“No,” Mrs. Hastings said tightly.
Spencer let out a loud sniffle. Her mother closed her purse and stood, and her father followed. Mr. Hastings checked his watch. “Well, I’ve got to get back.”
An ache rippled through Spencer’s body. All she wanted was for them to comfort her, but they’d been acting cold to her for months, all because of the Golden Orchid scandal. Her parents had known Spencer stole Melissa’s work, but they’d wanted her to keep quiet about it and accept the award anyway. Not that they were admitting that now. When Spencer confessed the truth, her parents had pretended to be shocked by the news.
“Mom?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Dad? Could you maybe…stay a few more minutes?”
Her mother paused for a moment and Spencer’s heart lifted. Then Mrs. Hastings looped her cashmere scarf around her neck, grabbed Mr. Hastings’s hand, and turned for the door, leaving Spencer all alone in the office.
5
THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD
At lunchtime on Monday, Hanna sauntered down the arts hall toward her advanced fabrics classroom. There was nothing like starting off a new semester looking absolutely fierce. She’d lost five pounds over the break and her auburn hair gleamed, thanks to the ylang-ylang deep-conditioning treatment she’d charged to her father’s for-emergencies-only credit card. A group of boys in matching Rosewood Day ice hockey jerseys leaned up against their lockers, ogling her as she passed. One of them even whistled.
That’s right, Hanna smirked, giving them a three-finger wave. She could still bring it.
Of course, there had been a few instances when she hadn’t quite felt like she’d returned to fabulous Hannadom. Take right now: Lunch was the time of the school day to see and be seen, but Hanna wasn’t sure where she should go. She’d assumed she would eat with Lucas, but he was at debate team practice. Back in the day, she and Mona used to camp out at Steam, sipping Americanos and critiquing everyone’s handbags and shoes. Then, after they’d scarfed down their Splenda yogurts and Smart Waters, they would claim prime spots in front of the mirrors in the English wing’s bathroom to touch up their makeup. But today she’d avoided both of those places. It seemed desperate to sit at a café table alone, and Hanna’s makeup didn’t really need fixing.
She sighed, gazing jealously at a group of happy girls on their way to the cafeteria, wishing she could hang out with them for at least a few minutes. But that had always been the problem with her friendship with Mona—there had never been room for anyone else. And now Hanna couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the whole school thought of her as That Girl Whose Best Friend Tried to Kill Her.
“Hanna!” a voice called. “Hey!”
Hanna paused and squinted down the hall at the tall, thin figure waving at her. A sour taste filled her mouth. Kate.
It was beyond nauseating to see Kate in a Rosewood Day–issue navy blue blazer and plaid skirt. Hanna wanted to run in the other direction, but Kate approached at breakneck speed, navigating deftly in her three-inch-heeled boots. Kate’s face was as earnest and cheerful as a Disney cartoon character’s, and her breath smelled like she’d eaten about eight Listerine breath strips. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Huh,” Hanna grunted, searching around for someone to interrupt them. She’d have settled for that smart-ass Mike Montgomery, or even her prudish, virginity-pledging ex, Sean Ackard. But the only people in the hall were the members of the Rosewood Day madrigal choir, and they’d just broken into an impromptu Gregorian chant. Freaks. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall, beautiful raven-haired girl in enormous Gucci sunglasses sweep around the corner, a golden retriever guide dog at her side.
Jenna Cavanaugh.
A shiver went through Hanna. There was so much about Jenna she’d never known. Jenna and Mona had been friends, and Mona had been walking over to the Cavanaughs’ house to visit Jenna the night she was blinded by the firework. That meant Mona had known about the horrible thing they’d accidentally done to Jenna the entire time she and Hanna were best friends. It was almost inconceivable to imagine. All those hours Mona had spent at Hanna’s house, all those spring break trips to the Caribbean, all those bonding shopping and spa sessions…and never once had Hanna suspected that the firework that had blinded Jenna had burned Mona too.
“What are you doing for lunch?” Kate chirped, making Hanna jump. “Is this a good time for a tour?”
Hanna started walking again. “I’m busy,” she said haughtily. Screw her father and his “treat Kate like family” lecture. “Go to the office and tell them you’re lost. I’m sure they could draw you a map.”
With that, she tried to steer around Kate, but Kate stayed right with her. Hanna got a noseful of Kate’s peach-scented shower gel. Fake peach, Hanna decided, was her least favorite scent in the whole world.
“How about coffee?” Kate said firmly. “I’ll buy.”
Hanna narrowed her eyes. Kate had to be an idiot if she thought Hanna would so easily be swayed by ass-kissing. When she and Mona had become friends at the beginning of eighth grade, Mona had won Hanna over by kissing her ass—and look what happened there. But even though Kate’s expression was irritatingly friendly, it was obvious she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Something occurred to Hanna: If she was enough of a bitch, Kate might tattle on her again, Le Bec-Fin style.
Hanna let out a blustering sigh and threw her hair over her shoulder. “Fine.”
