When she noticed the puzzled look on Harper's face, everything turned upside-down. Maybe none of those other dishes had illegal substances inside them. What if Spencer's brownies were what was making everyone so crazy?

She looked around the room. In one corner, a girl was feeding another girl a bite of something gooey and brownie-like. Two guys by the window chowed down on the brownies like they were their last meal. The brownies were everywhere. On plates left on side tables. In people's hands as they swigged back sips of punch. On cheeks and under fingernails and ground into the fibers of the carpet. A half-eaten tray sat on the coffee table. Another tray was balanced on the radiator. Spencer peeked into the kitchen. Her three trays of brownies were still there, the bottoms sc.r.a.ped clean. Had someone else brought brownies, or had she brought five instead of three? Her mind felt so cloudy right now she couldn't think clearly at all.

Her skin p.r.i.c.kled. Harper seemed thrilled by the pot-brownie prank. But it was one thing if her brownies were one of many illegal foods at the party, and another for them to be the singular secret potion that made everyone act insane.

The walls felt like they were closing in on her. "I'll be back," she murmured to Harper, pushing to stand. She wove around a bunch of kids making snow angels on the carpet and two guys dueling with antique swords pulled from hooks on the wall and grabbed her coat from a pile near the kitchen. Ahead of her was a heavy door that led to the backyard; she pushed through it and stood in the crisp, late-winter air. To her surprise, only a thin strip of sunlight gleamed through the trees. Hours must have pa.s.sed since she'd arrived.

Spencer stepped off the patio, taking deep breaths of cold air. The university buildings shone on the horizon. A billboard cut through the sky, bearing a picture of a newborn baby and the words CHOOSE PRINCETON HOSPITAL FOR YOUR MOST PRECIOUS MOMENTS.

It made Spencer think of the day she'd met Emily at the hospital for her C-section. By the time she got there, still flummoxed by Emily's news, Aria and Hanna were standing by her side. Spencer's jaw had dropped at the sight of Emily's swollen belly. Her heart had picked up speed when she saw the shadowy image of the baby on the fetal monitor screen next to Emily's bed. This was real.

"Emily?" a nurse had said, popping her head into the room. "They're ready for you. It's time to have your baby."

There was no question whether Spencer and the others would be there for Emily's surgery. They dressed in blue scrubs and followed the gurney into an operating room. Emily was freaking out, but the three of them held her hands the whole time, telling her she was strong and amazing. Spencer didn't have the guts to peek over the curtain to watch as the OB cut through Emily's midsection, but within minutes, he let out a happy whoop. "A healthy baby girl!"

The doctor lifted a tiny, perfect creature over the part.i.tion. She had red, wrinkled skin, tiny, closed eyes, and a big screaming mouth. Tears welled in all of their eyes. It was amazing and sad, all at the same time. They squeezed Emily's hands hard, so grateful they'd been able to share this with her.

Luckily, the baby didn't need to be in the NICU, which meant the girls could follow through with their plans of sneaking mother and baby out of the hospital that very night. At midnight, when there was a nurse shift change, the girls helped Emily out of bed and into her clothes. They dressed the baby as quietly as they could and tiptoed out of Emily's room. The maternity ward was silent and still. Nurses were tending to newborns in the nursery. When a doctor rounded the corner, Spencer distracted her by asking for directions to the cafeteria. The others spirited Emily and baby into the elevator. Once they were on the main floor, no one looked at them twice.

They crept to the parking garage, the lights of Philadelphia blazing all around them. But as they were getting into Aria's car, a flutter of activity behind one of the concrete beams caught Spencer's eye. Nerves streaked through her belly. Was checking a baby out of the hospital before it was discharged illegal? She stood very still for a few moments, waiting for whomever it was to reveal herself, but no one did. She figured she was just tired, although now she wasn't sure. Maybe A had been there. Maybe A had seen everything.

Snap.

Spencer returned to the present with a start. Dark trees surrounded her. Branches scratched her skin. The bark on the trees spiraled psychedelically; the stars were huge and garish in the sky, like a Van Gogh painting. What the h.e.l.l was in this pot, anyway?

There was a whooshing sound of someone crunching through leaves. Spencer rubbed her eyes. "h.e.l.lo? Who's there?"

No answer. The crunching sounds grew louder and louder. Spencer blinked, searching for the path back to the Ivy House, but her vision was distorted and blurred. "h.e.l.lo?" she cried again.

A hand clapped on her shoulder, and she screamed. She flailed her arms, trying to see who it was, but her senses were too muddled, the night too dark. Her legs gave out from under her, and she felt herself falling, falling, falling. The last thing she remembered seeing was a dark shape standing next to her, glaring. Maybe wanting to hurt her. Maybe wanting to get rid of her forever.

And then everything went black.

24.

HANNA BRINGS HER A GAME.

