That’s right, Hanna smirked, giving them a three-finger wave. She could still bring it.
Of course, there had been a few instances when she hadn’t quite felt like she’d returned to fabulous Hannadom. Take right now: Lunch was the time of the school day to see and be seen, but Hanna wasn’t sure where she should go. She’d assumed she would eat with Lucas, but he was at debate team practice. Back in the day, she and Mona used to camp out at Steam, sipping Americanos and critiquing everyone’s handbags and shoes. Then, after they’d scarfed down their Splenda yogurts and Smart Waters, they would claim prime spots in front of the mirrors in the English wing’s bathroom to touch up their makeup. But today she’d avoided both of those places. It seemed desperate to sit at a café table alone, and Hanna’s makeup didn’t really need fixing.
She sighed, gazing jealously at a group of happy girls on their way to the cafeteria, wishing she could hang out with them for at least a few minutes. But that had always been the problem with her friendship with Mona—there had never been room for anyone else. And now Hanna couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the whole school thought of her as That Girl Whose Best Friend Tried to Kill Her.
“Hanna!” a voice called. “Hey!”
Hanna paused and squinted down the hall at the tall, thin figure waving at her. A sour taste filled her mouth. Kate.
It was beyond nauseating to see Kate in a Rosewood Day–issue navy blue blazer and plaid skirt. Hanna wanted to run in the other direction, but Kate approached at breakneck speed, navigating deftly in her three-inch-heeled boots. Kate’s face was as earnest and cheerful as a Disney cartoon character’s, and her breath smelled like she’d eaten about eight Listerine breath strips. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Huh,” Hanna grunted, searching around for someone to interrupt them. She’d have settled for that smart-ass Mike Montgomery, or even her prudish, virginity-pledging ex, Sean Ackard. But the only people in the hall were the members of the Rosewood Day madrigal choir, and they’d just broken into an impromptu Gregorian chant. Freaks. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall, beautiful raven-haired girl in enormous Gucci sunglasses sweep around the corner, a golden retriever guide dog at her side.
Jenna Cavanaugh.
A shiver went through Hanna. There was so much about Jenna she’d never known. Jenna and Mona had been friends, and Mona had been walking over to the Cavanaughs’ house to visit Jenna the night she was blinded by the firework. That meant Mona had known about the horrible thing they’d accidentally done to Jenna the entire time she and Hanna were best friends. It was almost inconceivable to imagine. All those hours Mona had spent at Hanna’s house, all those spring break trips to the Caribbean, all those bonding shopping and spa sessions…and never once had Hanna suspected that the firework that had blinded Jenna had burned Mona too.
“What are you doing for lunch?” Kate chirped, making Hanna jump. “Is this a good time for a tour?”
Hanna started walking again. “I’m busy,” she said haughtily. Screw her father and his “treat Kate like family” lecture. “Go to the office and tell them you’re lost. I’m sure they could draw you a map.”
With that, she tried to steer around Kate, but Kate stayed right with her. Hanna got a noseful of Kate’s peach-scented shower gel. Fake peach, Hanna decided, was her least favorite scent in the whole world.
“How about coffee?” Kate said firmly. “I’ll buy.”
Hanna narrowed her eyes. Kate had to be an idiot if she thought Hanna would so easily be swayed by ass-kissing. When she and Mona had become friends at the beginning of eighth grade, Mona had won Hanna over by kissing her ass—and look what happened there. But even though Kate’s expression was irritatingly friendly, it was obvious she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Something occurred to Hanna: If she was enough of a bitch, Kate might tattle on her again, Le Bec-Fin style.
Hanna let out a blustering sigh and threw her hair over her shoulder. “Fine.”
They backtracked to Steam, which was only a few doors away. Panic at the Disco was on the stereo, both espresso machines were running, and the tables bustled with students. The drama club was meeting in the corner, talking about holding auditions for Hamlet. Now that Spencer Hastings had been barred from the play, Hanna had heard that a talented sophomore named Nora had a good shot at Ophelia. There were a few younger girls gaping at an old flyer for the Rosewood Stalker, who hadn’t resurfaced since the whole A thing ended—the police figured it had most likely been Mona. A group of soccer boys leaned against one of the computer consoles. Hanna thought she felt their eyes burning into her back, but when she turned to wave, they weren’t looking at her at all. They were looking at pretty, skinny, round-butt, C-cup Kate.
As they took their place in line and Kate studied the menu board, Hanna heard loud whispers on the other side of the room. She whirled around. Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe—her oldest, nastiest enemies—stared at Hanna from the big wooden four-top that used to be Hanna and Mona’s favorite table.
“Hi, Hanna,” Naomi teased, waving. She’d gotten a short and shaggy haircut over the break. The style was similar to Agyness Deyn’s, but the supermodel’s trademark cut made Naomi look like a pinhead.
Riley Wolfe, whose penny-colored hair was wound into a tight, ballet dancer–style bun, waved too. Her eyes zeroed right in on the Z-shaped scar on Hanna’s chin.