Pretty Little Liars #15: Toxic (28 page)

Hanna awkwardly twisted her hands. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” It was all she could think to say.

“Oh, whatever.” Hailey waved her hand. “You know who I
do
think would be good at playing Hanna Marin?
You
.”

Hanna laughed nervously. Hailey didn’t look like she was kidding, though. In fact, she was kind of . . . smiling.

“Actually, I don’t think I want the part,” Hanna said. “Not anymore.”

“Are you kidding?” Hailey burst out. “You’ll be
amazing
in this movie, Hanna—in a way that I wasn’t. So do it for me.
Please
.”

Hanna blinked hard, astonished this was happening. “I’m sorry I went behind your back and asked Hank. But I really thought you didn’t want the part anymore. I wasn’t trying to be mean, or—”

“I know.” Hailey leaned against Hanna’s trailer. “We’re all good.” She looked contemplative for a moment, then added, “And
I’m
sorry I sent in that photo to TMZ. That was pretty bitchy of me. I hope Mike isn’t too upset.”

Hanna looked away, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “Actually . . . I think it ruined my relationship with Mike forever.”

One corner of Hailey’s mouth inched up slightly. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

Then she turned. The trailer door opened. Mike stood in the doorway, dressed in a lacrosse sweatshirt and jeans and with a sheepish look on his face. Hanna’s mouth dropped open.

“Hey,” he said shyly to Hanna.

“H-hey,” she stammered just as shyly back.

Hailey beamed at both of them. “I called Mike this morning and explained everything, especially about how that kiss with Jared was completely initiated by him
and
totally harmless.” She smiled broadly. “You’ve got yourself a keeper, Hanna. I wish
I
were so lucky.”

“Thanks,” Hanna said tentatively. Then she peeked at Mike. He was still smiling. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that kiss.”

“I’m sorry
I
didn’t give you the chance to explain,” Mike said. Then he grinned mischievously. “Although, now that you’re a big-shot movie star, do you think you can maybe get that Jared guy fired? I mean, not only do I not want him thinking he can go around kissing you on the reg, but he really doesn’t have my vibe at
all
.”

Hanna burst out laughing. “Only if
you
volunteer to play yourself.”

“Done,” Mike said. “Now, come here and hug me so we can make up for the few hours I have until I have to catch a train back to soccer camp.”

Hanna ran up to him and fell into his arms, squeezing him as tightly as she could. It was incredible. In one fell swoop, everything was right again. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if things would just . . .
stay
this way?

A new sensation blossomed inside her. Hanna basked in the unfamiliar feeling. It was so unknown that at first she couldn’t even put a name to it.

But then she realized what it was.
Hope.

33

NO PRESS IS BAD PRESS

Aria parked on a side street in Old Hollis and looked around. The same beat-up Mercedes, vintage Jaguar, and bright orange VW bus surrounded her at the curb. The same potted plants sat on the front stoop of the large Victorian across from the gallery, and the same rainbow gay pride flag waved over the front porch of the Tudor-style house next door. The neighborhood was unchanged. . . . It was only
Aria
who was different.

An older couple walked out of the gallery hand in hand. Aria crouched down behind a bush, not quite wanting anyone inside to see her yet. She wasn’t ready to do this.

She looked at her phone again.
PRETTY LITTLE FRAUD
, read the front page of the
New York Post
. Frank Brenner, the reporter who had called her yesterday, had written about the fake transaction using John Carruthers’s name as a publicity stunt of Aria’s. “‘My mother took the call, so I had to disguise my voice,’” Brenner quoted Aria as saying. He’d also said that Aria had seemed very “distraught” on the phone when he’d called her, clearly because “she was horrified that she’d actually gotten caught.”

The story also said that a banking institution was tracking down the source of those funds, implying that Aria had randomly used someone’s account. In a normal world, that would be a good thing—the account would lead back to Maxine Preptwill. But Aria knew Ali was too smart to be sloppy; she’d probably used Aria’s name and Social Security number at the bank. Because she was
just that devious.

