As Klaudia had waited for her luggage, Aria poked Noel’s side. “Did you know Klaudia was a girl?” Perhaps that was why Noel hadn’t wanted Aria to come with him to the airport. Perhaps he’d seen pictures of his new exchange student and wanted a few moments with her to himself.
“Of course not!” Noel seemed sincere. “I’m just as shocked as you are!”
Before Aria could say anything more, Klaudia returned dragging two oversized suitcases on wheels and carrying two duffels on her shoulder. “Oof, I bring so much!” she said with a heavy accent. Aria frowned. She’d met a few Finns during her years in Iceland, and their English was a million times better than Klaudia’s. With her throaty voice and bubbleheaded delivery, she sounded like she’d grown up in a Finnish Barbie factory.
Noel and Aria helped Klaudia bring her crap to the car. After they loaded it in, Klaudia gave Aria a polite nod and said thank you. Then she turned to Noel and double-kissed him on the cheek, European-style, saying, “I so happy we roommates!” Instead of correcting Klaudia—over Aria’s dead body were they staying in the same room—Noel just blushed and laughed. Like he thought it was funny. Like he wanted it to be true. Suddenly, Aria felt very, very nervous. Maybe she should have slept with him earlier—several months earlier. What if Noel got tired of how Aria said no, no, no and wanted someone who said ja, ja, ja?
Now, Aria shook out her shoulders, letting that memory of the past blow away in the wind. She was just letting her jealous mind run rampant. She’d thought Noel had a thing for Ali—Real Ali, the girl who’d returned to Rosewood and tried to kill them—but that hadn’t been true. There’d also been that night in Jamaica: Aria had turned her back for one minute during dinner, and suddenly Noel was by the bar with a sexy blond girl all over him. “Jesus,” she’d whispered, feeling the old jealous pull in her stomach.
She marched to the bar to break up the flirting, but when Noel’s companion turned, Aria found herself staring into the face of the girl Emily had seen in the doorway. The one she’d thought was Ali.
The girl smiled broadly. “Hey, Aria. I’m Tabitha.”
A shiver wriggled up Aria’s spine. “How do you know my name?”
“Your boyfriend told me.” She patted Noel’s shoulder playfully. “Don’t worry, he’s a good boy. Not like the rest of us cheaters.”
Aria flinched. Tabitha winked knowingly at Aria, almost as if she knew Aria’s life story. Byron had cheated on Ella with Meredith. And Aria had cheated, too—on Sean Ackard with Ezra Fitz. But how could Tabitha know that? Certainly Noel wouldn’t have told her. And though a lot of information had come out about Aria in the press, none of the stories mentioned anything about her parents or her affair with Ezra.
Aria stared warily at the burns up and down the girl’s arms. Clearly, Tabitha had been through some sort of massive disaster. Something horrible—maybe even a fire. But it didn’t mean Emily was right.
Beep.
Aria looked down. It was her Droid phone on the coffee table. When she picked it up and looked at the screen, it said TEXT FROM HANNA MARIN.
Aria frowned. Hanna? They hadn’t spoken in months.
She opened the text. Meet me in front of Ali’s old mailbox. It’s important.
Driving down the DiLaurentises’ old street still filled Aria with the sense that she was visiting an old graveyard. Mona Vanderwaal’s old house stood at the beginning of the road, the windows dark, the doors shut tight, a tipped-over FOR SALE sign in the front yard. The Hastings house was lit up like a birthday cake, but Aria couldn’t help glance at the backyard and the decimated woods, which would take years to recover from the fire Real Ali had set. Aria would never forget running frantically through the smoke that January night and coming upon someone trapped under a log. When she’d pulled the girl to safety, she’d realized it was Ali.
But not their Ali. Not the Ali who’d chosen them to be her new BFFs. Not the Ali they’d worshipped, resented, and loved. It was Real Ali, who’d been locked up in the Preserve since sixth grade.
Aria shook the memory away as her headlights swept across the DiLaurentises’ old driveway. A figure stood at Ali’s old mailbox, hopping from one foot to the other in a clear effort to keep warm. Aria pulled to the curb and got out. It wasn’t Hanna, though, but Emily. “What are you doing here?” Aria asked.
Emily looked just as surprised as Aria was. “Spencer texted me. Did she text you, too?”
“No, Hanna did.”
“I did what?”
They turned and saw Hanna stepping out of her Prius, her auburn hair wound into a bun. Aria held up her phone. “You told me to come here.”
“No, I didn’t.” Hanna looked confused. “I’m here because Emily texted me.”
Emily frowned. “I didn’t text you.”
A crack sounded behind them, and everyone whipped around. Spencer burst through the bushes that separated her house from the DiLaurentises’. “You told everyone to come, Aria?”
Aria let out an uncomfortable laugh. “I didn’t tell anyone to come.”
“Yeah, you did.” Spencer thrust her phone in Aria’s face. Meet me in front of Ali’s mailbox. I have something to show you.
A cloud passed in front of the moon, blotting out the light. The snowdrifts on the lawn glistened eerily, crusted over with ice. Aria exchanged a worried glance with the others. Her stomach twisted with the familiarity of it—this was a look that had passed between them many, many times before.