CAN’T BEAT HER, JOIN FORCES WITH HER
Wednesday morning, Hanna burrowed under her down comforter, trying to drown out the sound of Kate singing scales in the shower. “She’s so sure she’s going to get the lead in the play,” Hanna grumbled into her BlackBerry. “I wish I could see her face when the director tells her it’s Shakespeare, not a musical.”
Lucas chuckled. “Did she seriously threaten to tell on you when you weren’t going to give her a tour of the school?”
“Basically,” Hanna growled. “Can I move in with you until we graduate?”
“I wish,” Lucas murmured. “Although we’d have to share a bedroom.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Hanna purred.
“Me neither.” Hanna could tell he was smiling.
There was a knock at the door, and Isabel poked her head in. Before she’d gotten engaged to Hanna’s father, she’d been an ER nurse, and she still wore hospital-issue scrubs to bed. Yecch. “Hanna?” Isabel’s eyes were even droopier than usual. “No talking on the phone if you haven’t made your bed, remember?”
Hanna scowled. “ Fine ,” she said under her breath. Seconds after Isabel had hauled in her Tumi luggage and replaced the custom-made plantation shutters with purple, crushed-velvet drapes, she’d laid down all these rules: No Internet after 9 P . M . No talking on cell phones if chores weren’t finished. Absolutely no boys in the house when Isabel and Hanna’s father weren’t home. Hanna was basically living in a police state.
“I’m being forced to get off the phone,” Hanna said into her BlackBerry, loud enough for Isabel to hear.
“It’s okay,” Lucas said. “I need to get moving. Photography club meets this morning.”
He made a kissing sound and hung up. Hanna wiggled her toes, all of her irritations and worries melting away. Lucas was a way better boyfriend than Sean Ackard, and he almost made up for the fact that Hanna was essentially girlfriendless. He understood how hard she was taking what Mona had done to her, and he always snickered at her evil Kate stories. Plus, with a new salon haircut and a Jack Spade messenger bag to replace his ratty JanSport backpack, Lucas wasn’t half as dorky as he’d been when they first became friends.
Once Hanna was certain Isabel had retreated down the hall to the bedroom she and Hanna’s father shared—double ughh —she crawled out of bed, haphazardly pulling up the covers so it looked like she’d made it. She then sat down at her makeup table and snapped on her LCD TV. The Action News Morning Report song blared out of the speakers. ROSEWOOD REACTS TO IAN THOMAS ’ S TEMPORARY RELEASE flashed in big black block letters at the bottom of the screen. Hanna paused. As much as she didn’t want to watch the report, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
A petite, redheaded news reporter was at the local SEPTA train station, canvassing commuters for their thoughts about the trial. “It’s despicable,” said a thin, stately older woman in a high-necked cashmere coat. “They shouldn’t let that boy out for even a minute after what he did to that poor girl.”
The camera moved to a dark-haired girl in her twenties. Her name, Alexandra Pratt, appeared below her face. Hanna recognized her. She’d once been Rosewood Day’s star field hockey player, but had graduated when Hanna was in sixth grade, a year ahead of Ian, Melissa Hastings, and Ali’s brother, Jason. “He’s definitely guilty,” Alexandra said, not bothering to take off her enormous Valentino sunglasses. “Alison occasionally played field hockey with a group of us on the weekends. Ian sometimes talked to Ali after the games. I never knew Ali that well, but I think he made her uncomfortable. I mean, she was so young.”
Hanna uncapped her Mederma scar cream. That wasn’t how she remembered it. Ali’s cheeks flushed and her eyes lit up any time Ian was around. At one of their sleepovers, when they were practicing kissing on the monkey pillow Ali had
Wednesday morning, Hanna burrowed under her down comforter, trying to drown out the sound of Kate singing scales in the shower. “She’s so sure she’s going to get the lead in the play,” Hanna grumbled into her BlackBerry. “I wish I could see her face when the director tells her it’s Shakespeare, not a musical.”
Lucas chuckled. “Did she seriously threaten to tell on you when you weren’t going to give her a tour of the school?”
“Basically,” Hanna growled. “Can I move in with you until we graduate?”
“I wish,” Lucas murmured. “Although we’d have to share a bedroom.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Hanna purred.
“Me neither.” Hanna could tell he was smiling.
There was a knock at the door, and Isabel poked her head in. Before she’d gotten engaged to Hanna’s father, she’d been an ER nurse, and she still wore hospital-issue scrubs to bed. Yecch. “Hanna?” Isabel’s eyes were even droopier than usual. “No talking on the phone if you haven’t made your bed, remember?”
Hanna scowled. “ Fine ,” she said under her breath. Seconds after Isabel had hauled in her Tumi luggage and replaced the custom-made plantation shutters with purple, crushed-velvet drapes, she’d laid down all these rules: No Internet after 9 P . M . No talking on cell phones if chores weren’t finished. Absolutely no boys in the house when Isabel and Hanna’s father weren’t home. Hanna was basically living in a police state.
“I’m being forced to get off the phone,” Hanna said into her BlackBerry, loud enough for Isabel to hear.
“It’s okay,” Lucas said. “I need to get moving. Photography club meets this morning.”
He made a kissing sound and hung up. Hanna wiggled her toes, all of her irritations and worries melting away. Lucas was a way better boyfriend than Sean Ackard, and he almost made up for the fact that Hanna was essentially girlfriendless. He understood how hard she was taking what Mona had done to her, and he always snickered at her evil Kate stories. Plus, with a new salon haircut and a Jack Spade messenger bag to replace his ratty JanSport backpack, Lucas wasn’t half as dorky as he’d been when they first became friends.
Once Hanna was certain Isabel had retreated down the hall to the bedroom she and Hanna’s father shared—double ughh —she crawled out of bed, haphazardly pulling up the covers so it looked like she’d made it. She then sat down at her makeup table and snapped on her LCD TV. The Action News Morning Report song blared out of the speakers. ROSEWOOD REACTS TO IAN THOMAS ’ S TEMPORARY RELEASE flashed in big black block letters at the bottom of the screen. Hanna paused. As much as she didn’t want to watch the report, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
A petite, redheaded news reporter was at the local SEPTA train station, canvassing commuters for their thoughts about the trial. “It’s despicable,” said a thin, stately older woman in a high-necked cashmere coat. “They shouldn’t let that boy out for even a minute after what he did to that poor girl.”
The camera moved to a dark-haired girl in her twenties. Her name, Alexandra Pratt, appeared below her face. Hanna recognized her. She’d once been Rosewood Day’s star field hockey player, but had graduated when Hanna was in sixth grade, a year ahead of Ian, Melissa Hastings, and Ali’s brother, Jason. “He’s definitely guilty,” Alexandra said, not bothering to take off her enormous Valentino sunglasses. “Alison occasionally played field hockey with a group of us on the weekends. Ian sometimes talked to Ali after the games. I never knew Ali that well, but I think he made her uncomfortable. I mean, she was so young.”
Hanna uncapped her Mederma scar cream. That wasn’t how she remembered it. Ali’s cheeks flushed and her eyes lit up any time Ian was around. At one of their sleepovers, when they were practicing kissing on the monkey pillow Ali had
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