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But then, a few days before Candy Day, something changed. Lucas was suddenly a dork. His friends started to ignore him, girls began to laugh at him, and a rampant rumor that he was a hermaphrodite swirled. Hanna couldn’t believe her luck, but she secretly wondered if he’d gone from popular to a loser all because he’d decided to like her. Even if she was Ali D’s friend, she was still a fat, dorky, clumsy loser. When he sent her the candy, Hanna hid it in her locker and didn’t thank him.
“What’s up?” Hanna asked blandly. Lucas had pretty much stayed a loser.
“Not much,” Lucas responded eagerly. “What’s up with you?”
Hanna rolled her eyes. She hadn’t meant to start a conversation. “I have to go,” she said, looking toward the courtyard. “My friends are waiting for me.”
“Actually…” Lucas followed her toward the exit, “your friends forgot to pay the bill.” He whipped out a leather booklet. “Unless, um, you were getting it this time.”
“Oh.” Hanna cleared her throat. Nice of Mona to mention it. “No problem.”
Lucas swiped her AmEx and gave her the bill to sign, and Hanna strode out of Rive Gauche without adding a tip—or telling Lucas good-bye. The more she thought about it, she was excited that Naomi and Riley were part of Mona’s court. Around Rosewood, party court girls competed over who could get the birthday girl the most glamorous gift. A day pass to the Blue Springs Spa or a Prada gift card didn’t cut it, either—the winning gift had to be totally over the top. Julia Rubenstein’s best friend had hired male strippers to perform at an after-party for a select few—and they’d been hot strippers, not muscle-heads. And Sarah Davies had convinced her dad to hire Beyoncé to sing “Happy Birthday” to the girl-of-honor. Thankfully, Naomi and Riley were about as creative as the newborn panda at the Philadelphia Zoo. Hanna could out-glam them on her worst day.
She heard her BlackBerry humming in her bag and pulled it out. There were two messages in her mailbox. The first, from Mona, had come in six minutes ago.
Where R U, bee-yotch? If you’re any later, the tailor’s going to get pissed.
—Mon
But the second text, which had arrived two minutes later, was from a blocked number. That could only be one person.
Dear Hanna, We may not be friends, but we have the same enemies. So here are two tips: One of your old friends is hiding something from you. Something big. And Mona? She’s not your friend, either. So watch your back.
—A
13
HELLO, MY NAME IS EMILY. AND I’M GAY.
That night at 7:17 Emily pulled into her driveway. After she’d run out of the natatorium, she’d walked around the Rosewood Bird Sanctuary for hours. The busily chirping sparrows, happy little ducks, and tame parakeets soothed her. It was a good place to escape from reality…and a certain incriminating photo.
Every light in the house was on, including the one in the bedroom that Emily and Carolyn shared. How would she explain the photo to her family? She wanted to say that kissing Maya in that picture had been a joke, that someone was playing a prank on her. Ha ha, kissing girls is gross!
But it wasn’t true, and it made her heart ache.
The house smelled warm and inviting, like a mixture of coffee and potpourri. Her mother had turned on the hallway Hummel figurines cabinet. Little figurines of a boy milking a cow and a lederhosen-clad girl pushing a wheelbarrow slowly rotated. Emily made her way down the floral wallpapered hallway toward the living room. Both her parents were sitting on the flowered couch. An older woman sat on the love seat.
Her mother gave her a watery smile. “Well, hello, Emily.”
Emily blinked a few times. “Um, hi…” She looked from her parents to the stranger on the love seat.
“You want to come in?” her mother asked. “We have someone here to see you.”
The older woman, who was wearing high-waisted black slacks and a mint-green blazer, stood and offered her hand. “I’m Edith.” She grinned. “It’s so nice to meet you, Emily. Why don’t you sit down?”
Emily’s father bustled into the dining room and dragged another chair over for her. She sat down tentatively, feeling jumpy. It was the same feeling she used to get when her old friends played the Pillow Game—one person walked around the living room blindfolded, and, at a random moment, the others bombarded her with pillows. Emily didn’t like playing—she hated those tense moments right before they started smacking her—but she always played anyway, because Ali loved it.
“I’m from a program called Tree Tops,” Edith said.
“Your parents told me about your problem.”
The bones in Emily’s butt pressed into the bare wood of the dining room chair. “Problem?” Her stomach sank. She had a feeling she knew what problem meant.
“Of course it’s a problem.” Her mother’s voice was choked. “That picture—with that girl we forbade you to see—has it happened more than once?”
Emily nervously touched the scar on her left palm that she’d gotten when Carolyn accidentally speared her with the gardening shears. She’d grown up striving to be as obedient and well behaved as possible, and she couldn’t lie to her parents—at least not well. “It’s happened more than once, I guess,” she mumbled.
Her mother let out a small, pained whimper.
Edith pursed her wrinkly, fuchsia-lined lips. She had an old-lady mothball smell. “What you’re feeling, it’s not permanent. It’s a sickness, Emily. But we at Tree Tops can cure you. We’ve rehabilitated many ex-gays since the program began.”
