Wicked (21 page)

For whatever reason, Alexandra didn’t like Spencer. She was constantly critiquing Spencer’s dribbling skills and telling her she held her hockey stick wrong—as if Spencer hadn’t spent
every single summer
at field hockey camp, learning from the very best of the best. When the team was announced and Ali’s name was on the list and Spencer’s wasn’t, Spencer stormed home in disbelief and rage, not bothering to wait for Ali to walk with her. “You can always try out next year,” Ali simpered to Spencer on the phone later. “And c’mon, Spence. You can’t be the best at
everything
.”

And then she’d giggled gleefully. That very night, Ali had begun hanging her brand-new JV uniform in her bedroom window, knowing that Spencer would look out and see it.

It wasn’t just field hockey. Everything between Spencer and Ali had been a competition. In seventh grade, they’d made a bet about who could hook up with the most older boys. Although neither of them would come out and say it, they both knew their number one target was Ian. Every time they were at Spencer’s house and Melissa and Ian were there too, Ali made a point of walking by Ian, hiking up her field hockey shirt or standing up straighter to stick out her boobs.

She certainly hadn’t acted like she thought Ian was perverted. Alexandra Pratt obviously had her facts wrong.

A bus roared into the drop-off lane, making Spencer jump. Aria was staring at her curiously. “Why are you asking that, anyway?”

Spencer swallowed hard.
Tell them,
she thought. But her mouth clamped closed.

“Just curious,” she finally answered. She sighed heavily. “I wish there was something we could find—something concrete that would put Ian away for good.”

Hanna kicked at a hard clump of snow. “Yeah, but what?”

“This morning, Ali kept saying I was missing something,” Spencer said thoughtfully. “Like a big piece of evidence.”

“Ali?” Sunlight glinted sharply off Emily’s small silver hoop earrings.

“I had a dream about her,” Spencer explained, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Actually, there were two Alis in the dream. One Ali was in sixth grade, and one Ali was in seventh. They both were pissed at me, acting like there was something really obvious that I wasn’t seeing. They said it was up to me…and that soon it would be too late.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ease her pounding tension headache.

Aria chewed on her thumbnail. “I had a dream about Ali a couple of months ago that was a lot like that. It was right when we realized she’d been secretly dating Ian, and she kept saying,
The truth is right in front of you, the truth is right in front of you.
”

“And I had that dream about Ali in the hospital,” Hanna reminded them. “She was standing right over me. She kept telling me to stop worrying. That she was okay.”

A cold shiver ran down Spencer’s spine. She exchanged a glance with the others, trying to swallow the enormous lump in her throat.

More buses pulled up to the curb. Little kids skipped down the elementary sidewalks, their lunch boxes swinging, all of them talking at once. Spencer thought again of how Ian had smirked at her yesterday and then disappeared into the trees. It was almost like he thought this was all a game.

Just a few more hours,
she reminded herself. The D.A. would get Ian to cave and admit he’d killed Ali after all. Maybe he’d even get Ian to confess to taunting Spencer and the others, pretending to be a new A. Ian had a lot of money—he could hire a whole team of A spies and direct the whole operation from house arrest. And it made sense why he was sending notes: He didn’t want any of them to testify against him. He wanted to scare Spencer into recanting her statement, into saying she
hadn’t
seen Ian with Ali that night she disappeared. That she had really made it all up.

“I’m glad Ian gets locked up again after today,” Emily breathed out. “We can all relax at the benefit tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to feel calm until he’s gone for good,” Spencer answered, her throat thick with tears. Her voice carried up beyond the gnarled tree branches, high into the turquoise blue winter sky. She twisted a lock of hair around her finger until it almost snapped.
Only a few more hours,
she repeated. But those few hours suddenly seemed like an eternity.

22

DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAIN

Hanna shrugged out of her red Chloé leather jacket and tossed it into her locker as Dvorak’s
New World Symphony
played loudly over the Rosewood Day hallway speakers. Naomi, Riley, and Kate were next to her, chattering about all the boys who had gotten instant crushes on Kate.

