Unbelievable

Noel’s lips spread into an easy smile. Then they went back to what they were doing, as if Emily didn’t exist at all. Emily looked back at the drowned Ariel splayed out on the ground and shivered. Of course if she told anyone about A, A would make sure that Emily really didn’t exist.

29

NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM

Aria dashed from her dented Subaru to the Hollis art building. A storm was building on the horizon, and the rain had already begun to fall. She had finished telling the cops about A only a little while ago, and although she’d tried to call her old friends on Wilden’s phone, none of them had picked up—probably because they didn’t recognize his number. She was now going into the Hollis art building to see if she had left her Treo here; without it, she had no concrete proof of what A was doing to her. Mike had offered to go into the building with her, but Aria had told him she’d see him later, at Hanna’s party.

As Aria pushed the call button for the elevator, she pulled her Rosewood Day blazer around her—she hadn’t had time to change yet. Mike’s insistence that she tell Wilden about A had been a wake-up call, but had she done the right thing? Wilden had wanted to know the details of every last text, IM, e-mail, and note that A had sent. He had asked over and over again, “Is there anyone the four of you hurt? Is there anyone who might want to harm you?”

Aria had paused and shaken her head, not wanting to answer. Who hadn’t they hurt, back in the day, with Ali at the helm? There was one clear front-runner, though…Jenna.

She thought of A’s notes: I know EVERYTHING. I’m closer than you think. She thought of Jenna fiddling with her cell phone, saying, I’m so psyched I can send texts! But was Jenna truly capable of something like this? She was blind—A obviously wasn’t.

The elevator doors slid open, and Aria got in. As it pulled her to the third floor, she thought about the memory Hanna had mentioned when she first woke up from her coma—the one about the afternoon before Ali went missing. Ali had been acting so strangely that day, first reading some notebook she wouldn’t show the others, then appearing downstairs moments later, seeming so disoriented. Aria had lingered on Ali’s porch by herself for a few minutes after the others left, knitting the last few rows of one of the cuff bracelets she planned to give to each of them as a first-full-day-of-summer present. As she went around the house to retrieve her bike, she saw Ali standing in the middle of her front yard, transfixed. Ali’s eyes flickered from the DiLaurentises’ curtained dining room window to the Cavanaughs’ house across the street.

“Ali?” Aria had whispered. “Are you okay?”

Ali didn’t move. “Sometimes,” she said in an entranced voice, “I just wish she was out of my life forever.”

“What?” Aria whispered. “Who?”

Ali seemed stunned, as if Aria had snuck up on her. There was a flash of something in the DiLaurentises’ window—or perhaps it was just a reflection. And when Aria looked at the Cavanaughs’ yard, she saw someone lurking behind the large shrub by Toby’s old tree house. It reminded Aria of the figure she swore she’d seen standing in the Cavanaughs’ yard the night they blinded Jenna.

The elevator let out a ding, and Aria jumped. Who had Ali been talking about when she said, I just wish she was out of my life forever? At the time, she’d thought Ali meant Spencer—they were constantly fighting. Now she wasn’t sure at all. There were just so many things she hadn’t known about Ali.

The hallway leading to the Mindless Art studio was dark, save for a brief moment when a zigzag of lightning came dangerously close to the window. When Aria reached the open door of her classroom, she flipped on the light and blinked in the sudden brightness. Her class’s cubbies were along the back wall, and amazingly, Aria’s Treo was in an empty cubby, seemingly untouched. She ran to it and cradled it in her arms, letting out a sigh of relief.

Then, she noticed the masks her class had completed, one drying in each cubby. The alcove with Aria’s name written in Scotch tape on the bottom was empty, but Jenna’s wasn’t. Someone else must have helped Jenna make her mask, because there it was, faceup and perfectly formed, the blank, hollowed-out eyes staring at the cubby’s ceiling. Aria lifted it slowly. Jenna had painted her mask to look like an enchanted forest. Vines swirled around the nose, a flower bloomed above her left eye, and there was a gorgeous butterfly on her right cheek. The detailed brushwork was impeccable—perhaps too impeccable. It didn’t seem possible for someone who couldn’t see.

A crack of thunder sounded like it was splitting open the earth. Aria yelped, dropping the mask to the table. When she looked to the window, she saw the silhouette of something swinging from the window’s top crank. It looked like a tiny…person.

Aria stepped closer. It was a plush doll of the Wicked Queen from Snow White. She wore a long black robe and a gold crown on her head, and her frowning face was ghostly pale. She hung from a rope around her neck, and someone had drawn big, black X’s over her eyes. There was a note pinned to the doll’s long gown.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the naughtiest of them all? You told. So you’re next.—A

Tree branches scraped violently against the window. More lightning set fire to the sky. As another crack of thunder sounded, the studio’s lights died. Aria shrieked.

