Ali's Pretty Little Lies Read Online Free PDF

in the backyard. “They don’t look so disgusting to me.”
    Ali followed her gaze. A trio of guys in sweat-stained shirts and ripped jeans traipsed through her yard, passing the tree house in which she and Emily had spent many hours talking. One of the workers had tattoos up and down his arms and carried a shovel over his shoulder. Another had dirt all over his face and was talking on his cell phone. But the third guy, who was younger, was staring right at Ali, his green eyes piercing, an impish smile on his face.
    “Oh my God, I’m in love,” Cassie whispered.
    “With Darren Wilden?” Ali made a face.
    Cassie gaped at her. “You know him? I’ve only seen him in the halls.”
    “He’s Jason’s friend.” Ali made a noise at the back of her throat. “His idea of fun is tagging the wall outside the tennis courts.”
    “Bad boys are hot.” Cassie pulled out a tube of sheer lip gloss and slowly spread it across her lips.
    “He’s all yours,” Ali murmured.
    They fell silent as Darren approached, still staring at Ali. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t be smoking, Ali,” he said sternly.
    Ali looked down. The Marlboro Light Cassie had lit was still in her hand, white ash curling into the air. Anger flared inside her. Darren was a fixture at her house, as moody as Jason and just as irritating. Who did he think he was, her dad? As if he had any power over what she did!
    Ali took another long drag of the cigarette, then flicked it out the window. She stepped out of the car slowly, her eyes on his. She sauntered up to him, not saying a word, until she was right next to him. Then she pulled up her skirt and gave him a little peek of leg. Darren’s eyes went right there and widened not with horror or disgust, but with what was definitely inappropriate lust. Smirking, Ali waved good-bye to Cassie, then turned and strutted into the house, knowing he and Cassie were still staring.
    There. She was the one in control, after all.

3
PARTY ON THE DOWN LOW
    “One Swiss fondue with four skewers.” A waitress laid a bubbling cauldron of melted cheese in the center of the table. “Enjoy!”
    Ali’s mother, a tall, elegant woman with long blond hair, a heart-shaped face, and a perma-Botoxed forehead, placed her napkin in her lap and daintily picked up a skewer. Her father made an mm sound and smacked his lips, which Ali had always thought were a tad thick and rubbery. A long string of cheese stretched uncouthly from the skewer to his mouth. That was probably the reason her mom never brought him to her charity dinners.
    Ali wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What is this? It looks like Velveeta.”
    “It’s fondue.” Mrs. DiLaurentis pushed a skewer toward her. “You’ll love it.”
    “I’d probably love full-fat ice cream, too, but you don’t see me eating that .”
    Her mother sipped from her glass of white wine. “It’s French, honey. Therefore it has no calories.” She twisted her mouth like it was a funny joke.
    Ali folded her hands across her empty plate and gazed around the restaurant. It was Thursday night, and she was with her family at Rive Gauche, the new French bistro that had opened up in the luxe section of the King James Mall. The place was decorated with distressed mirrors, retro alcohol ads, and Paris street signs. Groups of well-dressed Main Line women shared mussels and French fries at almost every table. A group of college kids who looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of J. Crew tucked into tureens of French onion soup in the corner.
    Ali considered taking a Polaroid of the cool new restaurant, but then decided against it—this place was awesome, but she’d rather take a photo of it with her friends. She couldn’t even believe her family was out to dinner; they hadn’t done this in ages. Even so, her parents sat as far apart as possible in the booth, as though they were two awkward junior high kids at a dance. Mrs. DiLaurentis was glued to her cell phone as if she were