Maybe Aria had been overreacting. Maybe Aria could convince Byron to buy a comfier bed for this little room. Maybe she could sleep here every once in a while.
Maybe.
Aria glanced at the TV screen. The press conference on Ian had just ended, and everyone stood to leave. As the camera swung wide, Aria noticed a blond girl with a familiar heart-shaped face. Ali? Aria sat up. She rubbed her eyes until they hurt. The camera panned over the crowd again, and she realized the blond woman was at least thirty. Aria was obviously hallucinating from lack of sleep.
She wandered back into the living room, Pigtunia still in her hand. Byron opened his arms and Aria slid into them. Her dad patted Pigtunia absentmindedly on the head as they sat there, watching the press conference aftermath on TV.
Meredith emerged from the bathroom, her face a bit green. Byron slid his arm from Aria’s shoulders. “You still feeling sick?”
Meredith nodded. “I am.” There was an anxious look on her face, as if she had a secret she needed to spill. She raised her eyes to both of them, the corners of her lips spreading into a tiny smile. “But it’s okay. Because…I’m pregnant.”
40
ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT A GOLDEN ORCHID
Later that evening, after the police had finished raiding the Vanderwaal mansion, Wilden arrived at the Hastingses’ house to ask Melissa a few final questions. He was sitting on their leather living room couch now, his eyes puffy and tired. Everyone looked tired, actually—except for Spencer’s mother, who wore a crisp Marc Jacobs shirtdress. She and Spencer’s father were standing on the far side of the room, as if their daughters were covered in bacteria.
Melissa’s voice was monotone. “I didn’t tell you the truth about that night,” she admitted. “Ian and I had been drinking, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, he wasn’t there. Then I fell asleep again and he was there when I woke.”
“Why didn’t you say anything about this before?” Spencer’s father demanded.
Melissa shook her head. “I went to Prague that next morning. At that point, I’m not sure anyone really knew Alison was missing. When I got back and everyone was frantic…well, I just never thought Ian would be capable of something like that.” She picked at the hem on her pale yellow Juicy hoodie. “I suspected they’d hooked up all those years ago, but I didn’t think it was serious. I didn’t think Alison had given him an ultimatum.” Like everyone else, Melissa had learned of Ian’s motives. “I mean, she was in seventh grade.”
Melissa glanced at Wilden. “When you started asking questions this week about where Ian and I were, I started to wonder if maybe I should’ve said something years ago. But I still didn’t think it was possible. And I didn’t say anything then because…because I thought I’d somehow get in trouble for concealing the truth. And, I mean, I couldn’t have that. What would people think of me?”
Her sister’s face crumpled. Spencer tried hard not to gape. She’d seen her sister cry plenty of times, but usually out of frustration, anger, rage, or a ploy to get her own way. Never out of fear or shame.
Spencer waited for her parents to rush over to console Melissa. But they sat stock-still, judgmental looks on their faces. She wondered if she and Melissa had been dealing with the exact same issues all this time. Melissa had made impressing their parents look so effortless that Spencer never realized that she agonized about it, too.
Spencer plopped down at her sister’s side and threw her arms around Melissa’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” she whispered in her ear. Melissa raised her head for a moment, noted Spencer confusedly, then set her head on Spencer’s shoulder and sobbed.
Wilden handed Melissa a tissue and stood up, thanking them for their cooperation throughout this ordeal. As he was leaving, the house phone rang. Mrs. Hastings walked primly to the phone in the den and answered. Within seconds, she poked her head into the living room. “Spencer,” she whispered, her face still sober but her eyes bright with excitement. “It’s for you. It’s Mr. Edwards.”
A hot, sick feeling washed over Spencer. Mr. Edwards was the head of the Golden Orchid committee. A personal phone call from him could mean only one thing.
Spencer licked her lips, then stood. The other side of the room, where her mom was standing, seemed a mile away. She wondered what her mom’s secret phone calls were about—what big gift she’d bought for Spencer because she’d been so certain Spencer would win the Golden Orchid. Even if it was the most wonderful thing in the world, Spencer wasn’t sure she’d be able to enjoy it.
“Mom?” Spencer approached her mother and leaned against the antique Chippendale desk next to the phone. “Don’t you think it’s wrong that I cheated?”
Mrs. Hastings quickly covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “Well, of course. But we discussed this.” She shoved the phone to Spencer’s ear. “Say hello,” she hissed.
Spencer swallowed hard. “Hello?” she finally croaked into the phone.
“Miss Hastings?” a man’s voice chirped. “This is Mr. Edwards, the head of the Golden Orchid committee. I know it’s late, but I have some very exciting news for you. It was a tough decision, given our two hundred outstanding nominees, and I am pleased to announce that…”
It sounded as if Mr. Edwards were talking underwater—Spencer barely heard the rest. She glanced at her sister, sitting all alone on the couch. It had taken so much courage for Melissa to admit she’d lied. She could’ve said she didn’t remember, and no one would’ve been the wiser, but instead, she’d done the right thing. Spencer thought, too, of Mona’s offer to her—I know how badly you want to be perfect. The thing was, being perfect didn’t mean anything if it wasn’t real.
