Pretty Little Liars (Book One)

Eleven: At Least Sweet Potatoes Have Lots Of Vitamin A.

"Her. Definitely her," Hanna whispered, pointing.

"Nah. They're too small!" Mona whispered back.

"But look at the way they puff up at the top! Totally fake," Hanna countered.

"I think that woman over there has had her butt done."

"Gross." Hanna wrinkled her nose and ran her hands over the sides of her own toned, perfectly round butt to make sure it was still perfectly perfect. It was late afternoon on Wednesday, just two days until Noel Kahn's annual field party, and she and Mona were lounging on the outside terrace at Yam, the organic cafe at Mona's parents country club. Below them, a bunch of Rosewood boys played a quick round of golf before dinner, but Hanna and Mona were playing another type of game: Spot the Fake Boobs. Or fake anything else, as there was lots of fake stuff around here.

"Yeah, it looks like her surgeon messed up," Mona murmured. "I think my mom plays tennis with her. I'll ask."

Hanna looked again at the pixieish, thirtysomething woman by the bar whose butt did look suspiciously extra-luscious for the rest of her toothpick-skinny figure. "I'd die before I get plastic surgery."

Mona played with the charm on her Tiffany bracelet—the one she, evidently, did have to give back. "Do you think Aria Montgomery had hers done?"

Hanna looked up, startled. "Why?"

"She's really thin, and they're like, too perfect," Mona said. "She went to Finland or wherever, right? I hear in Europe they can do your boobs for really cheap."

"I don't think they're fake," Hanna murmured.

"How do you know?"

Hanna chewed on her straw. Aria's boobs had always been there—she and Alison had been the only two of the friends who needed a bra in seventh grade. Ali always flaunted hers, but the only time Aria seemed to notice she even had boobs was when she knit everyone bras as Christmas gifts and had to make herself a larger size. "She just doesn't seem the type," Hanna answered. Talking to Mona about her old friends was awkward territory. Hanna still felt bad about how she and Ali and the others used to tease Mona back in seventh grade, but it always seemed too weird to bring it up now.

Mona stared at her. "Are you all right? You look different today."

Hanna flinched. "I do? How?"

Mona gave her a tiny smirk. "Whoa! Somebody's jumpy!"

"I'm not jumpy," Hanna said quickly. But she was: Ever since the police station and that e-mail she had gotten last night, she'd been freaking. This morning, her eyes even seem more dull brown than green, and her arms looked disturbingly puffy. She had this horrible sense that she really was going to spontaneously morph back into her seventh-grade self.

A blond, giraffelike waitress interrupted them. "Have you decided?"

Mona looked at the menu. "I'll have the Asian chicken salad, no dressing."

Hanna cleared her throat. "I want a garden salad with sprouts, no dressing, and an extra-large order of sweet potato fries. In a carry-out box, please."

As the waitress took their menus, Mona pushed her sunglasses down her nose. "Sweet potato fries?"

"For my mom," Hanna answered quickly. "She lives on them."

Down on the golf course, a group of older teed up, along with one young good-looking guy in fatigue shorts. He looked a little out of place with his messy brown hair, cargos, and...was that a...Rosewood Police polo? Oh no. It was.

Wilden scanned the terrace and coolly nodded when he saw Hanna. She ducked.

"Who is that?" Mona purred.