Flawless (4 page)

Shaken, she slid into her house and headed for her kitchen. When she strode through the French doors, she froze.

Hanna’s mother sat at the kitchen table with a plate of cheese and crackers in front of her. Her dark auburn hair was in a chignon, and her diamond-encrusted Chopard watch glinted in the afternoon sun. Her Motorola wireless headset hung from her ear.

And next to her…was Hanna’s father.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” her dad said.

Hanna took a step back. There was more gray in his hair, and he wore new wire-rimmed glasses, but otherwise he looked the same: tall, crinkly eyes, blue polo. His voice was the same, too—deep and calm, like an NPR commentator. Hanna hadn’t seen or spoken to him in almost four years. “What are you
doing
here?” she blurted.

“I’ve been doing some work in Philly,” Mr. Marin said, his voice squeaking nervously on
work
. He picked up his Doberman coffee cup. It was the mug her dad used faithfully when he’d lived with them; Hanna wondered if he’d rooted through the cupboard to find it. “Your mom called and told me about Alison. I’m so sorry, Hanna.”

“Yeah,” Hanna sounded out. She felt dizzy.

“Do you need to talk about anything?” Her mom nibbled on a piece of cheddar.

Hanna tilted her head, confused. Ms. Marin and Hanna’s relationship was more boss/intern than mother/daughter. Ashley Marin had clawed her way up the executive ladder at the Philly advertising firm McManus & Tate, and she treated everyone like her employee. Hanna couldn’t remember the last time her mom had asked her a touchy-feely question. Possibly never. “Um, that’s okay. But thanks,” she added, a little snottily.

Could they really blame her for being a tad bitter? After her parents divorced, her dad moved to Annapolis, started dating a woman named Isabel, and inherited a gorgeous quasi-stepdaughter, Kate. Her father made his new life so unwelcoming, Hanna visited him just once. Her dad hadn’t tried to call her, e-mail her, anything, in years. He didn’t even send birthday presents anymore—just checks.

Her father sighed. “This probably isn’t the best day to talk things over.”

Hanna eyed him. “Talk what over?”

Mr. Marin cleared his throat. “Well, your mom called me for another reason, too.” He lowered his eyes. “The car.”

Hanna frowned. Car? What car?
Oh.

“It’s bad enough you stole Mr. Ackard’s car,” her father said. “But you left the scene of the accident?”

Hanna looked at her mom. “I thought this was taken care of.”

“Nothing is taken care of.” Ms. Marin glared at her.

Could’ve fooled me,
Hanna wanted to say. When the cops let her go on Saturday, her mother mysteriously told Hanna she’d “worked things out” so Hanna wouldn’t be in trouble. The mystery was solved when Hanna found her mom and one of the young officers, Darren Wilden, practically doing it in her kitchen the next night.

“I’m serious,” Ms. Marin said, and Hanna stopped smirking. “The police have agreed to drop the case, yes, but it doesn’t change what’s going on with
you
, Hanna. First you steal from Tiffany, now this. I didn’t know what to do. So I called your father.”

Hanna stared at the plate of cheese, too weirded out to look either of them in the eye. Her mom had told her dad that she’d gotten caught shoplifting at Tiffany too?

Mr. Marin cleared his throat. “Although the case was dropped with the police, Mr. Ackard wants to settle it privately, out of court.”

Hanna bit the inside of her mouth. “Doesn’t insurance pay for those things?”

“That’s not it exactly,” Mr. Marin answered. “Mr. Ackard made your mother an offer.”

“Sean’s father is a plastic surgeon,” her mother explained, “but his pet project is a rehabilitation clinic for burn victims. He wants you to report there at three-thirty tomorrow.”

Hanna wrinkled her nose. “Why can’t we just give him the money?”

Ms. Marin’s tiny LG cell phone started to ring. “I think this will be a good lesson for you. To do some good for the community. To understand what you’ve done.”

“But I
do
understand!” Hanna Marin did not want to give her free time away to a burn clinic. If she
had
to volunteer, why couldn’t it be somewhere chic? Like at the UN, with Nicole and Angelina?

“It’s already settled,” Ms. Marin said brusquely. Then she shouted into her phone, “Carson? Did you do the mock-ups?”