The streetlights just outside the window had gone off, too, and somewhere, far away, Aria heard a fire alarm screaming. Stay calm, Aria told herself. She grabbed her Treo and dialed the number for the police dispatch. Just as someone picked up, a knife-shaped bolt of lightning flickered outside the window. Aria’s phone slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. She reached for it, then tried to dial again. But her phone no longer had service.

Lightning lit up the room again, illuminating the shapes of the desks, the cabinets, the swinging Wicked Queen from the window, and, finally, the door. Aria widened her eyes, a scream frozen in her throat. There was someone there.

“H-hello?” she cried out.

With another zing of lightning, the stranger was gone. Aria bit into her knuckles, her teeth chattering. “Hello?” she called. Lightning flashed again. A girl was standing just inches from her face. Aria felt dizzy with fear. It was…

“Hello,” the girl said.

It was Jenna.

30

THREE LITTLE WORDS CAN CHANGE EVERYTHING

Spencer sat at the roulette table, moving her shiny plastic casino chips from one palm to the other. As she placed a few chips on numbers 4, 5, 6, and 7, she felt the push of the crowd now gathered thickly behind her. It seemed like all of Rosewood was here tonight—everyone from Rosewood Day, plus the people from rival private schools who were staples at Noel Kahn’s parties. There was even a cop here, wandering the perimeter. Spencer wondered why.

When the wheel stopped, the ball landed on the number 6. This was the third time in a row she’d won. “Nice job,” someone said in her ear. Spencer looked around, but she couldn’t locate who’d spoken to her. It sounded like her sister’s voice. Only, why would Melissa be here? No other college kids had come, and before Spencer’s Golden Orchid interview, Melissa had said Hanna’s party sounded ridiculous.

She did it, you know. Spencer couldn’t get A’s text out of her head.

She scanned the tent. Someone with chin-length blond hair was slinking toward the stage, but when Spencer stood up, the person seemed to have evaporated into the crowd. She rubbed her eyes. Maybe she was going crazy.

Suddenly, Mona Vanderwaal grabbed her arm. “Hey, sweetie. You have a sec? I have a surprise.”

She led Spencer through the crowd to a more secluded spot, snapped her fingers, and a waiter magically appeared, handing each of them a tall, fluted glass filled with bubbly liquid. “It’s real champagne,” Mona said. “I wanted to propose a toast to thank you, Spencer. For planning this fantastic party with me…and also for being there for me. About…you know. The notes.”

“Of course,” Spencer said faintly.

They clinked glasses and sipped. “This party is really awesome,” Mona went on. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Spencer waved her hand humbly. “Nah. You put it all together. I just made a couple of calls. You’re a natural at this.”

“We’re both naturals at this,” Mona said, belting back her champagne. “We should start a party-planning business together.”

“And we’ll flash country club boys on the side,” Spencer joked.

“Of course!” Mona chirped, bumping Spencer’s hip.

Spencer ran her finger up and down the length of the champagne flute. She wanted to tell Mona about her newest text from A—the one about Melissa. Mona would understand. Only, the DJ switched songs to a fast one by OK Go, and before Spencer could say a word, Mona squealed and made a run for the dance floor. She glanced over her shoulder at Spencer, as if to say, Are you coming? Spencer shook her head.

The few sips of champagne had made her dizzy. After a couple minutes of wading through the crowd, she walked out of the tent into the clear night air. Except for the spotlights that surrounded the tent, the golf course was very dark. The man-made grassy knolls and sand traps weren’t visible, and Spencer could only see the bare outlines of the trees in the distance. Their branches waved like bony fingers. Somewhere, a bunch of crickets screamed.

A doesn’t know anything about Ali’s killer, Spencer assured herself, looking back at the fuzzy shapes of the partygoers inside. And anyway, it made no sense—Melissa wouldn’t ruin her whole future by killing someone over a guy. This was just another one of A’s tactics to make Spencer believe something that wasn’t true.

She sighed and headed off for the bathrooms, which were outside the tent in a bubble-shaped trailer. Spencer climbed the wheelchair ramp and pushed through the flimsy plastic door. Of the three stalls, one was occupied, and two were empty. As she flushed and wriggled her dress back into position, the bathroom’s main door slammed shut. Pale silver Loeffler Randall shoes made their way over to the trailer’s minuscule sink. Spencer clapped her hand over her mouth. She’d seen those shoes plenty of times before—they were Melissa’s favorite pair.

“Uh, hi?” Spencer said when she stepped out of her stall. Melissa was leaning against the sink, her hands on her hips, a small smile on her face. She wore a long, narrow black dress with a slit up the side. Spencer tried to breathe calmly. “What are you doing here?”

Her sister didn’t say anything, just kept staring. A droplet of water struck the sink basin, making Spencer jump.

“What?” Spencer sputtered. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why did you lie to me again?” Melissa growled.

Spencer pressed her back against one of the stall doors. She looked back and forth for something she could use as a weapon. The only thing she could think of was her shoe’s kitten heel, and she slowly slid her foot out of the toe box. “Lie?”