A/N If you like my other version of the Girl Next Door, then you'll love this one. It's much more well-written and thought out, and I'll promise I'll finish it.

Ezra is older than Aria in this story by nine years, but nothing happens until she is at least sixteen (probably seventeen).

I do not own PLL or any of its characters.

Please Review! Reviews=Updates.

With uncanny precision, Aria Montgomery could recall where she had been the afternoon of June 27, 2007, even years later. It was where she had spent most of the summer, on the porch swing of her backyard, rocking the hours away. Often there with a soft cover book or her neon purple journal, Aria passed her days in quiet contentment. Although her mother complained about her lethargy and lack of energy, she let it pass that summer. Aria had just lost people very dear to her heart.

That afternoon, like most afternoons, Aria sat there with a book, a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. She stared at the well-worn pages, yellowed with age and wrinkled with use. She seemed to stare at the black and white words in front of her, long moments passing before she turned a page. She was lost in her own world, in thoughts that no thirteen-year-old girl should ponder.

It was noise from the boarded up house next door, the sound of a garage door opening and doors being shut closed that caused her to look up from her careful reading. Catching a glimpse of dark hair and a grey sedan, Aria wondered who had come to take possession of the neighbors' house. She thought about the stranger for a moment. It was most definitely a male figure, maybe a nephew to the previous owners? Aria was sure that the home had not been purchased. No real estate agents had surveyed the property or acquainted anyone with the empty house. It had stood there quietly, a silent memorial to the people who had left it behind.

Sighing, Aria stopped her swinging for a moment and stared intently at the closed windows. Did this new person have a family? Was he old or was he young? Would he let her come and look at the books in the study like Mr. and Mrs. Springer used too? At the last thought, Aria bit her lip in frustration and angrily wiped away a tear. She wouldn't cry anymore. She told herself she wouldn't.

Aria looked down at her book before closing it and hugging it close, brining her knees up to her chest to shelter it in her embrace. She was there for longer than she could keep count of, a part of her hoping to catch a glimpse of the stranger again. But when her mother called her in for dinner, she knew it was time to let it be. She would know who he was soon enough.

At Montgomery house, dinner was always a family affair during the summer months. Neither of Aria's parents worked during the summer; her mother taught art appreciation at the high school while her father was a professor at Hollis College, the local liberal arts university. In past summers, Aria had always appreciated their closeness and the warm family feeling she got when they did something as a family—her, her mother, her father, and Mike, her younger brother. This summer, it had felt suffocating and irritating, and Aria had almost always sat through dinner without saying a word.

But that night, much to her parents surprise and pleasure, she initiated the conversation, taking an active part in what everyone was saying.

"Who moved in next door?" she asked softly, as her mother passed the potatoes and her father buttered his bread.

Byron Montgomery carefully lowered the butter knife and looked at his daughter carefully. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't hear you."

"I asked," said Aria more forcefully, "Who moved in next door?"

"I'm not sure," said Ella, "but I remember Anne saying that they were saving that house for a family member."

"Do you think it's the same boy that Grandpa Springer built that tree house for?"

Mike, who had been doing everything in his power to concentrate on the peas he was trying not to eat, looked at his sister in awe. It was the first time she had mentioned that name all summer.

"Maybe," answered Ella matter-of-factly. "I'll go visit tomorrow and find out. Would you like to come with me?"

Aria shrank in her seat and shook her head in response. "May I be excused?" She quietly left the table when her father gave his assent.

Looking out her bedroom window, Aria received a picturesque view of the house next door. She saw the light was on in one of the bedrooms and another light was on downstairs, although curtains obscured her view as to what exactly was going on. Closing her own curtain, she climbed on to her daybed and began writing in her journal. When she had exhausted herself from writing down pages of her thoughts and questions, she fell asleep, her fingers still clenching her pen.