Hanna knew she was supposed to be in the stretch limo with her father, Isabel, and Kate, heading to the fund-raising ball, not balanced on her four-inch Louboutin platform heels outside the familiar Victorian house in Old Hollis that was home to Jeffrey Lebrecque's photo studio. But here she was, like it or not. Ready to nail Colleen once and for all.

The porch light was on, throwing golden light onto Hanna's professionally made-up face. The front parlor window was all lit up, too, which meant the photographer was home. Just before Hanna climbed the steps, her phone chimed. It was Richard, one of her dad's campaign a.s.sistants. Just wanted to let you know the voter registration records database is back up, he wrote.

Perfect, Hanna replied. That meant she could search for where the Bakers had moved. The site had been down, and she'd had to resort to asking Richard about it, but she didn't dare ask him to look up the family himself.

Then, rolling her shoulders back, she rang the bell. There were footsteps, and the door creaked open and the same graying man she'd seen the day before answered.

"h.e.l.lo?" Jeffrey Lebrecque looked Hanna up and down, from the big ringlets in her hair to her navy chiffon dress to the faux-mink shrug around her shoulders she'd picked out for the ball. There was a gaudy gold ring on his pinkie finger, and he had the top two b.u.t.tons of his shirt unb.u.t.toned, exposing quite a bit of chest hair. Ick.

"Hi!" Hanna said brightly. "Are you Mr. Lebrecque?"

"That's right." The man furrowed his brow. "Do we have an appointment?"

"Actually, I'm here to pick up photos for Colleen Bebris," Hanna said in her most innocent voice, batting her eyelashes at him. "I'm her best friend, and she asked me to do it. She got held up at an exercise cla.s.s. She's a pole dancer, did you know that?"

The photographer frowned. "I'm not sure I can do that. Ms. Bebris didn't say someone else was going to pick them up. Maybe I should call her." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

"No need!" Hanna said quickly, whipping out her own phone and showing him a text on the screen. "See?" The sender was Colleen Bebris, and the text asked if Hanna could pick up her photos. Of course it wasn't really from Colleen-Hanna just used her mom's phone to send the text, temporarily changing her mom's contact information to Colleen's name.

Jeffrey Lebrecque read the text, and his caterpillar-esque eyebrows knitted together. "There's also the matter of payment."

"Oh, she told me to pay for it and then she'd pay me back," Hanna piped up, proud she'd thought to raid her emergency cash s...o...b..x before coming.

The photographer peered at Hanna, and for a moment, she was afraid he was going to call her bluff. Did Mona-as-A and Real Ali-as-A worry they were going to get caught when they skulked, stole, and lied to get top-secret information on Hanna and the others? Was it wrong of her to do this? It wasn't like she was ruining Colleen's life, though. All she wanted was her boyfriend back.

"Follow me," Mr. Lebrecque said, turning and heading down the hallway and into his studio. Slides and printouts covered a work desk, and a large-screen Apple monitor glowed in the corner. A fluffy white cat padded lazily through the room, and a calico preened itself on the windowsill. The place smelled like a mix of dust and cat litter and seemed sketchy in a way Hanna couldn't quite put her finger on. She hunted around for telltale signs that this guy was running a covert Internet-p.o.r.n operation, though she wasn't entirely sure what she should be looking for. Playboy magazines? Blackout shades? Bottles of Cristal, like they drank in hip-hop videos?

Mr. Lebrecque shuffled to a table at the back of the room, sorted through a pile of envelopes, and pulled one out. "I picked these up from the printer today. Tell Colleen that I printed all of them, just like she asked, but if she wants more copies it'll cost her extra." He punched some numbers into a calculator. "So . . . that'll be $450."

Hanna gritted her teeth. Couldn't Colleen have chosen a slightly cheaper photographer? Begrudgingly, she traded the cash for the envelope of photos and bid the photographer good-bye, scurrying out of the apartment as fast as she could. Her eyes were starting to itch from all that cat hair.

Her phone chirped when she stepped onto the porch, but it was just her father-he, Isabel, and Kate were at the event s.p.a.ce, and he was wondering where Hanna was. Be there soon, Hanna typed back before slipping her phone into her bag and excitedly ripping open the envelope. She wondered if the various As had sometimes felt like this, too, when they'd gotten their hands on valuable evidence. There was something satisfying about it.

She stared at the stack of photos under the street lamp. The first was of Colleen looking fresh-faced and oh-so-sweet, like an actress on a Disney Channel show. The next shots were pretty much the same, just with slightly different facial expressions and camera angles. Hanna flipped through the stack, gazing at Colleen looking elated, then brooding, then bookish. Before she knew it, Hanna was looking at the last photo, a shot of Colleen winking at the camera from over her shoulder. She riffled through them once more just to make sure she hadn't missed any, but she hadn't.

