Sixteen: Nice, Normal, Family Night At The Montgomerys'.

That night, Aria sat on her bed, knitting a stuffed owl out of mohair yarn. The owl was brown and boyish-looking; she'd started it the week before, thinking she would give it to Ezra. Now, that obviously wasn't happening, so she wondered…maybe she'd give it to Sean? How weird was that?

Before Ali went missing, she kept trying to set Aria up with Rosewood boys, saying, "Just go over and talk to him. It's not hard." But for Aria, it was hard. She got around a Rosewood boy and froze, blurting out the first idiotic thing that came out of her mouth—which, for some reason, was often about math. And she hated math. By the time she'd finished seventh grade, only one guy had spoken to her outside of class: Toby Cavanaugh.

And that had been scary. It was just a few weeks before Ali went missing, and Aria had signed up for a weekend arts camp, and who should show up in her workshop but Toby. Aria was astounded—wasn't he supposed to be in boarding school…forever? But apparently, his school broke for summer vacation earlier than Rosewood Day's did, and there he was. He sat in the corner, hair over his face, snapping a rubber band against his wrist.

Their drama teacher, a wispy, frizzy-haired woman who wore a lot of tie-dye, made everyone do a drama exercise: They paired up and shouted a phrase to each other over and over, getting into a rhythm. The phrase was supposed to change organically. They had to go around the room, partnering with everyone, and Aria soon found herself in front of Toby. The phrase for that day was, It never snows in the summer.

"It never snows in the summer," Toby said.

"It never snows in the summer," Aria said back to him.

"It never snows in the summer," Toby repeated. His eyes were sunken and his nails were bitten down to the quick. Aria felt twitchy standing this close to him. She couldn't help thinking about Toby's ghoulish face in Ali's window just before they hurt Jenna. And how the paramedics pulled Jenna down the tree house ladder, nearly dropping her. And how, a few days later, when they were at the Firework Safety Benefit, she overheard her health teacher, Mrs. Iverson, say, "If I were that boy's father, I wouldn't just send him to boarding school. I'd send him to jail."

And then the phrase did change. It became, I know what you did last summer. Toby was the one to say it first, but Aria shouted it back a few times before she realized what it really meant.

"Oh, like the movie!" the teacher cried, clapping her hands.

"Yep," Toby said, and smiled at Aria. A real smile, too, not a sinister one, which made her feel worse. When she told Ali what had happened, Ali sighed. "Aria, Toby's, like, mentally deranged. I heard he practically drowned up in Maine, swimming in a frozen creek, trying to take a picture of a moose."

But Aria never went back to drama class.

She thought again about A's Post-it. Wondering who I am? I'm closer than you think.

Could A be Toby? Had he sneaked into Rosewood Day and stuck that Post-it on Ali's case? Had any of her friends seen it? Or perhaps A was in one of her classes. Her English class would make the most sense—the timing of most of her notes revolved around them. But who? Noel? James Freed? Hanna?

Aria paused on Hanna. She'd wondered about her before—Ali could have told Hanna about her parents. And Hanna was part of The Jenna Thing.

But why?

She slipped through the Rosewood Day facebook—the directory that had just come out today of all her classmates' names and phone numbers—and found Sean's picture. His hair was sportily short, and he was bronzed like he'd spent the summer on his dad's yacht. The boys Aria dated in Iceland were pale and floppy-haired, and if the had boats, they were kayaks that they used to paddle to the Snarfellsjokull glacier.

She dialed Sean's number but got his voice mail. "Hey, Sean," she said, hoping her voice wasn't too singsongish. "It's Aria Montgomery. I, um, I was just calling to say hi, and, um, I have a philosopher recommendation for you. It's Ayn Rand. She's like, super-complex but really readable. Check it out."

She gave him her cell number and IM screen name, hung up, and wanted to delete the message. Sean probably had tons of non-spastic Rosewood girls calling.

"Aria!" Ella called from the bottom of the stairs. "Dinner!"

She threw her phone on her bed and slowly walked downstairs. Her ears pricked up at a strange beeping noise coming from the kitchen. Was that…the oven timer? But that was impossible. Their kitchen was done in a retro-1950s style, and the stove was an authentic Magic Chef from 1956. Ella rarely used it because she was afraid it was so old, it might set the house on fire.

But to Aria's surprise, Ella did have something in the oven. and her brother and father were at the table. This was the first time since the weekend that her whole family had been together. Mike had spent the past three nights at various lacrosse boys' houses and her dad, well, he'd been so busy "teaching."

A roast chicken, a bowl of mashed potatoes, and a dish of green beans sat in the middle of the table. All the plates and utensils matched, and there were even place mates. Aria tensed. It seemed way too normal…especially for her family. Something must be wrong. Had someone died? Had A told?

But her parents seemed untroubled. Her mom pulled a tray of rolls from the oven—which, miraculously, wasn't on fire—and her dad sat quietly, flipping the op-ed pages of the New York Times. He was always reading: at the table, at Mike's sporting events, even while driving.

Aria turned to her dad, whom she'd hadn't seen since Monday at the Victory bar. "Hey, Byron," she said.

Her father gave Aria a genuine smile. "Hello, monkey." He sometimes called her Monkey; he used to call her Hairy Ape, too, until she told him to stop. He always looked like he'd just roller out of bed: He wore holey, thrift-store T-shirts, Philadelphia 76ers boxers or plaid pajama pants, and old shearling-lined slippers. His dark brown bushy hair was always crazy messy, too. Aria thought he resembled a koala bear.

"And hey, Mike!" Aria said brightly, ruffling his hair.

Mike recoiled. "Don't freaking touch me!"

