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Aria looked outside her bedroom window into the house next door. Pushing aside the curtain with her hand, she leaned against the glass and stared. The grass was getting greener, the flowers were beginning to bloom, and the sun was coming out after an entire night of howling winds and endless rain. She sighed and rested her forehead against the windowpane. The red brick of the house next door seemed unusually bright, and the blue trim cheery. That house used to be such a pleasant place.

"Fitzgerald?" echoed Aria dumbly. She sat up in the bed, startled, as if she were just coming to realize how scantily dressed she was. She pulled the sheets up around her and edged away from Ezra. "What do you mean Fitzgerald? Why are you telling me this now?" Her voice was laced with fear, and Ezra winced when he heard it.

"I truncate my name, my family's name. It makes it easier in the real world to live anonymously, not reminding people everything that my family has."

"What do you mean Fitzgerald?" she repeated, stunned. "Fitzgerald endowment for the arts? Fitzgerald preservation fund? Fitzgerald scholarship award?"

He nodded in shame. "Guilty."

Panic alighted in Aria's eyes. "Your family doesn't have money. Your family has money."

"I don't have family left anymore. Except for you and yours." He looked at her hopefully.

"I'm sorry. I have to go." Aria shoved the sheets off of her and picked her shorts up off the floor. Ezra watched as she zipped up her jacket and then put her shoes on.

"Aria, don't leave," he begged. "Please. Don't go."

She turned to him, and he could tell that her fear had become anger. "Don't. I came here willing to give you everything, everything. I didn't care that it made me feel like I was some cheap tramp who wanted to sleep with her teacher. I didn't care that tomorrow morning I was going to feel used and dirty," she paused and then continued, enunciating every word, "because I love you." She shook her head. "Now," she swallowed and looked away. "You were the one person who had never lied to me, until now."

"Aria," he called out softly, longingly.

"No, Ezra," she said firmly, her ire brewing beneath the surface. "You don't get to do that anymore." She turned around and walked away, into the torrential storm that blew outside, extremely underdressed and unprepared for the rain and wind that would engulf her as soon as she set foot outside the door. He wanted to grab her and hold her close. Instead, he watched as she walked away from him and into the night.

Aria watched as her next door neighbor walked into his backyard to survey the damage. Tree branches were everywhere, and so were pieces of smooth wood and nails. The tree house her neighbor's grandfather had built had been destroyed in the storm. It was laying in pieces, shattered by natural forces.

Aria let the curtain fall back into place, and crawled into her bed. She had spent most of her night crying, and it seemed she would spend most of her day burrowed under her bedcovers. He had deceived her. he had lied to her, and not for a little while either. He had lied to her for years…and he had known what he was doing.

"Sweetheart?" called Ella, knocking on the door before entering her daughter's room. She surveyed the scene before her and sighed softly. She sat on the edge of Aria's bed. "He told you didn't he?" Aria flipped around and faced the wall in response. Ella stroked her back. "He didn't want to tell you. He didn't want the harshness and struggles of his world to touch you." Aria was silent in response. "He loves you, you know that." Ella paused for a moment. "You should give him a chance to explain himself." Ella sighed again before getting up and walking to the door. She turned in the doorway and faced her daughter. "Don't give up on him just yet," she said before walking into the hallway.

Aria lied still in her bed for several moments pondering her mother's words. Then, she grabbed the cell phone on her nightstand and called someone. The phone rang several times, but no one answered. Aria left a message. "Hi. It's Aria. I know we haven't talked in a while, but I would like to get together. Maybe for a cup of coffee or something? Call me. Bye."

She fingered the phone in her hands for a moment before putting it back on the nightstand, where a picture of her and Ezra sat. She put the picture face down with a thud and pulled her comforter over her head in mourning.

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"Aria, are you okay?" asked Emily. She peered into her friends face, half-covered with sunglasses, noting her unstyled hair and lips void of lipstick.

"I'll be fine, Em," answered Aria woodenly, rifling through her locker.

"It doesn't have to do with, well, you know," Emily gestured in the direction of Ezra's classroom.

"It might," said Aria matter-of-factly, closing her locker with a bang. The pair started walking down the hall together as Aria took a sip of her coffee.

Emily sighed. "What happened?"

Aria shook her head. "I can't tell you, not yet. I need some time to process." She paused in consideration. "He lied to me," she finally said.

"Oh, Aria," exclaimed Emily.

"Yeah," was the tiny girl's lackluster response.

Emily was silent for a moment as they continued down the hallway, their pace slow and unrushed.

"Maya, you didn't know her. She went to school here while you were in Iceland. Maya was my first girlfriend. She lied to me too. It got her into trouble, especially when my mom discovered weed in her backpack."

