Pretty Little Secrets

“You’re too nice.” Kate spun her silver David Yurman bracelet around her wrist. “But I’m way out of practice.”

You just don’t want to because you’d no longer be the best in the class, Hanna thought bitterly, remembering her one and only experience with ballet. She and Ali had taken a class at the YMCA, and when all of them did grand jetés across the room, Ali had collapsed into giggles, saying Hanna looked exactly like a hippo in a tutu.

Now, Hanna sighed. After her new family had thrown Hanna a Hanukkah bone a few nights ago, everything had gone back to normal shortly afterward. The Twelve Days of Christmas nonsense had resumed, though Hanna had been able to get out of a lot of it because of boot camp. She had to keep lying about where she was going, but so far her dad hadn’t given her a hard time about it—probably because he didn’t really want her there anyway. She’d tried to make a joke to her dad about Bubbe Marin and Morty the lewd African gray parrot during intermission today, but Kate had talked over her, telling Hanna’s father about how Tchaikovsky had based The Nutcracker on an old children’s tale. Her dad had nodded at Kate like it was the most interesting story in the world. Meanwhile, though Hanna had taken to obsessively checking Lucas’s Facebook page, he hadn’t uttered a peep. She was half-tempted to call his resort and ream him out for ignoring her.

As they waited in line for ice cream, Isabel launched into yet another Kate-was-such-a-beautiful-ballerina memory. Suddenly, listening to Nutcracker talk was just too much. “I have to use the bathroom,” Hanna interrupted, stepping out of line. “Just get me a bottled water,” she said, remembering the boot camp pledge she’d signed.

“We’re going to browse around the mall with our cones,” her father called after her. “Look for us in Brookstone, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Hanna answered absently, snaking around the little tables and enormous shopping bags from Saks, Build-A-Bear, and the Apple Store. Her chest felt tight, like she was about to cry. Her dad had bent over backward for her a few days ago, reliving old times, laughing and joking with her like they’d used to. But now that seemed like ancient history. Hadn’t he noticed how much she’d appreciated it?

“Hanna,” a voice called out, and Hanna swung around. Sitting at the little table in the corner, a small bowl of ice cream and a bottle of AminoSpa in front of him, was Vince from Body Tonic. For a moment, Hanna didn’t quite recognize him. He was wearing jeans, a sweater, and heavy brown hiking boots.

“Hey,” Hanna said, instinctively running her hand over her face to make sure there weren’t tears running down her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping.” Vince grinned.

“And eating ice cream.” Hanna glanced at the nearly empty bowl, one eyebrow raised.

Vince lifted his hands in surrender. “You got me. Butter pecan is my Achilles’ heel. This place is going to be the death of me.” He motioned for her to take a seat.

“I never thought you would have a food weakness,” Hanna said, settling into a seat opposite him. She gestured to the bunch of shopping bags sitting on the chair next to him. “Did you get everything on your list?”

Vince nodded. “The Toys ‘R’ Us bag has a gift for a kid in the homeless shelter. And the rest of it is for my family. Is that your family over there?” He pointed to Isabel, Kate, and Hanna’s father.

Hanna made a face. “That’s my dad, my stepmom, and . . . Kate.” She’d rather die than refer to Kate as her family.

She looked again at the Toys “R” Us bag on the chair. “It’s nice of you to get a gift for someone at the homeless shelter. Is it the one in Yarmouth?” She remembered Spencer volunteering there in seventh grade, because it would look good on a college application. Only Spencer would be thinking about colleges in junior high.

Vince swigged from his bottle of AminoSpa. “It’s something I do every year. A bunch of us from Body Tonic are going there on Monday to wrap the gifts everyone donated. It’s a really rewarding experience.”

“That’s so sweet.” Vince was sort of like Brad Pitt with his Hurricane Katrina crusade.

Mr. Marin finished paying, and he, Isabel, and Kate wandered outside. Just then a man in a Santa suit sauntered past. He peered into the ice cream shop and smiled lasciviously at Hanna.

Hanna grasped Vince’s hand. “Quick. Pretend you’re my boyfriend.”

“Excuse me?” Vince’s voice cracked.

“Just until Santa goes away.” She nudged her head ever-so-slightly toward the window. Santa was still standing there. She wasn’t sure where his eyes were looking because of the sunglasses, but she had a pretty good idea. “He hit on me a couple of days ago, asking me to sit on his lap. I can’t have him thinking I’m available.”

Vince snickered and clutched Hanna’s hand. Their palms fit together perfectly, and she felt suddenly calm and happy. “Okay, pretend I’ve just said something really funny,” Vince suggested.

“Ha ha!” Hanna fake-laughed, throwing her head back. “You are too cute!” She reached out and touched the tip of his nose.

“No, you’re cute,” Vince said, touching Hanna’s nose back. She wished he meant it and they weren’t just pretending.

They fake-bantered for another few seconds until Santa shrugged and trundled away. “Thank you,” Hanna breathed out.

“No problem,” Vince answered. “You know, a friend of mine works at the Gap here, and she said something about Santa being a real letch, too. It’s becoming a huge problem for the mall. I’m not surprised at all that he hit on you, though.”

