Naomi and Riley fawned over Kate for a few moments, admiring her dress, bracelet, and boots, pushing their uneaten fries in her direction. Then Naomi glanced at Hanna, who had remained standing by the dessert cart. “What’s she doing here?” she said in a low voice.
Kate pushed a fry into her mouth. She was, Hanna had observed, the kind of girl who could super-size everything and not gain an ounce. Bitch. “Hanna’s here because she has something to say to you guys,” Kate announced.
Riley raised an arched eyebrow. “She does?”
Kate nodded, folding her hands. “She wants to apologize for all the mean things she’s done to you over the years.”
What? Hanna was too stunned to speak. Kate had said they should be nice, not sell out. Why should she apologize to Naomi and Riley? They’d done just as much to Hanna over the years as Hanna had done to them.
Kate continued. “She wants to start fresh with you guys. She told me she didn’t even know why you were fighting in the first place.”
Hanna shot Kate a look that could have frozen molten lava. But Kate didn’t flinch. Trust me, her expression said. This will work.
Hanna faced forward, running her hand through her hair. “Fine,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Good!” Kate crowed. She faced the others encouragingly. “So, truce?”
Naomi and Riley glanced at each other, then smiled. “Truce!” Naomi exclaimed loudly, making the diners at the next table look over in annoyance. “Mona screwed us over, too. She acted all BFF and then dumped us after your car accident. For no reason at all!”
“Well, now we know the reason,” Riley corrected, raising a finger. “She wanted to ditch us to get back on your good side so, like, no one would suspect that she hit you with her car.”
“God.” Riley pressed her palm to her chest. “So evil.”
Hanna winced. Did they really need to get into all that right now?
“Anyway, we feel so awful for what you had to go through, Hanna,” Naomi simpered. “And we’re sorry, too, about our fight. So truce, definitely!” She jiggled up and down excitedly.
“Great!” Kate cried. She nudged Hanna, and Hanna mustered a smile too.
“So sit, Hanna!” Naomi said. Hanna sat cautiously, feeling like a Chihuahua who had walked into a testy Rottweiler’s yard. This seemed way too easy.
“We were just looking at the new Teen Vogue,” Riley announced, shoving a dog-eared magazine toward them. “There’s that benefit this weekend, after all. We have to beat all those ugly bitches to the best dresses.”
Hanna raised a suspicious eyebrow, noticing the date on the Teen Vogue cover. “I thought this issue didn’t come out for another few weeks.”
Riley took a sip of her seltzer and cranberry juice. “My cousin works there. This is just a mock-up, but the issue’s already been put to bed. She sends me early issues all the time. Sometimes she even sends me local sample-sale invites, stuff the public never gets invited to.”
Kate’s blue eyes were saucers. “Nice.”
Riley leafed through a few pages of the magazine and pointed at a flirty black cocktail dress. “Omigod, this would look so beautiful on you, Hanna.”
“Who makes that?” Hanna leaned forward curiously.
“And this would look awesome with your eyes, Kate.” Naomi pointed at a robin’s egg blue sheath by BCBG. “Prada makes these gorgeous satin shoes in the exact same color. Have you been to the Prada store yet? It’s just over there.” She pointed.
Kate shook her head. Naomi clapped her hand over her mouth, mock horrified.
Kate giggled and then glanced down at the magazine again. “I bet we’re supposed to bring dates to this benefit, right?” she said, touching the glossy pages. “I don’t even know any guys here.”
“You have nothing to worry about.” Naomi rolled her eyes. “Every guy in school has been talking about you.”
Riley flipped a page. “And Hanna, you already have a date.”
Hanna immediately tensed. Was that sarcasm she detected in Riley’s voice? And what was with that ugly smile on Naomi’s face? Suddenly, it hit her—they were going to make a snarky crack about Lucas. About his after-school-club obsession, maybe, or about the queer vest he had to wear when he bussed tables at Rive Gauche, or that he wasn’t a lacrosse player. There was even that ridiculous—and very untrue—rumor Ali had seeded years ago that Lucas was a hermaphrodite.
Hanna clenched her fists, waiting. She’d known this forgive-and-forget thing was too good to be true.
But Naomi simply gave Hanna a benign smile. Riley clucked her tongue. “Lucky bitch.”
A model-thin waitress laid down the leather booklet with the check at the corner of the table. Across the room, a young couple in their twenties was sitting under Hanna’s favorite old French poster, a green devil dancing with a bottle of absinthe. Hanna peeked at Naomi and Riley, the girls who had been her enemies for as long as she could remember. The things she and Mona used to tease them about suddenly didn’t seem so valid anymore. Riley’s love of leggings was actually pretty fashion-forward—she’d started wearing them before Rachel Zoe picked them out for Lindsay Lohan. And Naomi’s new haircut did make her look chic, and she definitely got credit for trying something so daring.
She stared down at the magazine, suddenly feeling magnanimous. “Riley, you’d look stunning in this Foley and Corrina,” she said, pointing to an emerald green gown.
“I was thinking the same thing!” Riley agreed, giving Hanna a high five. Then she got a cunning look on her face. “You know, the mall’s still open for another hour. Wanna hit Saks?”
Naomi’s eyes lit up. She gazed at Hanna and Kate. “What do you say, girls?”
