he following excerpt is from the Rosewood Citizenship Guide, issued by Rosewood City Council on the 5th April 1962. It outlines the most significant laws in the Rosewood Manifesto:

-One must not not stay out after Curfew.
-One must not abuse illicit substances.
-One must not speak out against the authority.
-One must not have sexual intercourse before/outside of marriage.
-One must not purchase a plane, boat, or bus ticket.
-One must not watch the following films (see back of book).
-One must not read the following books (see back of book).
-One must not host any unauthorised, informal event.
-Students must not miss school.
-One must not learn a new language beyond their native tongue.
-One must always look their best.
-One must leave their house at least once a day.
-One must abide the Alarms.
For full list, see pages 345 to 362, or visit .

The consequences of breaking any one of these laws is determined on a Two Strike basis.
_

"You shouldn't be having salt, dad," Spencer reprimanded her father, watching him sprinkle a drizzle of salt onto his bacon. It was the early morning - outside, birds sang, a car hummed, and the wind whispered through the leaves. Honeyed light swept aside the curtains, forming puddles on the floor of the Hasting's sitting room, and at the table, for what felt like the millionth time, Spencer urged her father to stop eating salt. And like every other time, Peter looked up, put a finger to his lips and said, "Sh. Don't tell your mother."
Her elbows on the table, Spencer pushed her fingers through the roots of her hair and sighed.
"Fine," she blew away a lone strand of hair that hung limply in her face, "but make sure you take your medication. Or I will tell mom."
Almost in disbelief, Peter laughed and shook his head. "Don't you have school to attend?" He asked.
"Yes," Spencer agreed, "but I intend to have breakfast first." As if to prove a point, she reached for the charred piece of toast resting on the cooling rack, and began to lather butter on it. When she put it to her mouth, it tasted like ash, crumbling on her tongue, burning up her insides. With disgust, Spencer set the toast back down on her plate.
"You know?" She said, "I think I'll get something to eat at the Brew. A coffee too."
"Not so fast," a voice cut through the air. Veronica was striding towards them, her footsteps falling in the pool of light, distorting and fragmenting it. Hastily, Peter swept the salt boat aside and smiled at his wife. Veronica pretended not to notice.
"Good morning," he said nonchalantly.
"Good morning," Veronica replied. "Spencer, before you go to school I need to ask something of you."
Spencer turned around in her seat, carefully dropping her school bag back onto the floor as she did so.
"Yes?"
"Don't talk to our new neighbour, please."
"Mom, I don't even know what he looks like. Why would I talk to him?"
Veronica spread her arms, "I don't know," she enthused, "it's a small town. I heard he's retaking his senior year at RHS. If he comes towards you, go the other way. I don't want that family or that boy anywhere near ours. Understood?"
"Sure mom," Spencer said tiredly, "I don't even know what he looks like, but sure."

As it turned out, it was pretty easy to spot Toby Cavanaugh, regardless of whether Spencer knew what he looked like or not. It seemed that it hadn't been just her parents who'd warned their child to stay away from the boy, and the poor kid had a five foot radius of empty space wherever he went. Spencer couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He didn't look dangerous and unstable. When she looked at him, all Spencer saw was a sad, lost boy, who'd been cheated by the world itself.
Her friends, apparently, did not share that opinion.
"God, would you look at him," Hanna commented that lunchtime, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Can't believe they even let him into the school. He looks dangerous."
Alison snorted. "He looks like one of those hairless cats. It's pathetic." All traces of the lost girl from last night seemed to be gone, apparently. Spencer's eyebrows shot up, and she turned to look at Ali.
"I don't think he looks that dangerous. Or pathetic." She sniffed and waved her fork at Alison, "And what makes you say he looks like a hairless cat?" She challenged. Since that morning, the mood between Ali and Spencer had been, though not exactly frigid, anything but warm and fuzzy. More tepid. Or like the hairless cat Alison was describing. In response, Ali shrugged.
"He's just so pitiful. Like something that had the opportunity to be beautiful, but couldn't quite manage."
"Well," Spencer smiled at Ali, "welcome to the real world."

The last lesson on Spencer's timetable was English, as was Aria, Emily and Hanna's. As usual, they walked there together, but today, there was a shift in the atmosphere between them. There was something of frayed nerves and anticipation and a string of anxiety linking them together. Taking this all in, Spencer couldn't help but wonder how one boy alone could cause such fear throughout the corridors. Yes, he'd been to Juvie - he'd gotten a Strike. But so had Spencer, and the treatment she'd received had been nowhere near as dramatic. When she'd had a Strike scored across her name, when she'd come into school with sunken eyes and frazzled hair and a distorted mind; when she'd disappeared those few days and everyone knew why and - No. Spencer would not, could not think about that. No, she'd already built that nice tall wall between before and after, and she did not have the intention of finding ways over it now.

