Sara Shepard - Perfect

Melissa turned very slowly and gave Spencer a poisonous smile. At that very moment, the backyard’s timed lights snapped on. Melissa’s eyes glowed. “Who says I haven’t done something to her already?”

Late Saturday afternoon, Aria slumped down behind a maple in the McCreadys’ yard, which was across the street from her own house. She watched as three cookie-selling Girl Scouts strode to her family’s front door. Ella’s not home, but put her down for a couple boxes of Thin Mints, she wanted to tell the girls. They’re her favorite.

The girls waited. When no one answered, they went to the next house.

Aria knew it was weird to have biked here from Sean’s, stalking her own house as if it were a velvet-rope celebrity club and she were a paparazzo, but she missed her family so badly. The Ackards were like the bizarro-Montgomerys. Mr. and Mrs. Ackard had joined the Rosewood Stalker Community Watch Board. They’d established a twenty-four-hour tip hotline, and in a few days, it would be Mr. and Mrs. Ackard’s turn to make the nightly rounds. And every time any of them looked at her, Aria felt like they could tell what she’d done with Ezra in his office. It was as though she had a big scarlet A on her shirt now, too.

Aria needed to clear her head and purge herself of Ezra. Only, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. This whole bike ride had been one Ezra reminder after another. She’d passed a chubby man eating Chicken McNuggets and had gotten weak-kneed from the smell. She’d seen a girl with black plastic glasses just like Ezra’s and felt chills. Even a cat on a garden wall had reminded her of Ezra, for no good reason at all. But what was she thinking? How could something be so wrong…yet so right at the same time?

As she passed a stone house with its own waterwheel, a Channel 7 news van whizzed by. It disappeared over the hill, the wind slid through the trees, and the sky suddenly darkened. All at once, Aria felt as if a hundred spiders were crawling over her. Someone was watching.

A?

When her Treo let out a whirly little ring, she nearly fell off her bike. She hit the brakes, pulled onto the sidewalk, and reached for it in her pocket. It was Sean.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Um…I went out for a bike ride,” she answered, chewing on the cuff of her beat-up red hoodie.

“Well, come home soon,” Sean said. “Otherwise we’ll be late to Mona’s.”

Aria sighed. She’d completely forgotten about Mona Vanderwaal’s party.

He sighed back at her, too. “Do you not want to go?”

Aria squeezed the bike’s brakes and stared at the beautiful Gothic Revival house in front of her. The owners had decided to paint it royal purple. Aria’s parents were the only people in the neighborhood who hadn’t signed a petition demanding the artist-owners paint it a more conservative color, but the petition hadn’t held up in court. “I’m not really friends with Mona,” Aria mumbled. “Or anyone else going to that party.”

“What are you talking about?” Sean sounded baffled.

“They’re my friends, so they’re your friends. We’re going to have a great time. And, I mean, other than our bike ride, I feel like I haven’t seen you, really, since you moved in with me. Which is weird, if you think about it.”

Suddenly, Aria’s call waiting beeped. She brought her phone away from her ear and looked at the screen. Ezra. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Sean, can I put you on hold for a sec?” She tried to contain the exhilaration in her voice.

“Why?” Sean asked.

“Just…hang on.” Aria clicked over. She cleared her throat and smoothed down her hair, as if Ezra were watching her on a video screen. “Hello?” She tried to sound cool yet seductive.

“Aria?” She swooned at Ezra’s sleepy, gravelly voice.

“Ezra.” Aria feigned surprise. “Hi.”

A few seconds of silence passed. Aria spun her bike’s pedals with her foot and watched a squirrel run across the purple house’s lawn. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” Ezra finally admitted. “Can you meet me?”

Aria squeezed her eyes shut. She knew she shouldn’t go. But she so wanted to. She swallowed hard. “Hang on.”

She clicked back over to Sean. “Um, Sean?”

“Who was it?” he asked.

“It was…my mom,” Aria fumbled.

“Really? That’s great, right?”

Aria bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She focused intently on the intricately carved pumpkins on the purple house’s steps. “I have to go do something,” she blurted out. “I’ll call you later.”

“Wait,” Sean cried. “What about Mona’s?”

But Aria’s finger was already switching back to Ezra.

“I’m back,” she said breathlessly, feeling as if she’d just competed in some sort of boy triathlon. “And I’ll be right over.”

When Ezra opened the door to his apartment, which was in an old Victorian house in Old Hollis, he was holding a Glenlivet bottle in his right hand. “Want some Scotch?” he asked.

“Sure,” Aria answered. She walked into the middle of Ezra’s living room and sighed happily. She’d thought about this apartment a lot since she’d been here last. The billions of books on the shelves, the blue melted candle wax spilling over the mantel in Smurf-like lumps, and the big, useless bathtub in the middle of the room…it all made Aria feel so comfortable. She felt like she’d just come home.

They plopped down on Ezra’s springy, mustard-yellow love seat. “Thanks for coming over,” Ezra said softly. He was wearing a pale blue T-shirt with a little rip in the shoulder. Aria wanted to stick her finger through the hole.

“You’re welcome,” Aria said, sliding out of her checkerboard Vans slip-ons. “Should we toast?”

Ezra thought for a moment, a lock of dark hair falling over his eyes. “To coming from messed-up homes,” he decided, and touched his glass to hers.

“Cheers.” Aria tipped the Scotch back. It tasted like glass cleaner and smelled like kerosene, but she didn’t care. She drained the Scotch fast, feeling it burn down her esophagus.

“Another?” he asked, bringing the Glenlivet bottle with him as he sat back down.

“Sure,” Aria answered. Ezra got up to get more ice cubes and glanced at the tiny muted TV in the corner. There was an iPod commercial on. It was funny to watch someone dance so enthusiastically with no sound.

Ezra returned and poured Aria another drink. With every sip of the Scotch, Aria’s tough exterior melted away. They talked for a while about Ezra’s parents—his mom lived in New York City now, his dad in Wayne, a town not too far away. Aria began to talk about her family again. “You know what my favorite memory of my parents is?” she said, hoping she wasn’t slurring. The bitter Scotch was doing a number on her motor skills. “My thirteenth birthday at Ikea.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding. Ikea’s a nightmare.”

“It sounds weird, right? But my parents knew someone who was really high up who ran the Ikea store near here, and we rented it out after-hours. It was so much fun—Byron and Ella went there early and planned this whole big scavenger hunt all around the Ikea bedrooms and kitchens and offices. They were so giddy about it. We all had Swedish furniture names for the party—Byron’s was Ektorp, I think, and Ella’s was Klippan. They seemed so…together.”

Tears dotted Aria’s eyes. Her birthday was in April; Aria had found Bryon with Meredith in May, and then Ali had vanished in June. It seemed like that party had been the last perfect, uncomplicated night of her life. Everyone had been so happy, even Ali—especially Ali. At one point in a cavern of Ikea shower curtains, Ali had grabbed Aria’s hands and whispered, “I’m so happy, Aria! I’m so happy!”