Spencer put her mouth back up to the phone. Mr. Edwards paused, waiting for Spencer to reply. She took a deep breath, rehearsing in her head what she would say: Mr. Edwards, I have a confession to make.
It was a confession no one was going to like. But she could do this. She really could.
41
PRESENTING, IN HER RETURN TO ROSEWOOD, HANNA MARIN
Tuesday morning, Hanna sat on her bed, slowly stroking Dot’s muzzle and staring at herself in her handheld mirror. She’d finally found the right foundation that covered her bruises and stitches and wanted to share the good news. Her first instinct, of course, was to call Mona.
She watched in the mirror as her bottom lip twitched. It still wasn’t real.
She supposed she could call her old friends, whom she’d seen a lot of the last few days. They’d taken yesterday off school and hung out in Spencer’s hot tub, reading Us Weekly articles about Justin Timberlake, who had shown up at Hanna’s party just after she left. He and his posse had been stuck in two hours of turnpike traffic. When the girls moved on to reading beauty and style tips, Hanna was reminded of how Lucas had read her an entire issue of Teen Vogue while she was in the hospital. She felt a pang of sadness, wondering if Lucas knew what had happened to her in the past few days. He hadn’t called her. Maybe he never wanted to speak to her again.
Hanna put down the mirror. All at once, as easily as recalling a random fact, like the name of Lindsay Lohan’s lawyer or Zac Efron’s latest girlfriend, Hanna suddenly saw something else from the night of her accident. After she’d ripped her dress, Lucas had appeared over her, handing her his jacket to cover herself. He’d led her to the Hollis College Reading Room and held her as she sobbed. One thing led to another…and they were kissing, just as greedily as they’d kissed this past week.
Hanna sat on her bed for a long time, feeling numb. Finally, she reached for her phone and dialed Lucas’s number. It went straight to voice mail. “Hey,” she said when it beeped. “It’s Hanna. I wanted to see if…if we could talk. Call me.”
When she hung up, Hanna patted Dot on top of his argyle-sweatered back. “Maybe I should forget him,” she whispered. “There’s probably a cooler boy out there for me, don’t you think?” Dot cocked his head uncertainly, like he didn’t believe her.
“Hanna?” Ms. Marin’s voice floated upstairs. “Can you come down?”
Hanna stood, rolling back her shoulders. Perhaps it was inappropriate to wear a bright red Erin Fetherston trapeze dress to Ian’s arraignment—like wearing color to a funeral—but Hanna needed a little color pick-me-up. She snapped a gold cuff bracelet on her wrist, picked up her red Longchamp hobo bag, and shook her hair down her back. In the kitchen, her father sat at the table, doing a Philadelphia Inquirer crossword. Her mother sat next to him, checking her e-mail on her laptop. Hanna gulped. She hadn’t seen them sitting together like this since they were married.
“I thought you’d be back in Annapolis by now,” she muttered.
Mr. Marin laid down his ballpoint pen, and Hanna’s mother pushed her laptop aside. “Hanna, we wanted to talk to you about something important,” her dad said.
Hanna’s heart leaped. They’re getting back together. Kate and Isabel are gone.
Her mother cleared her throat. “I’ve been offered a new job…and I’ve accepted.” She tapped her long, red nails against the table. “Only…it’s in Singapore.”
“Singapore?” Hanna squawked, sinking into a chair.
“I don’t expect you to come,” her mother went on. “Plus, with the amount of traveling I’ll have to do, I’m not sure you should come. So these are the options.” She held out one hand. “You could go to boarding school. Even around here, if you like.” Then, she held out the other hand. “Or you could move in with your father.”
Mr. Marin was nervously twiddling his pen in his fingers. “Seeing you in the hospital…it really made me realize a few things,” he said quietly. “I want to be close to you, Hanna. I need to be a bigger part of your life.”
“I’m not moving to Annapolis,” Hanna blurted out.
“You don’t have to,” her father said gently. “I can transfer to my firm’s office here. Your mother has offered to let me move into this house, in fact.”
Hanna gaped. This sounded like a reality TV show gone wrong. “Kate and Isabel are staying in Annapolis, right?”
Her father shook his head no. “It’s a lot to think about. We’ll give you some time to decide. I only want to transfer here if you’ll live here too. Okay?”
Hanna looked around her sleek, modern kitchen, trying to picture her father and Isabel standing at the counter preparing dinner. Her father would sit in his old seat at the dinner table, Isabel in her mother’s. Kate could have the chair that they normally piled with magazines and junk mail.
Hanna would miss her mom, but she wasn’t around that much anyway. And Hanna had longed for her father to come back—only, she wasn’t sure if she wanted it like this. If she allowed Kate to move in, it would be war. Kate was skinny and blond and beautiful. Kate would try to march into Rosewood Day and take over.