"... We can compare this to William Golding's Lord of the Flies," Ezra Fitz was saying, "Similarly to Ralph's persistence in being good, but getting sometimes roped into his peer's wrongdoings, Hamlet is an anti-hero, who despite being a bad person is, for the purpose of the story line, portrayed as a hero." He paced up and down before the blackboard, his hands moving exaggeratedly, punctuating his every point. They were studying Shakespeare's Hamlet, this semester, a subject that usually was Spencer's favourite. However, today, she found it could not hold her focus, no matter how hard she tried. She pinned her eyes on Mr Fitz, and tried to concentrate on his words. Still, she found it quite impossible - like trying to understand a foreign language.
"Hey," someone nudged Spencer, "can I borrow a pen? Mine's leaked all over me."
Lucas Gottesman was looking expectantly at her, one hand holding her desk, the other an exploded ballpoint. Ugh.
"Oh, um," she sighed and began to root through her pencil case. There was little that annoyed her more than unprepared classmates stealing her nice, expensive pens, yet it was a request one couldn't really turn down. Still, just because she was already irritated, and this only fuelled her annoyance, or maybe because she just didn't really like Lucas anyway, but after a moment of contemplation, she handed him the crappy biro she'd found on the floor of the chem lab last week. Then, trying to ignore her increasingly fraying nerves, she switched her attention back to the class, and tried to discern how they had gone from talking about Hamlet's villainous qualities, to discussing last night's headlines.
After what seemed like an interminable hour, the bell signalling the end of the school day finally went. At the desk behind her, Hanna sighed happily. "Finally," she told Spencer, the brush of clothes against desk audible as she stood up, "A sound by any other name would smell as sweet."
Spencer rolled her eyes, throwing her textbook into her bag. "That's Romeo and Juliet, not Hamlet," she said condescendingly, "and how can a sound smell?"
She could almost hear Hanna shrug behind her.
"Same thing - they're both by the same dead guy writing boring plays in incorrect English."
Spencer swung her bag onto her shoulders and gasped.
"How could you even say that?" She demanded, turning on Hanna, "have you even thought about how significant he must be for his legacy to carry on thus far? He - he - his plays are beautiful and insightful. And like all great literature, they boil down to the best themes: love, tragedy, and comedy. I don't comprehend-"
"-Spence," Hanna interjected, and pointed behind Spencer, to where Mr Fitz was audibly laughing. "We have to leave. Come on guys."
"Actually," Fitz broke in, "could I borrow Aria please?"
The girls exchanged knowing glances, and Aria just smiled, "Don't wait up guys," she said, "I'll see you later."

It was only later on, when Spencer was walking past the church, that she remembered: she was meant to tell Aria about the doll. A groan ripped itself from Spencer's chest, so loud that Pastor Ted, working on the plants outside the church, looked up in alarm.
"Spencer?" He called out to her, "are you okay?"
"Fine," she snapped as she breezed past him. Oh well, she could tell Aria tomorrow. She couldn't exactly right now - at this moment, Aria was most likely pressed against Fitz, her lips too occupied to pick up the phone. Spencer shuddered slightly, feeling a little guilty at the intrusive thought.
"Spencer?" Pastor Ted called again.
Mid step, Spencer turned to face him, forcing a small smile on her face.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine," Spencer worried at the buttons on her blazer but continued smiling, "I'm sorry for raising my voice."
Ted took his hand off his shovel and waved them dismissively, "don't worry about it," he assured her.
"What are you planting then?"
The Pastor tapped his nose.
"It's a secret."

When finally, after her meeting with Pastor Ted and her purchase of another coffee in the Brew, Spencer pulled up outside her house, the road was quiet and tranquil. Cup of caffeine in hand, she pushed open the door of her car and stepped out into the crisp sunshine. It was the best kind of Winter day, where the sky was blue and the sun still shone, but the air felt cold and clean and beautiful. It was one of those days, where one's breath tumbled from one's lips, visible and stark against the barren trees and the cornflower blue wash of the buildings in vicinity, and one of those days too, where the smell of rain and snow hung in the air like a shawl.
A sudden movement from across the street made Spencer start. Squinting into the sunlight, she peered down the road, curiosity pecking away at her.
"Hello?" She asked, surprised that any neighbours would be stood outside on their front porch now.
"Hi," A tentative voice answered a few seconds later. Spencer frowned, leaning ever so slightly forwards as though that would help her see. But there was nothing there. Nothing but trees and houses and blinding sunlight spraying out in all directions.
Then she saw it, the silhouette of a boy standing a few doors down, staring at her. Toby. Spencer stifled a gasp. She knew it was horrible - she knew it was wrong and inexcusable, but without another word, she frantically yanked her keys out and made haste to open the door of her gate. In a matter of seconds she had darted behind it, safe and sound.
_

Toby watched the girl disappear behind her gate, a sick feeling in his stomach. It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair at all.
All he wanted was one person. One person to look at him as who he really was. To be his friend. And yet no one would even bother to get to know him, before running away. Like this girl. Her neighbour, who he'd never talked to in his life. She'd scurried away behind a large wall and the comfort of an even larger house, and all he'd said was "hi." So it saddened him, the fact that his chances at having a friend was slipping away through his fingers with every new person he met. And not to mention the fact that the girl was the most beautiful person he had yet to behold in Rosewood.
Quickly, Toby had come to realise how much appearances mattered in this town. Not only physical appearances even, but how one acted; behaved - how their resume looked. To these people, it didn't matter that he'd been proven innocent of his crime. All that mattered was that at some stage in his life, he had stood behind a pair of metal bars, and that was all they saw. And it was all they ever would see.
Toby glanced down at the copy of the Rosewood Citizenship Guide in his lap.
Strike one.