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?”
“Ian told me he was in your hotel room last night,” Melissa whispered, her nostrils flaring in and out. “I told you he wasn’t good at keeping a secret.”
Spencer’s eyes widened. “We didn’t do anything. I swear.”
Melissa took a step toward her. Spencer covered her face with one hand and pulled her shoe off her foot with the other. “Please,” she begged, holding out her shoe like a shield.
Melissa hovered just inches from her face. “After all you admitted to me at the beach, I thought we had an understanding. But I guess not.” She whirled around and stormed out of the bathroom. Spencer heard her clonk down the ramp and stamp across the grass.
Spencer leaned over the sink and rested her forehead on the mirror’s cool surface. Suddenly, a toilet flushed. After a pause, the third stall door swung open. Mona Vanderwaal strode out. There was a horrified look on her face.
“Was that your sister?” Mona whispered.
“Yeah,” Spencer sputtered, turning around.
Mona grabbed Spencer’s wrists. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I think so.” Spencer stood back up. “I just need a second alone is all.”
“Of course.” Mona’s eyes widened. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Spencer smiled gratefully at Mona’s back. After a pause, she heard the flick of a lighter, and the sparkly, burning sound of Mona taking a drag of a cigarette. Spencer faced the mirror and smoothed down her hair. Her hands shook wildly as she reached for her sequined clutch, hoping there was a tube of aspirin inside. Her hands bumped against her wallet, her lip gloss, her poker chips…and then something else, something square and glossy. Spencer pulled it out slowly.
It was a photograph. Ali and Ian stood close together, their arms entwined. Behind them was a round, stone building, and behind that was a line of yellow school buses. By the looks of Ali’s shaggy haircut and her tropical-shade long-sleeve J. Crew polo, Spencer was pretty sure this photo had been taken during their class trip to see Romeo and Juliet at the People’s Light playhouse a few towns away. A bunch of Rosewood Day students had gone along—Spencer, Ali, her other friends, and a slew of juniors and seniors like Ian and Melissa. Someone had written something in big, jagged letters over Ali’s smiling face.
You’re dead, bitch.
Spencer stared at the handwriting, immediately identifying it. Not too many people made their lowercase a’s look like a curly number 2. Cursive was practically the only thing Melissa had gotten a B in, ever. Her second-grade penmanship teacher had chastised her, but making funny-looking a’s was a habit Melissa had never been able to break.
Spencer let the picture slip from her hands and let out a small, pained yelp of disbelief. “Spencer?” Mona called from outside. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Spencer said after a long pause. Then, she looked down at the floor. The photo had landed facedown. There was more writing on the back.
Better watch your back…or you’ll be a dead bitch too.—A
31
SOME SECRETS GO EVEN DEEPER
As Aria opened her eyes, something wet and smelly scraped its tongue up and down her face. She reached out, her hand sinking into soft, warm fur. For some reason, she was now on the art studio floor. A lightning bolt lit up the room, and she saw Jenna Cavanaugh and her dog sitting on the floor next to her.
Aria shot up, screaming.
“It’s okay!” Jenna cried, catching her arm. “Don’t worry! It’s okay!”
Aria scuttled backward, away from Jenna, knocking her head on a nearby table leg. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered. “Please.”
“You’re safe,” Jenna reassured her. “I think you had a panic attack. I was coming here to pick up my sketchbook, but then I heard you—and when I came close, you fell.” Aria could hear herself swallowing hard in the darkness. “A woman in my service-dog-training class gets panic attacks, so I know a little about them. I tried to call for help, but my cell phone wasn’t working, so I just stayed with you.”
A breeze blew through the room, bringing in the smell of wet, rained-on asphalt, a scent Aria usually found calming. Aria certainly felt like she’d just had a panic attack—she was sweaty and disoriented, and her heart was beating like mad. “How long was I out?” she croaked, smoothing out her pleated uniform skirt so that it covered her thighs.
“About a half hour,” Jenna said. “You might’ve hit your head, too.”
“Or I might’ve really needed the sleep,” Aria joked, and then felt like she was going to cry. Jenna didn’t want to hurt her. Jenna had sat with her, a stranger, while she’d lain like a lump on the floor. For all Aria knew, she’d drooled on Jenna’s lap and talked in her sleep. She suddenly felt sick with guilt and shame.
“I have to tell you something,” Aria blurted out. “My name’s not Jessica. It’s Aria. Aria Montgomery.”
Jenna’s dog sneezed. “I know,” Jenna admitted.
“You…do?”
“I could just…tell. By your voice.” Jenna sounded almost apologetic. “But why didn’t you just say it was you?”
Aria closed her eyes tight and pressed her hands hard into her cheeks. Another streak of lightning illuminated the room, and Aria saw Jenna sitting cross-legged on the floor, her hands wrapped around her ankles. Aria took a huge breath, perhaps the biggest one of her life. “I didn’t tell you because…there’s something else you should know about me.” She pressed her hands to the rough wood floor, gathering strength. “You should know something about the night of your accident. Something no one ever told you. I guess you don’t remember much of what happened that night, but—”
“That’s a lie,” Jenna interrupted. “I remember everything.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Somewhere close by, a car alarm went off, starting a cycle of harsh, piercingly loud buzzes and ee-oos. Aria could hardly breathe. “What do you mean?” she whispered, stunned.
“I remember everything,” Jenna repeated. She traced the sole of her shoe with a finger. “Alison and I set it up together.”
Every muscle in Aria’s body went limp. “What?”