Wicked (17 page)

“Society photographers might be there, so I’m going to go for my Derek Lam halter dress.” Naomi swept a lock of long white-blond bangs out of her eyes. “My mom said I had to save it for prom, but I know she’ll forget in a week and let me get something else.”

“Or we could all dress alike,” Riley suggested, pausing to gaze into her Dior compact. “What about those Sweetface dresses we saw at Saks yesterday?”

“Sweetface, blegh.” Naomi stuck out her tongue. “Celebs should
not
be allowed to design clothes.”

“Those dresses are totally short and cute,” Riley urged, not giving up.

“Stop cat-fighting,” Kate said, bored. “We’ll go to the King James again this afternoon, okay? There are probably tons of stores we didn’t hit. We’ll all find something fabulous. What do you think, Hanna?”

“Done.” Hanna nodded. Naomi and Riley quickly straightened up and agreed.

“And we need to find you a boyfriend, too, Kate.” Naomi wound her arm around Kate’s waist. “There are so many cuties in this town.”

“What about Noel’s brother Eric?” Riley suggested, edging her scrawny butt against the heat vents by the windowsill. “He’s so hot.”

“He went out with Mona, though.” Naomi glanced at Hanna. “Is that, like, weird?”

“Nah,” Hanna said quickly. For the first time, she didn’t feel a twinge at hearing Mona’s name.

“Eric
would
be perfect for Kate.” Naomi widened her eyes. “I heard that when he was dating Briony Kogan, they snuck off to New York and stayed in a penthouse at the Mandarin Oriental. Eric took her on a carriage ride around Central Park and bought her a love bracelet from Cartier.”

“I heard that
too
.” Riley swooned.

“Well, I certainly could use some romance like that,” Kate admitted. She shot Hanna a covert pout. Hanna nodded back, catching Kate’s oblique reference to her secret, the disastrous,
complicated
relationship with Herpes Boy in Annapolis. Though Kate still hadn’t confirmed it was herpes, she’d asked that Hanna not get into it with their new friends.

Hanna felt another hand on her arm and exasperatedly turned, thinking it was Spencer again. Instead, it was Lucas.

“Oh, hi.” Hanna coolly ran her hands through her hair. Over the past few days, she’d communicated with Lucas via only a few terse e-mails and texts, ignoring his repeated calls. But she’d been busy cultivating her new clique, which was as delicate an art as hand-beading a couture gown. Surely Lucas would understand.

Hanna noticed a tiny speck of what looked like pink donut frosting on the tip of Lucas’s nose. Normally, she found Lucas’s inability to get all of his food in his mouth cute, but with Kate, Naomi, and Riley here, it was embarrassing. She quickly wiped it off. She wished she could also tuck in his shirt, tie the laces on one of his Converse sneakers, and muss up his hair a little—it appeared he’d forgotten to use the Ceylon-scented styling gel she’d bought him at Sephora—but that might seem really high-maintenance.

Kate stepped forward, grinning broadly. “Hi, Lucas. Nice to see you again.”

Lucas’s eyes darted back and forth from Kate’s arm, which was linked around Hanna’s, to Hanna’s face, then back to Kate’s arm again. Hanna smiled dumbly, praying that Lucas would keep his mouth shut. The last time he’d seen Hanna and Kate together was over winter break, when he’d picked Hanna up to go skiing. Hanna hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge Kate, pretending like she was merely another piece of living room furniture. She hadn’t had time to tell him about the latest turn of events.

Kate cleared her throat, looking amused. “Well. We should leave the lovebirds alone, girls.”

“I’ll catch up with you,” Hanna said tightly.

“Bye, Lucas,” Kate trilled as she, Naomi, and Riley clacked down the hall.

Lucas shifted the books in his arms. “So…”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Hanna interrupted, her vocal cords taut. “I decided to give Kate a chance.”

“But I thought you said she was demonic.”

Hanna put her hands on her hips. “What am I supposed to do? She lives in my house. My father basically told me that he’ll disown me if I’m not nice to her. She apologized to me, and I decided to accept her apology. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Okay, okay.” Lucas stepped back in surrender. “I
am
happy for you. I didn’t mean for it to sound like I wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

Hanna let out a long, fiery breath through her nose. “It’s fine.” But Lucas had killed her buzz. She strained to hear what Kate, Naomi, and Riley were saying, but they were too far away. Were they still talking about dresses, or had they moved on to shoes?

