“Omigod!” Hanna said. At least it was still Hanna’s same high-pitched voice. “How was…where were you? Czechoslovakia?”
“Um, yeah,” Aria answered. Close enough.
“Cool!” Hanna gave Aria a tight smile.
“Kirsten looks like she’s gone off South Beach,” interrupted a girl next to Hanna. Aria turned her head sideways, trying to place her. Mona Vanderwaal? The last time Aria saw her, Mona had put a billion teensy braids in her hair and was riding her Razor scooter. Now, she looked even more glamorous than Hanna.
“Doesn’t she?” Hanna agreed. She then gave Aria and Noel—who was still standing there—an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, guys, can you excuse us?”
Aria headed into the classroom and fell into the first desk she saw. She put her head down and took heaving, emotional breaths.
“Hell is other people,” she chanted. It was her favorite quote by the French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre and a perfect mantra for Rosewood.
She rocked back and forth for a few seconds, in full freak-out mode. The only thing that made her feel better was the memory of Ezra, that guy she’d met at Snookers. At the bar, Ezra had followed her into the bathroom, grabbed her face, and kissed her. Their mouths fit perfectly together—they didn’t bang teeth once. His hands floated all over the small of her back, her stomach, her legs. They’d had such a connection. And okay, fine, some might say it was just a…a tongue connection…but Aria knew it was more.
She’d felt so overcome thinking about it last night, she’d written a haiku about Ezra to express her feelings—haikus were her favorite kind of poem. Then, pleased with how it turned out, she’d keyed it into her phone and texted it to the number Ezra had given her.
Aria let out a tortured sigh and looked around the classroom. It smelled like books and Mop & Glo. The oversize, four-paned windows faced the south lawn and beyond that, green rolling hills. A few trees had started to turn yellow and orange. There was a great Shakespearean sayings poster next to the blackboard, and a MEAN PEOPLE SUCK sticker someone had stuck to the wall. It looked like the janitor had tried to scrape off the sticker but gave up halfway through.
Was it desperate to text Ezra at 2:30 A.M.? She still hadn’t heard back from him. Aria felt for her phone in her bag and pulled it out. The screen read, NEW TEXT MESSAGE. Her stomach swooped, relieved and excited and nervous all at once. But as she clicked READ, a voice interrupted her.
“Excuse me. Um, you can’t use your cell in school.”
Aria covered her phone with her hands and looked up. Whoever had said it—the new teacher, she guessed—stood with his back to the rest of the room and was writing on the chalkboard. Mr. Fitz was all he’d written so far. He was holding a memo with Rosewood’s insignia on the top. From the back, he looked young. A few of the other girls in the class gave him an appreciative once-over as they found seats. The now-fabulous Hanna even whistled.
“I know I’m the new guy,” he went on, writing, AP English, under his name, “but I have this handout from the front office. Some stuff about no cell phones in school.” Then he turned. The handout fluttered out of his hand and onto the linoleum floor.
Aria’s mouth instantly went dry. Standing in front of the classroom was Ezra from the bar. Ezra, the recipient of her haiku. Her Ezra, looking lanky and adorable in a Rosewood jacket and tie, his hair combed, his buttons buttoned correctly, and a leather-bound lesson planner under his left arm. Standing at the blackboard and writing…Mr. Fitz, AP English.
He stared at her, his face draining of color. “Holy shit.”
The entire class turned around to see who he was looking at. Aria didn’t want to stare back at them, so she looked down at her text message.
Aria: Surprise! I wonder what your pig puppet will have to say about this… —A
Holy shit, indeed.
6
EMILY’S FRENCH TOO!
Tuesday afternoon, Emily stood in front of her green metal locker after the final bell of the day had rung. The locker still had her old stickers from last year—USA Swimming, Liv Tyler as Arwen the elf, and a magnet that said, COED NAKED BUTTERFLY. Her boyfriend, Ben, hovered next to her.
“You want to hit Wawa?” he asked. His Rosewood swimming jacket hung loosely off his lanky, muscular body, and his blond hair was a little messy.
“Nah, I’m good,” Emily answered. Because they had practice at three-thirty after school, the swimmers usually just stayed at Rosewood and sent someone off to Wawa so they could get their hoagie/iced tea/Cheats/Reese’s Pieces fix before swimming a billion laps.
A bunch of boys stopped to slap Ben’s hand as they headed toward the parking lot. Spencer Hastings, who was in Ben’s history class last year, waved. Emily waved back before realizing Spencer was looking at Ben, not her. It was hard to believe that after everything they’d been through together and all the secrets they shared, they now acted like strangers.
After everyone passed, Ben turned back to her and frowned. “You’ve got your jacket on. You’re not practicing?”
“Um.” Emily shut her locker and gave the combination a spin. “You know that girl I’ve been showing around today? I’m walking her to her house ’cause this is her first day and all.”
He smirked. “Well, aren’t you sweet? Parents of prospective students pay for tours, but you’re doing it for free.”
“Come on.” Emily smiled uneasily. “It’s like a ten-minute walk.”
Ben looked at her, vaguely nodding for a little while.