“Definitely.” Spencer shot him a shy smile.
She kept the innocent look plastered on her face until he rounded the corner to the back parking lot. Then she pulled out her phone, scrolled to find Fuji’s number, and dialed. Annoyingly, it went to voicemail. Just like her six other calls to Fuji in the past twenty-four hours had.
“It’s Spencer Hastings again,” Spencer said after the beep. “I’m just checking about that extra security detail on my friend Chase—I’m really worried about him. Also, I think my sister might need one, too. And you got the Acura keychain, right? And my letter?”
Yesterday, because emailing was far too risky, she’d hand-delivered to Fuji a letter of connections and leads. Like how Ali and/or Helper A had been in New York a few months ago when Spencer, her mom, Mr. Pennythistle, and his son and daughter visited—Spencer had gotten an A note practically the second Mr. Pennythistle walked in on Spencer and his son, Zach, in bed together. Maybe Team A was staying in the Hudson Hotel, too. Perhaps it would be useful to search Amtrak passenger manifests from around that time. There were tons of avenues to investigate.
“Anyway, give me a call back when you can,” Spencer chirped. Then she hung up and turned into Rosewood Day. After parking the car, she trudged through the wet grass to the elementary-school swings, where she and her friends always met to talk—they hadn’t spoken about A in a while, and maybe it was time. Emily dangled languidly from a low swing, her long legs dragging on the ground. Aria pulled the strings on the hood of her bright-green jacket. Hanna checked her reflection in a round Chanel compact. It was one of those beautiful spring mornings where practically the whole senior class was lingering outside before the bell.
“So what’s the news?” Spencer asked her friends when she approached.
“Well, Sean Ackard’s now officially a stalker,” Aria mumbled. She gestured to a clump of kids on the stairs. Both Sean and Klaudia Huusko, the Kahns’ exchange student, were staring at them. When they noticed the girls looking back, they turned away fast.
“Maybe Sean likes you again, Hanna,” Emily teased.
“Or maybe it’s about those suicide rumors.” Aria looked at Hanna. “Sean gave me a pamphlet the other day for a support group at his church. He was looking at me like I was going to slit my wrists right there.”
Hanna rolled her eyes. “I’m getting sick of those rumors.”
Spencer cocked her head. “I wonder if the cops questioned Sean about Kyla.”
Hanna shrugged. “There were cops all over the burn clinic. They probably did.”
Aria scratched her chin. “Maybe Fuji slipped and admitted that Kyla was secretly Ali.”
Spencer twisted her mouth. “I thought Fuji wanted to keep that a secret. Not freak out anyone until they were close to tracking her down.”
“Well, maybe this means they have tracked her down,” Hanna said excitedly.
A dreamy smile spread across Aria’s lips. “Guys, can you imagine it? Ali behind bars. For real this time.”
Everyone paused, the fantasy sinking in. Spencer pictured Ali in a prison jumpsuit, stamping out license plates, guarded twenty-four hours a day. That bitch totally deserved it.
“Once they catch her, we’re going to have to do a lot more interviews,” Aria pointed out.
“Yeah, but cool interviews,” Hanna said. “Like on Oprah. Jimmy Fallon. Not the six-o’clock local crap where they don’t even spring for a makeup artist.”
Emily stopped swinging. “Speaking of the suicide rumors, has anyone told you they’ve gotten anonymous notes about us wanting to hurt ourselves?”
Hanna’s eyes widened, and then she nodded. “Mike did. And so did my dad.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if it was from Team A, though, or someone just messing with him.”
Emily suddenly looked worried. “My sister got one like that, too. Saying something like we’re all really upset and we might go off the rails. What do you think that’s about?”
Spencer waved her hand dismissively. “It’s all over school that we have some sort of suicide pact going. It’s such a stupid rumor.”
“So you don’t think they’re from A?” Emily asked.
“Even if they are, does it matter?” Spencer asked.
Behind them, sirens blared. Four black SUVs raced up the drive, swerving around the buses.
Everyone on the sidewalk and in the Commons stopped and stared. Elementary-age kids dropped from the climbing domes and gawked. Teachers stepped out of their classrooms, their faces sheet-white. The cars screeched to a stop by the curb.