"What happened?" asked Aria, her interest piqued.

"My mom told her parents and she got shipped off to military school."

"I'm so sorry, Em," said Aria sympathetically.

Emily furrowed her eyebrows and looked down at her friend. "The point is, Ar, that we don't stop loving people because they do bad things. We love them in spite of that."

The girls walked into their first period classroom, and Aria sat down in her customary spot, one row over from the windows, Emily next to her, and watched as Ezra began class.

He cleared his throat. "So," he began. "We've been reading Murdoch's The Bell. It has a lot of misplaced passion among the characters, people loving people they shouldn't, men and women marrying each other when they are not at all compatible. And in the middle of all of this is Toby. In a sense, this novel is about a coming-of-age story of Toby, and even Dora. But what does that mean coming-of-age?" Ezra wrote the phrase on the board, the chalk making a squeaking sound as he underlined it. "You guys are about Toby's age. You're thinking about going to college or not going to college, what do with the rest of your lives. I want you to spend the class period writing about the coming-of-age in your own lives. Was there a big event that happened? Is it something that occurred gradually? You have until the bell rings, and you must turn in what you have written."

The class got out sheets of notebook paper and their pens and pencils and started writing, but Aria watched as she looked at Ezra. He stared straight back at her.

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"Thanks for meeting me," said Aria, sliding into her seat at The Brew. She tried to smile, but she couldn't.

"I must say," answered Simone, "that I was surprised to hear from you. It's been a long time."

"It has," said Aria. "Did you hear about Iceland?"

"Yeah, my mom told me," replied Simone politely. She eyed Aria. "You sure have grown up."

"Oh," answered Aria awkwardly. "I guess I have. I'm nearly eighteen. How about you? What have you been up to lately?"

Simone's face broke into a grin. "I'm engaged," she said proudly, displaying her left hand for Aria to see.

"Wow," said Aria, "that's quite the rock."

"Isn't it?" gushed Simone. "His name is Wren. He's a doctor."

"Sounds wonderful."

"It is." Simone took a sip of her coffee. "But I'm guessing that you didn't ask me here to hear about my fiancé."

"Actually," Aria let out a breath. "This is awkward. I wanted to ask you about Ezra. I know I have no right to ask you about your ex-boyfriend. But he has put me, I mean my family, in a delicate situation."

"Okay, sure," Simone shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"Is Ezra a good guy?"

Simone studied Aria for a while, and the girl cowered slightly under her scrutiny. "He did not treat me as well as he could have, but I can say without a doubt that Ezra Fitz is a good man."

Aria nodded slightly. "What makes you say that?"

"Do you know why Ezra and I broke up?" returned Simone curiously. "You were always going over there in those days to read in the tree house or talk to him about books. You and Ezra had seemed really close."

Aria hesitated. "I remember him telling…he told me that he didn't love you. He got drunk because of it, you know, and Ezra never gets drunk."

"He never loved me," said Simone matter-of-factly. "After we had dated for a while, I thought that we should move in together. He said he could never do that with someone he truly didn't love."

"What do you mean?" asked Aria, fingering her necklace, Mrs. Springer's diamond angel.

"Ezra loves selectively, but when he does love, he loves hard, and he loves well. There is nothing he wouldn't do for someone he loves, including keeping things from them for their own good."

Aria's head shot up. "Why? Did he keep something from you?"

Simone shook her head. "No I think he was lying to himself about who he really had feelings for."

"Who do you think he loved?"

Simone looked at Aria carefully in the eye, but made no reply.

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The Montgomery family sat silently and uneasily at the table. They quietly chewed their food and swallowed, taking sips of their drinks every now and then. Forks and knives dinged on porcelain plates. Mike's chair squeaked as he shifted uncomfortably in it. Ella and Byron eyed each other from across the table before Ella took a large gulp of her wine. Byron sighed and took another bite of his potatoes. Mike glanced at the adults around the table before his gaze lingered on his sister; he wondered why everyone was so quiet and tense when Ezra was over for dinner. Ezra dinners were usually fun and festive occasions. Aria and Ezra eyed each other uneasily. Aria's gaze was challenging and Ezra's guilty.

"What's going on?" asked Mike in a way that expected to receive an answer.

"Did anyone tell Mike?" returned Aria loudly, her voice edgy and high-pitched. She took a drink before setting it down on the table with a thud, water sloshing over the edges of the glass.

"Tell me what?" demanded Mike looking around the table.

"Ezra?" prompted Aria harshly.

Ezra glanced at either end of the table, at Ella and Byron, before clearing his throat. "I'm sorry we haven't told you yet, Mike, but, um, I told your parents and Aria." Ezra let out a deep breath before continuing. "My last name isn't Fitz it's Fitzgerald."