“Maybe you should keep your options open,” Naomi was saying, draining the last little bit of her hazelnut cappuccino. “Eric Kahn is really sexy, but Mason Byers is
the
catch of Rosewood Day. Whenever he opens his mouth I want to tear off his clothes.” Mason’s family had lived in Sydney for ten years, so he spoke with a slight Australian accent. He sounded like he’d spent his whole life on a sun-soaked beach.

“Mason’s on the volleyball team.” Riley’s eyes lit up. “I saw a yearbook proof of him at a recent tournament—he had his shirt off. Gor-
geous
.”

“Doesn’t the volleyball team practice after school?” Naomi rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Maybe we all should make a special appearance as Mason’s personal cheering section.” She looked at Kate for approval.

Kate gave her a high five. “I’m game.” She turned to Hanna. “What do you think, Han? You in?”

Hanna looked back and forth between them, flustered. “I have to leave school early today…. I have that trial thing.”

“Oh.” Kate’s face clouded. “Right.”

Hanna waited, expecting Kate to say something more, but she, Naomi, and Riley just went back to gossiping about Mason. Hanna pressed her nails into her palm, feeling the teensiest bit hurt. Part of her had figured they’d come with her to Ian’s trial as a show of moral support. Naomi was in the middle of cracking a joke about the size of Mason Byers’s didgeridoo when Hanna felt someone tapping her shoulder.

“Hanna?” Lucas’s face swam in front of her. As usual, he was carrying various paraphernalia from the clubs he took part in—a schedule for future chemistry club meetings, a list of names for the Stop Putting Sugary Drinks in the Vending Machine petition he was trying to get passed, and a blazer lapel pin that said
Future Politicians of America
. “What’s up?”

Hanna wearily pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. Kate, Naomi, and Riley glanced at them and moved a few feet away. “Not much,” she mumbled.

There was an awkward pause. Out of the corner of her eye, Hanna noticed Jenna Cavanaugh slipping into an empty classroom, her dog in tow. Every time Hanna saw Jenna around Rosewood Day, an uncomfortable sensation surged through her.

“I missed you yesterday,” Lucas was saying. “I ended up not going to the mall—I wanted to wait to go with you.”

“Uh-huh,” Hanna murmured, only half listening. Her gaze moved to Kate and the others. They were now at the end of the hall near the Watercolor II class exhibit, whispering and chuckling. Hanna wondered what was so funny.

When she looked back at Lucas, he was frowning. “What’s going on with you?” he asked. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” Hanna fiddled with her blazer’s cuff. “I’ve just been…busy.”

Lucas touched her wrist. “Are you nervous about Ian’s trial? Do you need a ride?”

Hanna’s sudden irritation was palpable, like a hot poker shoved into her thigh. “Don’t go to the trial,” she snapped.

Lucas jumped back like she’d slapped him. “But…I thought you wanted me to go.”

Hanna turned away. “It’s not going to be that interesting,” she muttered, deflated. “It’s just opening statements. You’ll be bored out of your mind.”

Lucas stared at her, ignoring the rush of students drifting past them. A bunch of them were kids heading to drivers’ ed, their Pennsylvania driving rules booklets in their hands. “But I want to be there for you.”

Hanna clenched her jaw and looked away. “Seriously. I’ll be fine.”

“Is there a
reason
you don’t want me to go?”

“Just drop it, okay?” Hanna waved her arms in front of her, putting up a barrier between them. “I have to get to class. I’ll see you at the benefit tomorrow.”

With that, she slammed her locker shut and brushed past Lucas. She couldn’t quite explain why she didn’t just turn around, take his hand, and apologize for being bitchy. Why did she want Kate, Naomi, and Riley to accompany her to Ian’s trial, but when Lucas offered—so loyally and sincerely—she just got annoyed? Lucas was her boyfriend, and the past few months with him had been awesome. After Mona had died, Hanna had gone around in a numb haze until she and Lucas got back together. Once they did, they’d spent all their time together, hanging out at his house, playing Grand Theft Auto, and spending hours and hours skiing at Elk Ridge Mountain. Hanna hadn’t been to a mall or a spa once during the entire nine days they’d had off at Christmas. Half the time she spent with Lucas, she didn’t even put on makeup, except stuff to cover her scar.