Everything was such a mess. Patricia, Aria’s agent, had called her a zillion times, but Aria hadn’t picked up, way too embarrassed to have the inevitable conversation. She couldn’t even bring herself to listen to Patricia’s messages. There were other ramifications, too. How would this affect Ella? Her mom had facilitated the sale; what if the press thought she was involved in Aria’s get-famous-quick scheme? What if Carruthers sued her? Would Ella’s boss fire her mom? What if she was blacklisted from the art world? What if the whole
gallery
shut down because of this stupid—and untrue—scandal?

And then there were the texts from Harrison. Last night’s were full of concern; he’d wondered where Aria had disappeared to. The ones this morning were a bit more circumspect: S
aw the post. Is that why you ran off last night? Can we talk? I like you no matter what the truth is.

She stared at the latest one from him. It was sweet for Harrison to say he’d stand by her, but the thing was, Aria didn’t want him to be her boyfriend. Not-very-deep-down, Aria knew she felt nothing for him. She
wished
she did. It would be so much easier. But her feelings were her feelings.

Sighing, she composed a reply. “
It’s not the truth, but I can’t get into it right now. To be honest, I kind of need my space. I’m sorry. Good luck with everything.
” Then she hit
SEND
. It was ironic, she realized, how much her text sounded like what Noel had said to her only two weeks before. But she sent it off anyway, just needing it to be done.

Taking a deep breath, Aria started up the sidewalk. Every step to the gallery was painful. She pushed the door open, wincing at the cheerful bell chimes. Her mother was standing at the desk, looking at some papers. She looked up, straight into Aria’s eyes. Heat filled Aria’s cheeks.
Here goes.

Ella swept up to her. “Guess who had two more sales today?” she chirped happily. She waved some faxed papers in Aria’s face. “A buyer from Maine and someone in California. Not for as much as the Ali painting sold for, but still—congratulations!”

Aria blinked. Her mother’s excited demeanor was heartbreaking. This was even worse: She didn’t
know
yet.

Wordlessly, Aria passed over the phone and pushed the icon for Safari. The
Post
article was still up. “You should see this.”

Ella glanced at it, then shrugged. “I already have.” She straightened Aria’s hair behind her shoulders. “Your agent told me. I hope that’s okay—she was trying to reach you, but you weren’t picking up, and your voice mail was full. Is this the real reason you ran off last night? You should have just
told
me, Aria.”

Aria blinked, then nodded. She
had
found out last night. It seemed like as good an excuse as any to explain her mysterious absence.

Ella looked at the phone again. “Your first
Post
article—and front page, too! I’m so proud.”

“Mom!” Aria cried. She couldn’t believe how oblique her mom was being. “The story is awful. And untrue. I didn’t pose as Carruthers’s assistant or get anyone else to. I had nothing to do with that sale at all—to be honest, I’m horrified that Ali painting sold. I was going to burn it.”

Ella looked at her intently. “Aria, of course I know you didn’t have anything to do with it.” She placed the papers back on the desk. “Are you truly
worried
about that article? If you’re serious about being an artist, you’re going to have all kinds of crazy things written about you, a lot of it negative criticism, much of it lies. My guess? Someone used Carruthers’s name because he or she didn’t want to admit who they were. Maybe it’s someone notorious. Or maybe it’s a celebrity!”

Aria stared at her mother. Well, Ali was both those things. “S-so you’re not mad?” she finally eked out.

Ella walked to the corner of the gallery and straightened a crooked landscape of the Brandywine River. “The transaction has nothing to do with you, honey. We all know that. Besides, your agent told me that this scandal has actually drummed up
more
interest in your paintings. The buyer in Maine specifically bought something after that
Post
article came out. Sasha was there when he came in—said he was a youngish guy, mid-thirties, super-artsy. His name was Gerald French.”

Aria blinked hard. So Ali’s plans to ruin her actually
hadn’t
worked? She almost couldn’t swallow it. She looked around, waiting for the gallery to explode or Ella to drop to her knees, severely food-poisoned.
Something
. But Ella just smiled at her warmly, then moved into the back room, where they kept the inventory.

The bells on the door chimed again, and Aria turned. “Oh my God,” she blurted, her mouth moving before her brain. Standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, was Noel.

