Pretty Little Liars #15: Toxic (3 page)

Then she heard a cough and whirled around. A boy with bad posture and a knitted cap whom she didn’t recognize was standing way too close. There was a weird smirk on his face.

“H-hello?” she sputtered, heart lurching again. “Can I help you?”

The boy lazily smiled. “You’re Hanna Marin.” He pointed at her. “I
know
you.”

Then he slid past her and entered the classroom.

Her phone began to ring, causing Hanna to shriek and press her body against the lockers. But it was just Mike Montgomery, her boyfriend. “Are you in school yet?” he asked.

Hanna made an
uh-huh
sound, still feeling her pulse rocket at her temples. “It’s a little like
Night of the Living Dead
, though. Who
are
all these kids? I’ve never seen them before.”

“It was the same way when I took driver’s ed last summer. They keep summer school kids hidden in the utility closet during the year. I wish I could come down there and keep you safe. Maybe I should take the first bus back.”

Hanna chuckled shakily. Ever since she’d told Mike that Ali was back on the scene, he’d become her de facto bodyguard. The other day, before he’d left for soccer camp in New Hampshire, she’d squealed at a spider on her front porch, and Mike had swooped in like a superhero. He’d also been hypervigilant whenever she received a text, checking her expression for worry or fear. He’d asked her a million times if he really should go to camp for the whole month.
You might need me
had been his excuse.

“You’re not getting on a bus,” Hanna demanded now, watching as a few more people brushed past. And okay, they all were wearing ugly shoes and weren’t usually kids
she
hung around with, but they didn’t look quite as zombielike. “I can handle a few weirdos.”

Then she hung up. Seconds later, her phone pinged again.
Good luck on your first day of school!
her mom wrote.
Let’s get dinner tonight to celebrate!

Hanna smiled. For years, she’d leaned on her dad, but that had changed once and for all the day she was arrested for Tabitha’s murder and her dad told her that associating with her was “wrecking his political campaign.” Amazingly, her mom had taken the reins, and she was actually trying really hard to be present. Last night, they’d even gone to Otter, Hanna’s favorite boutique, for a “back to summer school” outfit—the striped minidress and dove-gray ankle boots Hanna was wearing today.

Sounds good
, she texted back. Then she walked into the classroom, her heels clicking noisily, her auburn hair bouncing on her shoulders. The sun streamed through the long windows so prettily that she suddenly felt a contented sense of well-being. So what if she had to repeat history class with a bunch of D-listers? At least she’d get to graduate. The press and the town didn’t hate her anymore, or think she was a murderer. And she still had her friends, an amazing boyfriend, and now, for the first time ever, a mom who actually cared. Maybe they
should
let this Ali stuff go and just enjoy their lives.

The only seats left were in the front row, so Hanna plopped down, arranged her dress around her, and waited for the teacher to arrive. Her phone rang again. The call was from an area code she didn’t recognize, which always set her on edge.

“Hanna Marin?” blared a voice once Hanna said a tentative hello. “My name is Felicia Silver. I’m the executive producer of
Burn It Down
. It’s the true story about your terrible ordeal with Alison DiLaurentis.”

Hanna suppressed a groan. That sounded like another
Pretty Little Killer
, the made-for-TV movie that documented Hanna and the others’
first
struggle with Ali. God, that movie was awful. Every part of it: the sets, the script, the frumpy girl who had been cast as Hanna. For a while, it had been on every week. Hanna used to have to endure kids quoting scenes in the locker room and at lunch. Did the world really need
another
movie about her life?

“I know what you’re thinking—that made-for-TV thing was crap.” Felicia chomped on gum as she talked. “But this one is going to be different. In theaters. With serious actors and a great script.
And
we’re filming right here in Rosewood, so we’re going to get the ambience just right.”

“Huh,” Hanna said, surprised. She hadn’t seen any film trucks or equipment.

“Anyway, the reason I’m calling is because of
you
, Hanna,” Felicia said. “I’ve seen you in the commercials with your father. The camera loves you.”

Hanna blushed. Before her father disowned her, they’d filmed some campaign ads together, including a “Don’t Drink and Drive” public service announcement. Hanna didn’t want to brag, but she thought she’d nailed it, too.