They were exactly the same shots she'd seen from the window the day before. Nothing from a previous photo session, nothing she'd missed. They were all perfectly kosher and professional, and worse, Colleen looked really amazing in a lot of them, far more photogenic than Hanna was. Hanna kicked the streetlamp post. Why the h.e.l.l had A told her to follow this stupid lead? Just to mess with her? For her to lose some cash? She should have known A was going to screw her over, not help her.

Someone coughed across the street, and Hanna shot up. It was only a college-age couple walking hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, but she felt nervous all the same. She tottered to her Prius, her ankles already aching, wrenched the car door open, and tossed the envelope inside so hard that it careened off the door and landed in the footwell. Groaning, she slid into the driver's seat and reached for it, but she grabbed the wrong end and all of the pictures spilled out onto the carpet.

"d.a.m.n it." Hanna leaned over and shoved the photos back into the slightly-too-small envelope once more. Her fingers grazed something behind the last photo. It didn't feel glossy, like the photos, but more like a piece of computer paper.

She pulled the paper from the envelope and held it to the light. Colleen Evelina Bebris, it said at the top in plain font, listing her address, e-mail, Twitter name, and blog. Below that was what looked like a list. Dramatic experience, it said in bold. There were descriptions of the various school plays Colleen had been in, culminating with her part in Macbeth last week. It was a resume, presumably for when Colleen went on auditions. Boring.

Then, something at the bottom caught her eye. Commercial experience, a heading said. There was only one entry below it. Visiem Labak, Latvia, it said. Starring role in Latvian commercial for an important dietary supplement. According to the resume, the commercial had run last year on the most popular Latvian TV station.

Rifling through her bag, Hanna grabbed her phone and punched Visiem Labak into Google. All better, a translation came up. A bunch of what she could only a.s.sume were Latvian websites also popped on the screen, and a few showed a smiling person eating yogurt. A YouTube link appeared at the bottom of the first search page. Visiem Labak Commercial, it said. There was a still shot of Colleen's face.

Hanna clicked the link. The commercial started with three girls sitting around a table at a cafe, drinking coffee and laughing. The camera then focused on Colleen, who rattled off something in a language Hanna couldn't even begin to decipher, then clutched her stomach miserably. The other girls handed her a cup of yogurt, which Colleen began to eat with gusto. Next Colleen shut herself in the coffee bar's bathroom, putting up a sign that surely said OCCUPIED in Latvian. Happy music played, there was a voice-over in Latvian, and Colleen emerged from the bathroom looking victorious. She held up a pot of the yogurt and grinned maniacally. The commercial ended with another shot of the yogurt.

"Oh. My. G.o.d," Hanna whispered. This was just like those stupid commercials where Jamie Lee Curtis pimped out Activia to bloated, constipated women. And here Colleen was, playing the Latvian girl who needed a yogurt laxative to get her regular again. No wonder she hadn't bragged about it. Hanna guessed she hadn't told anyone.

"Yes," she whispered, placing the resume and envelope into the glove compartment. After all this went down, she'd charge Colleen for the pictures, if she still wanted them. It wasn't like Hanna needed them anymore. Those pictures didn't tell a story. But a certain video did.

25.

SECRETS, OPEN AND CLOSED.

As dusk was falling, Aria pulled into the circular driveway at Noel's house and shut off the engine. The house was dark, with only one of the porch lights lit. She checked the text on her phone again. Come at six, Noel had said-and it was six on the dot.

She stepped out of the car and walked toward the door, careful not to trip in her high heels. She was going to Mr. Marin's fund-raising ball after this, an event she and Noel were supposed to attend together. Obviously, that was off. Aria wasn't sure if Noel was planning to go anyway. A lot of kids from Rosewood Day would be there, after all.

Footsteps sounded from inside after she rang the bell. Noel opened the door quietly, not looking her in the eye. Aria almost gasped at his appearance. His face was puffy and red, his eyes bloodshot. His hair looked like it hadn't been washed that morning, and he had the exhausted, heavy-lidded look of someone who hadn't slept.

"I got your stuff together," Noel said woodenly, turning and heading toward the den. Aria followed. The house was unusually quiet and still, with no TVs blaring or music playing or Patrice humming jovially in the kitchen.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

Noel sniffed, walking stiffly to a cardboard box that was sitting on the couch. "My mom went to that fund-raiser. My dad's . . . somewhere." He eyed her. "Why do you care, anyway?"

Aria flinched. It was weird to see Noel angry, especially at her. "I was just making conversation," she said sheepishly. She grabbed the box and hefted it into her arms. "I'll go, okay?"

"That's probably a good idea," Noel growled.

But then he awkwardly swallowed. Aria turned around and met his gaze. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to convey that breaking up was the only way she could make things right.

