They moved together into another group hug, everyone crying a little. Then Aria pulled back, sniffing, crying tears of joy. “You know, Em, we thought you were suicidal. We were so worried.”

Emily nodded. “I was struggling a lot, ever since what Ali did to Jordan. And I know I took a huge risk going after her—it probably was crazy. I had no idea if I would actually find her.” She slung one arm around Hanna’s shoulders and another around Spencer’s. “I’m just sorry that I had to leave you guys the way that I did. I felt terrible that I wasn’t there during the trial. It looked awful.”

“It was,” Spencer said. But then she shrugged. “I get it. What you were doing was far more important. We’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You never have to,” Emily said quickly. “You would have done the same for me.”

Hanna turned to the judge. He was flipping another page, his gaze on Alison. “As for you,” he said, the courtroom falling silent again. “You’re a flight risk, you’re a menace to society, you faked your own death, and you’re unsafe on your own, so you will await your trial in prison.” He banged his gavel. “Take her away.”

Two guards appeared at Ali’s sides and grabbed her arms. Ali let out a little grunt but let her limbs go limp. As they dragged her down the aisle, she glared at Hanna and the others. A shiver ran up Hanna’s spine as their eyes met.

Neither of them blinked. Ali stared at Hanna and the others with disdain and a seething fury. It was a look Hanna had never quite seen from her before, probably because Ali had always been the one in control. This look said, I can’t believe this is happening to me. Ali wasn’t used to being on the losing end. The last time she’d lost, really lost, was after Courtney switched places with her, sending her to The Preserve.

And just like that, everyone in the courtroom was rising and filing out. No guards rushed up to Hanna and the others to escort them away. Slowly, the girls turned and walked out on their own. Through the doorway, Hanna caught sight of her mom and Mike waiting in the lobby. She squealed.

“Is this a dream?” she asked her friends, her grin stretched wide.

“Maybe,” Spencer said, looking just as dazed. Then she reached out and took Hanna’s hand, breaking out into a smile. Hanna reached for Emily on her other side, and Em reached for Aria.

Hand-in-hand, the four girls walked into the lobby together. Reporters pounced on them immediately with questions, microphones thrust in their faces. “What did you think when you saw Alison today?” one yelled. “Do you think she’ll get the death penalty?” “Emily, how did you find her?” “What are your thoughts on this whole ordeal?”

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For some reason, Hanna felt compelled to answer that last one. She leaned toward the reporter and took a deep breath. “What are my thoughts on this whole ordeal?” she repeated, pausing to contemplate. And then she thought of the perfect answer. “Ali didn’t manage to kill us,” she said. “She only made us stronger.”

32

A CLEAN SLATE

The smell of something salty and delicious woke Aria from a deep dream. She opened her eyes, expecting to feel the immediate aches and pains of sleeping on a hard prison mattress, but instead she was lying in her old, familiar bed, surrounded by a million pillows. Her art posters hung on the walls, and her pig puppet, Pigtunia, peered out from the foot of the bed. Her recently returned cell phone blinked cheerfully on her desk.

She shot up like a start, everything rushing back. A miracle had happened. She was home. And Ali was in jail.

Aria leapt out of bed and grabbed her phone. There were a ton of Google Alerts for Ali, all of them mentioning her capture. Aria scrolled down to the bottom, searching. There was no mention of Ali escaping from jail this morning, though. No prison attacks, no strange disappearances. Ali was behind bars, for real.

But Aria still felt uneasy. Last night before bed, she’d checked every window and door to make sure it was locked. When she’d called her friends, they’d seemed just as paranoid. It would take a little time for them to shake the Ali fear. Aria just hoped it would go away eventually.

She pulled on her favorite robe, slipped the phone in her pocket, and strode downstairs.

Her mom stood at the stove, scrambling eggs. She looked up at Aria and smiled. “Morning,” she said, pushing the hair out of Aria’s eyes. “How did you sleep?”

“Really well,” Aria said in a froggy voice, still feeling a little bewildered. “I guess a sleepless night in prison will do that.”

Ella paused from making eggs to wrap her arms around Aria. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she said gently.

Aria shrugged. “I’m sorry I took off for Europe without telling you.” She peeked at Ella. “Are you really mad?” she asked in a small voice.

Ella sighed. “Just don’t do it again, okay?” She shook a spatula at her. “I mean it. You have nothing to hide now. Everyone believes you about Alison.”

Her gaze drifted toward the TV in the corner. Not surprisingly, Ali’s face flashed on the screen. The report was a rehash of yesterday’s events—Ali coming into the courthouse, the ruling overturned, the girls going free, and Ali being locked up. The latest news, though, was that Ali had been put into the prison’s psych ward, and she’d suddenly changed her story, confessing to framing the girls, faking the journal, and constructing an elaborate murder scene.

The prison psychiatrist appeared on TV. “Miss DiLaurentis keeps calling herself A,” he told the reporter. “She has said, repeatedly, I’m A. I did it. It was me all along.”




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