Lucas waved an arm in front of Hanna, a concerned look on his face. “Are you okay? You seem kind of…weird.”

Hanna snapped back to him, mustering up the best smile she could. “I’m fine. Great, actually. But we should go, right? We’re going to be late to class.”

Lucas nodded, still looking at Hanna funny. Finally, he sighed, leaned over, and kissed her neck. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

Hanna watched Lucas as he loped down the hall to the science wing. Over the winter break, Hanna and Lucas had built a huge snowwoman in the snow, something Hanna hadn’t done since she was little. Lucas had given the snowwoman big plastic surgery boobs, and Hanna had tied her Burberry scarf around the snowwoman’s neck. After they finished, they had a snowball fight, then went inside and baked chocolate chip cookies. Hanna virtuously ate only
two.

It had been Hanna’s favorite winter break memory, but now she wondered if she and Lucas should’ve been doing something more mature. Like sneaking off to the Mandarin Oriental in New York City, for example, and shopping for jewelry on Fifth Avenue.

The halls were almost empty, and many of the teachers were shutting their classroom doors. Hanna started down the hall, tossing her hair and trying her hardest to snap out of her weirdness. A tiny beeping sound from inside her bag made her jump. Her cell phone.

A small seed of worry began to throb in the pit of Hanna’s stomach. When she looked at the screen, she was relieved to see it was just from Lucas.
I forgot to ask,
he wrote.
Are we still hanging out this afternoon? Text me when you get this.

The between-classes classical music went silent, meaning Hanna was late. She’d forgotten that she’d offered to help Lucas pick out new jeans at the mall. But she hated the idea of Kate, Naomi, and Riley dress-shopping without her, and it seemed weird to have Lucas tag along.

Can’t,
she replied, typing while walking.
Sorry.

She hit Send and clapped her phone shut. When she turned the corner, she saw her new BFFs standing at the end of the hallway, waiting for her. She smiled and caught up to them, pushing her sinking, guilty feelings out of her head. After all, she was Hanna Marin, and she was fabulous.

18

A JURY OF ONE

Thursday evening, Spencer sat at the dinner table all alone. Melissa had left with friends an hour ago, and her parents had made themselves scarce and then pointedly breezed out the front door, barely saying good-bye. She’d had to scavenge in the fridge for some leftover cartons of Chinese food for dinner.

She stared at the pile of mail on the kitchen table. Fenniworth College, some podunk school in central Pennsylvania, had sent her a catalogue and an accompanying letter saying they would be thrilled to show her around their campus. But the only reason Fenniworth was still willing to let Spencer apply was probably because of how much money her family had. Money she’d thought she was entitled to—until now.

Spencer pulled her Sidekick out of her pocket and checked her e-mail inbox for the third time in fifteen minutes. Nothing from the adoption site. Nothing else from that creepy new A. And, unfortunately, nothing from Wilden. At Hanna’s suggestion, she’d called him about the note she’d received in the library, adding that she was positive someone had been watching her through the windows.

But Wilden had seemed distracted. Or maybe he didn’t believe her—perhaps he thought Spencer was an unreliable witness too. He’d reassured her yet again that this was just some bored kid making trouble, and that he and the rest of the Rosewood PD were investigating the origin of the notes. Then he’d hung up on Spencer when she was in the middle of a sentence. She’d stared at the phone, peeved.

Candace, the family’s housekeeper, started scrubbing the stove, filling the room with eucalyptus-scented cleaner. The latest season of
America’s Next Top Model,
Candace’s favorite show, droned on the little flat-screen TV above the cabinets. The caterers had just come to drop off some of the ingredients for Saturday’s fund-raiser, and the alcohol distributor had brought in several cases of wine. A few magnum bottles sat on the kitchen island, constant reminders that Spencer was
not included
in these preparations. If she had been, she certainly wouldn’t have ordered merlot—she would’ve gone for something classier, like Barolo.

Spencer looked up at the TV, staring as a bunch of pretty girls walked down a makeshift runway in a morgue, modeling what looked like crosses between bikinis and straitjackets. Suddenly, the TV went dark. Spencer cocked her head. Candace let out a frustrated grunt. A news logo flashed on the screen. “We have breaking news from Rosewood,” said a voice-over. Spencer reached over to the remote and turned up the volume.