A nervous expression flashed across Noel’s face. Aria felt the blood rushing to her cheeks once more. The memory of their kiss in the bathroom pulsed in her mind. With all of the Ali and art stuff, she’d pushed it to the back burner.

“Uh, hey,” Noel said. He licked his lips. “I wanted to see if you were, like, okay. They were looking for you at the party last night. No one could find you.”

“I’m fine,” Aria said. She stared at the floor. “Thanks for checking in.”

“Of course I was going to check in.”

Aria whipped her head up, filled with a sudden confusion—and anger. “What do you mean,
of course
? I’ve been pretty much dead to you.”

“Yeah, well, I think that was a mistake.” His eyes were crinkled and filled with remorse. He seemed serious. A crack opened inside her. Did he want her
back
?

Aria wanted that to be enough, but suddenly she felt so exhausted. “Noel, you’ve put me on a roller coaster the last few weeks,” she said. “I’ve been up, then down, then
miserable
. I was just starting to feel better about things when last night happened.”

“I know.”

“I mean, first you want to be apart, then you’re with Scarlett, then you
kiss
me, then you run away, and—”

“I
know
,” Noel interrupted. He took a tentative step forward. “Not to mention what I did to you
before
all that.”

“You basically . . . dropped me,” Aria said, feeling choked up.

“I never
really
dropped you,” Noel said gently. “And I’m sorry—for everything.”

“But what about Scarlett?”

“We broke up. She’s just . . . not you.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Look, I thought putting some distance between us would give us time to . . . think, maybe. Process. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve followed your art success, you know. It’s
so
amazing. And then that story that came out today—I know what that’s about, too.”

Aria looked at him sharply. “What do you mean, you
know
?”

Noel’s mouth twitched. “I think I know who’s behind it. Am I right?”

Aria glanced over her shoulder, but Ella was still in the back.

She gave Noel the tiniest nod. “She has a lot of fans,” was all she said.

Noel nodded back. “Well, I hope you know
I’m
not one of them.”

Aria drew in a breath. That hadn’t even occurred to her . . . but maybe it should have. He had been manipulated by Ali once before. Then she sighed. “Well, just because you know about it doesn’t mean you’re getting involved.”

“I hope you’re not getting involved, either.”

Aria shrugged. It wasn’t worth explaining to him right now. Hopefully it was over.

Noel shuffled his feet. “But aside from that, I
miss
you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Aria felt a lump in her throat. “I can’t stop thinking about you, either. But, I mean—”

Noel cut her off. With the tip of his finger, he tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. “Isn’t that enough for us to try again?” he asked.

Aria pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. Noel’s skin smelled like the oatmeal soap his mom always put in the family’s powder room. And when she looked at his fingers, still on her chin, she realized she knew every inch of his hands by heart—the scar on the side of his thumb from the time he’d cut himself carving a Halloween pumpkin, how his palms got chapped in the winter, the raised bump on the back of his hand from an old burn he didn’t remember getting. She thought she knew
him
by heart, too—but he had surprised her lately. And they weren’t good surprises, either. How would he surprise her in the future?

If only she lived in a world with no surprises—no Ali coming back to life, no evil A notes, no horrible secrets that a boyfriend kept from her for years. But would that also mean she’d miss out on good surprises, too? Like Typical Rosewood Noel Kahn turning out to be not Typical Rosewood at all. Like the art world accepting her anyway, despite Ali’s best efforts.

Like Noel coming to his senses and wanting the space between them to close.

Aria lifted his fingers from her chin. After a breath, she leaned forward, as she’d done so many times before.

Yes
, her mind said as they kissed. This was right. This was home.

34

SPENCER BOOKS IT

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Spencer’s email in-box was chiming nonstop. She picked up her phone for the sixth time that minute and glanced at the screen, anxious that it might have something to do with whatever the police had found at the pool house. She’d set up Google Alerts for “Alison DiLaurentis,” “Nicholas Maxwell,” even the property’s address. But over and over, it was another email from people who’d contributed to the bullying site, congratulating her for being part of the anti-bullying group’s video. Last night, the organization had sent out a press release talking about the film. Spencer’s name and credentials had been mentioned.