A Pretty Little Parody [PLL]

49. I'm Sasha And I'm Fabulous

On the morning of the first day of eighth grade, the real Eli Peterson sat up in bed. The sun was just starting to come up and Rosebush was bathed in a pale, purplish light that he’d always thought was really pretty. Evan was still fast asleep on the couch. The nervous expression had disappeared from his face while he was sleeping and had been replaced with a smile. The two of them had been anxiously awaiting eighth grade for weeks, but now that it was here, “Sasha” didn’t feel anything at all.

Okay, maybe that was false. Maybe he--she--was still the tiniest bit nervous. She pushed aside the covers and padded over to the closet, where her first-day outfit hung. It consisted of a frilly yellow Abercrombie dress and bright blue flip flops; her Ralph Lauren-loving polo dress phase was over. “Sasha” took her time stripping off her tank top and Victoria’s Secret boy shorts and put on the dress. It still smelled of that awful noxious perfume they sprayed at the store, but since there wasn’t an obnoxious amount of it, the scent was actually kind of nice. She walked into the bathroom, freshened up for the day (which included straightening her slightly-blonder-from-the-summer hair until it resembled a wig), and walked back out, admiring herself in the mirror.

TBH, she looked all of seven years old, but she looked like a pretty seven-year-old. The dress was short enough to be sexy but not short enough to be in a porno. The blue Henna Thing bracelet hung on her wrist, a reminder of the painful yet interesting things that had happened at the beginning of the summer. All her friends had matching bracelets on their wrists, too, like they were part of some exclusive club. They wore them always. The Henna Thing had marked each of them in their own special way. They were older now. Wiser.

At least they seemed so.

“Eli” had gone back to Radley Heights for school. There had been a teary goodbye on the day he’d left, with all the members of the clique waving as his cab sped off into the distance. Both of the twins’ parents had been too preoccupied with their lovers to take him to the airport. It was too bad, really, if you thought about it--if the Petersons had looked a little closer that summer, they might have noticed that the twins (along with Evan, who still hadn’t left) spent an awful lot of time discussing things late into the night and obsessively watched the news with worried expressions on their faces. They might have noticed that Moby was always the last one to arrive at every one of “Sasha”’s sleepovers because he’d been forbidden to associate with the twins and had to sneak over when his mom’s hawk eye wasn’t trained on him. They may have noticed Scott nervously blurting out things like “We killed Henna Cockcutoff… but only in self-defense” at the dinner table. They might even have noticed that their prized Poconos house had burned down. But they were too busy having as much sex as possible, so they didn’t.

Oh well.

Henna Cockcutoff’s body had never been found, and eventually, everybody had just stopped looking. Mostly, the news still focused on the DiLaurentis twins perishing together in the fire in the Poconos house. Their bodies hadn’t been found in the wreckage, and since nobody knew exactly what had happened in those last few moments before the house exploded, there had been multiple conspiracy theories that had sprung up in the last few months. Just last night, “Sasha” had turned on the TV and watched a reporter interviewing a crazy-looking teenage guy who’d started an entire website claiming that the twins, or at least one of them, was still alive. “Don’t you people think it’s strange you haven’t found any of their remains in that fire?” he’d cackled, his eyes red because he was obviously high. “Alison and Courtney are alive. Mark my words.”

Despite all the drama that had gone down, life still went on. When August came around, Malaria Hardon went off to Pen Island Community College. Ivana jetted off to Japan to shoot car commercials. And A sent “Sasha” a couple of cryptic love poems with obscure references in them. “Sasha” wasn’t sure if he wanted to get back together with her or not, but she didn’t really give a shit. There were plenty of creepy-but-also-hot boys at school, and she was sure she’d get a new BF with a snap of her well-manicured finger. “Eli” and Tristan were still going strong, bound by their secret. According to him, Henna’s body had been stored somewhere safe, so that no one could find her remains when the house exploded. “Sasha” kind of wished that she’d asked him where, but that would ruin the surprise. She was sure “Eli” would tell her when the time came.

For now, though, she sprayed on some of her new signature perfume. It was actually a mixture of Axe Body Spray and Drakkar Noir cologne, but it smelled delish. She’d needed a change from the old one, anyway. Then she fastened the gold C necklace around her neck and checked her reflection in the mirror. The girl in the glass was beautiful, with glossy blond hair, a heart-shaped face, and sparkling blue eyes. She winked at her, then blew her a kiss. This year would kick even more ass than the last one. She knew it.

“I’m Sasha Peterson,” she said to her reflection. “I’m Sasha and I’m fabulous.”

THE END