Pretty Little Liars (9 page)

“Want to come with me to an artist reception at the Chester Springs studio next Monday night?” Aria's mother, Ella, asked.

It was Thursday morning, and Ella was sitting across from Aria at the breakfast table, doing the
New York Times
crossword puzzle with a leaky black pen and eating a bowl of Cheerios. She had just returned to her part-time job at the Davis contemporary art gallery on Rosewood's main drag, and she was on the mailing list for all the benefits.

“Isn't Dad going to go with you?” Aria asked.

Her mom pursed her lips together. “He has a lot of work to do for his classes.”

“Oh.” Aria picked at a loose strand of wool on the fingerless gloves she'd knitted during a long train ride to Greece. Was that suspicion she detected in her mom's
voice? Aria always worried Ella would find out about Meredith and never forgive her for keeping the secret.

Aria squeezed her eyes closed.
You're not thinking about it
, she thought. She poured some grapefruit juice into a glass. “Ella?” she asked. “I need some love advice.”

“Love advice?” her mother teased, securing her jet-black bun with a take-out chopstick that had been lying on the table.

“Yeah,” Aria said. “I like this guy, but he's kind of…unattainable. I'm out of ideas on how to convince him he should like me.”

“Be yourself!” Ella said.

Aria groaned. “I've tried that.”

“Go out with an attainable boy, then!”

Aria rolled her eyes. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Ooh, someone's sensitive!” Ella smiled, then snapped her fingers. “I just read this study in the paper.” She held up the
Times
. “It was a survey about what men find most attractive in women. You know what was the number-one thing? Intelligence. Here, let me find it for you….” She rifled through the paper and handed the page to Aria.

“Aria likes a guy?” Mike swept into the kitchen and grabbed a glazed donut from the box on the island.

“No!” Aria quickly responded.

“Well, someone likes
you
,” Mike said. “Gross as that is.” He made a barfing sound.

“Who?” Ella asked in an excited voice.

“Noel Kahn,” Mike answered, talking with a huge,
chewed-up bite of donut in his mouth. “He asked about you at lacrosse practice.”

“Noel Kahn?” Ella echoed, looking back and forth from Mike to Aria. “Which one is he? Was he here three years ago? Do I know him?”

Aria groaned and rolled her eyes. “He's nobody.”

“Nobody?” Mike sounded disgusted. “He's, like, the coolest guy in your grade.”

“Whatever,” Aria said, kissing her mother on the top of her head. She headed to the hallway, staring at the newspaper clipping in her hands. So men liked brains? Well, Icelandic Aria could certainly be brainy.

“Why don't you like Noel Kahn?” Mike's voice made Aria jump. He stood a few feet away from Aria with a carton of orange juice in his hand. “He's the man.”

Aria groaned. “If you like him so much, why don't
you
go out with him?”

Mike drank straight from the carton, wiped his mouth, and stared at her. “You've been acting freaky. Are you high? Can I have some if you are?”

Aria snorted. In Iceland, Mike had been constantly trying to score drugs and freaked when some guys at the harbor sold him a dime bag of pot. The stuff turned out to be skunky, but Mike proudly smoked it anyway.

Mike started stroking his chin. “I think I know why you're acting freaky.”

Aria turned back to the closet. “You're full of crap.”

“You think so?” Mike answered. “I don't. And you
know what? I'm going to find out if my suspicions are true.”

“Good luck, Sherlock.” Aria pulled at her jacket. Even though she knew Mike was probably full of shit, she hoped he hadn't noticed the quiver in her voice.

 

As the other kids filed into English—most of the boys sporting a few days' growth of stubble and most of the girls in copycat Mona-and-Hanna platform sandals and charm bracelets—Aria reviewed her just-scrawled stack of note cards. Today, they had to give an oral report about a play called
Waiting for Godot
. Aria adored oral reports—she had the perfect, sexy, gravelly voice for them—and she happened to know the play really well. Once, she'd spent a whole Sunday in a Reykjavík bar, vehemently arguing with an Adrien Brody look-alike about its theme…between swilling delicious apple vodka martinis and playing footsie with him under the table, that is. So not only was this an excellent day to become über student, it was also a great opportunity to show everyone how cool Icelandic Aria was.

Ezra strolled in, looking rumpled, bookish, and completely edible, and clapped his hands. “Okay, class,” he said. “We have a lot of stuff to get through today. Quiet down.”

Hanna Marin turned around and smirked at Aria. “What kind of underwear do you think he's wearing?”

Aria smiled blandly—striped cotton boxers, of course—but snapped her attention back to Ezra.

“All right.” Ezra walked to the chalkboard. “Everyone did the reading, right? Everyone has a report? Who wants to go first?”

Aria's hand shot up. Ezra nodded at her. She walked to the podium at the front of the room, arranged her black hair around her shoulders so that it looked extra gorgeous, and made sure that her chunky coral necklace wasn't caught in the collar of her shirt. Quickly, she reread the first few scene-setting sentences on her index cards.

