Aria blinked.
Mike sighed. “Skidmarks?” He slapped his palms to his sides. “Skidz?”
Aria ran her tongue over her teeth. Come to think of it, she had heard that Mike had a new nickname. But she’d figured it was a weird lacrosse ritual.
“Someone planted skidmarked underwear in my locker,” Mike moaned, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and slouching toward the mall’s double doors. “They took a photo and texted it to everyone. It’s so lame. I don’t even wear D and G boxer-briefs.”
“Do you know who did it?” Aria asked.
“Someone who hates me, I guess.”
The hair on Aria’s neck rose. It sounded like something A would do. She looked around the parking lot, but it was mostly filled with bedraggled mothers and baby carriages. No one was watching.
“And now everyone’s dissing me. They even tried to make me turn in my lacrosse bracelet,” Mike went on.
“Did you?” Aria asked, stepping up on the curb.
“No.” Mike sounded sheepish. “Noel rallied for me.”
Aria felt a little rush of pleasure. “That’s nice.”
“But I might as well go back to Iceland and join an elf-spotting commune,” Mike whined.
Aria snorted and held the door for him. A whoosh of hot air blew her hair back. “It’s just a stupid nickname. It will blow over.”
Mike sniffed. “Doubt it.”
As they walked through the big double doors into Saks, Aria noticed a table off to the left with two small shrines on it: one for Ali, one for Jenna. Memorials like this had popped up in all kinds of places in Rosewood—the local Wawa, a gourmet cheese store on Lancaster Avenue, and the Mighty Quill, a tiny bookshop near Hollis College that Aria and Ali used to visit and covertly read the books about sex. Aria paused, a photo of Jenna catching her eye. It was the same photo A had sent Emily of Jenna, Ali, and a hidden blond girl they now knew was Courtney. Aria snatched the silver frame and turned it over. How long had this been here? Was this how Billy—or whoever A was—had gotten the photo?
“Shit,” Mike whispered sharply, tugging Aria’s arm. “Let’s go this way.” He pivoted to the right and led her toward housewares.
“W-why?” Aria asked.
Mike shot her another nasty look. “Duh. I want to avoid Hanna. We broke up.”
“Hanna’s here?” Aria squeaked, turning her head. And just then, as she peered over her shoulder, she saw Hanna, Spencer, Emily, and Ali standing at the Dior makeup counter. Emily made kissy-faces at the mirror, her cheeks shiny and bright. Spencer leaned over the counter and pointed out a foundation to the salesgirl. Hanna and Ali seemed deep in discussion about shades of eye shadow. They stood in that way that only best friends would. If Aria squinted, Spencer, Hanna, Emily, and Ali could be in seventh grade again. There was just one thing missing: Aria herself.
“Emily, that color looks awesome on you,” Ali said.
“We should buy some extra makeup and bring it up to the Poconos after the dance,” Spencer said, opening a compact and peering into the little mirror. “We could give each other makeovers.”
Aria’s heart hurt. It ached to see them having fun without her, almost like she didn’t exist. And had she heard them right—were they seriously going to Ali’s Poconos house?
Just think about it, Ali had said to Aria in the woods. Try to see things from my perspective. It seemed like the other girls had done just that.
Aria ducked behind a pile of Ralph Lauren cable-knit sweaters and followed Mike away from cosmetics. But as she wound around a table display of crystal vases, Aria couldn’t help but remember the first time she and her old friends had raided the Saks makeup counter. It had been a couple days after the Rosewood Charity Drive, when Ali had chosen Aria to be in her new clique. Ali had marched right up to Aria’s table and complimented her on the peacock-feather earrings her father had brought her from Spain. It was the first time someone at school had paid Aria a compliment, especially someone like Ali. From that day forward, Aria had felt so included, so special. It was amazing to have a tight group of friends—girls who gave her advice, who found her in the halls between classes, who invited her to parties and shopping trips and excursions to the Poconos on the weekends. She’d never forget the time at the Poconos when they’d hidden in one of the secret stairways off a guest bedroom, waiting to scare Jason DiLaurentis when he returned home from hanging out with friends. They’d thought they heard Jason’s car in the driveway, and when a plate rattled in the kitchen, Ali burst out of the secret stairway door and cried “Booga Booga Booga!” But it wasn’t Jason—a stray cat had sneaked in through the screen door. Ali had screamed in surprise, and they’d all run back up the stairs and collapsed in a heap on the bed, laughing their heads off. Aria wasn’t sure she’d laughed that hard since.
Mike stopped and leaned over a counter, noticing a bunch of stainless steel chronograph watches. Aria peeked across the store at Ali’s pale pink, catlike smile. Ali was wearing the same tall, sexy black boots she’d worn the day she’d flirted with Noel in study hall—back when she was still pretending to be Courtney. Suddenly, all Aria could remember was how Ali had gone out with Noel, even though she knew Aria liked him. And how Ali had told Aria that Pigtunia, the stuffed pig Byron had given her, was lame. And how Ali had tormented her about Meredith and Byron’s affair.
A door in Aria’s mind slammed closed again. All at once, the decision was clear and obvious: Everything was pushing her toward no. For all kinds of reasons, Aria just couldn’t put the past behind her like her friends had done. Something about this just wasn’t right.