Noel looked away. "I'll walk you out," he said, heading downstairs. He held the door open for her, and Aria mumbled good-bye and scuttled out. As she stepped off the porch, the box slipped from her grasp and spilled onto the brick path. She scrambled to pick up the spilled CDs, books, and T-shirts, and then felt a hand on her arm.

"Here." Noel leaned down, his voice softening. "I'll get that."

Aria allowed him to gather up her things and load them back into the box. When she stood up, she saw something move at the back of the Kahns' property. Someone was skulking around by the guest house. At first, she feared it was A, but then a spotlight beamed down on the figure's tall blond hairdo, frilly dress, and clunky heels.

The figure turned in the light, revealing her face. Aria tensed. It wasn't Mrs. Kahn . . . it was Noel's father. In drag. At home.

Aria gasped before she could stop herself and, as if in slow motion, watched Noel's head turn in the direction she was looking. "No!" she shouted, throwing herself in front of Noel to obstruct his view.

"What are you doing?" Noel asked.

"Um, I was . . ." Aria peeked over her shoulder. Mr. Kahn was gone. "I, um, thought I saw a bat swoop for your head."

Noel stared at her like she was nuts. A long, tense few seconds pa.s.sed. Shrugging, he helped put Aria's stuff in the back of her car, then turned toward the house. At the same time, the front door creaked open. Mr. Kahn had gotten through the house and to the front door, and now he stood on the porch in his lipstick and dress. He gawked at Noel, then Aria. The blood drained from his face.

"D-Dad," Noel stammered.

"Oh," he croaked, his voice gruff and deep. "I-I thought no one was home."

Mr. Kahn did an about-face and marched back into the house. Aria covered her face in her hands. But surprisingly, Noel was making no noise at all. No gasps, no violent freak-outs, nothing. She peeked at him through her fingers. Instead of staring at the front door, which Mr. Kahn had just gone through, he was gaping at her.

"You blocked my way," he said. "You were trying to stop me from seeing my dad, weren't you?"

Aria shifted her weight. "Well, yeah."

Noel studied her for a long time. His eyes widened. "You knew, didn't you? Before just now, I mean. You knew about how my dad dresses like . . . that. And you thought I didn't know. You were keeping it from me."

Aria felt heat creep to her cheeks. "It wasn't like that!" she cried. Then she stepped back. "Wait. You knew?"

"Well, yeah. I've known for years." Noel's eyes blazed. "How long have you known?"

Aria's chin wobbled. "Only a few days. I saw your dad at Fresh Fields last week. I was afraid to tell you."

"So you decided to break up with me instead?" Noel's mouth was tight, and his eyes were wild. "Or was there some other mysterious reason why you did that?"

"Of course not!" Aria protested. "Please calm down! We can talk about this, can't we?"

Suddenly, she was filled with hope. Maybe there was a silver lining to this. If Noel already knew about his dad, if this wasn't some big, ruinous, earth-shattering revelation, A had nothing on her. It was just a bluff. "I've changed my mind. I was confused. I want to stay together."

Noel barked out a cold, sinister laugh, the likes of which Aria had never heard before. "That train has left the station. I knew something was on your mind, Aria. I asked you a million times about it, and you told me you were fine. Just days ago I begged you to be honest with me about everything, and instead you lie?"

"You lied, too!" Aria said, grasping at straws. "You never told me that your dad . . . you know!"

Noel's eyes narrowed, as though he didn't particularly like this shift of gears. "You never asked me. And, for the record, I was going to tell you. I just didn't want to do it when we were at my house, and lately you've seemed so distracted, and . . ." He trailed off, his mouth dropping open. "Do you think it's weird? Is that why you broke up with me?"

"Noel, no!" Aria cried, grabbing for his hands.

Noel wrenched away from her, a horrible twist of anger on his face. "And here I thought you were open-minded." He spun around and went back inside, slamming the door so hard the house shook. A dreadful silence followed.

Aria stared at her shaking hands, questioning if what had just happened was real. She waited for Noel to come back, but he didn't. How had this happened? She thought she'd done the right thing, when she'd just made things a million times worse.

And then it hit her: Maybe A had meant for things to play out this way. Maybe A had known that Mr. Kahn's cross-dressing was an open secret all along but led her to believe it would destroy Noel's family. After all, the only thing that was worse than A ruining a relationship was Aria sabotaging it all on her own.

26.

OD-NO SHE DIDN'T "Spencer. Psst! Spencer!"

Spencer opened her eyes. She was lying on a small cot in the middle of a room that smelled pungently of antiseptic. Her limbs felt welded to the mattress, and she was certain someone had stuffed a torch down her throat. As her vision cleared, she saw a pretty girl with blond hair and big eyes standing at the foot of the bed. She was wearing a familiar yellow dress and had a knowing smile on her face.

Spencer shot up, recognizing her instantly. "Tabitha?"