“I want to offer you a part in the movie,” Felicia went on. “It would be
amazing
publicity for us—and a fun experience for you, we hope. We were thinking of you as Naomi Zeigler—someone small but still crucial. She has a big role in the cruise ship scenes.”

Uh, yeah
, Hanna almost blurted—she’d
lived
those scenes. But then she realized what Felicia had offered. “You want me to have an actual speaking role?”

“That’s right. Here’s your chance to show the world that you’ve put that nonsense behind you, and now you’re a fabulous actress. What do you say?”

Hanna’s mind whirled. She wanted to tell Felicia that maybe they
hadn’t
put the nonsense behind them . . . but Felicia would probably think she was nuts.
Should
she do it? Spencer had always been the drama girl, starring in every school play, memorizing Ibsen monologues just for the hell of it, and always wanting to do improv exercises during sleepovers. But it
was
tempting. Would this movie have a red-carpet premiere in Hollywood? Would she get to
go
?

Still, she wasn’t sure. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Actually, we have to know now,” Felicia said, suddenly sounding impatient. “C’mon, Hanna. It’ll be an amazing experience. Hank Ross is directing. And guess who’s playing you! Hailey Blake!”

Hanna’s mouth dropped open. Hailey Blake was a beautiful, glittering, überfamous young starlet who’d been a presence in Hanna’s consciousness for years, starting with her starring role as Quintana in
Abracadabra
, Hanna’s favorite Disney show. After that, she’d gone on to do a slew of cool teen movies. Most recently, she’d hosted the Teen Choice Awards and shared a kiss onstage with her cohost, the sexy guy from
Bitten
, a hot vampire movie. And if this movie was good enough for
Hailey
. . .

“I guess I can give it a try,” she heard herself say.

“Fabulous!” Felicia crowed. “I’ll email you the details.”

Hanna hung up, still in a daze. She was going to be in a movie . . .
with Hailey Blake
. A
real
movie, with a red-carpet premiere. Red-carpet premieres also meant film festivals in Sundance and Cannes, didn’t they? And all that meant interviews with Ryan Seacrest and all those people on E! Maybe she could do a guest spot on
Fashion Police
! She
and
Hailey, together!

All at once, her future unfurled before her, bright and glittering. For the first time, something actually
positive
might come out of the A nightmare.

2

TORTURED ARTIST

Aria Montgomery steered her family’s rattling, sputtering, rusty Subaru into a parking space in Old Hollis, an artsy neighborhood resplendent with uneven sidewalks, shabby-chic Victorian houses, and out-of-control gardens (some of which yielded nothing but marijuana plants). The sun streamed across the leafy street in bright, broad stripes. A child’s bicycle was tipped over one lawn, and across the street was an abandoned lemonade stand with a sign that said
ALL ORGANIC INGREDIENTS
!

“Hey!” Aria’s mom, Ella, crowed as Aria walked through the door of the Olde Hollis Gallery, where she’d worked since the family moved back from Iceland two years ago. Ella’s dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she wore a long, gauzy skirt and a ribbed tank top that showed off her toned arms. Bracelets jangled on her wrist, and huge turquoise earrings swung from her earlobes. She hugged Aria tight, giving off a strong scent of patchouli oil. Ella had really been into hugging lately. She’d been into giving long, meaningful looks, too. Aria had a feeling her latest attack by A had really thrown her mom for a loop.

“Want to help me set up this show?” Ella asked, gesturing at a bunch of paintings tipped against the walls around the room. The artist, an old, hairy-eared guy named Franklin Hodgewell, had shown at the gallery a zillion times before, and his works of eastern Pennsylvania landscapes, flocks of geese, and Amish buggies were tried-and-true big sellers. “I mean, only if you want to,” Ella added quickly. “If you have something else to do, that’s okay, too.”

“Nope, I can help.” Aria picked up a painting of a barn and placed it on a hook. “I can help with the cocktail party, too, if you want.”

“If
you
want,” Ella said tentatively, giving her a long look.

Since Nick’s attack, Aria had spent almost every minute at the gallery. There were legitimate reasons. One, she
did
have a job here, though her hours were only part-time. Two, it felt good to be near her strong, stable, comforting mom. And three, she didn’t have anything better to do.