They backtracked to Steam, which was only a few doors away. Panic at the Disco was on the stereo, both espresso machines were running, and the tables bustled with students. The drama club was meeting in the corner, talking about holding auditions for Hamlet. Now that Spencer Hastings had been barred from the play, Hanna had heard that a talented sophomore named Nora had a good shot at Ophelia. There were a few younger girls gaping at an old flyer for the Rosewood Stalker, who hadn’t resurfaced since the whole A thing ended—the police figured it had most likely been Mona. A group of soccer boys leaned against one of the computer consoles. Hanna thought she felt their eyes burning into her back, but when she turned to wave, they weren’t looking at her at all. They were looking at pretty, skinny, round-butt, C-cup Kate.
As they took their place in line and Kate studied the menu board, Hanna heard loud whispers on the other side of the room. She whirled around. Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe—her oldest, nastiest enemies—stared at Hanna from the big wooden four-top that used to be Hanna and Mona’s favorite table.
“Hi, Hanna,” Naomi teased, waving. She’d gotten a short and shaggy haircut over the break. The style was similar to Agyness Deyn’s, but the supermodel’s trademark cut made Naomi look like a pinhead.
Riley Wolfe, whose penny-colored hair was wound into a tight, ballet dancer–style bun, waved too. Her eyes zeroed right in on the Z-shaped scar on Hanna’s chin.
Hanna’s insides burbled, but she resisted covering the scar with her hands. No amount of foundation, powder, or mega-expensive laser treatments had been able to make it disappear completely.
Kate followed Hanna’s gaze across the room. “Oh! That blond girl’s in my French class. She seems super nice. Are they friends of yours?”
Before Hanna could say, Absolutely not, Naomi was waving to Kate and mouthing hello. Kate flounced across the room to their table. Hanna lingered a few paces behind, pretending to be really interested in the Steam menu board, even though she had it memorized. It wasn’t like she cared what Naomi and Riley said to Kate. It wasn’t like they mattered.
“You’re new, right?” Naomi asked Kate as she approached.
“Yep,” Kate said with a huge smile. “Kate Randall. I’m Hanna’s stepsister. Well, stepsister-to-be. I just moved here from Annapolis.”
“We didn’t know Hanna had a stepsister-to-be!” Naomi’s grin reminded Hanna of a creepy jack-o’-lantern.
“She does.” Kate spread her arms out dramatically. “Moi.”
“I love those boots.” Riley pointed to them. “Are they Marc Jacobs?”
“Vintage,” Kate admitted. “I got them in Paris.”
Oh, I’m so special, I’ve been to Paris, Hanna mimicked in her head.
“Mason Byers was asking about you.” Riley gave Kate a sly look.
Kate’s eyes glittered. “Which one is Mason?”
“He’s really hot,” Naomi said. “You wanna sit?” She swiveled around and stole a chair from a table of band girls, carelessly tossing someone’s backpack to the floor.
Kate glanced at Hanna over her shoulder, raising one eyebrow as if to say, Why not? Hanna took a big step away, shaking her head forcefully.
Riley pursed her shimmery lips. “Are you too good to sit with us, Hanna?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Or are you on a friends-free diet, now that Mona’s gone?”
“Maybe she’s on a friend purge,” Naomi suggested, nudging Riley slyly.
Kate glanced at Hanna, then back to Naomi and Riley. It looked as if she were debating whether or not to laugh. Hanna’s chest felt tight, like her bra had shrunk three sizes too small. Trying her best to ignore them, she whirled around, tossed her hair, and strutted into the crowded hall.
But once she was safe amid the throng of people streaming out of the cafeteria, her composure crumpled. Friends-free diet. Friends purge. Leave it to Kate to bond immediately with the bitches she hated most. Right now, Naomi and Riley were probably telling Kate about the time A had made Hanna tell them she had a little binging and purging problem and that Sean Ackard had turned her down cold when she propositioned him for sex at Noel Kahn’s field party. Hanna could just picture Kate throwing her head back in laughter, all of them insta-BFFs.
Hanna angrily made her way down the hall back to the fabrics room, elbowing slow freshman out of her way. Even though she was supposed to despise Mona these days, Hanna would have given anything to have her back right then. A few months ago, when Naomi and Riley had teased Hanna about purging, Mona had quickly stepped in, stomped the rumor flat, and reminded them who was truly in charge at Rosewood Day. It had been beautiful.
Unfortunately, there was no best girlfriend to get Hanna’s back today. And maybe there would never be one, ever again.
6
EMILY’S CHURCH MIRACLE
Monday evening after swim practice, Emily clomped up the stairs to the bedroom she and her sister Carolyn shared, shut the door, and flopped down on the bed. Practice hadn’t been that grueling, but she felt so tired, like all of her limbs were weighted down with bricks.
She flipped on the radio and spun the dial. As she passed a news station, she heard a chilling, familiar name and paused.
“Ian Thomas’s trial begins on Friday morning in Rosewood,” a clipped, efficient-sounding newswoman said. “However, Mr. Thomas staunchly denies involvement in Alison DiLaurentis’s death, and some sources close to the district attorney’s office are saying his case might not even go to trial due to insufficient evidence.”
