

They fell silent as Darren approached, still staring at Ali. Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘You shouldn’t be smoking, Ali,” he said sternly.

Ali looked down. The Marlboro Light Cassie had lit was still in her hand, white ash curling into the air. Anger flared inside her. Darren was a fixture at her house, as moody as Jason and just as irritating. Who did he think he was, her dad? As if he had any power over what she did!

Ali took another long drag of the cigarette, then flicked it out the window. She stepped out of the car slowly, her eyes on his. She sauntered up to him, not saying a word, until she was right next to him. Then she pulled up her skirt and gave him a little peek of leg. Darren’s eyes went right there and widened not with horror or disgust, but with what was definitely inappropriate lust. Smirking, Ali waved good-bye to Cassie, then turned and strutted into the house, knowing he and Cassie were still staring.

There. She was the one in control, after all.

CHAPTER 3 – PARTY ON THE DOWN LOW

“One Swiss fondue with four skewers.” A waitress laid a bubbling cauldron of melted cheese in the center of the table. “Enjoy!”

Ali’s mother, a tall, elegant woman with long blond hair, a heart-shaped face, and a perma-Botoxed forehead, placed her napkin in her lap and daintily picked up a skewer. Her father made an mm sound and smacked his lips, which Ali had always thought were a tad thick and rubbery. A long string of cheese stretched uncouthly from the skewer to his mouth. That was probably the reason her mom never brought him to her charity dinners.

Ali wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What is this? It looks like Velveeta?”

“It’s fondue,” Mrs. DiLaurentis pushed a skewer toward her. “You’ll love it.”

“I’d probably love full-fat ice cream, too, but you don’t see me eating that.”

Her mother sipped from her glass of white wine. “It’s French, honey. Therefore it has no calories.” She twisted her mouth like it was a funny joke.

Ali folded her hands across her empty plate and gazed around the restaurant. It was Thursday night, and she was with her family at Rive Gauche, the new French bistro that had opened up in the luxe section of the King James Mall. The place was decorated with distressed mirrors, retro alcohol ads, and Paris street signs. Groups of well-dressed Main Line women shared mussels and French Fries at almost every table. A group of college kids who looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of J.C. Crew tucked into tureens of French onion soup in the corner.

Ali considered taking a Polaroid of the cool new restaurant, but then decided against it---this place was awesome, but she’d rather take a photo of it with her friends. She couldn’t even believe her family was out to dinner, they hadn’t done this in ages. Even so, her parents sat as far apart as possible in the booth, as though they were two awkward junior high kids at a dance. Mrs. DiLaurentis was glued to her cell phone as if she were messaging with the President, and Mr. DiLaurentis kept peeking at a sheaf of legal briefs he had in his bag.

“Jason, you’ll try some, won’t you?” Mrs. DiLaurentis placed her phone by her plate and nudged a skewer in Ali’s brother’s direction.

Jason’s floppy blond hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t you feel well?” Mrs. DiLaurentis reached out to feel Jason’s skin.

Jason pulled away. “I’m fine.”

Ali snorted. “Looks like someone’s in one of his Elliott Smith moods,” she said, referencing the moody, miserable music he always listened to when he was depressed.

Jason glanced at Ali for a split second, then sniffed and turned away. Ali wondered if he was pissed because he’d heard that she’d been smoking with Cassie, or maybe that she’d flirted with Darren. But why would he care about either of those things? Most of the time, Jason pretended like Ali didn’t even exist.

Which really hurt. Ali was grateful her parent’s hadn’t guessed who she was---they were too wrapped up in their own lives to pay attention. As long as she acted enough like Ali, they didn’t question anything. But she’d thought Jason would have noticed something. Wasn’t he supposed to know her the best of anyone? He’d visited her practically every weekend at the Radley, after all, playing spit with her in the day room, telling her about the girls he’d liked---one of whom had been Melissa Hastings, with whom he’d struck up a friendship. “This is how you get her to like you back,” Ali had coached him, giving him pointers that she’d picked up from Cosmo.

