Her mother caught her arm. “You and Melissa are staying here.”

A breeze that smelled of surf wax and fish smacked Spencer in the face. She tried to see things from her mother’s perspective—it must have sucked to see her two children fighting so bloodthirstily. But Spencer wished her mom could understand her perspective, too. Melissa was an evil superbitch, and Spencer didn’t want to speak to her for the rest of her life.

“Fine,” Spencer said dramatically. She pulled open the sliding glass door and stalked into the grand family room. Even though Nana Hastings’s Craftsman-style house had eight bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a private path to the beach, a deluxe playroom, a home theater, a gourmet chef’s kitchen, and Stickley furniture throughout, Spencer’s family had always affectionately called it the “taco shack.” Perhaps it was because Nana’s mansion in Longboat Key, Florida, had wall frescoes, marble floors, three tennis courts, and a temperature-controlled wine cellar.

Spencer haughtily passed Melissa, who was lounging on one of the tan leather couches, murmuring on her iPhone. She was probably talking to Ian Thomas. “I’ll be in my room,” Spencer yelled dramatically at the base of the stairs. “All. Night.”

She flopped down on her sleigh bed, pleased to see that her bedroom was exactly as she’d left it five years ago. Alison had come with her the last time she visited, and the two of them had spent hours gazing at the surfers through her late Grandpa Hastings’s antique mahogany spyglass on the crow’s-nest deck. That had been in the early fall, when Ali and Spencer were just starting seventh grade. Things were still pretty normal between them—maybe Ali hadn’t started seeing Ian yet.

Spencer shuddered. Ali had been seeing Ian. Did A know about that? Did A know about Spencer’s argument with Ali the night Ali disappeared, too—had A been there? Spencer wished she could tell the police about A, but A seemed above the law. She looked around haltingly, suddenly frightened. The sun had sunk below the trees, filling the room with eerie darkness.

Her phone rang, and Spencer jumped. She pulled it out of her robe pocket and squinted at the number. Not recognizing it, she put the phone to her ear and tentatively said hello.

“Spencer?” said a girl’s smooth, lilting voice. “It’s Mona Vanderwaal.”

“Oh.” Spencer sat up too fast, and her head started to spin. There was only one reason why Mona would be calling her. “Is…Hanna…okay?”

“Well…no.” Mona sounded surprised. “You haven’t heard? She’s in a coma. I’m at the hospital.”

“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered. “Is she going to get better?”

“The doctors don’t know.” Mona’s voice wobbled. “She might not wake up.”

Spencer began to pace around the room. “I’m in New Jersey right now with my parents, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning, so—”

“I’m not calling to make you feel guilty,” Mona interrupted. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed. I called because I heard you were good at planning events.”

It was cold in the bedroom and smelled a little like sand. Spencer touched the edge of the enormous conch shell that sat on top of her bureau. “Well, sure.”

“Good,” Mona said. “I want to plan a candlelight vigil for Hanna. I think it would be great to get everyone to, you know, band together for Hanna.”

“That sounds great,” Spencer said softly. “My dad was just talking about a party he was at a couple of weeks ago in this gorgeous tent on the fifteenth green. Maybe we could hold it there.”

“Perfect. Let’s plan for Friday—that’ll give us five days to get everything ready.”

“Friday it is.” After Mona said she’d write out the invitations if Spencer could secure the location and the catering, Spencer hung up. She flopped back on the bed, staring at its lacy canopy. Hanna might die? Spencer pictured Hanna lying alone and unconscious in a hospital room. Her throat felt tight and hot.

Tap…tap…tap…

The wind grew still, and even the ocean was quiet. Spencer pricked up her ears. Was someone out there?

Tap…tap…tap…

She sat up fast. “Who’s there?” The bedroom window offered a sandy view. The sun had set so quickly that all she could see was the weathered wooden lifeguard stand in the distance. She crept into the hall. Empty. She ran into one of the guest bedrooms and looked below to the front porch. No one.

Spencer slid her hands down her face. Calm down, she told herself. It’s not like A is here. She stumbled out of the room and down the staircase, nearly tripping over a stack of beach towels. Melissa was still on the couch, holding a copy of Architectural Digest with her good hand and propping up her broken wrist on an oversize velvet pillow.

“Melissa,” Spencer said, breathing hard. “I think there’s someone outside.”

Her sister turned around, her face pinched. “Huh?”

Tap…tap…tap…

“Listen!” Spencer pointed to the door. “Don’t you hear that?”

Melissa stood up, frowning. “I hear something.” She looked at Spencer worriedly. “Let’s go to the playroom. There’s a good view all around the house from there.”

The sisters checked and double-checked the locks before bolting up the stairs to the second-floor playroom. The room smelled closed-up and dusty, and looked as if a much-younger Melissa and Spencer had just run out for dinner and would be back at any second to resume playing. There was the Lego village that had taken them three weeks to complete. There was the make-your-own-jewelry kit, the beads and clasps still strewn all over the table. The indoor mini golf holes were still set up around the room, and the enormous chest of dolls was still open.

