Previously on Pretty Little Liars, Pepe the dog discovered the body of Jessica DiLaurentis buried in the yard the way Tippi the Bird discovered the body of Alison DiLaurentis buried in the yard. The only difference was: Pepe didn’t know any necromancers living in the walls of sorority houses who could pull people out from under the dirt, and so Jessica was for real dead. Aria lost her goddamn mind because the ghosts playing violins in her attic kept reminding her of the time she smashed Shana Costumeshop in the head with a rifle and killed her. The Hastingses stood in the kitchen in groups of twos and threes acting like some paranoid psychos. Emily and Hanna went rootin’ around in Jason’s Philadelphia business and found nothing but dead ends and a wino. And Mona started an army.
I would like to go on record right up front and say this is one of the most expertly written and directed and edited episodes of Pretty Little Liars we’ve seen in a long while, which becomes apparent in the first scene as the Liars voiceover their concern about Ali while Jason and Mr. D tell them to scram while the sun rises and sets and rises and sets over Alison’s bedroom and she just lies there and thinks about how that freaking hole in her backyard is a portal to hell.
To complicate everyone’s heightened state of feeling so weird, the Liars have a whispered conversation that includes the actual phrases: “She’s going to bury the woman who tried to bury her.” And, “Dogs dig, OK? That’s just what they do. They smell something and they dig.” Both of which are spoken by Spencer, of course, but that’s not what crushes everyone under the hulking weight of awkwardness. No, it’s Ali who does that when she walks downstairs wearing the exact same funeral dress her mother wore to her funeral.
My god, I love this show.
Emily goes, “Coincidence for sure, right?” And Spencer’s all, “One day we’re all going to get clobbered in the head by the low-hanging fruit of the fucking Coincidence Tree growing in this backyard.”
When the Liars return to school, Vice-Principal Hackett advises them that he will permit them to resume classes and he will keep the cops and the media at bay, but they have absolutely got to not do anymore dumb shit like rubbing rat’s blood all over the trophies and turning them into the police, or putting cow brains into lockers, or — oh, guys. You know what I just remembered? That kookoo janitor who lived under the stairs in the boiler room and did Mona’s bidding. Whatever happened to that guy? And remember that time the school came to life and attacked Emily, all, “ACT NORMAL, BITCH” and her dad had to climb the wall like a Spider-Man to save her? Anyway, none of that shit. Hackett’s not having it anymore.
After their reintroduction to the world of academia, everyone hollers at Spencer about how Jason is the murderer and about how Aria needs to check up on Fitz to make sure he’s not going to dime them out about being in New York the night Shana was murdered and then Emily unleashes such a wrath on this new swimmer named Sydney, whose only crime is that she wants to stare at Emily’s perfect face and talk about how she’s the greatest swimmer in the world and like maybe touch her hair.
Paige tries to keep Emily from murdering the new girl. Emily drops her notebook and Paige picks it up and Emily looks at her like, “Oh, stalking me around school like you stalked me to that bank where I told you Ali was Alive and you told the police?” Paige’s hair is like, “Hey, girl” and her face is like, “Come on, girl” and her mouth is like, “Naw, man. I just saw you drop your stuff and you look murdery so I’m trying to save the new swim team person.”
Paige: I’m sorry about Alison getting kidnapped, for real. I saw what happens when you can’t let go of what she did to you and it looks like Lucas with sideburns, so really. I’m sorry.
Emily: Are you sorry for anything else?
Paige’s face: I’m sorry you’re pissed off at me. I’m sorry we live in a world where my actions, if taken by a Caleb or a Toby, would seem chivalrous and make teenage girls swoon into a puddle of heterosexual goop, but when taken by a lesbian who plays with the spectrum of masculine and feminine energy are considered vile. I’m sorry my hair is trying to compete with your hair for best hair. But I’m not sorry I wanted to keep you safe. Cousin Nate, for example, is a thing we experienced together.
Emily’s face: What you did by taking away my autonomy and endangering the life of one of my best friends was gross, McCullers, even if your motivation was my well-being. p.s. Your motivation wasn’t entirely my well-being. p.p.s. You look so good right now. But p.p.p.s. I’m still rightfully furious at you.