Perfect (Book Three)

Thirty-One: They Foughy The Law And The Law Won.

Aria squinted into the lens of her Sony Handycam as Spencer adjusted the rhinestone crown perched atop her head. "Hey, guys," Spencer whispered, sauntering over to an LG flip phone that was lying right side up on the Hastingses' leather couch. "Want to read her texts?"

"I do," Hanna whispered.

Emily stood up from her perch on the leather coach's arm. "I don't know..."

"C'mon. Don't you want to know who texted her?" Spencer demanded. Spencer, Hanna, and Emily gathered around Ali's cell phone. Aria took the camera off the tripod and moved closer, too. She wanted to get all of this on film. All of Ali's secrets. She zoomed in to get a good shot of the cell phone's screen when suddenly she heard a voice from the hall.

"Were you looking at my phone?" Ali shrieked, marching into the room.

"Of course not!" Hanna cried. Ali eyed her cell on the couch, but then turned her attention to Melissa and Ian, who had just come into the kitchen.

"Hey, girls," Ian said, stepping into the family room. He glanced at Spencer. "Cute crown."

Aria retreated back to her tripod. Spencer, Ian, and Ali gathered on the couch, and Spencer began playing talk-show host. Suddenly, a second Ali walked right up to the camera. Her skin looked gray. Her irises were black and her neon-red lipstick was applied clownishly, in wriggly lines around her mouth.

"Aria," Ali's doppelganger commanded, staring straight into the lens. "Look. the answer is right in front of you."

Aria furrowed her brow. The rest of the scene was rolling forward as usual—Spencer was asking Ian about base-jumping. Melissa was growing more pissed off as she put away their takeout bags. The other Ali—the normal-looking one on the couch—seemed bored. "What do you mean>" Aria whispered to the Ali in front of the lens.

"It's right in front of you," Ali urged. "Look!"

"Okay, okay," Aria said hastily. She searched the room again. Spencer searched the room again. Spencer was leaning into Ian, hanging on his every word. Hanna and Emily were perched against the credenza, seemed relaxed and chill. What was Aria supposed to be looking for?

"I don't understand," she whimpered.

"But it's there!" Ali screamed. "It's. Right. There!"

"I don't know what to do!" Aria argued helplessly.

"Just look!"

Aria sprang up in bed. The room was dark. Sweat poured down her face. Her throat hurt. When she looked over, she saw Ezra lying on his side next to her, and jumped.

"It's okay," Ezra said quickly, wrapping his arms around her. "It was just a dream. You're safe."

Aria blinked and looked around. She wasn't in the Hastingses' living room but under the covers of Ezra's futon. The bedroom, which was right off the living room, smelled like mothballs and old-lady perfume, the way all Old Hollis houses smelled. A light, peaceful breeze rippled the blinds, and a William Shakespeare bobblehead nodded on the bureau. Ezra's arms were around her shoulders. His bare feet rubbed her ankles.

"Bad dream?" Ezra asked. "You were screaming."

Aria paused. Was her dream trying to tell her something? "I'm cool," she decided. "It was just one of those weird nightmares."

"You scared me," Ezra said, squeezing her tight.

Aria waited until her breathing returned to normal, listening to the wooden, fish-shaped wind chimes knocking together right outside Ezra's window. Then she noticed that Ezra's glasses were askew. "Did you fall asleep in your glasses?"