Sara Shepard - Wicked

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

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.

“Hi, girls,” Mrs. DiLaurentis said, walking over. The lines by her eyes were more pronounced than Aria remembered, but she was still svelte and elegant. She assessed Aria and Spencer. “You’ve both gotten so tall,” she said sadly, as if to imply that if Ali were still alive, she would’ve gotten taller too.

“Are you holding up okay?” Spencer asked in her best adult voice.

“Best we can.” Mrs. DiLaurentis smiled bravely.

“Are you staying in the city again?” Aria asked. The family had stayed in Philadelphia for Ian’s arraignment a few months ago.

Mrs. DiLaurentis shook her head. “We’ve rented a house a few towns over for the duration of the trial. We thought it might be too difficult to commute back here every day from the city. We’d rather be somewhere close.”

Aria raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Is there anything we can do for you?” Aria asked. “Like…help around the house? Do you need your driveway shoveled? My brother and I could come over.”

An ambiguous expression flickered over Mrs. DiLaurentis’s face. Her hands fluttered to the freshwater pearl necklace at her throat. “Thanks, dear, but that won’t be necessary.” She gave them a tight, distracted smile and excused herself.

Aria watched Mrs. DiLaurentis walk back across the lobby to her family. She held her head so stiff and straight, as if she had a book balanced on top of it. “She seemed…weird,” Aria murmured.

“I can’t imagine what this is like for her.” Spencer shivered. “This trial is probably hell.”

They pushed through the heavy wooden doors into the courtroom. Hanna and Emily were already sitting in the second row, right behind the big tables for the lawyers. Hanna had taken off her Rosewood Day blazer and slung it over the back of her chair. Emily was picking at a piece of lint on her pleated plaid uniform skirt. Both girls nodded quietly at Aria and Spencer as they slid into seats next to them.

The courtroom filled up fast. Jackson had set up a bunch of folders and files on his table. Ian’s lawyer arrived and took his place across the aisle. Off to the side the jury box was filled with twelve people Aria had never seen before, handpicked by both lawyers. The actual courtroom was closed to the media and most of Rosewood, and only close family and friends were allowed in, along with police and witnesses. When Aria looked around, she saw Emily’s parents, Hanna’s dad and soon-to-be step-mom, and Spencer’s sister, Melissa. On the other side of the courtroom Aria spied her father, Byron. He was slowly helping Meredith into a seat, even though she wasn’t that pregnant.

Byron looked around the courtroom, as if he sensed Aria’s gaze. He found her and waved. Hi, Aria mouthed. Byron smiled. Meredith noticed her too, widened her eyes, and mouthed, You okay? Aria wondered if Byron knew Ella was here—and that she’d brought her new boyfriend.