Warmth spread across Hanna’s face. She bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes, pretending to be fascinated with the mosaic pattern in the tabletop. Did that mean Vince thought she was cute?

The milk-shake maker whirred behind the counter. A little girl banged her spoon against her empty dish. Finally, Vince coughed awkwardly. “So I’m happy you decided to stick with boot camp. You’re doing really well.”

Hanna smiled. “I’m happy, too. Though I’m kind of surprised that you paired me up with Dinah.”

Vince frowned. “I thought you two would be perfect together.”

Hanna resisted the urge to snort. Yesterday morning, while Dinah had held Hanna’s legs during sit-ups, she’d whispered, “Just so you know, I can see up your shorts.” To which Hanna responded that Dinah’s dark lipstick made her look like a corpse.

Then, during the partner stretch, Dinah had whined to Vince that Hanna was stretching her incorrectly, finagling it so that Vince would stretch her instead. And during the evening session, Vince had proposed a squat-off for the class, the winner getting a special prize. Determined to win, Hanna had squatted and squatted until her leg muscles felt like they’d oozed out through her knees. One by one, the other class members fell to the ground, groaning. The only other person who kept going, right next to Hanna, was Dinah. Down and up they went. In and out they breathed. “Amazing, girls!” Vince bellowed. “Keep it up!”

Finally, Hanna’s vision had begun to tunnel. She’d dropped to the ground in a heap, and Dinah had let out a whoop. Dinah’s prize had been a bottle of AminoSpa—whoo hoo. But she’d looked at Hanna, licked her finger, pressed it to her butt, and made a sizzling noise.

“You two are young and hungry,” Vince explained now. “But more than that, I think you’re a huge inspiration to Dinah. I’m not sure she’s ever taken fitness seriously before, whereas you look like you’ve taken care of yourself for years. I think you can really help her achieve her goals.”

Hanna perked up. That made sense. She’d never thought of herself as a fitness inspiration, but maybe she was. She could be just like Jillian Michaels or that long-haired, buff-bodied guy on her mom’s yoga DVDs, giving Dinah tough love and lots of encouragement.

“Well, I’m glad I can help,” she said, folding her arms on the table. “In fact, if you ever want to get together to talk about how I could be . . . more inspirational, I’d be happy to hear it.”

Vince nodded contemplatively. “Sure. That would be great.”

“I’d like to hear more about AminoSpa sometime, too,” Hanna added, gesturing to his almost-empty bottle.

This made Vince’s eyes light up. “Absolutely. I can give you the whole rundown.”

Then Vince said he’d better get going. They both stood and said their good-byes, and Hanna pranced away from him, hoping he was getting a good look at her already-firmer butt. Her heart was racing, her cheeks felt flushed, and she felt beautiful, radiant, and desired.

But as she strode out of the shop, she caught sight of something outside the window. COMING SOON, a large placard said on a storefront across the walkway. RIVE GAUCHE.

She felt a twinge of guilt. Rive Gauche was the restaurant at the King James Mall she and Mona used to hang out at religiously—and it was the place where Lucas worked. They’d re-met there, actually—Lucas had chased after Hanna when Mona had stuck her with a bill, and they’d developed a friendship that led to dating.

Maybe it was wrong to faux-hold hands with a guy when Hanna had a perfectly good real boyfriend vacationing across the continent. Just because Brooke was a skanky tanorexic didn’t mean Lucas was going to fall for her tricks. Maybe there was even an excuse as to why he hadn’t written to her yet. Maybe the Beattie family had been kidnapped by Mexican drug lords and they’d taken away his iPhone. She’d seen that once on Locked Up Abroad.

She pulled out her phone to check for news about the Yucatán, but before CNN even loaded, an alert popped onto her screen. Lucas Beattie was tagged in a new photo, it said. Hanna’s heart lifted. So Lucas was alive!

She clicked on the link, and the browser called up her Facebook page. Lucas’s photo was right at the top of the news feed; Brooke had posted it. There was no text, just a picture of him and Brooke sitting on a beautiful white beach, their arms around each other. Their bodies were pressed close together. Skin on skin. Lucas’s smile took up practically the whole frame.

Hanna stared at the picture for what felt like hours. It felt worse than the most eye-numbing ice cream headache ever. Finally, she exited out of Facebook and checked her inbox for any texts or emails from him, but there were none. Nor had he tweeted or—God forbid—called. The message was loud and clear. Lucas had forgotten about her, trading in Hanna for Puke-a-tan.

Which meant just one thing. Hanna would trade Lucas in, too—for Vince.

Chapter 10

That’s a Wrap

On Monday after school, Hanna pulled into a small parking lot in front of a squat building across from the Yarmouth SEPTA station. YARMOUTH HOMELESS SHELTER, said a sign in faded blue letters over the door. A pathetic plastic wreath hung in one of the windows, and someone had strung a few Christmas lights around the scrubby bushes up the front walk.

“Are you sure this is the place you volunteered at?” Hanna said into her phone. “It looks like it’s going to fall down any second.”