I generally try to update every other day, but since I have this chapter done and since Pretty Little Liars is on my mind 99% of the time now (Tuesday can't come fast enough), I figured I'd go ahead and put this up now. As for the reviews...

Megs - Thanks for the support! And yes, Viola had a pretty horrible time that night.

nick2951 - Yes, I think Viola would agree with you! Fortunately (or maybe not?) the whole situation comes to a head in the next chapter.

FairlyOddFreak - I was wondering if you'd comment on this! I'm glad you like it. Yes, Viola is my own character.

Thanks for the reviews, and please let me know what you think! I really appreciate getting feedback on my writing.

Chapter 4

A week later, everything is mostly back to normal.

Hanna's fine. She has a broken leg and ankle, but she also has more popularity than ever now that she'll be in a wheelchair for at least another month.

I haven't heard anything more from "A" since the party and I'm just starting to be able to forget about it. It was probably just some loser or jerk who was bored of their own life and trying to stir up trouble. And who knows if they even knew about my actual secret? Odds are they just made that up to scare me.

But I'm definitely not telling anyone about what I saw, just in case.

Hanna got to go home from the hospital yesterday. Tonight Mona is throwing her a surprise party while Ms. Marin isn't home. I think that if I had just gotten home from the hospital in a wheelchair, the last thing I would want is a huge party, especially one in my very own house. But I will say again that Mona isn't known for having rational thoughts.

I love Hanna like she's my own sister, but I'm not going to the party. I have a big math test on Monday that I'm preparing to study for all weekend. And I haven't really been big on parties since that night when…

Yeah.

It's almost eight and I'm laying on my stomach on my bed. My geometry binder is in front of me but instead of studying, I'm texting Justin. His gymnastics partner came back to class several weeks ago but Justin asked if he could stay partners with me, which made everything else that happened that day insignificant to my life.

But since then, it's getting easier to think of him as an actual person who I actually like being around, not just as that hot guy who I constantly embarrass myself in front of. I probably will never find another guy with a personality that matches his looks, so I'm not about to let this one go.

After about an hour of studying/texting, my stomach grumbles and I hoist myself off of my bed. I head down to the kitchen, grab a cookie while my mom is watching, grab a second one while she is not, and rush back upstairs with one already halfway gone.

Something green on the beige hall carpet catches my eye on my way back to my room. It's a sticky note, upside down on the floor. I stoop down and pick it up.

You'll get your $$ back. If you do what I say. Sweet dreams. –A

My heart feels like it plunges into my stomach. Is this meant for me? What money? I run into my room and dig my wallet out of my purse, rifling through it. All of my cash and credit cards seem to be in place. Ditto for the envelope of extra cash that I keep at the bottom of one of my dresser drawers.

I sit down at my desk, staring at the note. If this wasn't meant for me, then it must be for Mona. Has she seen it yet? I decide that it's likely. Why would "A" leave it in the hallway otherwise?

The handwriting looks vaguely familiar, and definitely belongs to a girl. I frown down at it, trying to conjure the memory of where I've seen this writing before.

Macy's face appears in my head. I'm not one hundred percent sure what her handwriting looks like, but if I recognize the writing on this note, it must belong to someone I'm close to.

But why would my best friend want to threaten me and blackmail my sister? What could she possibly gain out of that, especially if I were to find out? Money, apparently, but no more best friend, that's for sure. And she talks constantly about how lucky she is to have me because my sister is so popular that I am also popular by default.

I take a deep breath, trying not to jump to conclusions. I don't even know that it is Macy. I take one more long look at the note, trying to memorize the specifics of the writing, then crumple it in my hand and toss it in the wastebasket.

I return to my bed and gaze down at my own carefully written math notes. First chance I get on Monday, I'm going to find out the truth.

…

Besides lunch and gym, the only class I share with Macy is fourth period chemistry. She's terrible at it and I'm pretty good, so the teacher paired us together, not knowing, of course, that we are best friends. Teachers never pair best friends together if they can help it.

But I'm not in the mood for messing around today.

Today we're working on a sheet of problems on balancing equations. Macy and I pushed our desks together. I'm doing the odd problems and she's doing the even. I keep trying to glance inconspicuously at her paper, but unfortunately her arm is in the way.

This is probably the first time that anyone has ever wished that someone else was left-handed.

Once I realize that I'm going to have to try another tactic for now, I say quietly, "Hey, Mace. What do you think about people who hold grudges?"

She furrows her brow at her paper, erases furiously, and finally looks up at me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, have you ever held something against someone? Even something stupid?"

