She stabbed the phone to hang up, making a small whimpering sound. When she turned around and saw Emily staring, her eyes narrowed. Emily decided this wasn’t a good time to ask if Lola was okay.
The only girl who hadn’t returned from Starbucks was Cassie. Emily had watched the lead elf carefully, trying to figure out how Cassie could have gone from such a freshly scrubbed, super-popular Rosewood girl to someone who looked like she’d just tumbled out of juvie. For once she actually wished Cassie would recognize Emily from her pictures in the papers after Ali had vanished or when Ian had been arrested. If Cassie knew who she was, it might bridge the gap between them.
As if sensing Emily’s thoughts, Mrs. Meriwether emerged from inside the gingerbread house and glared around Santa Land. “Where’s Cassie?”
Heather lifted a headphone from her ear. “On her break.”
Mrs. Meriwether’s mouth became a small, tight line. “She left for her break an hour ago.”
“No, there she is.” Emily pointed down the corridor. Cassie was sauntering unhurriedly back to Santa Land, a Starbucks cup in her hand.
Mrs. Meriwether darted over to her. “An hour break is not permitted.”
One corner of Cassie’s mouth rose in a smirk. “Sorry. I was busy.”
“You were busy?” Mrs. Meriwether placed her hands on her hips, looking about ready to explode.
“Yeah, busy.” Cassie hitched her purse higher on her shoulder, glaring at Mrs. Meriwether. They looked ready for a standoff of epic proportions.
“Wait a minute.” Emily jumped off the Santa throne and waddled over to Mrs. Meriwether and Cassie, holding the pillow in her stomach so that it didn’t slip into her crotch. “Uh, Mrs. Meriwether, I’m the reason Cassie took such a long break. I asked her to see if she could find me a new Santa hat. Mine is really, really itchy.”
She scratched her scalp for effect, not daring to meet Cassie’s gaze. Of course it was a lie, but Mrs. Meriwether needed to keep her job—and Emily needed to get on the elves’ good side.
Mrs. Meriwether’s brow creased. “Is this true, Cassie?”
“Uh, yeah,” Cassie admitted. “I scoured the mall, looking. But sorry, Santa, I couldn’t find a single hat.”
“It’s okay,” Emily said quickly. “I’ll live.”
Mrs. Meriwether’s eyes flickered from Emily to Cassie, looking like she didn’t believe either of them. “Just go back to work,” she grumbled, turning around and trundling back to the gingerbread house.
Cassie gazed down her nose at Emily. “Thanks, Santa.”
“You’re welcome,” Emily answered.
“You know . . .” Cassie ran her tongue over her teeth. “There’s a party at my house tonight. Maybe you want to come.”
Emily blinked hard. “Uh, sure. That would be great.”
“What?” Heather slid the headphones from her ears and nudged Cassie hard. “Why are you—”
“Shut up.” Cassie nudged her back, then turned to Emily again. “I live on Emerson Road in Old Hollis. You’ll know the place because of all the cars.”
“Great.” Emily tried to sound nonchalant. “I’ll see you there.”
Cassie set off toward the back of Santa Land. The other elves followed behind her, whispering. Emily returned to her throne, feeling light-headed and giddy, but nervous, too. Was Cassie being sincere? What if this was some kind of setup? She stared at the swarming mall crowds. If someone passes in the next minute with a Neiman Marcus bag, this is all going to end up okay, she wagered.
Not five seconds later, a woman strutted past with not one Neiman Marcus bag, but three. If that wasn’t a positive omen, Emily didn’t know what was.
Chapter 5
Every Good Spy Needs a Plan
When Emily got home from Santa Land that evening, she flopped on the living-room couch with an old clothbound journal in her lap. Ali used to keep a journal, and because Emily had wanted to do everything just like her, she’d started one back in middle school. Emily had only recently found out that Mona Vanderwaal had pulled Ali’s old journal from a pile of junk on the curb that Maya’s family had thrown away from Ali’s old bedroom. Mona had used the information in that journal—including Emily’s and her old friends’ darkest secrets—to become A.
In the twinkling light of the now fully decorated Christmas tree, Emily flipped through the old onionskin pages of her notebook. At first, her journal entries were mostly straightforward accounts of things she and her new friends had done together: trips to Ali’s family’s vacation house in the Poconos, manicures at the King James Mall, a sleepover where Ali dared Aria to prank-call Noel Kahn, her crush. When Aria did, Ali had blurted, “She loves you!” before Aria hung up.
In April of that year, the tone of the entries had begun to change. The Jenna Thing happened, and they’d all become so scared and worried. Emily didn’t refer to the incident directly on the pages—she was worried her mom might read it—but she’d put a sad face next to the day that it happened. Many entries after that were despairing and frantic, too.
The next school year, things began to spiral downhill even more. Ali got a spot on the JV field hockey team, even though she’s only in seventh grade, Emily had written one day in late August. She was talking about the team party she went to today and saying how cool the older girls were. She hadn’t drawn a sad face, but Emily remembered exactly what she was feeling: Ali would soon realize she wasn’t cool anymore and drift away from her. Her time with Ali had always felt borrowed and precarious, and in the back of her mind, she was always waiting for the fantasy life to come crashing down.