Aria: "Can we leave? Like right now? I have to go taint my self-righteousness."
Byron: "Sure, let's just hop in the picture booth..."
Aria: "YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT I'M NOT YOUR LITTLE GIRL ANYMORE"
Byron: "I just thought we could take a... I mean, there's nobody in there, and we dressed up..."
Aria: "I'M SORRY BUT I'M JUST NOT"
Byron: "Okay, whatever you want."
Aria: "WHY AREN'T YOU LISTENING TO ME"
EXT ROSEWOOD HIGH
Spencer, catching her breath after all that yellin', sees a bright light zooming directly at her, up the street in front of the school. Is it a UFO? Is it God? Is it the big psychotic break we've all kind of been waiting for? No, it is a faceless Bad Boy in a leather jacket, a Cool Rider. Spencer aches for him immediately; somewhere inside, she knows who it is. Only one person could be cool enough to be this cool, and it burns her, through and through: Toby Cavanaugh. Because when you think dangerous bad-ass on a motorcycle, you think Toby Cavanaugh.
GOODBYE MR HASTINGS
Emily & Dad: (Obligatory sweet, loving, nonjudgmental times. The softest dad is the one in the military; to be a soft dad requires a great deal of toughness.)
Aria: "Ms. Marin, I have something to tell you of grave importance."
Ashley: "Good Lord, it's the other one. Hang on, Momma needs a refill."
Aria: "Ms. Marin, it's come to my attention that you came across certain documents that you thought were not longer at issue. Certain... legal documents?"
Ashley: "Yes. What of it?"
Aria: "It was I, Ms. Marin. It was I that left them on your kitchen island, it was I that placed them in Mona's mailbox, and it was I that first falsified them in Photoshop. All I."
Ashley: "That doesn't even make sense, but go on."
Aria: "Hanna -- and it is no pleasure of mine to bear this news -- has once again succumbed to her kleptomania. She's a shoplifter, a cutpurse. A student of the Seven Bells..."
Ashley: "Aria. Wrap it up."
Aria: "I bethought myself to strike the fear of God once more into her heart. As you know, it is a delight of mine to minister to those poorer, in our little hamlet, whether they be lacking in money, or eyeballs like Jenna, or morals like your daughter. I cannot apologize for my concern, but only for the degree to which it seems to have complicated things in your household. For that, Ms. Marin, I do harbor a measure of regret."