She puts down her pencil and gives me a knowing look. "Okay, Vi, who is it?"

"What?"

"This is about a guy, right?"

This is not going the way I thought it would, but if I deny it, she's going to wonder why I asked in the first place. So I do the next thing I think of, and make up a lie on the spot. "Okay, fine. You know that guy in my gymnastics class? Justin?"

Macy turns completely away from the chemistry worksheet, nodding enthusiastically. There's nothing she loves more than other people's gossip – even mine.

I stumble over my words for a moment, unsure of where I'm going with this. "Um, well, a couple weeks ago he gave me his number. We've been texting a lot, and uh, I guess I started to think that he might have feelings for me. But…" I pause and sigh to cover for the fact that I don't know what to say next.

Macy looks fascinated. "What?"

This is another reason why we're not that close. She's really not that great of a friend. "It's just that last week I, uh, caught him hanging out with this other girl during break. He barely even looked at me. And I just, like, can't get over it. What do you think I should do?"

That story sounded stupid even to my own ears. But Macy looks like this gossip is just too much for her. "Oh my god, Viola, why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"What should I do?" I press, quickly balancing another equation on the worksheet as our teacher walks by. I was hoping that my snooping would be easier than this.

Macy taps her pencil against the desk, pondering this. She actually looks serious. "Honestly? I think you should ask him how he feels."

Whoa. "A" or not, that is not what I was expecting her to say. "Really?"

"Yeah," she says earnestly. "If you really like him, you shouldn't let some other stupid slut get in the way. Tell him the truth!"

I have only seen several messages from the stalker who seems to be obsessed with my family, but this doesn't seem like something that person would say. But just to make sure, I ask, "So you don't think I should try and get back at him?"

Macy rolls her eyes, pushing her hair out of her face. "God, no. Revenge is stupid. And so is holding a grudge. That's for, like, sixth graders." She focuses back on chemistry for about five seconds, then stands up and says, "I have to use the bathroom. I'll be right back."

This could not be more perfect. As soon as she is out of the room, I pull her chemistry binder toward me and flip through it until I find a page of her disheveled notes. Her handwriting is messy almost to the point of being illegible – something I probably should have remembered.

I sigh and snap her binder closed, pushing it aside. Macy is obviously out. But I should have known. Whoever this "A" person is, is obviously smart enough to threaten and blackmail people without revealing their identity. Macy can barely figure out how to balance a chemical equation. I pull her worksheet onto my desk and correct a few mistakes until she gets back.

I'm obviously relieved that "A" is not my so-called best friend. But since she was my only lead, I guess I'm back to square one.

…

The end of the first semester is coming up, and along with that comes midterms. They always go easy on the freshmen, to try not to scare them off for good, but once you're a sophomore they really pile on the tests and projects. I have my history and English midterms tomorrow and needless to say, I'm way too freaked about that to concentrate on anything else.

I'm in the middle of finishing my English paper when my laptop goes black. It's four years old and the battery is completely wonky. I groan and pull open my desk drawers, searching for the charger. It's not in its usual spot.

I basically tear my room apart looking for the stupid thing. It's nowhere to be found and if I don't get this paper done within the next hour, I'll barely have any time to study for history, which is something that I desperately need.

"Mona!" I scream, stomping down the hall and pounding on her door. "I need my charger back!"

There's no answer, so I shrug and push open the door. "Mona, I said I need my – "

I don't bother to finish that sentence because the room is empty. This is strange because I distinctly remember her telling our mother that she was staying home to study all night.

It only takes me a few moments before I realize that I don't really care. I have bigger matters of my own to deal with. I'll just have to look for the stupid charger myself.

I walk over to her desk and pull open the first drawer. Whereas everything in my room is generally a total mess, hers is neat to a frightening extent. I'm a little hesitant to poke around and mess anything up.

But I do anyway. There's nothing even resembling a computer charger in any of the top three drawers, so I tackle the bottom one. All I see are a bunch of folders and notebooks, but I move those out of the way and spot a small, ancient-looking black cell phone at the very bottom.

I raise my eyebrows and pull it out. It's a Blackberry, but it's super old. It looks like it could even be the original, from, like, five years ago. Why would she have this?

"Viola!"

I jump at the sound of my name, whirling around with the phone still in my hand. Mona stands in the doorway, her purse over her shoulder. Her eyes immediately focus on the phone. "What are you doing in here?"

"I was looking for my computer charger," I say, pushing the drawer closed. I hold out the phone. "Whose phone is this?"

"I told you yesterday that I needed to borrow it," she says, ignoring my question. She pulls the charger out of her purse and hands it to me. "Remember?"

