Alison's Pretty Little Diary

Saturday, September 6

             I think I just met my four new best friends. They aren't new to Rosewood Day or anything—I'm pretty sure they've been going there all their lives. But they're new to me. The types of girls I wouldn't speak to . . . until today.

              It was mid-morning when I first saw them from the upstairs window. A girl with red-blond hair and strong swimmer's shoulders crouched by my mom's tomato plants. I wanted to warn her not to get too close—my mom loves those plants. The girl looked really nervous, like she was breaking some kind of major law. Come to think of it, trespassing is a crime, isn't it?

              Then I spotted another girl with pink stripes and blue-black hair ducking behind the big oak tree that had been struck by lightning. Pink Stripe's eyes darted back and forth, and she picked at an invisible stain on her weird lederhosen-style shirt. Not far away, a chubby girl with a round face and lifeless brown hair crept toward the fence. She tugged at the waistband of her jeans, as if the fabric was cutting uncomfortably into her pudgy stomach.

              Finally, I saw my neighbor Spencer, sneaking over my property line. The only reason I was sure of Spencer's name and not the others' was because Spencer's older sister, Melissa, yells it loudly all the frickin' time—in their backyard, in their driveway, in front of their house—Spencer! Spencer lingered behind my mom's raspberry bushes, fiddling with the elastic band in her long dirty-blond hair. She wore a black T-shirt, black yoga pants, and even black Puma sneakers, as if she was trying to camouflage herself.

              They all just sat there, waiting. Something told me these girls hadn't planned to meet in my yard at exactly the same time. When I saw them spot one another and convene in a tight circle, I totally knew I was right. Spencer waved her hands bossily at the others. Pink Stripe stomped her goofy boots on my family's perfectly mowed lawn. The chubby girl made a face and wound a piece of poop-brown hair around her finger. The swimmer with the reddish-blond hair stared guiltily at the ground. "I was here first," someone hissed.

"I was here before you were," another voice cried. "I saw you come out of your house a few minutes ago."

              Suddenly I was pretty sure why they were here—and what they wanted.

              I strained to hear more of what they were saying, but then I felt a hand on my arm. As usual, I was pulled into another argument. That's the DiLaurentis family for you—we seem perfect on the outside, but all we do is fight. When it was over, my brother, Jason, grumbled loudly, pushed through the back door, and stomped through the yard. Run away, I wanted to yell at him. Just like you always do.

              I watched the hood on Jason's sweatshirt bounce up and down as he stormed off. Midway across the yard, he froze in his tracks and stared at something in Spencer's backyard. Spencer's sister sat on the edge of the hot tub with Ian Thomas. Jason's expression was stony and tense. His cheeks turned as red as Mom's tomatoes. I almost burst out laughing. He likes that prissy bitch? He's jealous that Ian's with her?

              Personally, I think Ian could do much better.

              Finally, Jason started walking again, making a beeline for the woods and completely missing the four girls hiding in the bushes. After I was sure he'd gone, I slipped out the back door myself. The girls' eyes widened when they saw me. None of them moved. They reminded me of deer that sometimes wander into the middle of country roads. Instead of fleeing, the deer always just stand there, dumbfounded. Some of them even get run over. Morons.

              "You can come out," I called in a bored voice, coming to a stop at our backyard koi pond.

              Something rustled. One of the girls coughed. "It's okay," I said loudly. "But if you've come for my flag, it's too late. Someone else already stole it."