“Mike?”
Mike jumped, as if caught. A petite girl with long, brown hair, an oval face, and large, doll-like eyes stood behind him. “There you are!” she chirped.
“Oh, hey!” Mike’s voice rose in pitch. “Uh, Hanna, do you know Colleen? My . . . girlfriend?”
Hanna felt as though Mike had kicked her in the boobs. Of course she knew Colleen Bebris—they’d only been going to the same school for ages. But she was his . . . girlfriend? Colleen was one of those ass-kissy types who tried to be everyone’s best friend. Back in the day, Colleen had made it her personal goal to be BFFs with Hanna and Mona, even though she was two years younger and ridiculously dorky. They made Colleen take notes for them in Latin I while they skipped school to go shopping, schlep their clothes to the dry cleaner’s, and camp out in front of the Apple store all weekend so they wouldn’t have to wait in line for the latest iPod. Eventually, Colleen had gotten the hint and started hanging out with the Shakespeare Festival kids instead. But she always had a big smile for Hanna and Mona in the halls, saying “Kiss kiss!” whenever she passed. Mona used to nudge Hanna and mutter, “No no!”
“Nice to see you,” Hanna said tightly. Suddenly feeling awkward, she shoved a flyer in Colleen’s face. “Vote for Tom Marin.”
“Oh, Hanna, I’m not old enough to vote.” Colleen sounded crushed, as if Hanna wasn’t just trying to make conversation. “But your dad’s awesome. That Wilkinson guy seems like a jerk, don’t you think? And his son is such a player.”
Hanna’s eyes widened. How did Colleen know Liam was a player?
Colleen touched Mike’s arm. “We should get going. Our dinner reservations are at seven-fifteen.” She beamed at Hanna. “We have Rive Gauche reservations tonight. It’s a Saturday tradition. I absolutely love the moules frites.”
“I read that moules frites are loaded with the worst kind of fat. But you don’t really look like you care about that kind of thing,” Hanna said sweetly to Colleen. Then she glared pointedly at Mike. He’d always wanted to go to Rive Gauche when they were dating, but Hanna had refused because Lucas Beattie, her ex, worked there. Rive Gauche was the Rosewood Day hangout, though, and Hanna hated the idea of the school’s elite seeing Mike Montgomery and Colleen together. Dating Mike would automatically make Colleen in, and she so didn’t deserve it.
“See ya later, then,” Mike said, not catching Hanna’s snarkiness—or her frustration. As he walked away, his hand entwined in Colleen’s, Hanna felt a strange sense of loss and longing. She hadn’t realized how cute Mike’s butt was. Or how attentive he was to his girlfriends. All of a sudden, she missed everything about him. She missed the shopping trips where he had patiently sat outside the dressing room and critiqued Hanna’s outfits, the lustful comments he made about the Kardashian girls when they watched their shows on E!, and how he let Hanna put makeup on him once—he’d looked surprisingly good in eyeliner. Hanna even missed the stupid Hooters keychain that hung from his backpack zipper. Her time with Liam might have been electric and intoxicating, but with Mike, she’d been silly and immature and utterly herself.
All of a sudden, it hit her like a shocking note from A: She wanted Mike back. She could even imagine the type of note A might write for the occasion:
The grass is always greener, isn’t it, Hannakins? Looks like you’re as out as last season’s wide-leg jeans!
4
A DRIVE DOWN MEMORY LANE
The following evening, Emily Fields’s mother gripped the steering wheel of the family Volvo and turned out of Lyndhurst College, where Emily had just competed in her final long-course swim meet of the year. The windows in the car were steamed up, and the mingling aromas of chlorine, UltraSwim shampoo, and Mrs. Fields’s vanilla latte wafted through the air.
“Your butterfly is looking so good,” Mrs. Fields gushed, patting Emily’s hand. “The UNC team is going to be thrilled to have you.”
“Mm-hmm.” Emily ran her fingers over the furry insides of her swimming jacket. She knew she should be excited about her swim scholarship to the University of North Carolina next year, but she was just relieved that this swim season was over. She was exhausted.
She pulled out her cell phone and checked the screen for the eleventh time that day. No new messages. She turned her phone off and then on again, but the inbox was still blank. She clicked over to her Daily Horoscopes app and read Taurus, her sign. You will shine at work today, it said. Prepare for surprises ahead.
Surprises . . . as in bad surprises or good surprises? A whole week had passed without a single note from New A. There had been no threats, no taunts about what Emily and the others had done in Jamaica, no “tsk tsk” for believing that Kelsey Pierce, a girl Emily had fallen for, was the person after them. But A’s absence was even spookier than a barrage of texts about her darkest secrets. Emily couldn’t help but picture A lying in wait and plotting a new assault, something dangerous and devastating. She dreaded what it might be.
Emily’s mother paused at a stop sign in a small housing development. Modest homes were framed by old oaks, and there was a basketball hoop at the end of a cul-de-sac. “This isn’t the usual route we use to go home,” she murmured. She checked the GPS. “I wonder why this thing is sending me on these back roads.” She shrugged and kept driving. “Anyway, have you been in touch with any of the girls on the UNC team? It might be nice to start getting to know them.”