She shoved through the bathroom door, slammed into a stall, and knelt down in front of the toilet. Her stomach gurgled, and she felt the urge to take care of it. Calm down, she told herself, staring dizzily at her reflection in the toilet’s water. You can get through this.
Hanna stood up again, her jaw trembling, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. If only she could stay in this bathroom for the rest of the night. Let them have Hanna’s special weekend without her. Her cell phone rang. Hanna pulled it out of her purse to silence it. Then her stomach dropped. She had an e-mail from a familiar garbled address.
Since you followed my orders so nicely yesterday, consider this a gift: Get to Foxy, now. Sean’s there with another girl. —A
She was so startled, she nearly dropped the phone on the bathroom’s marble floor.
She dialed Mona. They still weren’t speaking—Hanna hadn’t even told Mona she wasn’t going to Foxy—and Mona didn’t answer. Hanna hung up, so frustrated she threw her phone against the door. Who could Sean be with? Naomi? Some V Club bitch?
She burst noisily out of the stall, making an old lady washing her hands at the sink jump. When Hanna came around the corner for the door, she skidded to a halt. Kate was sitting on the chaise lounge, applying pale, salmon-colored lipstick. Her long, slender legs were crossed and she looked super-poised.
“Everything okay?” Kate raised her deep blue eyes to Hanna. “I came to check.”
Hanna stiffened. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Kate twisted up her mouth. “No offense to your dad, but sometimes he can say the most inappropriate things. Like this one time I was going out on this date with this guy. We were leaving the house, and your dad goes, ‘Kate? I see you wrote OB on the grocery list. What is that? What aisle can I find it in?’ I was mortified.”
“God.” Hanna felt a twinge of sympathy. That sounded like her dad, all right.
“Hey, it doesn’t matter,” Kate said gently. “He didn’t mean anything.”
Hanna shook her head. “It’s not that.” She glanced up at Kate. Oh, what the hell. Maybe they did have a pretty-girl bond. “It’s…it’s my ex. I got a text that he’s at this benefit thing called Foxy with another girl.”
Kate frowned. “When did you break up?”
“Eight days ago.” Hanna sat down on the chaise. “I’m half tempted to go back there right now and kick his ass.”
“Why don’t you?”
Hanna slumped back in the couch. “I wish, but…” She motioned toward the door leading back to the restaurant.
“Listen.” Kate stood up and puckered for the mirror. “Why don’t you blame that support group thing you’re in? Say that one of the people in it called you and said she was feeling really ‘weak,’ and you’re her buddy, so you have to talk her down.”
Hanna raised an eyebrow. “You know an awful lot about support groups.”
Kate shrugged. “I have a couple friends who’ve been through rehab.”
Okaaay. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I’ll cover for you, if you want,” Kate offered.
Hanna eyed her in the mirror. “Really?”
Kate looked back at her meaningfully. “Let’s just say I owe you one.”
Hanna flinched. Something told her Kate was talking about that time in Annapolis. It made her feel squirmy—that Kate remembered, and that she recognized that she’d been mean. At the same time, it gave her a certain satisfaction.
“Besides,” Kate said, “your dad said we’d be seeing a lot more of each other. Might as well start it off right.”
Hanna blinked. “He said he…he wants to see me more?”
“Well, you are his daughter.”
Hanna played with the heart-shaped charm on her Tiffany necklace. It gave her a little thrill, hearing Kate say that. Maybe she’d overreacted at the dinner table.
“What—it’ll take you two hours, tops?” Kate asked.
“Probably less than that.” All she wanted to do was take SEPTA to Rosewood and curse the bitch out. She opened her hobo bag to see if she had train fare. Kate stood above her and pointed to something at the purse’s bottom. “What’s that?”
“This?” As soon as Hanna pulled it out, she wanted to stuff it back in. It was the Percocet she’d stolen from the burn clinic on Tuesday. She’d forgotten.
“Can I have one of those?” Kate whispered excitedly. Hanna looked at her cross-eyed. “Serious?”
Kate gave Hanna a naughty look. “I need something to help me get through this musical your dad’s dragging us to.”
Hanna handed over a packet. Kate pocketed the pills, then turned on her heel and strode confidently out of the bathroom. Hanna followed, her mouth open in awe.
That was the most surreal thing of the night. Maybe if she had to see Kate again, it wouldn’t be a fate worse than death. It might even be…fun.
26
AT LEAST SHE DOESN’T HAVE TO SING BACKUP
By the time Spencer and Andrew got to Foxy, the place was mobbed. The valet line was twenty cars long, the wanna-bes who hadn’t been invited swarmed around the entrance, and the main tent was jammed with kids at tables, around the bar, and on the dance floor.