“Last year, I attended a performance of
Waiting for Godot
in Paris,” she began.

She noticed Ezra raise his eyebrow just the tiniest bit.

“It was a small theater off the Seine, and the air smelled like the cheese brioche baking next door.” She paused. “Picture the scene: a huge line of people waiting to go in, a woman toting her two little white poodles, the Eiffel Tower in the distance.”

She briefly looked up. Everyone seemed so transfixed! “I could feel the energy, the excitement, the
passion
in the air. And it wasn't just the beer they were selling to
everyone
—even my little brother,” she added.

“Nice!” Noel Kahn interjected.

Aria smiled. “The seats were very velvety and purple, and smelled like this type of butter in France that's sweeter than American butter. It's what makes the pastries so delicious.”

“Aria,” Ezra said.

“It's the kind of butter that even makes
escargot
taste good!”

“Aria!”

Aria stopped. Ezra leaned against the chalkboard with his arms crossed over his Rosewood blazer. “Yes?” She smiled.

“I have to stop you.”

“But…I'm not even halfway done!”

“Well, I need less about velvet seats and pastries and more about the play itself.”

The class snickered. Aria shuffled back to her seat and sat down. Didn't he know she was creating
ambiance
?

Noel Kahn raised his hand.

“Noel?” Ezra asked. “You want to go next?”

“No,” Noel said. The class laughed. “I just wanted to say I thought Aria's report was good. I liked it.”

“Thanks,” Aria said quietly.

Noel swiveled around. “Is there really no drinking age?”

“Not really.”

“I might go with my family to Italy this winter.”

“Italy's amazing. You're going to love it.”

“Are you two through?” Ezra asked. He shot Noel an exasperated look. Aria dug her hot-pink nails into the wood grain of her desk.

Noel turned back to her again. “Did they have absinthe?” he whispered.

She nodded, amazed Noel had even heard of absinthe.

“Mr. Kahn,” Ezra interrupted sternly. A little too sternly. “That's enough.”

Was this
jealousy
she detected?

“Damn,” Hanna twisted around. “What crawled up his ass?”

Aria stifled a giggle. It seemed to her like a certain über student was making a certain teacher a little twitchy.

Ezra called on Devon Arliss next and she started her speech. As Ezra turned to the side and put his finger on his chin, listening, Aria throbbed. She wanted him so badly it made her whole body buzz.

No, wait. That was just her cell phone, which was nestled in her oversize lime-green tote next to her foot.

The thing kept buzzing. Aria slowly reached down and pulled it out. One new text message:

Aria quickly snapped her cell phone shut. But then she opened it and read the message again. And again. As she did, the little hairs on her arms stood straight up.

No one in the room had their phones out—not Hanna, not Noel, nobody. And no one was looking at her, either. She even looked up on the ceiling and out the classroom door, but nothing seemed out of place.
Everything was quiet and still.

“This can't be happening,” Aria whispered.

The only person who knew about Aria's dad was…Alison. And she'd sworn
on her grave
she wouldn't tell a soul. Was she
back
?

During her free period Thursday afternoon, Spencer strode into the Rosewood Day reading room. With its ceiling-high stacks of reference books, giant pedestal globe in the corner, and stained-glass window on the far wall, it was her favorite place on campus. She stood in the middle of the empty room, closed her eyes, and inhaled the old, leather-bound book smell.

Everything
had gone her way today: The unusual cold snap had allowed her to wear her brand-new Marc Jacobs pale blue wool coat, the Rosewood Day café barista had made her a perfect double skim latte, she'd just aced a French oral exam, and tonight she would be moving into the barn, while Melissa had to sleep in her old, cramped bedroom.

Despite all that, an uneasy haze hung over her. It was a cross between a bothersome feeling she sometimes had
when she'd forgotten to do something and the sense that someone was…well, watching her. It was obvious why she was feeling so off: that creepy “covet” e-mail. The flash of blond hair in Ali's old window. The fact that only Ali knew about Ian…

Trying to shake it off, she sat down at the computer, adjusted the waistband of her navy blue Wolford patterned stockings, and logged on to the Internet. She began research for her upcoming AP bio project, but after scrolling through a list of Google results, she typed,
Wren Kim,
into the search engine.

Trolling through the results, she stifled a giggle. On a site called
Mill Hill School, London,
there was a photo of a longer-haired Wren standing next to a Bunsen burner and a bunch of test tubes. Another link was to Oxford University's Corpus Christi College student portal; there was a photo of Wren looking gorgeous in Shakespearean garb, holding a skull. She hadn't known Wren was into drama. As she tried to magnify the photo to check out the fit of his tights, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“That your boyfriend?”

Spencer jumped, knocking her crystal-studded Sidekick cell phone to the floor. Andrew Campbell grinned awkwardly behind her.

She quickly closed the window. “Of course not!”

