Spencer is lying in wait outside Ella’s classroom ready to pounce on Emily like some kind of Hermione: “How did the makeup test go? Was it difficult for you? It wasn’t difficult for me. I was worried the essay on Atticus Fitch, about parents instilling a conscience in their children, but I think I made up for it in the one about perceptions of Boo Radley. Do you want to get together and go over our answers? Or break into Jason’s house and go through his shit?” Emily doesn’t have time to do either of those things because she’s got to go work at Rosewood’s Crisis Hotline.
But first she tosses Spencer a bone and says Hanna will stop being an ass to her if she’ll let her use the Hastings Lake House for Caleb’s birthday party. Hanna has fond memories of doing it with Caleb there, after all. Spencer pulls the Spencer-est face. She goes, “That was my Nana’s couch.” Slow-mo time!
Under the guise of studying, Lucas is trying to get an invitation to Hanna’s pants party, but she’d rather plan Caleb’s surprise party. Lucas is even jumpier than normal. Jumpier than Spencer. And Spencer, as you know, is, on average, jumpier than a kangaroo on a pogo stick on a trampoline.
At Rosewood Crisis Intervention, Crisis Coach (CC) explains how they usually they get two kinds of calls. Either: a) Rosewood citizens are stuck Out Of Town and can’t find the portal home, so they just need some directions to the nearest warp zone. Or b) Someone is hunting down four teenage girls like prey and needs some advice about psychological warfare. Occasionally, though, this kid that sounds like Patrick Star from SpongeBob SquarePants calls in and wants to talk about muddy shoes and unrequited love and his personal demise. Like last night. CC reads one of Patrick Star’s transcripts, all, “I lost an ambiguous thing last night and botched up an ambiguous plan and will soon be killed to death by an ambiguous duo! Also, I can’t see my forehead!”
Emil goes, “Hang on. This call came in last night? While I was Hufflepuffing around with GLASS IN MY HAIR? Can we trace this call, or …” CC is all, “I’m not sure anonymity means what you think it means, Emily.”
(You guys, Emily looks so good in that plaid shirt I almost can’t deal with it.)
Byron toodles over to Ezbian’s apartment with a bottle of arsenic disguised as whiskey. Ezra is like, “Listen, man, I hooked up with your daughter before she was my student, and once I realized she was my student we did everything — and I mean everything — while wearing paper bag masks. And then I took a job at Hollis to make it right. I know you probably don’t believe me, but you are welcome to read every word in my Feelings Journals from this year. They will tell you all the truths in iambic pentameter.” He motions to the wall where his Feelings Journals live, and Byron goes, “That’s like seven hundred thousand Feelings Journals.” And Ezra is like, “I know, but my bookshelf will only hold one month’s worth at a time. The rest are in storage. You can read those too. I went through a haiku phase this spring, so when —” Byron cuts him off with a swift kick to the vagina, and Ezra limps back to his TV.