Free Flawless by Sara Shepard

sweat. Instead, it smelled like some combination of bread and a freshly shampooed dog. Two books sat on the passenger-side floor: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and The Tao of Pooh.
    “You like philosophy?” Aria moved her legs so she wouldn’t get them wet.
    Sean ducked his head. “Well, yeah.” He sounded embarrassed.
    “I read those books, too,” Aria said. “I also got really into French philosophers this summer, when I was in Iceland.” She paused. She’d never really spoken to Sean. Before she left, Rosewood boys terrified her—which was probably partly why she hated them. “I, um, was in Iceland for a while. My dad was on sabbatical.”
    “I know.” Sean gave her a crooked smile.
    Aria stared at her hands. “Oh.” There was an awkward pause. The only sound was the hurtling rain and the windshield wipers’ rhythmic whaps .
    “So you read, like, Camus and stuff?” Sean asked. When Aria nodded, he smirked. “I read The Stranger this summer.”
    “Really?” Aria jutted her chin into the air, certain he hadn’t understood it. What would a typical Rosewood boy want with deep philosophy books, anyway? If this were an SAT analogy, it would be “typical Rosewood boy: reading French philosophers:: American tourists in Iceland: eating anywhere but McDonald’s.” It just didn’t happen.
    When Sean didn’t answer, she dialed her home number into his cell phone. It rang and rang, not going to voice mail—they hadn’t set up the answering machine yet. Next she dialed her dad’s number at school—it was almost five, and he had posted his 3:30–5:30 office hours on the refrigerator. It rang and rang too.
    The spots started to flash in front of Aria’s eyes again as she imagined where he could be…or who he could be with. She leaned forward over her bare legs, trying to breathe deeper. Frère Jacques, she chanted silently.
    “Whoa,” Sean said, his voice sounding very far away.
    “I’m all right,” Aria called, her voice muffled in her legs. “I just have to…”
    She heard Sean fumbling around. Then he pressed a Burger King bag into her hands. “Breathe into this. I think there were some fries in there. Sorry about that.”
    Aria put the bag over her mouth and slowly inflated and deflated it. She felt Sean’s warm hand on the middle of her back. Slowly, the dizziness started to fade. When she raised her head, Sean was looking at her anxiously.
    “Panic attacks?” he asked. “My stepmom gets them. The bag always works.”
    Aria crumpled the bag in her lap. “Thanks.”
    “Something bothering you?”
    Aria shook her head quickly. “No, I’m cool.”
    “C’mon,” Sean said. “Isn’t that, like, why people get panic attacks?”
    Aria pressed her lips together. “It’s complicated.” Besides, she wanted to say, since when are typical Rosewood boys interested in weird girls’ problems?
    Sean shrugged. “You were friends with Alison DiLaurentis, right?”
    Aria nodded.
    “It’s weird, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Although, um, it’s not weird in the way you might think. I mean, it is weird in that way, but it’s weird in other ways, too.”
    “Like how?”
    She shifted; her wet underwear was starting to itch. Today at school it had felt like everyone was speaking to her in babyish whispers. Did they think that if they spoke in normal-person volume, Aria would have an insta-breakdown?
    “I just wish everyone would leave me alone,” she managed. “Like last week.”
    Sean flicked the pine tree air freshener that hung from the rearview mirror, making it swing. “I know what you mean. When my mom died, everyone thought that if I had a second to myself, I’d lose it.”
    Aria sat up straighter. “Your mom died?”
    Sean looked at her. “Yeah. It was a long time ago. Fourth grade.”
    “Oh.” Aria tried to remember Sean from fourth grade. He had been one of the shortest kids in the class, and they’d been on the same kickball team a bunch