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.
Spencer reached over and grabbed Aria’s hand. “Guys, maybe this is it. Maybe they found Ali today.”
The first cruiser door opened, and a tall agent who could have been Will Smith’s Men in Black body double stepped out. Spencer leaned forward, expecting to see Ali slumped in the backseat, handcuffs around her wrists, but the seat was empty. A second SUV door opened, and a shorter, chubbier agent, still intimidating in his mirrored sunglasses, got out and slammed it shut.
The agents strode across the lawn toward the girls, their faces grave. Spencer’s heart hammered fast. Whatever news they had, it was big. Serious.
Will Smith Look-alike stared hard at the four of them. “Spencer Hastings? Aria Montgomery? Emily Fields? Hanna Marin?”
“Yes?” Spencer’s voice cracked.
Aria squeezed her hand tight. Hanna’s lips parted. Spencer could feel the stares of her classmates. And at the curb, another figure stood by the SUVs. Agent Fuji. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and there was a proud, satisfied look on her face.
This is it, Spencer thought. They really did find her.
The second agent stepped forward. At first, Spencer thought it was to take her hand, but then he revealed a pair of shiny handcuffs. He quickly and deftly secured them to her wrists with a snap. Then he did the same to Aria. Will Smith cuffed Hanna and Emily.
“W-what the hell?” Aria wailed, jolting away.
“Don’t try to run, girls,” the second agent said in a low voice. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Tabitha Clark.”
“What?” Spencer shrieked.
“Us?” Emily screamed.
The first agent spoke over them. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law . . .”
The men pushed Spencer and the others toward the cars. Spencer’s feet tumbled over each other across the grass and the sidewalk. Fuji’s face loomed before her, her satisfied smile still there. “What are you doing?” Spencer wailed at her. “This is a mistake!”
Fuji sank into one hip. “Is it, Spencer?”
“What about the notes we gave you?” Hanna called out. “Everything we told you? What about A?”
Fuji removed her Ray-Bans. The expression in her eyes was derisive, absolute. “We retrieved IP information on every single text and e-mail sent from A. We dusted every postcard and handwritten note for prints. And you know what we found?”
Spencer blinked. Next to her, Aria shifted. “What?” Emily whispered.
Fuji stepped forward, drawing the girls into a circle. “Every one of those texts came from one of your phones,” she hissed. “Every note, every picture had only your fingerprints on it, no one else’s. The only A in your lives, girls, is the four of you.”
18
PRISON BLUES
Aria sat up like a shot and looked around. She was sprawled out on the floor of a dingy cinder-block cell. The fetid scent of urine and sweat wafted through the air, and she could hear angry shouts and swears through the walls. She was locked up.
“Aria?” It was Spencer, who was in the next cell over.
“Y-yeah?” Aria turned toward the wall.
“You were mumbling really loudly,” Spencer whispered. “Were you sleeping?”
Aria ran her hand through her gnarled hair. She must have passed out from fear and shock. She doubted she’d been out for long, though—light still streamed through the small window at the ceiling.