Hanna suddenly felt like someone had wrapped her in a big, cozy cashmere scarf. Here she was at Rive Gauche with a group of girls, getting ready to hit all her favorite stores. It made everything she’d been worried about just minutes ago ooze away. Who had time to be bitter or afraid when there was shopping to be done with her new BFFs? Hanna thought of the dream she’d had when she was in the hospital after her accident, where Ali leaned over Hanna’s hospital bed and told her everything was going to be okay. Maybe Dream Ali had been referring to this moment.
As she reached down to grab her bag to follow the others out, she noticed her BlackBerry was flashing with a new text. Hanna glanced up. Kate was busy shrugging into her princess-seamed coat, Naomi was signing the bill, and Riley was reapplying her lip gloss. The waiters swirled around Rive Gauche, taking orders and clearing plates. She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and opened the text.
Dear Little Piggy,
Those who don’t remember the past are doomed to repeat it. Remember your unfortunate “accident”? Tell anyone about little ol’ moi, and this time I’ll make sure you don’t wake up. But just to show that I’m willing to play nice, here’s a helpful hint: Someone in your life isn’t what they seem.
Love ya!—A
“Hanna?”
Hanna covered the BlackBerry’s screen fast. Kate was a few paces away, waiting by the marble-topped bar. “Everything okay?”
Hanna took a deep breath, and slowly, the spots in front of her eyes receded. She let her cell phone slip back into her bag. Whatever. Screw knockoff A—anyone could have heard about that Little Piggy stuff and her accident. She was back on top where she belonged, and she wasn’t about to let some stupid kid mess with her.
“Everything’s perfect,” Hanna chirped, zipping up her bag. Then she strode across the restaurant and joined the others.
15
EVEN LIBRARIES AREN’T SAFE
Spencer watched blankly as steam from her stainless-steel coffee carafe evaporated into the air. Andrew Campbell sat across from her, flipping a page of their massive AP econ textbook. He tapped a highlighted chart.
“Okay, this is talking about how the Federal Reserve controls the money supply,” Andrew explained. “Like, if the Fed worries that the economy is going into a recession, it lowers its reserve requirements and interest rates for borrowing money. Remember when we talked about this in class?”
“Uh-huh,” Spencer mumbled vaguely. The only thing she knew about the Federal Reserve was that when it lowered interest rates, her parents got all excited because that meant their stocks would go up and her mother could redecorate the living room—again. But Spencer didn’t recall talking about this in class at all. She felt the same frustrated, helpless feeling about AP econ as she did about her recurring dream of being trapped in an underground room that was slowly filling with water. Every time she tried to dial 911, the numbers on the phone kept moving around on her. And then the buttons turned to gummy bears and the water rose over her mouth and nose.
It was after 8 P.M. on Wednesday night, and Spencer and Andrew were sitting in one of the Rosewood Public Library’s private, book-lined study rooms, going over the latest econ unit. Because she’d plagiarized an econ paper, Rosewood Day had mandated that if she didn’t get an A this semester, she would be removed from the class permanently. Her parents certainly weren’t going to shell out the money for a tutor—and they still hadn’t reopened Spencer’s credit card accounts—so Spencer had broken down and called Andrew, who had the highest grade in the class. Weirdly, Andrew had been happy to meet with her, even though they had tons of AP English, calculus, and chemistry homework tonight.
“And then there’s the monetary equation of exchange here,” Andrew said, tapping the book again. “You remember this? Let’s do some chapter problems using it.”
A piece of Andrew’s thick blond hair fell over his eyes as he reached for his calculator. She thought she detected the chestnutty smell of Kiehl’s Facial Fuel, her favorite guy soap smell. Had he always used that, or was it something new? She was pretty sure he hadn’t worn it to Foxy, the last time she’d been this close to him.
“Earth to Spencer?” Andrew waved his hand in front of her face. “Hello?”
Spencer blinked. “Sorry,” she stammered.
Andrew folded his hands over the textbook. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
“Sure,” Spencer assured him, although when she tried to remember, her brain called up other things instead. Like the A note they’d received after Ian was released on bail. Or the news reports about Ian’s upcoming trial on Friday. Or that her mother was planning a fund-raiser without her. Or, the clincher, that Spencer might not truly have been to the Hastings manor born.
Melissa didn’t have much to back up the theory she’d blurted out Tuesday night. Her only proof that Spencer was possibly adopted was that their cousin Smith had teased her about it once when they were little. Genevieve had quickly spanked him and sent him to his room. And, come to think of it, Melissa couldn’t remember their mother actually being pregnant with Spencer for nine months, either.
It wasn’t much, but the more Spencer thought about it, the more it felt like an important puzzle piece snapping into place. Except for their similarly colored dirty-blond hair, she and Melissa looked nothing alike. And Spencer always wondered why her mom had acted so spazzy when she caught Spencer, Ali, and the others playing We Are All Secretly Sisters in sixth grade. They’d made up this fantasy that their birth mother was really worldly, rich, and connected, but she’d lost her five beautiful daughters in the Kuala Lumpur airport (mostly because they liked the words Kuala Lumpur) because she was schizo (mostly because they liked the word schizo). Usually Mrs. Hastings pretended Spencer and her friends didn’t exist. But when she’d heard what they were doing, she’d quickly interjected, saying it wasn’t funny to joke about mental illness or mothers abandoning their children. But hello? It was a game.
