Heartless

Iris stepped away, looking Hanna up and down appraisingly. Then she offered her hand. “Come with me,” she said airily. “We don’t hang out with losers.”



Everyone at the table let out an outraged gasp. Alexis’s face was as long as a horse’s. Ruby pulled nervously at her hair. Tara shook her head vehemently, as if Hanna was about to eat something poisonous. She mouthed the word bitch.



But Iris smelled like lilacs, not Vick’s VapoRub. She was wearing the same long Joie cashmere cardigan Hanna had bought two weeks ago at Otter, and she didn’t have bald patches on her scalp. Long ago, Hanna vowed to never be a dork again. Those rules even applied inside a mental hospital.



Shrugging, she stood up and plucked her purse from the ground. “Sorry, ladies,” she said sweetly, blowing them a kiss. And then she looped her arm around Iris’s waiting elbow and walked away, not once looking back.



As they strutted through the cafeteria, Iris leaned down to Hanna’s ear. “You totally lucked out by getting a room with me instead of with some of the other freaks. I’m the only normal one here.”



“Thank God,” Hanna said under her breath, rolling her eyes.



Iris stopped and gave Hanna a long, hard look. A smile washed over her face, one that seemed to say, Yeah, you’re cool. And Hanna realized that Iris might be cool too. More than cool. The two of them exchanged a smug, knowing look that only pretty, popular girls understood.



Iris twisted a long strand of pale blond hair around her finger. “So, mud masks after dinner? I’m assuming you know about the spa.”



“Done.” Hanna nodded. Hope swelled in her chest. Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad after all.



Chapter 13



Someone’s not as Typical as You Think



Wednesday afternoon, Aria sat at the kitchen table at Byron and Meredith’s new house, staring gloomily into a bag of organic honey-wheat pretzels. The house had been built in the 1950s, with ornate crown molding, a three-tier deck, and beautiful French doors leading from room to room. Unfortunately, the kitchen was small and cramped, and the appliances hadn’t been updated since the Cold War era. To make up for its old-fashionedness, Meredith had stripped the plaid wallpaper and painted the walls neon green. Like that would be soothing for the baby.



Mike sat next to Aria, grumbling that the only beverage in the house was nonfat Rice Dream soy milk. Byron had invited Mike over after school so he could get to know Meredith better, although the only thing Mike had said to Meredith so far was that her boobs had really grown since she’d gotten knocked up. She’d smiled tightly then clomped upstairs to prepare the baby’s nursery.



Mike turned the little kitchen TV to the news. Public Calls for Pretty Little Liars to Take Polygraphs said a block-letter headline on the screen. Aria gasped and leaned forward.



“Some people suspect the four Rosewood girls who claimed they saw Alison DiLaurentis may be keeping vital information from the police,” a smug, blond reporter said into the camera. Downtown Rosewood, with its quaint village square, French cafe, and Danish furniture store, was in the shot behind her. “They’ve been at the center of many scandals involving Alison DiLaurentis’s case. Then on Saturday they were found at the site of a fire that ravaged the woods where Mr. Thomas was last seen, destroying any possible clues as to his whereabouts. According to several reports, the police are ready to take action against the Liars should any evidence of conspiracy emerge.”



“Conspiracy?” Aria repeated, dumbfounded. Did they honestly think Aria and the others had helped Ian escape? It seemed Wilden’s warning had been right. They’d lost any remaining shred of credibility when Emily claimed they saw Ali. The entire town had turned against them.



She gazed vacantly out the bay window to the backyard. Workers and cops were scattered around the woods behind her house, poking through the ashes and searching for clues as to who had set the fire. They looked like busy ants in a colony. A woman cop stood near a big telephone pole, two panting German shepherds wearing K-9 Unit vests at her side. Aria wanted to run outside in her hemp slippers and drop Ian’s ring back where she’d found it, but guards and dogs were patrolling the perimeter 24/7.



Sighing, she pulled out her phone and started a new text to Spencer. Did u just see the news about polygraphs?



Yes, Spencer texted back immediately.



Aria paused, considering how to word her next question. Do you think it’s possible that Ali’s spirit is trying to tell us something? Maybe that’s what we saw the night of the fire?



Seconds after she fired off the text, Spencer wrote back. Like her ghost?



Yes.



No way.



Aria turned her phone facedown on the table. It wasn’t surprising that Spencer didn’t believe her. Back when they used to go swimming in Peck’s Pond, Ali made them chant a rhyme that would keep the spirit of the dead man who’d drowned there from harming them. Spencer was the only one who rolled her eyes and refused to play along.



“Dude,” Mike said excitedly, and Aria looked up. “You have to tell me what a polygraph is like. I bet it’s awesome.” When he saw Aria’s sick expression, he scoffed. “I’m kidding. The cops won’t make you take a test. You haven’t done anything wrong. Hanna would tell me if you had.”



“Are you and Hanna really dating?” Aria asked, desperate to change the subject.