Hanna sat with her fingernails pressed into her fists. Frankly, she wished she could go upstairs, change out of her funeral dress—was it making her thighs look huge, or was that just her reflection in the patio doors?—redo her makeup, lose five pounds, and do a shot of vodka. Then she would come back down and reintroduce herself.

When she glanced at her father, he gave her a very small smile. Hanna’s heart jumped. His lips parted as if he were going to speak, but then his cell phone rang, too. He held up one finger to Hanna to hold on. “Kate?” he answered.

Hanna’s heart sank.
Kate.
The gorgeous, perfect quasi-stepdaughter.

Her father tucked the phone under his chin. “Hey! How was the cross-country meet?” He paused, then beamed. “Under eighteen minutes? That’s
awesome
.”

Hanna grabbed a hunk of cheddar from the cheese plate. When she’d visited Annapolis, Kate wouldn’t look at her. She and Ali, who’d come with Hanna for moral support, had formed an insta–pretty girl bond, excluding Hanna entirely. It drove Hanna to wolf down every snack within a one-mile radius—this was back when she was chubby and ugly and ate and ate. When she clutched her stomach in binged-out agony, her father had wiggled her toe and said, “Little piggy not feeling so good?” In front of
everyone
. And then Hanna had fled to the bathroom and forced a toothbrush down her throat.

The hunk of cheddar hovered in front of Hanna’s mouth. Taking a deep breath, she stuffed it into a napkin instead and threw it in the trash. All that stuff happened a long time ago…when she was a very different Hanna. One only Ali knew about, and one Hanna had buried.

3

IS THERE AN AMISH SIGN-UP SHEET SOMEWHERE?

Emily Fields stood in front of the Gray Horse Inn, a crumbling stone building that was once a Revolutionary War hospital. The current-day innkeeper had converted its upper floors into an inn for rich out-of-town guests and ran an organic café in the parlor. Emily peered through the café’s windows to see some of her classmates and their families eating smoked-salmon bagels, pressed Italian sandwiches, and enormous Cobb salads. Everyone must have had the same post-funeral brunch craving.

“You made it.”

Emily swung around to see Maya St. Germain leaning against a terra-cotta pot full of peonies. Maya had called as Emily was leaving the Rosewood Day swings, asking that she meet her here. Like Emily, Maya still had on her funeral outfit—a short, pleated black corduroy skirt, black boots, and a black sleeveless sweater with delicate lace stitching around the neck. And also like Emily, it seemed that Maya had scrounged to find black and mournful-looking stuff from the back of her closet.

Emily smiled sadly. The St. Germains had moved into Ali’s old house. When workers started to dig up the DiLaurentises’ half-finished gazebo to make way for the St. Germains’ tennis court, they uncovered Ali’s decayed body underneath the concrete. Ever since then, news vans, police cars, and curiosity seekers had gathered around the property 24/7. Maya’s family was taking refuge here at the inn until things died down.

“Hey.” Emily looked around. “Are your folks having brunch?”

Maya shook her thick brownish-black curls. “They went to Lancaster. To get back to nature or something. Honestly, I think they’ve been in shock, so maybe the simple life will do them some good.” Emily smiled, thinking of Maya’s parents trying to commune with the Amish in the small township west of Rosewood.

“You wanna come up to my room?” Maya asked, raising an eyebrow.

Emily pulled at her skirt—her legs were looking beefy from swimming—and paused. If Maya’s family wasn’t here, they’d be alone. In a room. With a bed.

When Emily first met Maya, she’d been psyched. She’d been pining for a friend who could replace Ali. Ali and Maya were really similar in a lot of ways—they were both fearless and fun, and they seemed to be the only two people in the world who understood the real Emily. They had something else in common: Emily felt something
different
around them.

“C’mon.” Maya turned to go inside. Emily, not sure what else to do, followed.

She trailed Maya up the creaky, twisty stairs of the inn to her 1776-themed bedroom. It smelled like wet wool. It had slanted pine floors, a shaky, queen-size four-poster bed with a giant crazy quilt on top, and a puzzling contraption in the corner that looked like a butter churn. “My parents got my brother and me separate rooms.” Maya sat down on the bed with a squeak.

“That’s nice,” Emily answered, perching on the edge of a rickety chair that had probably once belonged to George Washington.

