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INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW…

Wouldn’t it be nice to know exactly what people are thinking? If everyone’s heads were like those clear Marc Jacobs totes, their opinions as visible as a set of car keys or a tube of Hard Candy lip gloss? You’d knohat the student casting director really meant when she said, “Good job,” after your South Pacific audition Or that your cute mixed doubles partner thinks your butt looks hot in your Lacoste tennis skirt And, best of all, you wouldn’t have to guess whether your best friend was mad that you ditched her for the hot senior with the crinkly-eyed smile at the New Year’s Eve party You’d just peek into her head and know

Unfortunately, everyone’s heads are locked tighter than the Pentagon So on inside—like the casting director’s grih A-sharp, or how your best friend frostily ignored all your texts on January 1 But o unnoticed In fact, four years ago, a certain Rosewood golden boy dropped a huge hint about so on inside his nasty little head But people barely raised an eyebrow

Maybe if soirl would still be alive

The bike racks outside Rosewood Day overfloith colorful twenty-one-speeds, a liotten directly fro’s publicist, and a candy pink Razor scooter, shined to a sparkle Seconds after the last bell of the day sounded and the sixth-grade class began to pour into the coave the scooter an affectionate pat, and began to undo the bright yellow Kryptonite U-lock around its handlebars

A flyer flapping against the stone wall caught her eye “Guys,” she called to her three friends by the water fountains “C’mere”

“What is it, Mona?” Phi Te of her new butterfly-shaped Duncan yo-yo

Mona Vanderwaal pointed at the piece of paper “Look!”

Chassey Bledsoe shoved her purple cat-eye glasses up the bridge of her nose “Whoa”

Jenna Cavanaugh bit a baby pink fingernail “This is huge,” she said in her sweet, high-pitched voice

A gust of wind kicked up a few stray leaves from a carefully raked pile It was mid-September, a feeeks into the new school year, and autumn was officially here Every year, tourists from up and down the East Coast drove to Rosewood, Pennsylvania, to see the brilliant red, orange, yellow, and purple fall foliage It was like soeous Whatever it was eous, too Shiny-coated golden retrievers that loped around the toell-kept dog parks Pink-cheeked babies carefully nestled in their Burberry-by-Maclaren strollers And buff, glowing soccer players running up and down the practice fields of Rosewood Day, the town’s most venerable private school