But when she’d had taken over her sister’s life, she’d discovered that Melissa was dating Ian Thomas, and Jason was single. She’d wanted to ask Jason if he was okay, but it seemed out of character---Alison thought Jason was annoying and insufferable. If she wanted to play this part properly, she had to pretend she thought that, too. If she told even one person the truth, her secret would be one step closer to being revealed.

The waitress set down everyone’s drinks. Across the table, Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis whispered.

“Now?” Ali’s mother looked alarmed. “We should wait.”

“It can’t wait,” Mr. DiLaurentis said firmly.

“Yes, it can.”

“What can?” Ali asked, grabbing a piece of cheese-saturated bread and popping it into her mouth. The cheese melted warmly on her tongue. It was so good she almost swooned.

Her mother fumbled with her utensils. “Um, nothing, honey. We’re just a little stressed right now. Sending Jason to Yale is quite an expense, and we’re trying to figure out how to manage our finances.”

Ali burst out laughing. “If you guys are so worried about money, then why are you building that huge gazebo in the backyard?”

There was a long pause. Mr. DiLaurentis jumped up to use the bathroom, shaking the table so hard he almost knocked over the fondue pot. Ali’s mom’s phone rang, and she answered in a false, bright voice.

Ali grabbed her mother’s wineglass when she wasn’t looking and took a long sip. Whatever. A year ago, she would’ve taken their bizarre behavior personally---maybe her parents sensed who she really was and refused to share things with her. But they kept lots of secrets, things they didn’t tell Jason, either.

Mr. DiLaurentis returned from the bathroom and immediately reached for his wineglass. When Mrs. DiLaurentis got off the phone, she looked at Ali. “So. We’re going to the hospital this weekend.”

Ali’s stomach flipped. “Again? We were just there.”

“You were there two months ago. It’ll be good for you to visit your sister.”

“I have plans,” Ali said quickly.

Mr. DiLaurentis’s brow furrowed. “Your mother didn’t even tell you which day we were going.”

“I have plans every day.” Ali smiled weakly. “Please don’t make me go. It’s so hard on me emotionally. I spend hours crying in bed whenever I come back from there.”

Mrs. DiLaurentis looked tormented. Ali felt a dart of triumph. Playing the emotional card always worked.

The rest of dinner was stilted and silent, no one really talking. Mrs. DiLaurentis jumped up halfway through her entrée because she saw a few women she knew from the Junior League. As they pulled into their neighborhood, there were tons of cars parked on the curb. More cars were jammed in Spencer’s driveway, most of them, Jeeps, SUV’s, banged-up BMWs, and Hondas. Loud bass thundered from the backyard.

“Looks like someone’s having a party,” Mrs. DiLaurentis murmured.

Mr. DiLaurentis made a face. “On a Thursday night?”

Ali got out of the car to get a better view. Kids stood on the Hastingses’ patio and near the backyard where Melissa lived. Melissa sat with her legs crossed at one of the patio tables---with her chin-length blond hair and pearls, she looked like a clone of Mrs. Hastings. Spencer’s father, who was tall and broad with a long, slender nose, strong jaw; and thick head of curly dark hair, stood on the deck, swirling a snifter of cognac.

Mr. DiLaurentis rolled his eyes as he slammed the driver’s door. “Do they have to be so damn showy? That third tier to the deck looks ridiculous.”

“And she’s always dropping hints that they only serve Dom Perignon at parties,” Mrs. DiLaurentis added. “How tacky!” But even as she got out of the car and walked inside, her gaze remained on the crowd. She looked almost wistful.”

Jason went inside without commenting. After a moment, Ali was the only one left on the driveway. She peered through the hedges. Most of the kids she recognized. There was Justin Poole, a hot soccer player named Garrett Flagg, and Reed Cohen, whose band almost got signed at a Philly music festival last year. Ian Thomas, with his straw-colored hair and confident, golden-boy good looks, stood by the barn’s front door, holding a red plastic cup that was almost certainly full of some sort of alcohol. But when Ali saw the girl next to him, flirting up a storm, her mouth dropped open.

It was Spencer.

