Wicked

“There you are.”

Hanna cried out and turned around. Her father stepped through the door. He wasn’t in a suit like the rest of the men here, but a pair of khaki pants and a navy blue V-neck sweater.

“Oh,” she gasped. “I-I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said. “I’m only here for a moment.”

There was a shadowed figure behind him. She wore a strapless white gown, a brand-new Swarovski crystal bracelet, and satin Prada peep-toes. When she stepped into the light, Hanna’s heart sank. Kate.

Hanna bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Of course Kate would run to Stepdaddy and tell him everything. She should’ve seen this coming.

Mr. Marin’s eyes blazed. “Did you or did you not tell your friends that Kate has…herpes?” He mumbled the last word.

Hanna shrank back. “I did, but—”

“What on earth is wrong with you?” Mr. Marin demanded.

“She was about to do the same thing to me!” Hanna protested.

“No, I wasn’t!” Kate squealed passionately. A bit of her French twist had come undone, and a few tendrils spilled over her shoulders.

Hanna’s mouth dropped open. “I heard you on the phone on Friday! ‘It’s almost time. It’ll work. I can’t wait.’ And then you…cackled! I know what you meant, so don’t even pretend like you’re all perfect and innocent.”

A helpless squeak escaped from Kate’s throat. “I don’t know what she’s talking about, Tom.”

Hanna stood up and faced her father. “She wants to destroy me. Just like Mona did. They were working together.”

“Are you cracked? What are you talking about?” Kate threw up her hands in despair.

Mr. Marin raised a bushy eyebrow. Hanna crossed her arms over her chest, glancing once more at the photo of Ali. Ali seemed to be staring right out at Hanna, smirking and rolling her eyes. Hanna wished she could turn it upside down—or even better, tear it to shreds.

Kate made a loud gasp. “Wait a minute, Hanna. When you heard me yesterday, was I in my bedroom? Were there long pauses between things I was saying?”

Hanna sniffed. “Uh, yeah. That’s what happens when you’re on the phone.”

“I wasn’t on the phone,” Kate said coolly. “I was practicing lines for the school play. I got a part—if you would’ve talked to me, I would have told you that!” She shook her head, amazed. “I was waiting for you to come home so we could hang out. Why would I be plotting to get you? I thought we were friends!”

Down the long hall, the jazz band stopped playing, and everyone applauded. A strong scent of blue cheese wafted from the kitchen, making Hanna’s stomach turn. Kate had been practicing lines?

Mr. Marin’s eyes grew blacker and darker than Hanna had ever seen them. “So let me get this straight, Hanna. You ruined Kate’s reputation because of something you heard through a door. You didn’t even bother to ask Kate what she meant or what she was doing, you just went ahead and told everyone a blatant lie about her.”

“I thought…,” Hanna stuttered, but then trailed off. Was that what she’d done?

“You’ve gone too far this time.” Mr. Marin shook his head sadly. “I’ve tried to be lenient with you, especially after everything that happened this fall. I’ve tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. But you can’t get away with this, Hanna. I don’t know what it was like, living with your mother, but I don’t allow this kind of stuff in my house. You’re grounded.”

From this angle, Hanna could see every new little wrinkle by her dad’s eyes and all the new flecks of gray in his hair. Before her dad had moved out, he’d never punished her once. Whenever she messed up, he simply talked to her about it until she understood why it was wrong. But it looked like those days were gone.

An enormous lump formed in Hanna’s throat. She wanted to ask her father if he remembered all their talks. Or how much fun the two of them used to have. For that matter, Hanna wanted to ask why he’d called her a little piggy in Annapolis all those years ago. It wasn’t remotely funny—her dad must have known that. But maybe he didn’t care. As long as it amused Kate, he was happy. He’d taken Kate’s side ever since she and Isabel came into his life.

“From now on, you’ll associate with Kate and only Kate,” Mr. Marin said, straightening his sweater. He began listing things on his fingers. “No boys. No friends over. No Lucas.”

Hanna gaped. “What?”

Mr. Marin gave Hanna his don’t talk until I’m finished look. “No sitting with other people at lunch,” he went on. “No loitering with other girls before or after school. If you want to go to the mall, Kate has to go with you. If you want to go to the gym, Kate has to go with you. Or I start taking more things away. First your car. Then your handbags and clothes. Until you actually understand that you can’t treat people like this.”

The roof of Hanna’s mouth began to itch. She was pretty sure she was about to faint. “You can’t do that!” she whispered.

“I can.” Mr. Marin’s eyes narrowed. “And I am. And you know how I’ll know if you’re breaking the rules?” He paused and looked at Kate, who nodded. They’d probably discussed all this beforehand. Kate had probably suggested it.

