He paused. Aria hugged her knees to her chest. She wished—just a little—that Sean would say, And Aria, I think you’re the right person. She sighed. “I had sex, once.”

Sean put the mug in the grass and looked at her.

“In Iceland, a year after I moved there,” she admitted. It felt strange to say it out loud. “It was this boy I liked. Oskar. He wanted to, and so did I, but…I don’t know.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “I didn’t love him or anything.” She paused. “You’re the first person I ever told.”

They were quiet for a while. Aria felt her heart thumping against her chest. Someone far below was grilling; she could smell the charcoal and the burgers. She heard Sean swallow and shift his weight, moving a little closer. She moved a little closer, too, feeling nervous.

“Go to Foxy with me,” Sean blurted out.

Aria cocked her head. “F-Foxy?”

“The benefit thing? You dress up? Dance?”

She blinked. “I know what Foxy is.”

“Unless you’re going with someone else. And we could go as friends, of course.”

Aria felt a tiny twinge of disappointment when he used the word friends. A second ago, she’d thought they were going to kiss. “You haven’t asked anyone already?”

“No. That’s why I asked you.”

Aria sneaked a peek at Sean. Her eyes kept gravitating toward the little cleft in his chin. Ali used to call them “butt chins,” but it was actually pretty cute. “Um, yeah, okay.”

“Cool.” Sean grinned. Aria grinned back. Except…something made her wilt. I’m giving you till the stroke of midnight Saturday night, Cinderella. Or else. Saturday was tomorrow.

Sean noticed her expression. “What is it?”

Aria swallowed. Her whole mouth tasted like rum. “I met the woman my dad’s fooling around with yesterday. Sort of by accident.” She took a deep breath. “Or not by accident at all. I wanted to ask her what was going on, but I couldn’t. I’m just afraid my mom’s going to…to catch them together.” Tears came to her eyes. “I don’t want my family to fall apart.”

Sean held her for a while. “Couldn’t you try talking to the girl again?”

“I don’t know.” She stared at her hands. They were shaking. “I mean, I have this whole speech for her figured out in my head. I just want her to know my side.” She arched her back and looked up at the sky, as if the universe might give her the answer. “But maybe it’s a stupid idea.”

“It’s not. I’ll go with you. For moral support.”

She looked up. “You…you would?”

Sean glanced out over the trees. “Right now, if you want.”

Aria quickly shook her head. “I couldn’t right now. I left my, um, script at home.”

Sean shrugged. “Do you remember what you want to say?”

“I guess,” Aria said faintly. She looked out over the trees. “It’s not far, actually…. She lives right over this hill. In Old Hollis.” She knew this from stalking Meredith on Google Earth.

“C’mon.” Sean extended his hand. Before she could think too much about it, they were scampering down the grassy hill, past Sean’s car.

They crossed the street into Old Hollis, the student neighborhood that was full of crumbling, spooky Victorian houses. Old VWs, Volvos, and Saabs lined the curbs. For a Friday night, the neighborhood was absolutely empty. Perhaps there was some big event in Hollis elsewhere. Aria wondered if Meredith would even be home; she sort of hoped that she wouldn’t be.

Halfway down the second block, Aria stopped at a pink house that had four pairs of running shoes airing out on the porch and a chalk drawing of what looked like a penis on the driveway. It was only fitting that Meredith lived here. “I think this is it.”

“You want me to wait here?” Sean whispered.

Aria pulled her sweater around her. It was suddenly freezing. “I guess.” Then she grabbed Sean’s arm. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can.” Sean put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be right here, okay? Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.”

Aria felt a rush of gratitude. He was so…sweet. She leaned forward and gently kissed Sean on the lips; as she pulled away, he looked stunned. “Thank you,” she said.

She walked up Meredith’s cracked front steps slowly, the rum coursing through her veins. She’d drunk three-quarters of Sean’s thermos, while he’d only taken a few gentlemanly sips. As she rang the bell, she steadied herself against one of the porch’s columns for balance. Tonight was not the night to be wearing her wobbly sling-backs from Italy.

Meredith flung open the door. She wore terry-cloth short-shorts and a white T-shirt with a drawing of a banana on it—it was the cover to some old album, Aria just couldn’t remember what. And she seemed bigger tonight. Less lithe and more muscular, like the ass-kicking chicks on that show, Rollergirls. Aria felt puny.

Meredith’s eyes brightened with recognition. “Alison, right?”

“Actually, it’s Aria. Aria Montgomery. I’m Byron Montgomery’s daughter. I know everything that’s going on. I want it to stop.”

Meredith’s eyes widened. She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly through her nose. Aria almost thought dragonlike steam was going to come out. “You do, huh?”

“That’s right,” Aria wavered, realizing she was slurring her speech. Thassright. And her heart was beating so loud, she wouldn’t have been surprised if her skin was pulsating.