Andrew bent down to pick up her Sidekick, pushing a lock of straight, shoulder-length hair out of his eyes. Spencer noticed that he might actually have a chance at
being cute if he cut off that lion's mane.

“Oops,” he said, handing the Sidekick back to her. “I think a jewel thing fell off.”

Spencer grabbed it from him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry about that.” Andrew smiled. “So your boyfriend's an actor?”

“I said he wasn't my boyfriend!”

Andrew stepped back. “Sorry. Just making conversation.”

Spencer eyed him suspiciously.

“Anyway,” Andrew went on, hefting his North Face backpack higher on his shoulder. “I was wondering. You going to Noel's tomorrow? I could give you a ride.”

Spencer looked at him blankly and then remembered: Noel Kahn's field party. She'd gone to last year's. Kids did beer funnels, and practically every girl cheated on her boyfriend. This year would be more of the same. And what—Andrew seriously thought she'd ride with him in his Mini? Would they both even
fit
? “Doubt it,” she said.

Andrew's face fell. “Yeah, I guess you're probably kind of busy.”

Spencer furrowed her brow. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Andrew shrugged. “You seem to have a lot going on. Your sister's home, right?”

Spencer leaned back in her chair and drew her bottom lip into her mouth. “Yeah, she just got home last night. How'd you know tha—”

She stopped. Wait a
second.
Andrew drove his Mini up
and down her street all the time. She'd seen him just yesterday, when she was at the mailbox getting her test scores….

She swallowed hard. Now that she thought about it, she might have seen his black Mini drive by the day she and Wren were in the hot tub together. He must've been driving it up and down her street a lot to notice Melissa was home. What if…what if
Andrew
was the one skulking around spying on her? What if Andrew wrote that creepy “covet” e-mail? Andrew was so competitive it seemed possible. Wouldn't sending threatening messages be a good way to throw someone off her game and make it easier to be reelected as next year's class president…or,
even better,
beat out his competition for valedictorian? And the long hair! Maybe she'd seen
him
in Ali's old window?

Unbelievable!
Spencer stared at Andrew incredulously.

“Is something wrong?” Andrew asked, looking concerned.

“I have to go.” She gathered up her books and walked out of the reading room.

“Wait,” Andrew called.

Spencer kept going. But as she pushed through the library doors, she realized that she didn't feel enraged. Sure, it was bizarre that Andrew was spying on her, but if Andrew was A, Spencer was safe. Whatever Andrew
thought
he had on her, it was nothing…
nothing
…compared to what Alison knew.

She reached the door to the commons—coming in at the same time was Emily Fields.

“Hey,” Emily said. A nervous look crossed her face.

“Hey,” Spencer answered.

Emily readjusted her Nike backpack. Spencer pushed her bangs off her face. When was the last time she'd spoken to Emily?

“It got cold out, huh?” Emily asked.

Spencer nodded. “Yeah.”

Emily smiled in that I-don't-know-what-to-say-to-you way. Then Tracey Reid, another swimmer, grabbed Emily's arm. “When is our swimsuit money due?” she asked.

As Emily answered, Spencer wiped some nonexistent dirt off her blazer and wondered if she could just walk away or if she had to say a formal good-bye. Then something on Emily's wrist caught her eye. Emily was still wearing her blue string bracelet from sixth grade. Alison had made them for everyone right after the accident—The Jenna Thing—happened.

Initially, they'd just wanted to get Jenna's brother, Toby; it was supposed to be a prank. After the five of them planned it, Ali went across the street to watch through Toby's tree house window, and then when it happened, it did something…
horrible
…to Jenna.

After the ambulance pulled away from Jenna's house, Spencer discovered something about the accident none of the other girls ever found out: Toby saw Ali, but Ali saw Toby doing something
just as bad
. He couldn't tell on her, because then she'd tell on
him
.

Not long after, Ali made everyone the bracelets to remind them they were best friends
forever
and now that
they shared a secret like this, they had to protect one another
forever
. Spencer waited for Ali to tell the others that someone saw her, but she never did.

When the cops questioned Spencer after Ali went missing, they asked if Ali had any enemies, anyone who hated her so much they might want to hurt her. Spencer said that Ali was a popular girl, and like any popular girl, there were some girls who didn't like her, but it was just jealousy.

That, of course, was a bold-faced lie. There
were
people who hated Ali, and Spencer knew she should tell the police what Ali told her about The Jenna Thing…that maybe Toby wanted to hurt Ali…but how could she tell them that without telling them
why
? Spencer couldn't get through a day without passing Toby and Jenna's house on her street. But they'd been sent away to boarding school and hardly ever came home, so she thought their secret was safe. They were safe from Toby. And Spencer was safe from ever having to tell her best friends what she alone knew.

As Tracey Reid said good-bye, Emily turned around. She seemed surprised Spencer was still standing there. “I've got to get to class,” she said. “Good to see you, though.”

“'Bye,” Spencer answered, and she and Emily exchanged one last awkward smile.