"Oh, okay," said Mike, shrugging his shoulders and turning back to his food. Aria harrumphed in the seat next to him.

Ezra shook his head helplessly before continuing. "Have you ever heard of the San Diego Lions?"

"The football team, of course," Mike nodded his head energetically.

"How about? Sunshine Park," Ezra continued.

"The baseball stadium? Who hasn't?" said Mike. He set his fork down and turned his full attention to Ezra.

"Okay. What about Pretty Little Liars, the movie that was made a couple of years ago?"

"Aria has only made me watch it half-a-dozen times," replied Mike, comprehension slowly building in his eyes.

"Well, the thing is Mike, well uh, my family owns the Lions and built Sunshine Park. My family also owns the production company that made Pretty Little Liars."

"Does this mean you're rich?" asked Mike, his eyes wide.

"Um, I guess you could say that," answered Ezra carefully. "My dad's family has a lot of money."

"This is so cool, man," exclaimed Mike. "Can we go watch a Lions game? Can we sit in the box seats? Can I meet the players?"

"Calm down, Mike," admonished Ella. "Ezra is still the same Ezra he was yesterday."

Confusion clouded Mike's eyes. "Wait, why didn't you tell us this sooner?"

Ezra sighed, a guilty sigh in Aria's judgment. "Because it's a really long story, and because it was time," finished Ezra simply.

"Oh," said Mike, returning to his food. "I thought you were going to say it had something to do with your dad dying, and us coming back from Iceland, and you getting together with Aria."

"It does," Ezra reassured him. "But there's more to it."

"Well, that went well," said Byron, the tension disappearing from his shoulders.

"It did," said Aria. "Really well. Much better than when he told me." She looked at her parents. "Did he tell either of you about it?" When she was met with silence, she continued without missing a beat. "No? Okay, why don't I tell you? Instead of telling me, telling us, years ago or even a few months ago, he waits. He waits until I am half-naked and begging to get into his pants. In the middle of all that, then he decides to tell me. He's been going on for months about how I'm not a whore who wants to hook up with an older man or a teenage slut who's dating her teacher." She scoffed. "It couldn't have gone any worse. He lied to us for years. And made me feel even more like a prostitute in the process." Aria got up from the table and marched up the stairs, slamming her door shut.

"She's angry," said Mike.

"She has a right to be," replied Ezra. "I behaved badly." He looked at Ella and Byron who silently sitting in shock. "I should go."

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There was a knock on the door. "Aria?"

"Go away, Dad. I don't feel like talking right now." She was laying on her bed, facing the wall.

"We should talk," said Byron, coming into the bedroom. He pulled out her desk chair and sat on it.

"Don't worry," replied Aria. "Ezra and I haven't slept together. I'm still a virgin."

"I'll let your mother have that talk with you," said Byron squirming uncomfortably.

"If you want to know why I'm mad at him, I already told you why."

"Actually, I want to talk to you about Felicity Springer."

Aria didn't move, but Byron could tell he had said something unexpected. "What about her?"

"I met her, you know, Ezra's mom. She grew up in the house next door. She visited her parents several times after she moved to California, when you were little. You don't remember her, but she was a beautiful woman. She had Ezra's dark hair and blue eyes. She died when he was twelve."

"How?" asked Aria, her back to Byron.

"She had Ezra when she was really young, when she and Ezra's father were just out of college. It's true that the Fitzgerald family had money, but they didn't like Felicity, and they cut him off for a little while after he married her. They thought she was a gold digger. After a few years, though, they came to like her, and Ezra's father became involved in the family businesses."

"So?"

"So," continued Byron. "When Ezra was twelve, she died trying to give birth to his sister. The baby was stillborn. No amount of money could save her life."

"Okay," said Aria non-committal.

"The thing is that Ezra's mother knew she shouldn't have more children. She had had such a hard time giving birth to Ezra. But she wanted a daughter, and Ezra's father tried his best to make that happen. They finally found a doctor who said she could survive the birth of another child."

"But it didn't work."

"It didn't work," affirmed Byron. "Ezra's father became cold and distant. He loved Felicity Springer with all his heart and never really recovered after her death. It was all about making more money. He thought that if he had more money, he could have saved his wife. He became consumed, and all but ignored Felicity's son. Ezra hates the legacy his father left him, but it's all he has left of his family now, a pile of money and the house next door."

"Hmm," responded Aria.

"That last summer," continued Byron, "that last summer she was alive, she came back to visit her parents, to tell them about her pregnancy. She felt guilty because she knew she should have visited them more often, so she brought Ezra with her. You were three. One day, while your mother was gardening outside and you were playing in the yard, you wandered over the fence line. Ezra was playing in the tree house his grandfather had built for him. You started babbling something, and climbed down to talk with you. I had come home late from work that day. I went outside looking for your mom, and I saw you, both of you, talking together between the wooden slats of the fence. You weren't making any sense, and neither was he, but you didn't care. The both of you just looked so happy."