“So, how
are
you?” Maya leaned toward her. “God, I saw you at the funeral. You looked…devastated.”

Emily’s hazel eyes filled with tears. She
was
devastated about Ali. Emily had spent the past three-and-a-half years hoping Ali would show up on her porch one day, as healthy and glowing as ever. And when she started receiving the A notes, she was sure Ali was back. Who else could have known? But now, Emily knew for certain that Ali was really gone. Forever. On top of that, someone knew her squirmiest secret—that she’d been in love with Ali—
and
that she felt the same way about Maya. And maybe that same someone knew the truth about what they’d done to Jenna, too.

Emily felt bad, refusing to tell her old friends what her notes from A said. It was just…she
couldn’t.
One of A’s notes was written on an old love letter that she’d sent to Ali. The ironic thing was that she
could
talk to Maya about what the notes said, but she was afraid to tell Maya about A. “I think I’m still pretty shook up,” she finally answered, feeling a headache coming on. “But, also…I’m just tired.”

Maya kicked off her boots. “Why don’t you take a nap? You aren’t going to feel any better sitting in that torture contraption of a chair.”

Emily wrapped her hands around the chair’s arms. “I—”

Maya patted the bed. “You look like you need a hug.”

A hug
would
feel good. Emily pushed her reddish-blond hair out of her face and sat down on the bed next to Maya. Their bodies melted into each other. Emily could feel Maya’s ribs through the fabric of her shirt. She was so petite, Emily could probably pick her up and spin her around.

They pulled away, pausing a few inches from each other’s faces. Maya’s eyelashes were coal black, and there were tiny flecks of gold in her irises. Slowly, Maya tilted Emily’s chin up. She kissed her gently at first. Then harder.

Emily felt the familiar whoosh of excitement as Maya’s hand grazed the edge of Emily’s skirt. Suddenly, she reached underneath it. Her hands felt cold and surprising. Emily eyes shot open and she pulled away.

The frilly white curtains in Maya’s room were open wide, and Emily could see the Escalades, Mercedes wagons, and Lexus Hybrids in the parking lot. Sarah Isling and Taryn Orr, two girls in Emily’s grade, sauntered out of the restaurant exit, followed by their parents. Emily ducked.

Maya sat back. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you
doing
?” Emily covered her unbuttoned skirt with her hand.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Maya grinned.

Emily glanced at the window again. Sarah and Taryn were gone.

Maya jiggled up and down on the bed’s creaky mattress. “Did you know there’s a charity party this Saturday called Foxy?”

“Yeah.” Emily’s whole body throbbed.

“I think we should go,” Maya continued. “It sounds fun.”

Emily frowned. “The tickets are $250. You have to be invited.”

“My brother scored tickets. Enough for both of us.” Maya inched closer to Emily. “Will you be my date?”

Emily shot off the bed. “I…” She took a step backward, stumbling on the slippery hooked rug. Lots of people from Rosewood Day went to Foxy. All the popular kids, all the jocks…everyone. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Maya looked confused. “It’s over there.”

Emily shut the crooked bathroom door. She sat on the toilet and stared at the print on the wall of an Amish woman wearing a bonnet and an ankle-length dress. Perhaps it was a sign. Emily was always looking for signs to help her make decisions—in her horoscope, in fortune cookies, in random things like this. Maybe this picture meant,
Be like the Amish
. Weren’t they chaste for life? Weren’t their lives maddeningly simple? Didn’t they burn girls at the stake for liking other girls?

And then her cell phone rang.

Emily pulled it out of her pocket, wondering if it was her mother wanting to know where Emily was. Mrs. Fields was less than pleased that Emily and Maya had become friends—for disturbing, possibly racist reasons. Imagine if her mom knew what they were up to now.

Emily’s Nokia blinked,
One new text message
. She clicked
READ
.

Em! Still enjoying the same kinds of *activities* with your best friends, I see. Even though most of us have totally changed, it’s nice to know you’re still the same! Gonna tell everyone about your new love? Or shall I? —A

“No,” Emily whispered.

There was a sudden whoosh behind her. She jumped, bumping her hip on the sink. It was only someone flushing the toilet in the next guest room. Then there was some whispering and giggling. It sounded like it was coming from the sink drain.

“Emily?” Maya called. “Everything okay?”