She knew her mom thought it was weird. And she knew the question Ella was dying to ask: What
was
Aria going to do with herself this summer . . . and next year? Her friends had applied to colleges, and if they completed their course credits, they would still be able to matriculate in the fall. Aria had planned to take a gap year and travel through Europe, but now the idea of going to a foreign country alone sounded daunting. Maybe that was because the
last
time she’d gone abroad, back to Iceland, she’d been embroiled in an international art scandal
and
she’d met Nick, Ali’s crazy boyfriend, disguised as a sexy vigilante named Olaf.

She’d halfheartedly considered signing up for an artist retreat in Oregon, but the application deadline was last week. Then she’d toyed with the idea of taking art classes at the University of the Arts in Philly, but the first day had come and gone.

She felt . . . stuck. And freaked. It seemed like whenever Aria shut her eyes, Ali’s face shimmered into her mind. She’d looked so creepy the last time they saw her, like a hollowed-out corpse. The image haunted her so completely that, in hopes of expunging it from her brain, she’d painted Ali’s likeness on a huge canvas in the back of the gallery. She’d painted
two
versions of Ali, actually: one of the most recent Ali, the girl she saw in the basement of that dilapidated building next to Hanna’s father’s office; the second a portrait of the old Ali, the unattainable, überpopular girl from the beginning of sixth grade. Aria had used an old sketch of Ali she’d drawn the day Ali tore down the Time Capsule poster outside Rosewood Day and announced that she was going to get a piece of the Time Capsule flag. It was from before the twin switch happened. Before Courtney DiLaurentis approached the four of them at the charity drive and asked them to be her besties.

Once she’d finished helping Ella, Aria stepped into the back room and dared to examine both Ali paintings more closely. Usually, she had trouble with portraits—she’d painted a ton of Noel Kahn, her maybe-ex-boyfriend, and none of them quite captured his essence. But Ali’s
Ali-ness
had flowed from Aria’s brush, every feature chilling and precise. Just by looking at the canvases, she could almost smell Ali’s rotting breath and felt a shiver when she examined her wide, furious eyes. When Aria turned and peered at sixth-grade Ali, the girl’s condescending smirk made her feel as small and insignificant as that day Aria had sat alone on the wall at Rosewood Day sketching her.

She backed out of the room and shut the door. Spending too much time with Ali’s
portraits
even freaked her out.

She looked around the main gallery space for something to do, but it wasn’t her shift, and the two assistants on duty, Bernie and Sierra, were bored themselves. Suddenly, a figure out the window caught her eye. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Noel.

“Be back in a sec,” she muttered to her mom, darting out the door.

Noel was halfway up the block by the time Aria hit the sidewalk. “Hey!” she called out. “Noel?”

He turned around. The bruises on his face from when Ali and Nick had trapped him in a storage shed behind Rosewood Day on prom night had healed, and his dark hair had grown out a little, curling below his ears. When he saw Aria, though, his expression became guarded.

Heartbreak filled her. When they were together, Noel had always been so happy to see her, even if she interrupted him in the middle of lacrosse practice. He’d always run toward her, his arms outstretched. Did Aria
want
him to do that now? No. Yes.
No
. She’d been the one who’d told Noel they couldn’t be together—he’d lied to her for years about knowing the truth about Ali and even visiting her at The Preserve. But lately, she’d begun to second-guess that decision. Everyone made mistakes. Maybe she could forgive Noel.

And
God
, did she miss him.

“H-hey,” Aria said nervously as she approached. “Thanks for the text.” She had sent Noel a few texts lately, just saying hi, hoping to broach a conversation. Finally, Noel had written back, a simple
hi
. Maybe it was a sign.

Noel’s brow crinkled for a moment. “Oh. Right. No problem.”

An aching silence followed. Aria pretended to be interested in a bumper sticker on the back of a passing Honda Civic. “What are you doing in this neighborhood, anyway?” she asked finally.
Say you came to see me
, she willed.

Noel shuffled his feet. “I’m taking an English class at Hollis so I can skip the course requirement next year. A bunch of kids are taking it. Mason, Riley Wolfe . . .”

Aria started to giggle. “Remember the time you told me you thought Riley looked like a leprechaun?”