So I'm guessing that, A without her cell phone is like Batman without his utility belt—they're both powerless and just normal people after that.
I mean, come on, does Batman even have any powers? Besides the one where he's like, the emoest person on the planet? Whatever, though. Maybe a better example would be Spiderman. Without his super powers, he's powerless and unable to spin that sticky web stuff. But really, all Spiderman has to do is climb things.
Still, though, I felt pretty powerless and drained when I walked out of math class. Without my phone, I just felt like…a loser. A normal person. A pedestrian (yeah I know I'm one of the most popular girls at Rosewood Day, now shut up).
And it didn't feel really great.
"So, wanna come over tonight?" Hannah asked me as we walked towards the Locker. The Locker is where me and Hannah store extra makeup, foundation, skin care products, emergency outfits, sunglasses, lip balm, our hand mirrors, and a pretty shiny amount of jewelry for emergency use only—and it's fucking amazing. At the beginning of the year we asked the school if we could pay for another locker to share, just in case we both 'ran out of room'. Now we have a totally awesome Locker, worth three dollars every week, which Hannah and I take turns paying.
"Can't. Shopping with mom after school." I quickly made up a lie to cover up my real plans (following Aria home after school). Hannah didn't take the bait, though. Pity.
"Oh, I could come too, you know!" Hannah swirled our Locker combo, then popped it open.
When I say the Locker is amazing, it is really freaking. Amazing.
We decorated it with a mix between both of our tastes—totally prep-girl for Hannah, and totally Gothic Lolita for me. White, pink, and black lace outlines the entire thing, with sparkly pink wallpaper we got from the nearest department store lining the walls. There are photographs of Hannah and I everywhere on the thing—it's like a memorabilia of our entire lives together. And oh, it reeks with our favorite perfume—Fleur Di Lis.
"Ugh, no thanks. You know, you should lie down low from the stores for a while. In case they think you'll steal another pair of sunglasses." I knew that hitting her sore spot—stealing those sunglasses—would make her change her mind.
Hannah froze for a second, her eyes turning dark, as if remembering something unpleasant. I waited for her to say something.
Still remembering that cop, Hannah? I wanted to say it out loud, with a smirk and a flourish of innocent eyelash-batting, perhaps, but too bad for me; Mona didn't know about the cop, A did. So I stayed silent.
"…yeah, you're probably right," Hannah murmured, and she quickly grabbed a nice shade of lip gloss and applied it on herself, checking the mini-mirror we had glued to the wall. I grabbed a scarlet scarf from one of the Locker's hooks—last season's, but whatever. It was really freaking cute.
Hannahkins applied some finishing touches—spraying herself with some kind of powdery scent, dabbing a tiny amount of glitter at her eyes (see, Aria, that's how you use glitter properly), and then she slammed the Locker shut with a flourish.
I'm Hannah, and I'm fabulous. I smirked when I was reminded of her favorite saying.
Well, Hannah, you're in for a surprise tonight.
.x.
Following Aria home was no problem. I mean, it's not like we live very far away from each other or anything, and Aria's mind was too preoccupied with the upcoming marriage split than to pay attention to what was around her. Actually, all four of them have that problem.
It's probably one of the reasons they haven't caught A yet.
The other reason is that I am A, and, well, that's pretty self-explanatory.
(I AM SO PLEASED WITH MYSELF.)
Anyway, I texted my mom (on my completely useless Mona cell phone, ugh) to let her know that I was at Hannah's for dinner. Then, instead of taking the bus like I usually do, I ran after Aria, who was riding her bike home that day (I'm guessing she likes the exercise). I groaned when I realized what I was wearing—Dolce's leather heels. No way was I going to be able to follow Aria on a quick trail with her on a bike and me on the road with three-inch heels.
Next time, wear Converse. I thought to myself furiously, as I silently made my way through the school's shrubbery. Aria was busy unlocking her bike from the bicycle stand. She quickly fastened her backpack straps to her shoulders, hooked one leg over her bike, and then split.
Show time.
I hurriedly hooked my messenger backpack, the one containing my laptop, camera, and the space that used to hold my freaking cell phone, tightly onto my shoulder, then quickly and silently followed her through the main school entrance, managing to duck past security cameras (I don't know why Rosewood Day wastes money on those when we can't even have reliable Internet) and a couple of freshmen. A would have thought through this correctly. A would have made no mistakes. A would have brought freaking Converse.
