Kate gave her a high five. “I’m game.” She turned to Hanna. “What do you think, Han? You in?”

Hanna looked back and forth between them, flustered. “I have to leave school early today…. I have that trial thing.”

“Oh.” Kate’s face clouded. “Right.”

Hanna waited, expecting Kate to say something more, but she, Naomi, and Riley just went back to gossiping about Mason. Hanna pressed her nails into her palm, feeling the teensiest bit hurt. Part of her had figured they’d come with her to Ian’s trial as a show of moral support. Naomi was in the middle of cracking a joke about the size of Mason Byers’s didgeridoo when Hanna felt someone tapping her shoulder.

“Hanna?” Lucas’s face swam in front of her. As usual, he was carrying various paraphernalia from the clubs he took part in—a schedule for future chemistry club meetings, a list of names for the Stop Putting Sugary Drinks in the Vending Machine petition he was trying to get passed, and a blazer lapel pin that said Future Politicians of America. “What’s up?”

Hanna wearily pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. Kate, Naomi, and Riley glanced at them and moved a few feet away. “Not much,” she mumbled.

There was an awkward pause. Out of the corner of her eye, Hanna noticed Jenna Cavanaugh slipping into an empty classroom, her dog in tow. Every time Hanna saw Jenna around Rosewood Day, an uncomfortable sensation surged through her.

“I missed you yesterday,” Lucas was saying. “I ended up not going to the mall—I wanted to wait to go with you.”

“Uh-huh,” Hanna murmured, only half listening. Her gaze moved to Kate and the others. They were now at the end of the hall near the Watercolor II class exhibit, whispering and chuckling. Hanna wondered what was so funny.

When she looked back at Lucas, he was frowning. “What’s going on with you?” he asked. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” Hanna fiddled with her blazer’s cuff. “I’ve just been…busy.”

Lucas touched her wrist. “Are you nervous about Ian’s trial? Do you need a ride?”

Hanna’s sudden irritation was palpable, like a hot poker shoved into her thigh. “Don’t go to the trial,” she snapped.

Lucas jumped back like she’d slapped him. “But…I thought you wanted me to go.”

Hanna turned away. “It’s not going to be that interesting,” she muttered, deflated. “It’s just opening statements. You’ll be bored out of your mind.”

Lucas stared at her, ignoring the rush of students drifting past them. A bunch of them were kids heading to drivers’ ed, their Pennsylvania driving rules booklets in their hands. “But I want to be there for you.”

Hanna clenched her jaw and looked away. “Seriously. I’ll be fine.”

“Is there a reason you don’t want me to go?”

“Just drop it, okay?” Hanna waved her arms in front of her, putting up a barrier between them. “I have to get to class. I’ll see you at the benefit tomorrow.”

With that, she slammed her locker shut and brushed past Lucas. She couldn’t quite explain why she didn’t just turn around, take his hand, and apologize for being bitchy. Why did she want Kate, Naomi, and Riley to accompany her to Ian’s trial, but when Lucas offered—so loyally and sincerely—she just got annoyed? Lucas was her boyfriend, and the past few months with him had been awesome. After Mona had died, Hanna had gone around in a numb haze until she and Lucas got back together. Once they did, they’d spent all their time together, hanging out at his house, playing Grand Theft Auto, and spending hours and hours skiing at Elk Ridge Mountain. Hanna hadn’t been to a mall or a spa once during the entire nine days they’d had off at Christmas. Half the time she spent with Lucas, she didn’t even put on makeup, except stuff to cover her scar.

These past few months with Lucas might have been the first time she’d felt purely, simply happy. Why wasn’t that enough?

Only it just wasn’t, and she knew it. When she and Lucas had reunited, she hadn’t thought there was much chance of becoming Fabulous Hanna Marin ever again—and now there was. Being the most popular girl at Rosewood Day was threaded through every single molecule of Hanna’s DNA. From fourth grade on, she’d memorized even the most minuscule designers in Vogue, Women’s Wear Daily, and Nylon. Back then, she rehearsed snarky comments about girls in her class to Scott Chin, one of her only friends, who giggled gleefully that she was a perfect bitch-in-training.

In sixth grade, right after Time Capsule ended, Hanna had gone to the Rosewood Day charity drive and spotted a Hermès scarf that someone had foolishly placed in the fifty-cent pile. Mere seconds later, Ali sidled up to her, complimenting Hanna’s keen eye. And then they’d started talking. Hanna was certain that Ali chose Hanna to be her new best friend not because Hanna was the prettiest, not because she was the thinnest, not even because she’d been ballsy enough to show up in Ali’s backyard to steal her piece of the Time Capsule flag, but because Hanna was most qualified for the job. And because she wanted it the most.

Hanna smoothed her hair, trying hard to forget about everything that had just happened with Lucas. As she turned the corner, she saw Kate, Naomi, and Riley stare straight at her before bursting into nasty giggles.

Suddenly, Hanna’s eyes began to blur, and all at once, it wasn’t Kate standing there, laughing—it was Mona. It was just a few months ago, mere days before Mona’s Sweet Seventeen party. Hanna would never forget the swirling feelings of disbelief when she’d seen Mona standing with Naomi and Riley, acting as if they were her brand-new BFFs, whispering about how much of a loser Hanna was.

Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. Kate, Naomi, and Riley weren’t laughing at her, were they?

And then Hanna’s vision cleared. Kate noticed Hanna and waved enthusiastically. Meet at Steam next period? she mouthed, pointing toward the coffee bar.

Hanna nodded feebly. Kate blew her a kiss and disappeared around the corner.

Whirling around, Hanna pushed into the girls’ bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty. She rushed to one of the sinks and leaned over the basin, her stomach raging. The sharp, ammonia smell of cleaning products filled her nose. She stared in the mirror, getting close so she could see each and every pore.

They were not laughing at you. You’re Hanna Marin, she mouthed to her reflection. The most popular girl in school. Everyone wants to be you.

Her BlackBerry, which was tucked into one of her purse’s side pockets, began to buzz. Hanna flinched and pulled it out. One new text message.

The little mosaic-tiled bathroom was still. A droplet of water leaked from the sink. The chrome hand dryers made Hanna’s face look bulbous and misshapen. She peeked underneath the stall doors for feet. No one.

She took a deep breath and opened the new text.

Hanna—A glutton for Cheez-Its…and punishment, too, it seems. Ruin her before she ruins you.

—A

Rage coursed hotly through her veins. She’d had enough of Nouveau A. Hanna opened up a reply text and began to sloppily type. Rot in hell. You don’t know a thing about me.

Her BlackBerry made an efficient little ping to indicate the text had been sent. Just as Hanna was sliding it back in its suede case, it chimed again.

I know that someone sometimes makes herself puke in the girls’ bathroom. And I know someone’s sad because she isn’t daddy’s only little girl anymore. And I know someone dearly misses her old BFF, even though she wanted her dead. How do I know so much? Because I grew up in Rosewood, Hannakins. Just like you.

—A

23

THE QUIETEST COURTROOM ON THE MAIN LINE

Aria stepped out of Spencer’s Mercedes, gaping at the media circus in front of the Rosewood courthouse. The steps were crammed with reporters, cameras, and guys in quilted down jackets wielding booms and microphones. There were clusters of people with picket signs, too. Some conspiracy theorists were protesting the trial, saying it was a left-wing witch hunt—they were after Ian because his father was a CEO for a big pharmaceutical company in Philadelphia. Angry people on the other side of the steps demanded that Ian deserved to go to the electric chair for what he’d done. And there were, of course, the Ali Fans—people who came simply to hold up big pictures of Ali’s face and signs that said, WE MISS YOU, ALI, even though most of them had never met her.

“Whoa,” Aria whispered, her stomach churning.

Halfway across the sidewalk, Aria noticed two people walking slowly from the auxiliary parking lot. Ella’s arm was looped around Xavier’s, and they were both in thick wool coats.

Aria hid under her big, fur-lined hood. Last night, after Xavier had kissed her, she’d run upstairs and locked herself in her room. When she’d finally emerged a few hours later, she found Mike at the kitchen table, eating an enormous bowl of Count Chocula. He scowled at her when she entered the room. “Did you say something shitty to Xavier?” Mike spat. “When I got off the phone, he was hightailing it out of here. Are you trying to screw it up for Mom?”

Aria had turned away, too ashamed to say anything. She was pretty sure the kiss had been a mistake, something done on a whim. Even Xavier had seemed surprised and regretful about what he’d just done. But she certainly didn’t want Mike—or anyone else—to know. Unfortunately, someone did know: A. And Aria had crossed A by telling Wilden about her previous note. All night, Aria had anticipated a phone call from Ella, saying she’d received a mysterious message that said Aria had made a pass at Xavier and not the other way around. If Ella ever found out, Aria would probably be excommunicated from the family for the rest of her life.

“Aria!” Ella called, spying Aria under her hood. She started to wave, signaling for Aria to come over. Xavier had a sheepish expression on his face. As soon as Xavier got a second with her alone, Aria was certain he would apologize. But she was too overwhelmed to deal with it today, on top of everything else.

She grabbed Spencer’s arm, turning away from her mother. “Let’s go in,” she said urgently. “Now.”

Spencer shrugged. They faced the throng on the steps. Aria pulled her hood over her head again and Spencer covered her face with her sleeve, but the reporters still descended on them anyway. “Spencer! What do you think will happen at today’s trial?” they screamed. “Aria! What kind of toll has all this taken on you?” Aria and Spencer clutched hands tightly, moving as fast as they could. A Rosewood cop stood at the courthouse door, holding it open for them. They ducked inside, breathing hard.

The hallway smelled like floor wax and aftershave. Ian and his lawyers hadn’t arrived yet, so a lot of people were milling outside the courtroom. Many of them were Rosewood cops and city officials, as well as neighbors and friends. Aria and Spencer waved to Jackson Hughes, the distinguished-looking D.A. When Jackson stepped out of the way, Aria’s minty gum slid down her throat. Ali’s family was standing behind him. There was Mrs. DiLaurentis, Mr. DiLaurentis, and…Jason. Aria had seen him not all that long ago—he’d come to Ali’s memorial and Ian’s arraignment—but each time she saw him she was floored by how gorgeous he still was.