As Andrew made his way back from the drinks table, Spencer checked her cell phone again. Still no calls from Wren. She paced around the cross-shaped marble pattern on the dining hall’s floor, wondering why she was here. Andrew had come to pick her up, and, despite all her anxiety, Spencer had put her drama club skills to use and fooled her family into thinking they were an item—giving Andrew a little kiss near the lips when she saw him, graciously accepting his flowers, posing for a picture, her cheek pressed to his. Andrew had seemed giddily flustered, which helped all the more with the ruse.
Now she had no use for him, but unfortunately he didn’t know that. He kept introducing Spencer to everyone—people they both knew—as his date. What she really wanted to do was to go into a quiet room and think. She needed to untangle what that cop, Wilden, knew, and what he didn’t. If Toby was A and Ali’s killer, he wouldn’t be talking with the police. But what if Toby wasn’t A…and A had told the police something?
“I think they’re doing karaoke.” Andrew pointed at the stage. Sure enough, some girl was belting out “I Will Survive.” “Want to sing something?”
“I don’t think so,” Spencer said anxiously, fiddling with the pin of her corsage. She looked around for the fiftieth time for her old friends, hoping they would appear. She felt she had to warn them about Toby—and the cops. A had told her not to, but maybe she could do it in code.
“Well, maybe you’ll do one with me?” Andrew coaxed.
Spencer turned to him. Andrew looked just like one of her family’s labradoodles, begging for table scraps. “Didn’t I just say I didn’t want to?”
“Oh.” Andrew fiddled with his paisley tie. “Sorry.”
In the end, she agreed to sing backup for Christina Aguilera’s “Dirrty”—so asinine that squeaky-clean Andrew chose to sing that song—because it was easier that way. Now Mona Vanderwaal and Celeste What’s-her-name—she went to the Quaker school—were onstage singing “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” They already seemed tipsy, holding each other’s arms for balance, and repeatedly dropping their suede mini bags on the floor.
“We’re going to be way better than them,” Andrew said. He was standing too close. Spencer felt his hot, Orbit gum–minty breath and bristled. Wren breathing heavily on her neck was one thing, but Andrew was quite another. If she didn’t get some air right now, she might pass out. “I’ll be back,” she murmured to Andrew, and fumbled toward the door.
As soon as she passed through the terrace’s French doors, her phone vibrated. She flinched. When she looked at the LED screen, her heart lifted. Wren.
“Are you all right?” Spencer said as she answered. “I was so worried!”
“You’ve left twelve messages,” Wren replied. “What’s going on?”
Spencer could feel the stress seeping out of her and her shoulders relaxing. “I…I didn’t hear from you, and I thought…Why didn’t you check your voice mail?”
Wren cleared his throat, sounding a little uncomfortable. “I was busy. That’s all.”
“But I thought you were—”
“What?” Wren said, sort of laughing. “In a gutter? C’mon, Spence.”
“But…” Spencer paused, trying to figure out how to explain. “I just had a weird feeling.”
“Well, I’m fine.” Wren paused. “Are you fine?”
“Yeah,” Spencer answered, smiling a little. “I mean, I’m here at my lame-ass dance, with my lame-ass date, and I’d rather be with you, but I’m so much better now. I’m glad you’re okay.”
When she hung up, she was so relieved, she wanted to run up and kiss a random person on the terrace—like Adriana Peoples, the Catholic school girl who was sitting on the Dionysus statue, smoking a clove. Or Liam Olsen, the ice hockey player who was fondling his date. Or Andrew Campbell, who was standing behind her, looking forlorn and useless. When it registered in Spencer’s brain that Andrew was, well, Andrew, her stomach clenched.
“Um, hey,” she said haltingly. “How…how long have you been standing there?”
But by the dejected look on Andrew’s face, Spencer realized he’d been standing there just long enough. “Listen,” she said, sighing. She might as well just cut this off at its nerve center. “The truth is, Andrew, I hope you don’t think anything’s going to happen between us. I have a boyfriend.”
At first, Andrew looked stunned. Then hurt, then embarrassed, then angry. The emotions passed so quickly over his face, it was like watching a sunset in time-lapse photography. “I know,” he said, pointing to her Sidekick. “I heard your conversation.”
Of course you did. “I’m sorry,” Spencer answered. “But I—”
Andrew held up his hand to stop her. “So why bring me and not him? Is he some guy your parents don’t want you to date? So you come with me, thinking you have them totally fooled?”
“No,” Spencer said quickly, feeling a twinge of discomfort. Was she that transparent, or was Andrew just a lucky guesser? “It’s…it’s hard to explain. I thought we could have fun. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
A lock of hair fell over Andrew’s eyes. “You could’ve fooled me.” He turned for the door.
“Andrew!” Spencer cried. “Wait!” As she watched him disappear through the crowd of kids, a cold, uneasy feeling washed over her. She’d definitely picked the wrong boy as her fake date. It would’ve been better to go with Ryan Vreeland, who was in the closet, or Thayer Anderson, who was too into basketball to date girls seriously.