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She stepped into the hall. Sean’s door was shut; Bloc Party drifted out. “Sean?” She pushed his bedroom door open. His books were strewn all over his desk, but his desk chair was empty. There was an indentation on his perfectly made bed where his body had been. His window was open, and a chilly breeze blew in, making the curtains dance like ghosts.
Aria didn’t know what else to do, so she went back to her computer. That’s when she saw a new e-mail.
P.S. I may be a bitch, but I’m not a murderer. Here’s a clue for the clueless: someone wanted something of Ali’s. The killer is closer than you think.
—A
12
AH, COURT LIFE
Tuesday evening, Hanna strolled down the main concourse at the King James Mall, puzzling over her BlackBerry. She’d sent Mona a text asking R we still meeting 4 my dress fitting? but she hadn’t received a response.
Mona was probably still annoyed at her because of the Frenniversary thing, but whatever. Hanna had tried to explain why her old friends had been at her house, but Mona had interrupted her before she could even start, declaring in her frostiest voice, “I saw you and your besties on the news. Congrats on your big TV debut.” Then she hung up. So sure she was pissed, but Hanna knew Mona couldn’t stay mad for long. If she did, who would be her BFF?
Hanna passed Rive Gauche, the mall brasserie where they were supposed to have their Frenniversary dinner yesterday. It was a copy of Balthazar in New York, which was a copy of zillions of cafés in Paris. She caught sight of a group of girls at Hanna’s and Mona’s favorite banquette. One of the girls was Naomi. The next was Riley. And the girl next to her was…Mona.
Hanna did a double take. What was Mona doing with…them?
Even though the lights in Rive Gauche were dim and romantic, Mona was wearing her pink-tinted aviators. Naomi, Riley, Kelly Hamilton, and Nicole Hudson—Naomi and Riley’s bitchy sophomore toadies—surrounded her, and a big, uneaten plate of fries sat in the middle of the table. Mona appeared to be telling a story, waving her hands around animatedly and widening her big, blue eyes. She came to a punch line, and the others hooted.
Hanna squared her shoulders. She strode through the café’s antique brown door. Naomi was the first to notice her. Naomi nudged Kelly, and they whispered together.
“What are you girls doing here?” she demanded, standing over Riley and Naomi.
Mona leaned forward on her elbows. “Well, isn’t this a surprise? I didn’t know if you still wanted to be on the court, since you’re so busy with your old friends.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and took a sip of Diet Coke.
Hanna rolled her eyes and settled on the end of the dark red banquette bench. “Of course I still want to be on your court, drama whore.”
Mona gave her a bland smile. “’Kay, tubbykins.”
“Bitch,” Hanna shot back.
“Slut,” Mona said. Hanna giggled…and so did Naomi, Riley, and the others. Sometimes she and Mona got in mock-fights like this, although normally they didn’t have an audience.
Mona twirled a piece of pale blond hair around her finger. “Anyway, I decided the more, the merrier. Small courts are boring. I want this party to be over-the-top.”
“We’re so excited,” Naomi gushed. “I can’t wait to try on the Zac Posen dress Mona picked out for us.”
Hanna shot them a taut smile. This really didn’t make any sense. Everyone at Rosewood knew Riley and Naomi had been talking about Hanna behind her back. And wasn’t it just last year that Mona had vowed she’d despise Naomi forever after Naomi gossiped that Mona had gotten skin grafts? Hanna had fake-friended Naomi for that—she’d pretended she and Mona were in a fight, won Naomi’s confidence, then pilfered a cheesy love letter Naomi had written to Mason Byers from Naomi’s notebook. Hanna posted the letter anonymously on Rosewood Day’s intranet the very next day, everyone laughed, and all was right again.
All at once, Hanna had an epiphany. Of course! Mona was fake-friending! It completely made sense. She felt a little better, realizing what was going on, but she still wanted confirmation. She eyed Mona. “Hey, Mon, can I talk to you for a sec? Alone?”
“Can’t right now, Han.” Mona looked at her Movado watch. “We’re late for our fitting. C’mon.”
With that, Mona strolled out of the restaurant, her three-inch heels clacking against the shiny walnut floor. The others followed. Hanna reached over to grab her enormous Gucci purse, but the zipper had come undone and the entire contents spilled under the table. All her makeup, her wallet, her vitamins, the Hydroxycut she’d stolen ages ago from GNC but was a little too scared to take…everything. Hanna scrambled to pick it all up, her eyes on Mona and the others as they snaked away. She knelt down, feverishly trying to stuff everything into her bag as quickly as possible.
“Hanna Marin?”
Hanna jumped. Above her was a familiar, tall, floppy-haired waiter. “It’s Lucas,” he reminded her, fiddling with the cuff on his white button-down, the Rive Gauche uniform. “You probably don’t recognize me because I look so French in this outfit.”
“Oh,” Hanna said wearily. “Hey.” She’d known Lucas Beattie forever. In seventh grade, he’d been popular—and, bizarrely, for a second, he’d liked Hanna. Word had gotten around that Lucas was going to send Hanna a red heart-shaped box of candy on the schoolwide Candy Day. A boy sending you a heart-shaped box of candy meant love, so Hanna got really excited.
