Sara Shepard - 0.5 Ali's Pretty Little Lies

Once upon a time, there were two identical twin sisters, Alison and Courtney. They were alike in every way: Both had long, blond hair; huge, clear, round blue eyes; heart-shaped faces; and winning smiles that melted hearts. When they were six, they rode matching purple bikes up and down their familys driveway in Stamford, Connecticut, singing Frre Jacques in a round. When they were seven, they climbed up the big-kid sliding board together and held hands the whole way. Even though their parents gave each of them her own bedroom with her own canopied princess bed, they were often found sleeping on the same twin mattress, their bodies entwined. Everyone said they shared that indescribable twin connection. They made promises to be best friends forever.

But promises are broken every day.

In second grade, things started to change. They were little things at firsta dirty look, a slight shove, an indignant sigh. Then Courtney showed up in Alis Saturday art class insisting she was Ali. Courtney sat at Alis desk in school on a day her sister was sick. Courtney introduced herself as Ali to the UPS man, the new neighbors with the puppy, and the old lady at the pharmacy counter. Maybe she pretended she was her sister because Ali had a little extra sparkle, a certain something that got her noticed. Maybe Courtney was jealous. Or maybe Courtney was forced. Ali made me do it, Courtney told her parents when she was caught. She said if I didnt pretend to be her for the day, something awful would happen to me and you and all of us. But when their mom and dad asked Ali if this was true, her eyes grew wide. I would never say something like that, she answered innocently. I love my sister, and I love you guys.

Suddenly, Courtney and Ali were getting into screaming matches on the playground. Then Courtney shut Ali into a bathroom stall at lunchtime and didnt let her out. Teachers called the girls parents, their voices full of concern. Neighbors pulled their children close when they passed Courtney, worried she might hurt them, too. The final straw came that flawless spring day when the girls parents found Courtney sitting on top of her sister, her hands around Alis throat. Doctors were called. Psychiatric evaluations were performed on both girls. Ali handled it with poise, but Courtney panicked. She started it, she insisted. She threatens me. She wants me gone.

Paranoid schizophrenia, the doctors said in grave tones. That sort of thing could be treatable, but only with a lot of care. It was up to Ali to make the final decision, though and, tearfully, she decided that her sister should go. And so a facility was found. Off Courtney went, away from her family, away from everything she knew. Her parents reassured her that they would bring her home as soon as she was better, but weeks passed, and then months. Suddenly, Courtney was sort of . . . forgotten.

Sometimes, a family is like an ear of summer corn: It might look perfect on the outside, but when you peel the husk away, every kernel is rotten. With the DiLaurentises, the girl who seemed like the victim might just have been the tormentor. Sending Courtney away might just have been Alis master plan. And maybe, just maybe, all Courtney wanted was what she deserveda happy life.

This is Rosewood, after alland these are Rosewoods most mysterious twins. And as you know, in Rosewood, nothing is ever as it seems.

The first thing Courtney DiLaurentis heard when she woke up the morning her life changed was the ticking of the clock on the wall. It was telling her, in a not-so-subtle way, that time was running out.

She looked around the unfamiliar bedroom. Her parents had moved from Stamford, Connecticut, a few years ago to avoid the shame of putting a daughter in a mental institution. Theyd relocated to Rosewood, Pennsylvania, a filthy-rich suburb about twenty miles from Philadelphia where even the dogs wore Chanel collars. Because they knew no one when they moved, they didnt have to tell anyone about their crazy daughter in the hospital. Theyd even changed their last name from Day-DiLaurentis to simply DiLaurentis in hopes that it would keep nosy neighbors from Connecticut away.

The guest room Courtney was staying in smelled like mothballs and had a twin bed with an old plaid comforter, a wicker dresser too shabby for even a mental wards day room, and a small, chipped bookshelf containing dated cooking magazines and a bunch of boxes marked TAXES and STATEMENTS. The closet was filled with Christmas decorations, pilled afghans her grandmother had crocheted, and ugly sweaters she couldnt imagine anyone wearing. In other words, the room was a repository for everything her family wanted to forget aboutCourtney included.

Courtney pushed the covers back and walked into the hall. The house, a huge Victorian, was designed in such a way that the upstairs overlooked a great room, giving Courtney a birds-eye view into the kitchen. Her older brother, Jason, was hunched over the table with a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Her twin sister, Ali, flitted around the counter. Her hair was a perfect blond wave spilling down her back, and her pink T-shirt gave her clear skin a healthy glow. She lifted a pile of newspapers and looked under it. Then she opened a silverware drawer and slammed it shut.

Alison, whats the matter? asked Mrs. DiLaurentis, who wore a gray Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and heels. It looked like she was going to a job interview instead of taking her daughter to a new mental hospital.

I cant find my ring, Ali snapped, opening the trash bin and peering inside.

What ring?

My initial ring, duh. Ali opened another cabinet and slammed it hard. Its the one I wear, like, every day. She whipped around and faced her brother. Did you take it?

Why would I take it? Jason answered between bites.

Well, I cant find it, Ali snapped. Just like I cant find my piece of the flag, she said, giving Jason a pointed look.

Jason wiped his mouth with a napkin. Even if I did know about your stupid piece of the flag, anyone is legally allowed to take iteven the people who helped hide it. The stealing clause, remember?

Maybe you took it to give it to someone else. Her gaze drifted to the second floor.

Courtney stepped away from the railing. Back in the bedroom, she opened the flowered suitcase shed had since third grade and studied its contents. Inside was a T-shirt almost the same shade of pink as the one Ali was wearing. She found dark indigo jeans that matched Alis, too. She slipped them on.

Time Capsule was a long-standing tradition at Rosewood Day, the private school Ali and Jason attended, and finding a piece of the torn-up flag was a rarity for a sixth grader. All weekend, Ali had been boasting about the Time Capsule scrap shed foundalthough, technically, Jason had told Ali where the piece was, which didnt seem fair. Ali had decorated her piece at the kitchen table after dinner two nights ago, giving Courtney, who was watching TV in the den, superior looks. Look how important I am, those looks said. Youre not even allowed to leave the house.

But Ali hadnt had that look on her face when her flag went missing yesterday. In the privacy of her pathetic little guest room, Courtney had run her fingers over the silken fabric and Alis puffy silver drawingsa Chanel logo, a Louis Vuitton design, a cluster of stars and comets. Courtney had drawn a little wishing well in the corner, just wanting to make her mark on something her sister coveted so much.