I do vaguely remember that conversation, but I have bigger things on my mind now. "Whose phone is this?"

"It's mine," Mona snaps, snatching it out of my hand and tossing it back into the drawer.

I shake my head, wondering how stupid she thinks I am. "Um, no. That thing is like, a million years old. And I know it's not yours because Mom and Dad got us the same model for Christmas last year."

Her expression changes from surprise into something a little…angrier. I take a step back. "Viola, you really need to learn how to mind your own business."

What she just said reminds me of something, but I can't figure out what it is. But for the first time, I'm actually a little afraid. "Fine, it's your phone, whatever. You don't have to be so secretive about it." I roll my eyes, grab the charger, and rush back to my room, trying to process what just happened.

But once I do, I realize that I can't possibly let this go. What kind of little sister would I be if I did?

…

Rosewood High School is screwed up in a number of ways. But when it comes to time between classes, it actually really rocks.

In between our seven class periods of the day, we get ten minutes to go to our lockers, check on our makeup, hang out with our friends, and finally see our boyfriends after the longest forty-five minutes ever and god, I wasn't sure I could make it.

Or, if you don't have a boyfriend, time to go to the bathroom.

That's where I am just before the last period of the day, when I hear voices out by the sinks. I hear Hanna just as the door to the bathroom opens. "So do we know for sure that it's Ian?"

I feel my breath catch in my throat. Is what Ian? There's no way that I'm going to walk out now and interrupt, so I pull my knees up to my chest and hold my breath just as I hear Spencer reply, "It has to be. Who else would be that desperate to get that video back? It pretty much confirms that he killed Alison."

Ian killed Alison? Oh my god. I press my hand to my mouth, afraid to make a sound. I didn't even know that Ian knew Alison.

"Maybe he heard us say that we were planning on taking the video to the police," Emily says quietly.

"So if Ian was the one who stole Spencer's laptop, that means he can't be 'A,' right?" Aria whispers. "Why would 'A' give us that video just to take it away from us?"

Such a loud buzzing fills my ears that I don't hear whatever comes next. I jump up and burst out of the stall before they can leave. "You guys are getting messages from 'A'?"

The four girls whirl around to stare at me. "How much did you hear?" Spencer asks nervously.

I nearly roll my eyes. What, does she think I materialized into the bathroom stall halfway into their conversation? But I force down any sarcasm. The last thing I want to do right now is annoy them. "Everything."

"You won't tell anyone what you heard, will you?" Emily asks, glancing at the others.

"Of course not." I twist my hands together and frown. "I got a text from 'A,' too. The night of Hanna's accident."

The shock on the faces of the four girls surprises me. They couldn't possibly have thought that they were the only ones this person was targeting, could they? "What did it say?" says Spencer.

I close my eyes, picturing the screen, and paraphrase, "Basically it said that if I spill someone else's secret, 'A' is going to spill mine."

The girls all exchange looks. "Sounds like 'A' to me," Spencer mutters.

Aria looks at me curiously. "What was the secret? The one 'A' didn't want you to spill?"

My eyes meet hers for a second before I can stop myself. I tear my gaze away and stare at the ground. "Uh. I'd rather not say. But the last thing I want is my own secret getting out."

Hanna frowns. "Mona got a text from 'A' too. Just a couple days before her party, when we were fighting."

I nod. "I know. She told me." I don't mention the sticky note that I found in the hallway, because I still don't really know what that was all about. "How long have you guys been getting these messages?"

"A couple months," Emily replies. "Since Aria came back from Iceland."

"We think that whoever's sending us these messages is the same person who killed Ali," Spencer goes on. "Or at least knows something about who did kill her."

"And you think that Ian is the person who killed her?" I can barely choke out his name without shuddering. Ian is back as a field hockey coach, and has been hanging around school all year. Every time I catch a glimpse of him in the hallway or in the quad, I get the urge to throw up. Still, as horrible as what he did to me was, I can't imagine him actually murdering someone.

There is a moment of hesitation. It's clear that whatever they know about Ian, they don't want to tell me. "We think he might be," Spencer says finally. "He was with Ali the night she died."

"Oh, god." I lean back against a sink. I have just started to get over what happened with Ian the summer before last. I don't think I can handle the idea that now he's the one sending me – and, apparently, others – threatening messages.

The first bell rings, and I straighten my bag on my shoulder. "I've gotta go," I mutter, and hustle out of the bathroom. I wanted to tell them to let me know if anything else happens, but I doubt that they would have. Obviously there's a lot more to this "A" person than I thought.