Wanted. (Book Eight)

Eight: Some Stripping, No Teasing.

As Emily rushed to her Tuesday gym class, Aria caught her arm. "Look at this." She thrust her Treo into Emily's face.

On the screen was a recent newscast. "A critical and surprising development has arisen in the William Ford murder trial," a reporter's voice blared.

The camera cuts to a shot of a convenience store parking lot. "A witness in Florida says he met with Mr. Ford outside this 7-Eleven on January fifteenth, the day the Pretty Little Liars discovered Mr. Ian Thomas's dead body in Rosewood," the voice-over explained. "The witness wishes to remain anonymous because the meeting had to do with the purchase of illegal drugs, but if investigators can corroborate the story, this alibi might be enough to exonerate Mr. Ford and Mr. Thomas's murder."

Mr. Owens, the strictest of the gym teachers, passed by, and Aria quickly slipped the phone in her pocket—they weren't supposed to use them during school hours. When he trundled around the corner, Aria played the video again. "How can this be possible?" she whispered, her face drawn. "If Billy was in Florida when Ian was killed, someone else must have taken those pictures and dug up that stuff on us as A."

Emily chewed nervously on her lips. "It doesn't make any sense. He'd got to by lying. Maybe he paid someone to say that."

"With what money? He can't even afford a lawyer," Aria pointed out.

The two of them stood in silence for a few moments. Two guys on the wrestling team whipped past, playing some deranged version of hallway tag. The newscast ended, and the option to choose two more videos appeared on the screen. One was the report from the night Jenna was murdered. The other was about Courtney DiLaurentis. Emily stared at Courtney's picture, grief and confusion rippling through her once again. Ali lied to us, she thought, her heart breaking for the millionth time. Ali had left Emily and the others out of a huge part of her life. It was like they had never been friends at all.

Or had she dropped some hints? Ali had been obsessed with twins, for one thing—once, when Ali and Emily went shopping alone in Ardmore, Ali told everyone that they were twins, just to see how many people would believe them. And Ali used to marvel over how similar and her sister Carolyn looked. "Has anyone ever thought you guys are twins?" she asked more than once. "Do people ever mistake you for each other?"

Aria noticed Emily looking at Courtney's picture. She touched Emily's wrist. "Be careful."

Emily flinched. "What are you talking about?"

Aria pursed her lips. A group of girls in cheerleading uniforms marched past, practicing the arm movements for a cheer. "She might look exactly like Ali, but she's not her."

Heat rushed to Emily's face. She knew what Aria was getting at. Emily's old friends knew about her crush on Ali—many of Emily's notes from the original A, Mona Vanderwaal, had talked about nothing else. Aria had accused Emily of letting her heart get in the way of her head before, especially when Emily clung to the idea that Ali was still alive.

"I know she's not Ali," she snapped. "I'm not an idiot." She whirled into the gym locker room without saying good-bye.

The room smelled of rubber sneakers, hair spray, and floral deodorant. A bunch of girls were already changing into their T-shirts and shorts, and the air was filled with chatter about the Valentine's Day dance that Saturday. Emily stomped to her locker, prickly with agitation. Aria had definitely hit a nerve.

Truth be told, Emily had lain awake all last night, reliving the moment Courtney had stepped onto the podium. Even though it wasn't Ali, Emily's heart had lifted when Courtney gave her that alluring wink. It had been thrilling to sit in the DiLaurentises' new kitchen, too, right across from this achingly beautiful, hauntingly familiar girl. Emily had dreamed about Ali for years; how could she not feel something for her identical twin?