Hanna gripped the arm of the couch, stunned. Everyone at school was skeeved out about Kate now—all because of what Hanna had told them. If Hanna came into school all BFFs with Kate and only Kate, people would…talk. They might even think Hanna had herpes too! She could already imagine the names everyone would call them: The Valtrex Vixens. The Blister Sisters.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

“Your punishment will start tomorrow,” Mr. Marin said. “You can use the rest of tonight to tell your friends that you’ll no longer be associating with them. I expect to see you at home in an hour.” Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room, Kate following behind.

Hanna listed woozily to the left. This didn’t make any sense. How could she have been so wrong about what she’d overheard outside Kate’s bedroom? The things Kate had said had sounded so sinister. So obvious! And Kate’s hideous little snicker…It was hard to believe she was just rehearsing for a lame-ass high school production of Hamlet.

Hamlet. A light went on in Hanna’s brain. “Wait a minute,” she shouted.

Kate turned abruptly, almost bumping into the ornate Tiffany lamp on the table by the door. She raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Hanna licked her lips slowly. “Um, what part are you playing in Hamlet, anyway?”

“Ophelia.” Kate haughtily sniffed, probably figuring Hanna didn’t know who Ophelia was.

But Hanna did know. She’d read Hamlet over the winter break, mostly to understand the Hamlet-wants-his-mother jokes everyone in her AP English classes was always making. Nowhere in the play’s five acts did fragile, pathetic, get-thee-to-a-nunnery Ophelia have lines that even remotely resembled anything like, It’s almost time, I can’t wait. Nor did Ophelia snicker. Kate insisting she was rehearsing for the play was a lame crock of shit, but her dad had bought it hook, line, and sinker.

Hanna’s mouth gaped open. Kate met her look with a cool, self-assured shrug. If she realized she’d been caught in the lie, she didn’t seem to care. Hanna already had her punishment, after all.

Before Hanna could say another word, Kate smiled and started out the door again. “Oh, and Hanna?” She curled her fingers around the doorjamb, giving Hanna a coy little wink. “It’s not herpes. I just thought you should know.”

31

EVERYONE’S A SUSPECT

The line to the downstairs powder room was five people deep by the time Emily and Isaac emerged. Emily ducked her head, even though she had nothing to be embarrassed about—all they’d done was cuddle. A pin-thin woman shoved past them into the bathroom, slamming the door.

As they walked into the middle of the ballroom, Isaac draped his arm around Emily’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. An ancient woman in a Chanel suit clucked her tongue at them, smiling. “What a cute couple,” she cooed. Emily had to agree.

Isaac’s cell phone, which was tucked into his jacket pocket, began to ring. Emily’s hands immediately turned into fists—it could be A—but then she remembered. Isaac knew all her secrets. It didn’t matter.

Isaac looked at the little lit-up window on his phone. “It’s my drummer,” he said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Emily nodded, squeezing his hand. She drifted over to the bar for a Coke. A few girls in matching black shifts were standing in line in front of her. Emily recognized them as former Rosewood Day students.

“Remember how Ian used to watch us practice?” a pretty Asian girl with long, chandelier earrings was saying. “All that time, I thought he was watching because Melissa was playing, but maybe it was because of Ali.”

Emily’s ears pricked up. She stood very still, pretending she wasn’t listening.

“He was in my science class,” whispered the other girl, a brunette with ultra-short hair and an upturned nose. “When we were dissecting the fetal pig, he stabbed that thing like he was really enjoying it.”

“Yeah, but all the guys got super violent with those pigs,” the other girl reminded her, opening up her silver clutch and pulling out a stick of Trident. “Remember Darren? He pulled out the intestines like they were spaghetti!”

They both shuddered. Emily wrinkled her nose. Why was everyone suddenly talking about how creepy Ian used to be? It seemed like revisionist history. And she couldn’t believe the stuff Ian had told Spencer—that he’d liked Ali far more than she liked him, that he wouldn’t have hurt her, ever. Why couldn’t he just admit it? Nothing said guilty like an accused criminal fleeing his own trial, after all.

“Emily?”

Officer Wilden stood behind her, a worried but stern look on his face. Tonight he wore a crisp black suit and tie instead of his Rosewood PD uniform, though Emily guessed he had a gun hidden in his jacket. Emily shuddered, feeling uneasy. The last time she’d seen Wilden had been in the parking lot on the edge of town, telling someone on the phone to just stay away. She couldn’t even recall seeing him at Ian’s trial yesterday, but he must have been there.

There was a nervous little tremor under Wilden’s left eyelid. “Have you seen Spencer?”

“About a half hour ago.” Emily quickly adjusted the strap of her dress, hoping it wasn’t painfully obvious that she’d just spent the last few minutes lying on the floor, making out with a boy. She glanced behind her, looking for the older Rosewood girls, but they’d slunk away. “Why?”

Wilden rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “I’m supposed to do head counts every thirty minutes or so, just to make sure no one leaves. And I can’t find her anywhere.”

“She’s probably up in her bedroom,” Emily suggested. It wasn’t as if any of them were in a partying mood tonight.