Spencer
I reached for the bag that Mona had smuggled in. It held a mobile phone, already set up to be as anonymous as possible. Along with that, there was the now-infamous black hoodie and a pair of black gloves. I wondered briefly about the operating system the A-team used – did they buy them in bulk for recruiting new members?
Just looking at them made my throat tighten with dread and I had to resist the urge to throw the whole bag out of the window, bury the items where they'd eventually become useless and decay over time.
But no, it was too risky. There might still be prints on the bag and things inside. Even if there weren't, surely security cameras could prove useful. It was like some sort of welcome pack, the sort one might get when they joined up to a club or sports team. My words rang in my head, telling Mona I was in, and I choked back a laugh at the mental image of several figures in black hoodies playing hockey.
There was a gentle knock at the door and I hid the A gear under the bed, fixing a coherent expression on my face and letting the nurse hand me the medicine. I let the pills slip into my hand and smiled at the nurse, who smiled back before leaving.
As I'd told the girls in the therapy circle the other day, it'd been nice not being Spencer Hastings for a while. Now, I thought about the irony: I'd gone from Spencer to Jane Doe, not wanting to give out a name or personal details. From Jane Doe, to an A.
Oh God.
Still, what did I have to lose? Mona seemed to be adapting her new personality, based on my own. It still got on my nerves when I remembered her polished, poised face, opposite me at the Academic Decathlon. Her, answering the questions as easily as I did. Even when I corrected her, she didn't flicker. And then, she began answering and correcting my own questions.
How in hell was I supposed to work alongside her?
You're a Hastings, I reminded myself. Suck it up and do the work you've said you'll do. Besides, she might have information on who that girl in the red coat is.
Yes, I would do that. I would get through the tasks, no matter how bad, and, when alone, hunt for operation. Surely there was some way to get necessary information: credit card details, tracking addresses. It wasn't much different to the sort of things I'd been doing already – just that this was staying secret from the others.
My first task was to kidnap Malcolm from the after-school classes. I'd also received a flyer for the carnival – I'd leave it for Aria to find. Thinking about the process calmed me: I hated myself for abducting a seven-year-old, and Aria's pseudo-stepson at that. God only knew what else I'd have to do.
Mona had told me about the thrill of putting on the black hoodie and gloves and realizing she could be anyone. I didn't see how she could say it, didn't see how she could look herself in the mirror as A. Did she? Maybe she was just saying it to test me. I'd been watching her expression, but it seemed that she was a much better actor than I'd given her credit for.
It didn't matter how thrilling or riveting or fascinating it might be to look at yourself and see a menacing stalker. There were no mirrors in my bare room, and I couldn't risk finding a mirror just to see.
I yanked the heavy hoodie on, pulling back the sleeves and then dragging gloves on, adjusting them as needed. I was grateful for the lack of mirror: I couldn't see what I'd become. A moment of panic later – I don't want to do this, I can't do this – I was ready to go, cellphone in hand and unwillingly grateful that Mona had charged it.
Keeping my head down, I headed for the exit as Mona taught me, and tried not to dwell on what else I might have to do.