Instantly, Ali started across the lawn, not caring if her brand-new white Maloles flip-flops got grass stains. She wriggled through the opening in the hedges and marched past the crowd of kids until she was right next to Spencer and Ian. When Spencer turned, she paled. “Oh!” she chirped nervously.

Ian glanced at the two of them, then wandered away to talk to another senior. Ali faced Spencer and smiled sweetly. “You didn’t tell me there was a party tonight.”

Spencer’s eyes darted back and forth. “Melissa put it together at the last minute---she got into Penn on a full scholarship.”

“Yay for her,” Ali said. “But you could have texted me.”

“I’m sorry.” Spencer looked nervous. “I didn’t think you were home. I saw your car pull out earlier.”

Ali placed her hands on her hips. “So?”

Spencer set her mouth in a line. “Ali, it wasn’t---“ Then her eyes clapped on someone behind them. Ian was sauntering back over, now with a plate of food in his hand.

“Who grilled these burgers?” He took a juicy bite. “They’re amazing.”

Spencer brightened. “I did, actually.”

“Seriously?” Ian looked impressed. “Can you do steaks?”

Spencer sank into one hip and gave him a long, sultry stare. “I can do anything.”

Ian’s smile broadened. Suddenly, Ali wondered if he was why Spencer hadn’t told her about the party. Maybe she wanted him all to herself.

She inserted herself into Ian’s field of view. “Heeey, Eee,” she said, calling him by the nickname her sister had used in her diary.

Ian turned his attention to Ali. His smile widened, and he looked her up and down. “What’s up, Ali?”

She batted her eyelashes. He was way too old for her, but it was so much fun to flirt with him---and she couldn’t resist those sexy dimples when he smiled. “Is that Dom Perignon you’re drinking?” She pointed at the cup.

Ian shrugged. “It’s champagne, but I have no idea what kind?”

Ali looked at Spencer. “Apparently your mom bragged that she only serves Dom Perignon champagne at parties. It seems kind of tacky, though, don’t you think?” She loved needling Spencer with the snarky things her parents said about the Hastings family.

“Who cares if it’s tacky if it tastes good?” Ian said. He offered the cup to Ali. “Want a sip?”

“Ian?” Melissa interrupted from the patio just before Ali accepted his cup. She stood at the railing, glaring at them. Ali gave her a sweet smile, but Melissa’s expression didn’t change.

“Coming,” Ian said, snatching the cup back from Ali. He shot the girls a parting smile and said he’d see them later. When he slung his arm around Melissa’s shoulders, Spencer made a tiny, tortured whimper.

“Is someone out to get her sister’s boyfriend?” Ali teased.

Spencer’s face reddened. “Of course not!”

Ali rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It’s written all over your face. ‘I can do anything,’” she added in a breathy voice. “Come to me, big boy. Give me a big, wet kiss.”

“Shut up!” Spencer screeched. “You flirted with him, too!”

Ali shrugged. Of course she’d flirted with him. There was something in her DNA that made her want to flirt with every boy Spencer liked. She needed to prove that she was better. In fact, Ali and Spencer had a running contest this year to see who could kiss the most older boys. Spencer kept insisting she was winning, but Ali was convinced she’d cheated. “I wasn’t serious,” she said. “Admit you have a crush on him and I won’t be pissed that you didn’t tell me about this party tonight because you wanted Ian all to yourself.”

“But I didn’t know---“ Spencer started.

“For the record?” Ali interrupted. “I think he’s gorgeous. You should totally go for him.”

“You think?” Spencer’s eyes lit up. “Even though he’s with Melissa?”

“Why not?” Ali asked. “All’s fair in love and war.”

In truth, she thought it was kind of sketchy to go for a senior, but she hoped softening Spencer up a bit would get her to confess even more.

Spencer sighed. “Okay. I do have a crush on him. But you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Ali linked her arm with Spencer’s and pulled her toward a table of food and drinks set up near the grill. And, lo and behold, there were a few bottles of Dom Perignon on the table. But as she grabbed a bottle and glugged dsome of the uberexpensive liquid into a cup, it hit her. By admitting she had a crush on Ian, Spencer had also kind of admitted she had kept the party a secret from Ali after all.

Bitch.