Sara Shepard - Perfect

Becka’s eyes softened. “Sure.”

Emily skated for the exit. “I need you to drive me to a party. Right now. There’s someone I have to see.”

Aria squinted into the lens of her Sony Handycam as Spencer adjusted the rhinestone crown perched atop her head. “Hey, guys,” Spencer whispered, sauntering over to an LG flip phone that was lying right side up on the Hastingses’ leather couch. “Want to read her texts?”

“I do,” Hanna whispered.

Emily stood up from her perch on the leather couch’s arm. “I don’t know….”

“C’mon. Don’t you want to know who texted her?” Spencer demanded. Spencer, Hanna, and Emily gathered around Ali’s cell phone. Aria took the camera off the tripod and moved closer, too. She wanted to get all of this on film. All of Ali’s secrets. She zoomed in to get a good shot of the cell phone’s screen when suddenly she heard a voice from the hall.

“Were you looking at my phone?” Ali shrieked, marching into the room.

“Of course not!” Hanna cried. Ali eyed her cell on the couch, but then turned her attention to Melissa and Ian, who had just come into the kitchen.

“Hey, girls,” Ian said, stepping into the family room. He glanced at Spencer. “Cute crown.”

Aria retreated back to her tripod. Spencer, Ian, and Ali gathered on the couch, and Spencer began playing talk-show host. Suddenly, a second Ali walked right up to the camera. Her skin looked gray. Her irises were black and her neon-red lipstick was applied clownishly, in wriggly lines around her mouth.

“Aria,” Ali’s doppelganger commanded, staring straight into the lens. “ Look . The answer is right in front of you.”

Aria furrowed her brow. The rest of the scene was rolling forward as usual—Spencer was asking Ian about base-jumping. Melissa was growing more pissed off as she put away their takeout bags. The other Ali—the normal-looking one on the couch—seemed bored. “What do you mean?” Aria whispered to the Ali in front of the lens.

“It’s right in front of you,” Ali urged. “Look!”

“Okay, okay,” Aria said hastily. She searched the room again. Spencer was leaning into Ian, hanging on his every word. Hanna and Emily were perched against the credenza, seeming relaxed and chill. What was Aria supposed to be looking for?

“I don’t understand,” she whimpered.

“But it’s there!” Ali screamed. “It’s. Right. There!”

“I don’t know what to do!” Aria argued helplessly.

“Just look !”

Aria sprang up in bed. The room was dark. Sweat poured down her face. Her throat hurt. When she looked over, she saw Ezra lying on his side next to her, and jumped.

“It’s okay,” Ezra said quickly, wrapping his arms around her. “It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

Aria blinked and looked around. She wasn’t in the Hastingses’ living room but under the covers of Ezra’s futon. The bedroom, which was right off the living room, smelled like mothballs and old-lady perfume, the way all Old Hollis houses smelled. A light, peaceful breeze rippled the blinds, and a William Shakespeare bobble-head nodded on the bureau. Ezra’s arms were around her shoulders. His bare feet rubbed her ankles.

“Bad dream?” Ezra asked. “You were screaming.”

Aria paused. Was her dream trying to tell her something? “I’m cool,” she decided. “It was just one of those weird nightmares.”

“You scared me,” Ezra said, squeezing her tight.

Aria waited until her breathing returned to normal, listening to the wooden, fish-shaped wind chimes knocking together right outside Ezra’s window. Then she noticed that Ezra’s glasses were askew. “Did you fall asleep in your glasses?”

Ezra put his hand to the bridge of his nose. “I guess,” he said sheepishly. “I fall asleep in them a lot.”

Aria leaned forward and kissed him. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Not as weird as you, screamer,” Ezra teased, pulling her on top of him. “I’m going to get you.” He started to tickle her waist.

“No!” Aria shrieked, trying to wriggle away from him.

“Stop!”

“Uh-uh!” Ezra bellowed. But his tickling hastily turned into caressing and kissing. Aria shut her eyes and let his hands flutter over her. Then, Ezra flopped back on the pillow. “I wish we could just go away and live somewhere else.”

“I know Iceland really well,” Aria suggested. “Or what about Costa Rica? We could have a monkey. Or maybe Capri. We could hang out in the Blue Grotto.”

“I always wanted to go to Capri,” Ezra said softly. “We could live on the beach and write poems.”

“As long as our pet monkeys can write poems with us,” Aria bargained.

“Of course,” Ezra said, kissing her nose. “We can have as many monkeys as you want.” He got a far-off look on his face, as if he were actually considering it. Aria felt her insides swell. She’d never felt so happy. This felt…right. They would make it work. She would figure out the rest of her life—Sean, A, her parents—tomorrow.

Aria snuggled into Ezra. She started dozing off again, thinking about dancing monkeys and sandy beaches when suddenly, there was pounding at the front door. Before Aria and Ezra could react, the door split open and two policemen burst inside. Aria screamed. Ezra sat up and straightened his boxers, which had pictures of fried eggs, sausages, and pancakes all over them. The words Tasty Breakfast! were scrolled around the waistband. Aria hid under the covers—she was wearing an oversized Hollis University T-shirt of Ezra’s that barely covered her thighs.

The cops stomped through Ezra’s living room and into his bedroom. They shined their flashlights first over Ezra, then on Aria. She wrapped the sheets around her tighter, scanning the floor for her clothes and undies. They were gone.

“Are you Ezra Fitz?” demanded the cop, a burly, Popeye-armed man with slick black hair.

“Uh…yeah,” Ezra stammered.

“And you teach at Rosewood Day School?” Popeye asked. “Is this the girl? Your student ?”

“What the hell is going on?” Ezra shrieked.

“You’re under arrest.” Popeye unhooked silver handcuffs from his belt. The other cop, who was shorter and fatter and had shiny skin that Aria could only describe as ham-colored, yanked Ezra out of bed. The threadbare, grayish sheets went with him, exposing Aria’s bare legs. She screamed and dropped to the other side of the bed to hide. She found a pair of plaid pajama pants balled up behind the radiator. She stuffed her legs into them as fast as she could.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Ham-face began. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Wait!” Ezra screamed.

But the cops didn’t listen. Ham-face spun Ezra around and snapped the cuffs on his wrists. He glanced disgustedly at Ezra’s futon. Ezra’s jeans and T-shirt were snarled up near the headboard. Aria suddenly noticed that the lacy black bra she’d had custom-fitted in Belgium was snagged on one of the bedposts. She quickly ripped it down.

They shoved Ezra through the living room and out his own door, which hung precariously on one hinge. Aria ran after them, not even bothering to put on her checkerboard Vans, which waited in the second ballet position on the floor near the television. “You can’t do this!” she shouted.

“We’ll deal with you next, little girl,” Popeye growled.

She hesitated in the dingy, dimly lit front hall. The cops restrained Ezra like he was a skinny, breakfast-boxer-clad mental patient. Ham-face kept stepping on his knobby bare feet. It made Aria love him even more.