But then again, A didn't have her cell phone.
Without his powers, Spiderman's just an ordinary person. Without her cell phone, A's just an ordinary stalker.
.x.
Aria didn't have a long ride.
But I had a very, very long walk.
By the time I had reached Aria's place, my feet had blisters on them from running on heels (ugh, never again, I promise you), I was breathing heavily (which didn't help for my 'silent stalker' alter ego), and my messenger bag felt like it weighed as much as Hannah did before she became bulimic.
I am so going to sue myself for this one day.
Aria, with a screech of bicycle wheels, parked her bike at her driveway and ran inside her house. I looked around, making sure no neighbors were watching the insane-looking girl with messed up hair and bleeding feet stalk Aria Montgomery.
Yeah, I didn't feel so hot at the time. But cut me a break, okay?
Anyways, after making sure nobody was peeking through windows or jogging with their pet doggy, I quickly made my way past the Montgomery lawn, through the patio, and into the backyard. I figured I had a better chance of sneaking inside the house and not getting caught when I was in the back of the house, instead of the front (which, I guess, is the most basic of basics when it comes to breaking into some random person's home).
I studied the back wall of the house. On one end, there was one of those criss-cross white things that had tomato vines crawling up the sides, scaling the entire back wall. On the other end, there was a striped green and white awning that I guess was for picnics. I don't actually know, but it didn't really matter.
The built-in vine-holder was my best choice.
Huffing, I quickly pulled my messenger bag over my head and plopped it onto the ground, hearing my laptop and camera clank together as they collided. I quickly tied my mussed and sweaty hear into a ponytail, then took a deep breath.
Kids, don't try this at home.
Instead, stalk a random girl to her house and do it there.
.x.
Climbing up vines is not easy. Oh yeah, and it's even better when you're in heels.
I made a vow to myself that day: never, ever WEAR MY FREAKING DOLCE'S HEELS WHILE STALKING SOMEONE.
If you thought I was mad about my heels before, then you've got nothing on me the fifteen minutes after.
My god.
My feet were skinned, blistered, bleeding, and raw. Halfway up the wall I reached a balcony, took off my heels, and chucked them furiously at the ground. Then I continued the rest of the way up without those god-awful shoes.
Apparently, being A isn't always so glamorous, you see. You have to put your heels on hold for a minute and climb vines (like Tarzan, ew) when your cell phone gets taken away.
(I DEMAND A REFUND.)
So there I was, in my freaking short-short skirt and my heelless feet, with my hair tangled and my fingers rubbed raw from clinging onto nothing but branches for an entire half hour, when I heard a girl crying from one of the bedroom windows.
Let me remind you that this is Rosewood, Pennsylvania. Where all that glitters is gold and where all the girls have the latest seasons from Covergirl made, packed, and delivered straight to their closets the night before.
Where all the houses are huge (and, apparently, have painfully thick vines to crawl up on).
It was near a window where I heard Aria crying in her room. I quickly stepped onto the ledge, my feet screaming with relief once I placed them gently on a cool surface. I had to be careful so that Aria wouldn't see me.
Gaining a steady balance on the white ledge, I propped my elbows up onto the windowsill and rested my head in my arms. I had to stand on tiptoe to see inside, but it was worth it.
I peeked through the window, and, behold! There was Aria. Sitting on her bed, a box of tissues in one hand and the other covering her face. Near the background, I could hear her parents shouting at each other below the stairs.
Aria's overdone glitter makeup was smudged and her mascara wrecked; she looked a mess. I wondered if she ever washed all that gothic-looking makeup off of her face.
I smirked, despite the pain I was in, at the thought of a clown-faced Aria. Big, red lips, painted-on smile, tons of white makeup drizzling down her face as she sobbed about her parents. Always being forced to smile, with paint and makeup on her face. She'd make an ugly clown. I needed to text her about this new clown idea. Maybe I could even give Aria a nickname, like the one I gave Hannahkins. Clowny.
I quickly grabbed my cell phone from my pocket—or attempted to, at least.