"Mike," Ella said, pointing at him with one of the chopsticks that usually secured the bun in her brownish-black hair.

"I was just being nice." Aria stopped herself from shooting Mike a standard sarcastic retort. Instead, she sat down, unfolded her embroidered floral napkin onto her lap, and picked up a Bakelite-handled fork. "The chicken smells really good, Ella."

Ella spooned potatoes onto everyone's plates. "It was just one of those things from the deli counter."

"Since when do you think chicken smells good?" Mike snarled. "You don't eat it."

That was true. Aria had been a vegetarian ever since her second week in Iceland, when Hallbjorn, her first boyfriend, bought her a snack from a food cart that she thought was a hot dog. It was to dir for, but after she ate it, he told her it was puffin meat. Ever since then, whenever meat was in front of her, she always imagined a cute baby puffin's face. "Well, still," Aria said. "I do eat potatoes." She shoved a steaming hot spoonful into her mouth. "And these are awesome."

Ella furrowed her brow. "They're just instant. You know I can't cook."

Aria knew she was trying too hard. But if she was a model daughter instead of her sarcastic, grumbling self, Byron might realize what he was missing.

She turned again to Byron. Aria didn't want to hate her dad. There were tons of good things about him—he always listened to her problems, he was smart, he made her Get Well Soon fudge brownies when she had the flu. She'd tried to come up with logical, non-romantic reasons why the Meredith thing had happened. She didn't want to think he loved someone else, or that he was trying to break up the family. It was hard, though, not to take it personally.

As she took a spoonful of green beans, Ella's cell phone, which was sitting on the kitchen island, began to ring. Ella looked at Byron. "Should I get that?"

Byron frowned. "Would someone be calling you at dinnertime?"

"Maybe it's Oliver from the gallery."

Suddenly, Aria felt her throat constrict. What if it's A?

The phone rang again. Aria stood up. "I'll answer it."

Ella wiped her mouth and pushed back her chair. "No, I should get it."

"No!" Aria rushed to the island. The phone rang a third time. "I…um…it's…"

She flailed her arms wildly, trying to think. Out of ideas, she grabbed the phone and flung it into the living room. It skidded across the floor, stopped against the couch, and stopped ringing. The Montgomerys' car, Polo, padded up and tapped the phone with his striped paw.

When Aria turned back around, her family was staring at her. "What is the matter with you?" Ella asked.

"I just…" Aria was damp with sweat, and her whole body throbbed with her heartbeat. Mike crossed his hands behind his head. Fuh-REEK, he mouthed.

Ella swished by her to the living room and crouched to look at the phone's screen. Her crinkle skirt grazed the floor, picking up dust. "It was Oliver."

At the same time, Byron stood up. "I have to be going."

"Going?" Ella's voice caught. "But we just started eating."

Byron carried his empty plate to the sink. He had always been the fastest eater on the planet, even faster than Mike. "I have stuff to do in my office."

"But…" Ella clasped her hands at her small waist. They all watched helplessly as Byron disappeared up the stairs and then came down about a half a minute later in rumpled gray pants and a blue button-down. His hair was still completely uncombed. He grabbed his worn leather briefcase and keys. "See you in a little while."

"Can you pick up orange juice?" Ella cried, but Byron shut the front door without answering.

A second later, Mike stormed out of the kitchen without putting his plate in the sink. He grabbed his jacket and lacrosse stick and wormed his feet into his sneakers without untying them. "Now, where are you going?" Ella asked.

"Practice," Mike snapped. he had his head way down and was chewing on his lip, like he was trying to keep from crying. Aria wanted to run up to her brother and hug him and try to figure out what to do here, except she felt stuck, as if grouted to the checkerboard ceramic tiles on the kitchen floor.

Mike slammed the door, making the whole house shake. A few seconds of silence passed, then Ella raised her gray eyes to Aria. "Everyone's leaving us."

"No, they're not," Aria said quickly.

Her mother went to the table and stared at the remaining chicken on her plate. After a few seconds of pondering, she laid a napkin over it, uneaten, and turned back to Aria. "Has your father seemed strange to you?"

Aria felt her mouth go dry. "About what?"

"I don't know." Ella traced her finger around the porcelain dinner plate's edge. "It seems like something's bothering him. Maybe it's about teaching? He seems so busy…"

Aria knew she should say something, but the words felt gummed up in her stomach, like she needed a toilet plunger or a vacuum to suck them out. "He hasn't said anything about that, no." It wasn't exactly a lie.

Ella stared at her. "You'd tell me if ha had, right?"

Aria bent her head down, pretending she had something in her eye. "Of course."

Ella rose and cleared the rest of the stuff off the table. Aria stood there, useless. This was her chance…and she was just standing here. Like a sack of potatoes.

She wandered up to her room and sat down at her desk, not sure what to do with herself. Downstairs, she could hear the beginning strains of Jeopardy!. Perhaps she should go back down and hang out with Ella. Except what she really wanted to do was cry.

Her Instant Messenger made the bloopy noise of a new message. Aria went over to it. Aria went over to it, wondering if maybe it was Sean. But…it wasn't.

A A A A A A: Two choices: Make it go away or tell your mom. I'm giving you till the stroke of midnight Saturday night, Cinderella. Or else —A

A creaking sound made her jump. Aria whirled around and saw that her cat had nosed her bedroom door open. She petted him absentmindedly, reading the IM again. And again. And Again.

Or else? And make it go away? How was she supposed to do that?

Her computer made another bloop. The IM window flashed.

A A A A A A: Not sure how? Here's a hint: Strawberry Ridge Yoga Studio. 7:30 a.m. Tomorrow. Be there.