The next morning Ella Montgomery took a plate of freshly baked cookies to their new neighbor. Aria grabbed one of the cookies on the plate and snuck into her room, nibbling on it as she looked out the window. Her mother's visit seemed to be going well. She must have been talking to the neighbor for over an hour. Aria marked her mother's coming and going, noting that she could not catch a glimpse of the man.

"He's young," said Ella at dinner that night. "And lonely."

"How long does he plan on staying?" asked Byron. "After everything that happened…" his voice faded for a moment as he glanced Aria before resuming its normal tenor, "I can't imagine he would want to stick around for very long."

"I don't know how long he'll stay, but he'll be here at least for the next year. He got a job at the high school."

"Did they leave the house to him?"

"I think so. I think he's the only family the Springers' had left."

"When do we get to meet him?" asked Mike, between mouthfuls of lasagna.

"I was thinking about inviting him over for dinner on Friday," responded Ella. "Would that be okay?" she asked Aria.

Nodding her consent, Aria asked, "What's his name?"

"Ezra," said Ella as she took a sip of her iced tea. "Ezra Fitz."

The next day, when her mother wasn't paying attention, Aria walked over to the house where the Springers used to live. With someone new living there, she could no longer think of it as their house anymore. She hugged her well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird close to her chest as if it could shield her from imminent unpleasantness. She walked up the wooden steps to the front porch, dread in her every step. Slowly, she raised her hand to the door and pressed the doorbell, hearing its soft ring as she stood outside. She was in the middle of taking deep breaths to calm herself when the door was opened.

"Yes?" said a male voice curiously.

Aria looked up at him. Her mother had said Ezra Fitz was a lonely man, but she had never said that he was sad. She could see the distress in the dark circles around his brilliant blue eyes and the lines near a mouth that looked like it had been used for smiling, once upon a time. "My name is Aria. My mom came to visit you yesterday."

He nodded. "I remember Mrs. Montgomery."

Building up her courage, Aria held her treasured book towards him. "I came to give this back to you."

"It it mine?" he asked in bewilderment.

"It was Grandpa Springer's," whispered Aria. "It was the last thing he lent me before he died."

The neighbor surveyed the book in his hand and then looked in a daze at the girl in front of him. And something in his heart broke. "Would you like to come in, Aria?" he asked.

Aria looked quickly toward her house, and then nodded in misery. When she walked through the front door, everything seemed like it had always been. The pictures were where they always were, the same pillows were out of place on the sofa, and the house still smelled of freshly baked pie. Sitting down somehow uncomfortably on the sofa, Aria looked at the man across from her. He was sad and young. He wore a t-shirt and jeans, and his dark hair was in disarray. But he seemed nice, and he must be if he was related the Springers.

"You were close to them weren't you?" asked Mr. Fitz carefully. "Mr. and Mrs. Springer?"

She nodded. "We moved here three years ago, and we became close. I don't really remember how, we just were. They were like my grandparents."

"Are you going to be okay?"

Aria shrugged in response.

"I think," he said, sliding the well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird across the coffee table, "that this belongs to you."

Aria swallowed. "It was only a loan. Grandpa Springer lent me books all the time. He let me borrow this one the day before the accident."

"I think he would have liked you to keep it, as something to remember him by."

Slowly Aria grabbed the book and resumed hugging it close to her chest.

"Is there something you would like to remember her by?" the man asked gently.

"I—I-," Aria began before her voice cracked. "I just want Grandma Springer back, and Grandpa, too." She began to cry softly, but as she tried to calm herself, her tears became sobs. Before she realized it, Mr. Fitz was sitting next to her, and she was crying into his t-shirt. It was a while before either of them said anything.

Gradually, Aria began to compose herself, and Mr. Fitz saw to it that she went to the bathroom to clean herself up. As Aria exited the bathroom, she picked up the book that had been left on the coffee table, and gathered herself to leave. "Thank you, Mr. Fitz," she said politely from the doorway. "This book means a lot to me."