Melissa reached the window first. She pushed back the sailboat-printed curtain and peered into the front yard, which was landscaped with sea glass pebbles and tropical flowers. Her pink cast made a hollow sound as it tapped against the windowpane. “I don’t see anyone.”

“I already looked out front. Maybe they’re around the side.”

Suddenly, they heard it again. Tap…tap. It was growing louder. Spencer grabbed Melissa’s arm. They both peered out the window again.

Then a drainpipe at the bottom of the house rattled a bit, and finally something scuttled out. It was a seagull. The thing had somehow gotten stuck in the pipe; the tapping sounds had probably been caused by its wings and beak as it struggled to break free. The bird waddled away, shaking its feathers.

Spencer sank down on the antique FAO Schwarz rocking horse. At first, Melissa looked angry, but then the corners of her mouth wobbled. She snorted with laughter.

Spencer laughed as well. “Stupid bird.”

“Yeah.” Melissa let out a huge sigh. She looked around the room, first at the Legos and then at the six oversize My Little Pony mannequin heads set up on the far table. She pointed at them. “Remember how we used to do the ponies’ makeup?”

“Sure.” Mrs. Hastings would give them all of last season’s Chanel eye shadows and lipsticks, and they’d spend hours giving the ponies smoky eyes and plumped-up lips.

“You used to put eye shadow on their nostrils,” Melissa teased.

Spencer giggled, petting the blue-and-purple mane of a pink pony. “I wanted their noses to be as pretty as the rest of their faces.”

“And remember these?” Melissa walked to the oversize chest and peered inside. “I can’t believe we had so many dolls.”

Not only were there more than a hundred dolls, ranging from Barbies to German antiques that probably shouldn’t have been carelessly tossed into a toy chest, but also tons of coordinating outfits, shoes, purses, cars, horses, and lapdogs. Spencer pulled out a Barbie in a serious-looking blue blazer and pencil skirt. “Remember how we used to make them be CEOs? Mine was the CEO of a cotton-candy factory, and yours was the CEO of a makeup company.”

“We made this one president.” Melissa pulled out a doll whose dirty blond hair was cut bluntly to her chin, just like her own.

“And this one had lots of boyfriends.” Spencer held up a pretty doll with long, blond hair and a heart-shaped face.

The sisters sighed. Spencer felt a lump in her throat. Back in the day, they used to play for hours. Half the time they didn’t even want to go down to the beach, and when it was time for bed, Spencer always sobbed and begged her parents to let her sleep in Melissa’s bedroom. “I’m sorry about the Golden Orchid thing,” Spencer blurted out. “I wish it had never happened.”

Melissa picked up the pretty doll Spencer had been holding—the one with lots of boyfriends. “They’re going to want you to go to New York, you know. And talk about your paper in front of a panel of judges. You’ll have to know the material inside out.”

Spencer squeezed CEO Barbie tightly around her impossibly disproportionate waist. Even if her parents wouldn’t punish her for cheating, the Golden Orchid committee would.

Melissa strolled to the back of the room. “You’ll do fine, though. You’ll probably win. And you know Mom and Dad will get you something amazing if you do.”

Spencer blinked. “And you’d be okay with that? Even though it’s…your paper?”

Melissa shrugged. “I’m over it.” She paused for a moment, then reached into a high cabinet Spencer hadn’t noticed before. Her hand emerged with a tall bottle of Grey Goose vodka. She shook it, the clear liquid swishing inside the glass. “Want some?”

“S-sure,” Spencer sputtered.

Melissa walked to the cabinet above the room’s mini fridge and pulled out two cups from the miniature china tea set. Using only her good hand, Melissa awkwardly poured vodka into two teacups. With a nostalgic smile, she handed Spencer her old favorite pale blue teacup—Spencer used to pitch a fit if she had to drink out of any of the others. She was astounded that Melissa remembered.

Spencer sipped, feeling the vodka burn down her throat. “How did you know that bottle was here?”

“Ian and I snuck here for Senior Week years ago,” Melissa explained. She sat down in a purple-and-pink-striped child-size chair, her knees piked up to her chin. “Cops were all over the roads, and we were terrified to bring it back with us, so we hid it here. We thought we’d come back for it later…only, we didn’t.”

Melissa got a faraway look on her face. She and Ian had unexpectedly broken up shortly after Senior Week—that same summer Ali had gone missing. Melissa had been extra-industrious that summer, working two part-time jobs and volunteering at the Brandywine River Museum. Even though she never would have admitted it, Spencer suspected she’d been trying to keep herself busy because the breakup with Ian had really devastated her. Maybe it was the hurt look on Melissa’s face, or maybe it was that she’d just told Spencer she’d probably win the Golden Orchid after all, but suddenly, Spencer wanted to tell Melissa the truth.