Mike squared his shoulders. “Is that really such a surprise? I’m hot.” He popped a pretzel into his mouth. Crumbs fell to the tile floor. “And speaking of Hanna, if you’ve been looking for her, she went to Singapore to be with her mom. She’s not, like, locked away somewhere or anything. She’s not, like, I don’t know, in Vegas training to be a stripper.”



Aria stared at him crazily. She really had no idea how Hanna put up with him. She didn’t blame Hanna for taking off to Singapore either—Aria would do anything to get out of Rosewood too. Even Emily had gotten out of town, off on some church trip to Boston.



“I heard something about you.” Mike pointed at her accusingly, wiggling his dark eyebrows. “A reliable source told me that you and Noel Kahn hung out yesterday.”



Aria groaned. “Would that reliable source be Noel himself?”



“Well, yeah.” Mike shrugged. He leaned forward and asked in a gossipy voice, “So what did you guys do?”



Aria licked pretzel salt off her fingers. Huh. So Noel hadn’t told Mike that they’d gone to a seance. It appeared that he hadn’t told the press, either. “We just ran into each other somewhere.”



“He totally likes you.” Mike propped his dirty sneakers on the kitchen table.



Aria ducked her head, staring at what looked like a morsel of Kashi on the tile floor. “No, he doesn’t.”



“He’s having a hot tub party on Thursday,” Mike added. “You heard about that, right? The Kahns are going away and Noel and his brothers are going all out.”



“Why is the party on a Thursday?”



“Thursday is the new Saturday,” Mike quipped, rolling his eyes as if everyone should know that. “It’s going to be sick. You should go.”



“No, thanks,” Aria said quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was go to another Noel Kahn party—they were full of Typical Rosewood Boys doing keg stands, Typical Rosewood Girls puking up their chocolate martinis and Jell-O shots, and Typical Rosewood Couples making out on the Kahn family’s Louis XV-style sofas.



The doorbell rang, and they both sat up straighter. “You get it,” Aria insisted. “If it’s the press, I’m not home.” Reporters had become so brazen, walking right up to the porch and ringing the doorbell several times a day, as nonchalant as the UPS man; Aria half-expected that one of these days they were going to barge right in.



“No problem.” Mike peeked at his reflection in the hall mirror and smoothed back his hair.



Just as Mike was about to open the door, Aria realized that she was plainly visible from the front porch. If it was the press, they’d push past Mike and never leave her alone. Feeling panicked and trapped, Aria looked around, darted into the pantry, wedged herself awkwardly under a shelf that contained sacks of brown rice, and slid the door shut.



The pantry smelled like pepper. One of Meredith’s brandings—words burned onto big slabs of wood—was propped over a box of couscous. WOMEN UNITE, it said.



Aria heard the front door creak open. “Waaaasssuuup?” Mike yelled. Palms smacked together, and sneakers thudded back down the hall. Two sets of sneakers. Aria peered between the slats of the pantry door, wondering what was happening. To her horror, she saw Mike leading Noel Kahn into the kitchen. What was he doing here?



Mike swiveled around the big kitchen, looking confused. When he faced the pantry, he raised one eyebrow and opened the little door. “Found her!” he crowed. “She’s hanging out with the Rice-A-Roni!”



“Whoa.” Noel appeared behind Mike. “I wish there was Aria in my pantry!”



“Mike!” Aria stepped out of the pantry quickly, as if she hadn’t been hiding. “I told you to say I wasn’t home!”



Mike shrugged. “You told me to say that only if it was someone from the press. Not Noel.”



Aria gave both of them a sharp look. She still didn’t trust Noel. And she felt ashamed after her behavior at the seance, too. She’d spent several minutes in the occult shop’s little bathroom, staring crazily at the Missing Person flyer. Noel had finally knocked on the door, telling her that the power had gone out and everyone needed to leave.



Noel turned and snickered at the pregnancy exercises Meredith had hung on the fridge. Many were about strengthening the vaginal muscles. “I wanted to talk to you, Aria.” He glanced at Mike. “Alone, if that’s cool.”



“Of course!” Mike boomed loudly. He shot Aria a look that said Don’t screw this up, then headed for the den.



Aria looked in every direction but at Noel’s face. “Um, want a drink?” she asked, feeling awkward.



“Sure,” Noel said. “Water’s fine.”



Aria held the glass to the refrigerator dispenser, her back straight and tense. She could still smell the prenatal kelp-and-pumpkin shake Meredith had made fifteen minutes earlier. After she returned to the table with Noel’s drink, Noel reached into his backpack, produced a gray plastic bag, and thrust it at her. “For you!”



Aria reached inside and pulled out a large packet of what looked like dirt. SUCCESS INCENSE said the label. When Aria pressed it to her nose, her eyes crossed. It smelled like her cat’s litter box. “Oh,” she mumbled, uncertain.



“I bought it from that freaky store,” Noel explained. “It’s supposed to bring you good luck. That warlock dude told me you have to burn it in a magick circle, whatever the hell that is.”



Aria snorted. “Uh, thanks.” She laid the incense on the table and plunged her hand into the pretzel bag. Noel was reaching into the bag at the same time. Their fingers bumped together. “Oops,” Noel said.