Ahora les traemos los primeros párrafos! OJO, están en inglés, es muy largo para traducir
Son 3 fragmentos que twitteó Sara Shepard.
El primero fue twitteado el día 16 de mayo.
more STUNNING! That summer in Rosewood, Pennsylvania, a picturesque, wealthy suburb about twenty minutes from (cont) tl.gd/heerh8— Sara Shepard (@sarabooks) mayo 16, 2012
That summer in Rosewood, Pennsylvania, a picturesque, wealthy suburb about twenty minutes from Philadelphia, had been one of the hottest ones on record. To escape the heat, people flocked to the country club pool, gathered around the local Rita’s for extra-large strawberry Water Ices, and skinny-dipped in the duck pond at Peck’s organic cheese farm, despite the decades-old rumor that a dead body had been found there. By the third week in August, though, the weather suddenly turned autumn-like. Boys broke out their hoodies, and girls donned their brand-new, back-to-school Joe’s jeans and puffer vests. A few leaves on the trees had changed to reds and golds overnight. The Great August Cold Snap, the local news called it. It was as though the Grim Reaper had come and ripped the season clean away.
On a chilly Thursday night, a beat-up Subaru cruised down a dark street in Wessex, a town not far from Rosewood. The glowing green clock on the dashboard might have said 1:26 AM, but the four girls inside the car were wide awake. Actually, make that five girls: best friends Emily Fields, Aria Montgomery, Spencer Hastings, Hanna Marin…and a tiny, nameless baby Emily had given birth to that morning, who was crying her head off.
They drove past house after house, peering at the numbers on the mailboxes. When they approached number 204, Emily sat up straighter. “Stop,” she said over the baby’s cries. “That’s it.”
Aria, who was wearing a Fair Isle pullover she’d bought while on vacation in Iceland last month—a vacation she dreaded to even think about now—steered the car toward the curb. “Are you sure?” She eyed the modest white house. It had a basketball hoop in the driveway, a big weeping willow in the side yard, and cheerful flower beds under the front windows.
“I’ve looked at this address on the adoption form a million times.” Emily touched the window. “204 Ship Lane. This is definitely where they live.”
The car grew quiet. Even the baby stopped crying. Hanna glanced at the infant next to her in the backseat. Her tiny, perfect pink lips were pursed. Spencer looked at the baby too, then shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious what everyone was thinking: how could this have happened to sweet, obedient little Emily Fields? They’d been Emily’s best friend since sixth grade, when Alison DiLaurentis, the most popular girl at Rosewood Day, the private school they all attended, recruited them all into her new clique. Emily had always been the girl who hated badmouthing people, who never instigated a quarrel, and who preferred baggy t-shirts and sedate sleepovers to tight-fitting skirts and naughty rounds of Truth or Dare. Girls like her didn’t get pregnant.
El segundo, el 17 de mayo.
They’d thought Emily was doing a program at Temple this summer, much like the one Spencer was attending at (cont) tl.gd/heug8n— Sara Shepard (@sarabooks) mayo 17, 2012
They’d thought Emily was doing a program at Temple this summer, much like the one Spencer was attending at Penn. But then, one by one, Emily had told each of them the truth: she was hiding in her sister’s dorm room in Philly because she was pregnant. Aria, Spencer, and Hanna had all reacted in the same way when Emily broke the news: with jaw-dropping, speechless shock. How long have you known? they all asked. I took a pregnancy test when I got back from Jamaica, Emily answered. The father was Isaac, a boy she’d dated that winter.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Spencer asked quietly. A reflection in the window caught her eye, and she cringed. But when she turned to stare at the house opposite them, a similarly modest brick ranch, no one was there.
“What other option do I have?” Emily twisted the pink rubber Jefferson Hospital bracelet around her wrist. The staff didn’t even know she was gone—the doctors wanted her to stay an extra day so they could check on her incision from the C-section that had been performed that afternoon. But if she’d stayed in the hospital a minute longer, her plan wouldn’t work. She couldn’t possibly give the baby to Gayle, the wealthy woman who’d paid a huge sum of money for her, so she’d told Gayle she’d pushed back the date for her scheduled C-section to two days later. Then she’d solicited her old friends to help her sneak out of the hospital shortly after the baby was born. Everyone had played a part in the escape. Hanna returned Gayle’s money. Spencer distracted the nurses while Emily hobbled toward the exit. Aria provided her Subaru and even found an infant car seat at a garage sale. And they’d succeeded: they’d escaped without Gayle finding out and taking the baby away.
Suddenly, as if on cue, Emily’s phone bleated, breaking the tense silence inside the car. She pulled it out of the plastic shopping bag the hospital had stashed her clothes in and looked at the screen. Gayle.
Emily winced and hit IGNORE. The phone quieted for a moment, then bleated once more. Gayle again.Hanna eyed the phone warily. “Should you answer that?”
“And say what?” Emily hit IGNORE one more time. “Sorry, Gayle, I don’t want to give you my baby because I think you’re psycho?”
“But isn’t this illegal?” Hanna looked up and down the street. There wasn’t a car in sight, but she still felt on edge. “What if she turns you in?”
“For what?” Emily asked. “What Gayle did was illegal, too. She can’t say anything without incriminating herself.”
Hanna bit a thumb nail. “But aren’t we in trouble for enough? If the cops find out about this, what if they investigate other things? Like…Jamaica?”
Y el último, el 18 de mayo.
A palpable tension rippled through the car. Although it was always on their minds, the girls had promised each (cont) tl.gd/hf3pv5— Sara Shepard (@sarabooks) mayo 18, 2012
A palpable tension rippled through the car. Although it was always on their minds, the girls had promised each other never to talk about Jamaica again. It was supposed to be a getaway to forget about Real Ali, the diabolical girl who’d killed her twin sister, the Ali they all knew and loved. Last year, Real Ali had returned to Rosewood and tried to pass herself off as the girls’ old friend, but it was later revealed that she was the new A, the girls’ text-messaging tormenter. She’d killed several Rosewood residents, and her master plan was the murder the four girls, too, bringing them to her family’s house in the Poconos, locking them in a bedroom, and lighting a match. But things hadn’t turned out as she hoped. The girls escaped, leaving Real Ali trapped in the house when it exploded. Even though her remains had never been found, everyone was positive she was dead.
But was she?
The trip to Jamaica had been a chance for the girls to move on with their lives and deepen their friendships. Once they got there, though, they met a girl named Tabitha who reminded them of Real Ali. She said things only Ali knew. Her mannerisms were chillingly like Ali’s. Slowly, they became convinced that she was Real Ali. Maybe she’d survived the fire. Maybe she’d come to Jamaica to finish off the girls as planned.
There was only one thing to do: stop her before she got revenge. Just as Real Ali was about to push Hanna off the rooftop deck, Aria intervened and Ali fell instead. Her broken body had vanished before the girls got down to the beach to see what they’d done, probably swept away by the tide. The girls oscillated between feeling relieved that Ali was gone for good…and horrified that they’d killed someone.
“No one will ever know about Jamaica,” Spencer growled now. “Ali’s body is gone.”