Attempted is a big word, here.
Because my cell phone…wasn't in my pocket.
…
…it wasn't in my pocket.
I cursed out loud.
"FUCK."
Aria's head whipped up.
Now, before you start thinking that I'm a total idiot and nearly as stupid as Ali was, let me justify my stupid actions.
First of all, I was high up, on a vine, for Pete's sake, trying to stalk a girl without a cell phone. Um, can you say adrenaline raise? Adrenaline's up and running, a whole batch of hormones rush in, and anything as small as an ant (or in this case, a lost cell phone) can shock you.
Secondly, hey, I'm A, okay? To me, not having my cell phone is like being sustained on life support. Call me a retard or whatever, but I just can't live without my phone.
Third of all: I just flat-out panicked, okay?
Aria probably suspected that A would be watching her. After all, all four of the girls have been hilariously paranoid ever since A had started circling around them. I had to give Aria her credit, though; she was right to be freaked out.
"Who's there?" her trembling voice echoed through the house. She screamed.
Loudly.
"Aria!" her brother Mike came rushing up the steps. Her parents, forgetting about their fight, raced up the stairs to their daughter.
Aria was nearing the window. "Who's there?" she shrieked again, and this time, I did the only thing I could.
I let go.
Of the window ledge.
.x.
Oh come on, I had to.
If I hadn't, Aria would have caught me, seen that I was A, and then probably would have had an aneurysm and died of shock or something. Her parents would have called the cops. I would have been questioned, arrested, and I would have lost my cover. A.
I would have lost A.
And A was everything, to me—my identity, my purpose, my reason for tormenting.
So, I had to let go.
Falling is pretty nice, anyway.
Falling backwards, especially.
Let me make this clear: I'm not scared of falling. I'm scared of when I stop falling. But still, just because the two-second drop leads to a scary final destination doesn't mean that I couldn't enjoy any of it.
So for the first second, I pretty much realized that I was no longer standing on tiptoe on Aria's balcony, and that a blur of blue sky and wind and trees and grass awaited me. The air smelled nice and fresh and it was whistling past my ears and—HOLY CRAP I'M DEAD.
For the second second (HAH! A pun! I do like those…), I basically just…blanked out.
Yeah, that's right. All that crap about seeing your life flash before your eyes in dangerous, possibly life-ending situations that are also sometimes caused by stupidity (ahem)? Yeah, it's a lie. I basically just saw the world spin a little, and then—WHAM!
There I was, on the ground.
…Okay, so when I said that I blanked out while I was falling, when I hit the ground, I blanked out even more. If that's even possible.
I dizzily sat up and rubbed my head, mentally checking to make sure everything was in place. That no limbs were broken, that I hadn't crushed a bone or punctured an eye or anything—when I heard Aria talking above me.
"There was someone at my window!"
"Aria, are you alright? Check outside, who was it?" her parents fretted over her. I saw Mike's silhouette through the curtains and I knew that I only had about one second.
Luckily, having survived the fall, adrenaline and nerves made me act quickly. I jumped up, grabbed my discarded heels in one hand and my bag in the other, and jumped into the bushes, tangling my hair in the process. I peeked through a gap in the leaves, watching as Mike's sharp eyes scanned the entire backyard.
"There's no one there, sis. Are you sure you weren't just imagining it?"
"No! I heard something! I swear! It was a person outside my window!" Aria marched up to her brother and pulled open her drapes, her eyes frantically scanning the area.
Oh, if only she knew…
"Aria, there's no one there. No one's here to hurt you. And," her mother turned towards her father, "we have important business to discuss."
That seemed to distract Aria a little bit.
"Well…" Aria looked over her shoulder, her eyes still searching and frightened. They slid over my bush, nearly catching me trying to untangle my hair. I stilled my hand and froze when she looked over.
"…alright, then. You guys can…go back to talking." Aria and her family filed out of her room. I counted to twenty in my head, then rolled out of the bushes, still examining my body for anything that could have been broken.
My dress was torn and smudged with dirt. My hair was tangled from the bush's brambles. My feet and hands were still stiff and sore, and that really didn't help the fact that I felt like an idiot. A stupid, reckless, cell-phone-tard idiot.
I really, really, really hate my life.