"You're welcome. And you can come here any time and borrow anything."

"I'll see you on Friday, Mr. Fitz."

"It's Ezra," he called out to her as she walked across his front yard. "I'm twenty-two not forty-two." He continued to watch her as she walked up the steps to her own house and went inside.

At family dinner that night, Aria surprised her mother with a request. She asked that Ella make ravioli when they had their new neighbor over for dinner. It was with mute surprise that Ella agreed, and she and Byron smiled at each other when Aria wasn't looking. Maybe the new neighbor would be good for their daughter.

As requested, on Friday evening, Ella made ravioli, and Aria could smell the aroma of pasta cooking as she opened the door to let Ezra in. He greeted her with a warm smile, and Aria saw that the circles around his eyes were almost gone.

Ezra complimented Ella on her cooking. Ella smiled at the compliment and told him that Aria had requested the dish. It was a family recipe.

"Is your family Italian?" asked Ezra curiously.

"Yes," answered Ella politely. "My grandmother immigrated from a small village in Tuscany. This was one of her favorite dishes to make. One day, I'd like to go and see the house she lived in."

"I bet you and Aria get your beautiful hair from her," said Ezra. As soon as he said the words he regretted them and realized how inappropriate they were. His face reddened.

"Actually, it is," responded Ella kindly. "My mother's hair is the same shade of brown, too."

"So, what subject are you teaching, Ezra?" interjected Byron. "Ella told me that you got a teaching job at the high school."

"English. I'm teaching eleventh grade American literature and twelfth grade British fiction."

"Aria's about to enter eighth grade. Maybe you'll have her in class in a few years."

"Maybe," answered Ezra non-committally. "I don't know how long I plan to be in Rosewood."

"Any other plans?" asked Byron.

"Nothing specific," answered Ezra. "But I don't know how long I'm meant to be here. That house brings up a lot of memories." The air surrounding the table suddenly seemed thick with awkward tension.

"We're so sorry about Elliot and Anne," said Ella carefully. "After that horrible car accident." She shook her head. "It wasn't right."

The table became silent as every person began concentrating on eating their dinner, or in Mike's case, concentrated on eating anything that wasn't green.

"How are you related to them?" asked Aria. Her tone was both curious and demanding, and both of her parents were surprised that she was being so forceful.

"They were my grandparents," answered Ezra after a moment. "My maternal grandparents."

Aria said very little after that, picking at her food and eyeing the clock behind Mike's head. As soon as she could, she ran upstairs to her room and buried her face in her pillow.

Aria spent the rest of her summer slowly healing from the devastation of the Springers' deaths. As a young thirteen-year-old who had never dealt with loss or death before, Ella thought she was doing remarkably well. Her mother noticed her appetite grew and she became more talkative. She helped out, little by little, more and more around the house. She began to read more books, books other than To Kill a Mockingbird, and she began to play with her friends again.

Byron thought Aria was doing much better than she had been, and her life was returning to its previous pace. He noticed his daughter was much more ready to smile and laugh and that she seemed to be enjoying the company of others, her constant need for solitude slowly fading. The more Byron thought about it, the more he was ready to conclude that Aria's new burst of energy and health had to do with their new neighbor. Ezra seemed like a nice young man, and he was patient with both Aria and Mike. He was always ready to join in a friendly game a basketball with Mike, and Aria spent her summer reading Of Mice and Men, a book lent to her by Ezra. A part of Byron hoped that this meant that Ezra would stay longer than the school year, another part of him wondered why such a vibrant young man would want to settle in Rosewood and live in the house his grandparents owned.