Meredith raised an eyebrow. “It’s none of your business.” She stuck her head out on the porch and looked around suspiciously. “How did you find out where I lived?”

“Look, you’re destroying everything,” Aria protested. “And I just want it to stop. Okay? I mean…this is hurting everyone. He’s still married…and he has a family.”

Aria winced to herself at the pathetic edge to her voice and how her perfectly crafted speech had slipped from her grasp.

Meredith crossed her arms over her chest. “I do know all that,” she answered, starting to shut the door. “And I’m sorry. I really am. But we’re in love.”

23

NEXT STOP, GREATER ROSEWOOD JAIL

Late Saturday afternoon, a few hours before Foxy, Spencer sat at her computer. She’d just addressed an e-mail to Squidward and attached her essays. Just send it, she told herself. She closed her eyes, clicked the mouse, and, when she opened them, her work had been sent.

Well, it was sort of her work.

She hadn’t cheated. Really. Well, maybe she had. But who could blame her? After A’s message came in last night, she’d spent the whole night calling Wren, but his phone kept going to voice mail. And she’d left five messages for him, each of them becoming more frantic. She’d put on her shoes twelve separate times, ready to drive into Philadelphia to see if Wren was okay, but then talked herself out of it. The one time her Sidekick chimed, she dove for it, but it was just a classwide e-mail from Squidward, reminding everyone of the proper annotation style for the essay questions.

When someone put their hand on Spencer’s shoulder, she screamed.

Melissa stepped back. “Whoa! Sorry! Just me!”

Spencer righted herself, breathing hard. “I…” She surveyed her desk. Shit. There was a slip of paper that said, Gynecologist, Tuesday, 5 P.M. Ortho Tri-Cyclen? And she had Melissa’s old history essays on her computer screen. She kicked the computer hard drive’s on/off switch with her foot, and the monitor went black.

“You stressed?” Melissa asked. “Lots of homework before Foxy?”

“Kinda.” Spencer quickly shoved all of her desk’s random papers into neat piles.

“Wanna borrow my lavender neck pillow?” Melissa asked. “It’s a stress reliever.”

“That’s all right,” Spencer answered, not even daring to look at her sister. I stole your paper and your boyfriend, she thought. You shouldn’t be nice to me.

Melissa pushed her lips together. “Well, not to make you more stressed, but there’s a cop downstairs. He says he wants to ask you some questions.”

“What?” Spencer cried.

“It’s about Alison.” Melissa said. She shook her head, making the ends of her hair swing. “They shouldn’t make you talk about it—the week of her memorial. It’s sick.”

Spencer tried not to panic. She stared at herself in the mirror, smoothing down her blond hair and dabbing concealer under her eyes. She pulled on a white button-down blouse and skinny khaki pants. There. She looked trustworthy and innocent.

But her whole body was shaking.

Sure enough, there was a cop standing in the living room but looking into her father’s second office, where he kept his vintage guitar collection. When the cop turned around, Spencer realized that he wasn’t the one she’d spoken to at the funeral. This guy was young. And he looked familiar, like she might’ve seen him somewhere else.

“Are you Spencer?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Darren Wilden. I’ve just been assigned to Alison DiLaurentis’s murder case.”

“Murder,” Spencer repeated.

“Yes,” Officer Wilden said. “Well, we’re investigating it as a murder.”

“Okay.” Spencer tried to sound even and mature. “Wow.”

Wilden motioned for Spencer to sit down on her living room couch; then he sat opposite her on the chaise. She realized where she knew him from: Rosewood Day. He’d gone there when she was in sixth grade, and he’d earned a reputation as a badass. One of Melissa’s nerdy friends, Liana, had a crush on him, and once made Spencer deliver a secret admirer note to him at the espresso bar where he worked. Spencer recalled thinking that Darren had biceps the size of Chunky Soup cans.

Now he was staring at her. Spencer felt her nose itch, and the grandfather clock made a few loud ticks. Finally, he said, “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Fear shot through her chest. “Tell you?”

Wilden sat back. “About Alison.”

Spencer blinked. Something about this felt wrong. “She was my best friend,” she managed. Her palms felt sweaty. “I was with her the night she went missing.”

“Right.” Wilden looked at a notepad. “That’s in our files. You talked to someone at the police station after she went missing, right?”

“Yes. Twice.”

“Right.” Wilden clasped his hands together. “Are you sure you told them everything? Was there someone who hated Alison? Maybe the officer asked you all these questions before, but since I’m new, maybe you could refresh my memory.”

Spencer’s brain stalled. Truthfully, lots of girls had hated Ali. Spencer even hated Ali sometimes, especially the way she always could manipulate her, and how she’d threatened to point the finger at Spencer for The Jenna Thing if she ever told what she knew. And secretly, it was kind of a relief when Ali disappeared. Ali gone and Toby away at school meant their secret was hidden for good.