These past few months with Lucas might have been the first time she’d felt purely, simply happy. Why wasn’t that enough?

Only it just
wasn’t,
and she knew it. When she and Lucas had reunited, she hadn’t thought there was much chance of becoming Fabulous Hanna Marin ever again—and now there was. Being the most popular girl at Rosewood Day was threaded through every single molecule of Hanna’s DNA. From fourth grade on, she’d memorized even the most minuscule designers in
Vogue, Women’s Wear Daily,
and
Nylon.
Back then, she rehearsed snarky comments about girls in her class to Scott Chin, one of her only friends, who giggled gleefully that she was a perfect bitch-in-training.

In sixth grade, right after Time Capsule ended, Hanna had gone to the Rosewood Day charity drive and spotted a Hermès scarf that someone had foolishly placed in the fifty-cent pile. Mere seconds later, Ali sidled up to her, complimenting Hanna’s keen eye. And then they’d started talking. Hanna was certain that Ali chose Hanna to be her new best friend not because Hanna was the prettiest, not because she was the thinnest, not even because she’d been ballsy enough to show up in Ali’s backyard to steal her piece of the Time Capsule flag, but because Hanna was most qualified for the job. And because she wanted it the most.

Hanna smoothed her hair, trying hard to forget about everything that had just happened with Lucas. As she turned the corner, she saw Kate, Naomi, and Riley stare straight at her before bursting into nasty giggles.

Suddenly, Hanna’s eyes began to blur, and all at once, it wasn’t Kate standing there, laughing—it was Mona. It was just a few months ago, mere days before Mona’s Sweet Seventeen party. Hanna would never forget the swirling feelings of disbelief when she’d seen Mona standing with Naomi and Riley, acting as if they were her brand-new BFFs, whispering about how much of a loser Hanna was.

Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.
Kate, Naomi, and Riley weren’t laughing at
her
, were they?

And then Hanna’s vision cleared. Kate noticed Hanna and waved enthusiastically.
Meet at Steam next period?
she mouthed, pointing toward the coffee bar.

Hanna nodded feebly. Kate blew her a kiss and disappeared around the corner.

Whirling around, Hanna pushed into the girls’ bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty. She rushed to one of the sinks and leaned over the basin, her stomach raging. The sharp, ammonia smell of cleaning products filled her nose. She stared in the mirror, getting close so she could see each and every pore.

They were not laughing at you. You’re Hanna Marin,
she mouthed to her reflection.
The most popular girl in school. Everyone wants to be you.

Her BlackBerry, which was tucked into one of her purse’s side pockets, began to buzz. Hanna flinched and pulled it out.
One new text message.

The little mosaic-tiled bathroom was still. A droplet of water leaked from the sink. The chrome hand dryers made Hanna’s face look bulbous and misshapen. She peeked underneath the stall doors for feet. No one.

She took a deep breath and opened the new text.

Hanna—A glutton for Cheez-Its…and punishment, too, it seems. Ruin her before she ruins you.

—A

Rage coursed hotly through her veins. She’d had enough of Nouveau A. Hanna opened up a reply text and began to sloppily type.
Rot in hell. You don’t know a thing about me.

Her BlackBerry made an efficient little
ping
to indicate the text had been sent. Just as Hanna was sliding it back in its suede case, it chimed again.

I know that someone sometimes makes herself puke in the girls’ bathroom. And I know someone’s sad because she isn’t daddy’s only little girl anymore. And I know someone dearly misses her old BFF, even though she wanted her dead. How do I know so much? Because I grew up in Rosewood, Hannakins. Just like you.

—A