"And?"

"And I turned to your mother, who was busy with the flowers, and she looked at me and said 'watch those two end up together some day.' She'll deny she ever said it now, but she did." Byron got up from his seat, tucked the chair back into the desk, and walked towards the door.

Aria sat up suddenly. "Dad?" she called.

He turned to her. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Did you ever know, when Ezra's mom visited her parents, did you ever know she was a Fitzgerald?"

Byron smiled ruefully. "Felicity Springer was an only child, and a stubborn one. She refused to give up her last name when she got married. I could tell, during the handful of visits she made to her parents, that she was wealthy. Not that she flaunted it in your face. You could just tell by the kinds of clothes she wore and the fact that she didn't have a job. But did I know that she came from Fitzgerald kind of money? No, I didn't, and the Springers never liked to talk about it. I think it hurt too much."

Aria watched her father go, and then turned back to the wall. She let her mind drift and thought about Ezra's book. When Angels Fall was the title. Was it about Ezra? The two stories sounded awfully similar…

"My father died," Ian told the man woodenly. They sat across from each other in the tiny living room filled with knick-knacks and outdated furniture.

"I saw it in the paper," said Tom. He stroked his white beard thoughtfully for a moment. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," answered the younger man honestly. "I'm still so mad at him for everything he's done."

"What is it that he's done?" asked Tom. He shifted in his leather seat as he waited for Ian to respond.

"He abandoned us, both of us. He cared too much about his money and not enough about his family. In the end, his money couldn't save her from a brain aneurism. Even the world's best doctors couldn't fix that," finished Ian harshly.

"Hmm," said Tom, running his fingers through the fistful of hair that he had left. "What happened, when you're mother died?"

"I've told you a dozen times," replied Ian, turning his attention to the cityscape outside the window.

"Humor me," prompted the older man.

"He shut himself up inside. He became cold and distant. He had this portrait painted of her from this old photograph he had. He used to stare at it for hours at a time, usually while he was drinking himself into a stupor."

"I see," said Tom, thoughtfully. He stroked his beard.

"What is it?" asked Ian. "Tell me," he leaned forward in his seat.

"It sounds like your father really mourned the death of your mother."

"Of course he did," answered Ian. "It was his greatest failure, the one thing that money couldn't get him."

"But money could have bought him another wife," returned Tom. "Yet, he never remarried."

"No," said Ian bluntly.

"It seems like your father really loved your mother," ventured Tom. "Loved her even after she was gone."

"That's not possible," replied Ian. "If he loved her, then he should have loved me. I was four when she died. Four! He could have given me some comfort instead of shipping me off to an army of nannies."

"I think he did love you, son," replied Tom gently. "In his own way. He couldn't take care of you, so he made sure to find people that could."

"But he couldn't even look at me for years," protested Ian.

"He must of really loved your mother. From what you've told me, you favor her in looks."

Ian was stunned. "That can't be it." He shook his head.

"Son, sometimes we don't tell our children things because we think it'll hurt them more to hear it than it is to keep them from finding out."

"Good parents don't do that," said Ian quickly.

"Well," said Tom, rubbing the bald spot on his head. "I guess that makes me and Angie bad parents."

"You didn't…," said Ian in disbelief.

"I'm afraid we did," replied Tom, nodding his head.

"What are you talking about?" asked Angie, she came into the living room with a tray of faded china and cookies. She gave some tea to her husband and to Ian before sitting next to her visitor on the couch.

"You know perfectly well what we were talking about, Angie. You could hear us from the kitchen," answered Tom lightly.

"I think you were just about to tell Ian about when we got married," said Angie mischievously, taking a sip of her tea.

"May 23, 1957," recited Ian proudly.

"Sorry, son," replied Tom. He took a bite of one of Angie's chocolate chip cookies. "Try October 7, 1979."

"Excuse me?" asked Ian dumbly.

"Sweetie," replied Angie gently. "Back in the fifties, they weren't letting colored folks and white folks get married. But we loved each other, and we decided we'd get married even it wouldn't be legal-like."

"Then why the '57 date?" asked Ian.

"That's for Meredith," answered Tom. He polished off his cookie and reached for another one. "She was born in '61. We didn't want her being raised thinking her parents weren't married. As soon as Merry was off to college, we quietly went down to the courthouse to have it all done proper."

"And she doesn't know?"

"Not a clue," replied Tom. "But that doesn't answer my question. What did your dad do that was so bad that you can't forgive him?"