“Well, anyway,” Ezra said, putting copies of The Scarlet Letter at the front of each row to pass back, “I want everyone to read chapters one through five this week, and you have a three-page essay on any themes you see at the beginning of the book due on Friday. Okay?”
Everyone groaned and started to talk. Aria slid her book into her yak-fur bag. Hanna reached down to pick her purse off the floor. Aria touched Hanna’s thin, pale arm. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am.”
Hanna yanked her arm away, pressed her lips together, and wordlessly stuffed The Scarlet Letter into her purse. It kept jamming, and she let out a frustrated grunt.
Classical music tinkled through the loudspeaker, indicating the period was over. Hanna shot up from her seat as if it were on fire. Aria rose slowly, shoving her pen and notebook into her purse and heading for the door.
“Aria.”
She turned. Ezra was leaning against his oak desk, his tattered caramel leather briefcase pressed to his hip.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Sorry about all that,” she said. “Hanna and I have some issues. It won’t happen again.”
“No problem.” Ezra set his mug of chai down. “Is everything else okay?”
Aria bit her lip and considered telling him what was going on. But why? For all she knew, Ezra was as sleazy as her father. If he really did have a girlfriend in New York, then he’d cheated on her when he’d hooked up with Aria.
“Everything’s fine,” she managed.
“Good. You’re doing a great job in class.” He smiled, showing his two adorably overlapping bottom teeth.
“Yeah, I’m enjoying myself,” she said, taking a step toward the door. But as she did, she stumbled over her super-high stack-heeled boots, careening into Ezra’s desk. Ezra grabbed her waist and pulled her upright…and into him. His body felt warm and safe, and he smelled good, like chili powder, cigarettes, and old books.
Aria moved away quickly. “Are you okay?” Ezra asked.
“Yeah.” She busied herself by straightening her school blazer. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ezra answered, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets. “So…see you.”
“Yeah. See you.”
Aria walked out of the classroom, her breathing fast and shallow. Maybe she was nuts, but she was pretty sure Ezra had held her for a second longer than he needed to. And she was certain she’d liked it.
3
THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS BAD PRESS
During their free period Monday afternoon, Hanna Marin and her best friend, Mona Vanderwaal, were sitting in the corner booth of Steam, Rosewood Day’s coffee bar, doing what they did best: ripping on people who weren’t as fabulous as they were.
Mona poked Hanna with one end of her chocolate-dipped biscotti. To Mona, food was more like a prop, less like something to eat. “Jennifer Feldman’s got some logs, doesn’t she?”
“Poor girl.” Hanna mock-pouted. Logs was Mona’s shorthand term for tree-trunk legs: solid and unshapely thighs and calves with no tapering from knees to ankles.
“And her feet look like overstuffed sausage casings in those heels!” Mona cawed.
Hanna snickered, watching as Jennifer, who was on the diving team, hung up a poster on the far wall that read, SWIM MEET TOMORROW! ROSEWOOD DAY HAMMERHEADS VS. DRURY ACADEMY EELS! Her ankles were hideously thick. “That’s what girls with fat ankles get when they try to wear Louboutins,” Hanna sighed. She and Mona were the thin-ankled sylphs Christian Louboutin shoes were meant for, obviously.
Mona took a big sip of her Americano and pulled out her Gucci wallet diary from her eggplant-colored Botkier purse. Hanna nodded approvingly. They had other things to do besides criticize people today, like plan not one but two parties: one for the two of them, and the second for the rest of Rosewood Day’s elite.
“First things first.” Mona uncapped her pen. “The Frenniversary. What should we do tonight? Shopping? Massages? Dinner?”
“All of that,” Hanna answered. “And we definitely have to hit Otter.” Otter was a new high-end boutique at the mall.
“I’m loving Otter,” Mona agreed.
“Where should we have dinner?” Hanna asked.
“Rive Gauche, of course,” Mona said loudly, talking over the groaning coffee grinder.
“You’re right. They’ll definitely give us wine.”
“Should we invite boys?” Mona’s blue eyes gleamed.
“Eric Kahn keeps calling me. Maybe Noel could come for you?”
Hanna frowned. Despite being cute, incredibly rich and part of the über-sexy clan of Kahn brothers, Noel wasn’t really her type. “No boys,” she decided. “Although that’s very cool about Eric.”
“This is going to be a fabulous Frenniversary.” Mona grinned so broadly that her dimples showed. “Can you believe this is our third?”
Hanna smiled. Their Frenniversary marked the day Hanna and Mona had talked on the phone for three and a half hours—the obvious indicator that they were best friends. Although they’d known each other since kindergarten, they’d never really spoken before cheerleading tryouts a few weeks before the first day of eighth grade. By then, Ali had been missing for two months and Hanna’s old friends had become really distant, so she’d decided to give Mona a chance. It was worth it—Mona was funny, sarcastic, and, despite her thing for animal backpacks and Razor scooters, she secretly devoured Vogue and Teen Vogue as ravenously as Hanna did. Within weeks, they’d decided to be best friends and transform themselves into the most popular girls at school. And look: Now they had.