A bug-eyed reporter with a crew cut stood in front of the Rosewood courthouse. “We have an update about the much-anticipated Alison DiLaurentis murder trial,” he announced. “Despite speculation about lack of evidence, the D.A.’s office announced just minutes ago that the trial will take place as scheduled.”

Spencer pulled her cashmere cardigan closer around her, letting out a huge sigh of relief. Then the broadcast cut to a shot of the front of Ian’s house, a big, rambling compound with an American flag prominently over the front porch. “Mr. Thomas has been released on temporary bail until his trial begins,” the reporter’s voice announced off-camera. “We spoke with him last night to see how he was doing.”

Ian’s image swam onto the screen. “I’m innocent,” he protested, his eyes wide. “Someone else is guilty of this, not me.”

“Ugh,” Candace spat, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that boy was ever in this house!” She picked up a can of Febreeze and squirted it toward the TV camera, as if Ian’s mere presence on the screen had let a bad odor into the room.

The report ended, and
ANTM
came back on. Spencer stood up, feeling dizzy. She needed to get some air…and clear Ian from her head. She stumbled out the back door and onto the patio, a chilly gust of wind hitting her in the face. The heron-shaped thermometer that swung from a post next to the grill said the temperature was only thirty-five degrees, but Spencer didn’t bother to go back inside to get a jacket.

It was quiet and dark on the porch. The woods behind the barn—the very last place Spencer had seen Ali alive—seemed darker than usual. When she turned and looked toward her front yard, a light in the Cavanaughs’ house snapped on. A tall, dark-haired figure floated by the living room bay window. Jenna. She was pacing around, talking into her cell phone, her lips moving quickly. Spencer shuddered, uneasy. It was such a disconnect to see someone wearing sunglasses indoors…and at night.

“Spencer,” someone whispered, very close.

Spencer whirled around toward the voice, and her knees buckled. Ian was standing on the other side of the deck. He wore a black North Face down jacket zipped up to his nose and a black ski hat pulled down to his eyebrows. The only thing Spencer could see was his eyes.

Spencer started to cry out, but Ian held up his hand. “
Shhhh
. Just listen for a sec.”

Spencer was so terrified, she could have sworn her heart was leaping around in her chest. “H-how did you get out of your house?”

Ian’s eyes glimmered. “I have my ways.”

Spencer glanced into the back window, but Candace had left the kitchen. Spencer’s Sidekick was only feet away, nestled in its mint green Kate Spade leather case on the wet patio table. She started to reach for it.

“Don’t,” Ian pleaded, his voice softening. He unzipped his jacket slightly and took off his hat. It looked as if he’d lost weight in his face, and his tawny blond hair stood on end. “I just want to talk to you,” he said. “You and I used to be such good friends. Why did you do this to me?”

Spencer’s mouth dropped open. “Because you murdered my best friend, that’s why!”

Ian rummaged in his jacket pocket, his eyes on her the whole time. Slowly, he pulled out a pack of Parliaments and lit one with a Zippo. It was something Spencer thought she’d never see. Ian used to do local public service ads for the Great American Smokeout with several other clean-cut Rosewood kids.

A plume of bluish smoke trailed out of his mouth. “You know I didn’t kill Alison. I wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head.”

Spencer gripped the smooth wooden posts along the side of her deck for balance. “You
did
kill her,” she reiterated, her voice wobbly. “And if you think the notes you’ve sent us are going to scare us into not testifying against you, you’re wrong. We’re not afraid of you.”

Ian cocked his head, confounded. “What notes?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Spencer squeaked.

Ian sniffed, still acting confused. Spencer glanced at the hole in the DiLaurentises’ yard. It was
so close.
Her eyes moved to the barn, the site of their very last sleepover.

They’d all been so excited that seventh grade was over. Sure, there’d been some tension between all of them, and sure, Ali had done a lot of things that had pissed Spencer off, but Spencer had been certain that if they spent enough time together that summer, away from everyone else at Rosewood Day, they’d be as close as ever before.

But then she and Ali had had that stupid fight about closing the blinds so Ali could hypnotize them. Before Spencer knew it, the argument had spiraled out of control. She told Ali to leave…and Ali did.