As for Ezra, he enjoyed his new life in Rosewood, and his visit with his new neighbors, who seemed, more and more, like they were becoming friends. He was at an awkward age where he was at a different stage in life than the Montgomery children but not old enough to have the same struggles and pleasures as the Montgomery parents. But this in-between stage allowed him to become close to both halves of the family, he thought as time passed by. Mike was like a younger brother or nephew that always wanted to tag along or do something with him. Although sometimes annoying, it was often endearing, and Ezra gave into his requests more often than not. As for Aria, the quiet, dark-haired teenager, she was like a cousin or a good friend. She was much more mature than he had originally realized, and much more sophisticated in her literature choices than he had ever thought. There were times when the nine-year age gap was barely noticeable, times when she browsed in the study or journaled as she rocked on her porch swing. But there were also times when the age difference was palpable, like when she asked to read in the tree house or when she told him about his new students.

As summer faded, and in its twilight, new schedules and habits were formed, Aria went over to Ezra's house one last time, to return the last book she had borrowed. She found him sitting in the living room, a bottle of brandy open on the coffee table and a half-drunk glass next to it.

"Are you okay?" she asked him uncertainly as she sat in the easy chair across from him.

"I'm fine," he sighed, giving her a weak smile. She noticed that there was stubble on his chin and his eyes looked anxious.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with school starting tomorrow, would it?" prodded Aria gently. "My mom said it was your first teaching job." She watched as Ezra finished the glass of brandy in one drink and then refilled it.

"Honestly," he sighed looking at her, "I'm terrified."

"Really?" Aria was bewildered and leaned back in her chair in confusion. "Why? You don't have to worry about Mona Vanderwaal following you around or Jenna Marshall hitting you with a volleyball during gym."

Ezra chuckled harshly and took another gulp of his drink. "I wish those were my problems," he answered sincerely. "I'm more worried that no one will listen to me or that somehow I'll mess it all up."

"I didn't know teachers thought that way," responded Aria, giving him a hard look.

"You mom never says any of this?" asked Ezra curiously.

"I mean, she has said sort of things like that," amended Aria. "But she's my mom."

"Moms are people, too," said Ezra between drinks, "and so are teachers."

"I think," began Aria hesitantly before clearing her voice and beginning again. "I think you'll be fine. I like you, and I listen to you. I'm sure everyone else will too." She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before beginning. "But watch out for Melissa Hastings. She's Spencer's sister. She likes to answer questions nobody can answer. And there's Jason DiLaurentis, he's Spencer's neighbor. He's a big party boy who never does his homework. And Ian Thomas, he's a typical jock. They're all in twelfth grade."

"Anybody else I should know about?" asked Ezra, intrigued by her insight and interested in what she would say next.

Aria thought hard for a moment and then continued. "There's Garrett Reynolds. He's broody and secretive. You never know what he's really thinking."

"How do you know so much?" asked Ezra, topping off his latest glass.

"Rosewood is a small town. There's a lot you can find out just by paying attention." She shrugged. "I wanted to give this back to you," continued Aria handing him a copy of Of Mice and Men. "I really enjoyed it. Thanks."

"What did you like about it?" asked Ezra, setting aside his drink and forgetting the bottle of brandy all together. Before he knew it, he and Aria were engrossed in a debate and his worries about the next day were temporarily forgotten.

June 23, 2007

We have a new neighbor. I didn't know how it would feel when someone moved in next door. I thought it would feel like the final nail in the coffin, like the last little piece I could hold on to was taken away. This feeling in the pit of my stomach, it doesn't feel like that. It feels fluttery, like butterflies. It feels like something is beginning instead of ending.

I miss Grandma and Grandpa Springer so much. They were the only grandparents I ever knew. I can still taste the chocolate pie Grandma used to make and smell the smoke from Grandpa's cigarettes. I wonder if the inside of the house looks different or it still looks the same.

I hope this new person loved Grandma and Grandpa. He is getting their house, and all their things. There are things that Grandma and Grandpa showed me that should be kept safe. I know they never expected to die in that car accident, but it still hurts that they left without saying good-bye. If they could only have said good-bye maybe everything would have been better. Can we say hello if we've never said good-bye?