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“Oh my God,” she whispered.
“Your punishment will start tomorrow,” Mr. Marin said. “You can use the rest of tonight to tell your friends that you’ll no longer be associating with them. I expect to see you at home in an hour.” Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room, Kate following behind.
Hanna listed woozily to the left. This didn’t make any sense. How could she have been so wrong about what she’d overheard outside Kate’s bedroom? The things Kate had said had sounded so sinister. So obvious! And Kate’s hideous little snicker…It was hard to believe she was just rehearsing for a lame-ass high school production of Hamlet.
Hamlet. A light went on in Hanna’s brain. “Wait a minute,” she shouted.
Kate turned abruptly, almost bumping into the ornate Tiffany lamp on the table by the door. She raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Hanna licked her lips slowly. “Um, what part are you playing in Hamlet, anyway?”
“Ophelia.” Kate haughtily sniffed, probably figuring Hanna didn’t know who Ophelia was.
But Hanna did know. She’d read Hamlet over the winter break, mostly to understand the Hamlet-wants-his-mother jokes everyone in her AP English classes was always making. Nowhere in the play’s five acts did fragile, pathetic, get-thee-to-a-nunnery Ophelia have lines that even remotely resembled anything like, It’s almost time, I can’t wait. Nor did Ophelia snicker. Kate insisting she was rehearsing for the play was a lame crock of shit, but her dad had bought it hook, line, and sinker.
Hanna’s mouth gaped open. Kate met her look with a cool, self-assured shrug. If she realized she’d been caught in the lie, she didn’t seem to care. Hanna already had her punishment, after all.
Before Hanna could say another word, Kate smiled and started out the door again. “Oh, and Hanna?” She curled her fingers around the doorjamb, giving Hanna a coy little wink. “It’s not herpes. I just thought you should know.”
31
EVERYONE’S A SUSPECT
The line to the downstairs powder room was five people deep by the time Emily and Isaac emerged. Emily ducked her head, even though she had nothing to be embarrassed about—all they’d done was cuddle. A pin-thin woman shoved past them into the bathroom, slamming the door.
As they walked into the middle of the ballroom, Isaac draped his arm around Emily’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. An ancient woman in a Chanel suit clucked her tongue at them, smiling. “What a cute couple,” she cooed. Emily had to agree.
Isaac’s cell phone, which was tucked into his jacket pocket, began to ring. Emily’s hands immediately turned into fists—it could be A—but then she remembered. Isaac knew all her secrets. It didn’t matter.
Isaac looked at the little lit-up window on his phone. “It’s my drummer,” he said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Emily nodded, squeezing his hand. She drifted over to the bar for a Coke. A few girls in matching black shifts were standing in line in front of her. Emily recognized them as former Rosewood Day students.
“Remember how Ian used to watch us practice?” a pretty Asian girl with long, chandelier earrings was saying. “All that time, I thought he was watching because Melissa was playing, but maybe it was because of Ali.”
Emily’s ears pricked up. She stood very still, pretending she wasn’t listening.
“He was in my science class,” whispered the other girl, a brunette with ultra-short hair and an upturned nose. “When we were dissecting the fetal pig, he stabbed that thing like he was really enjoying it.”
“Yeah, but all the guys got super violent with those pigs,” the other girl reminded her, opening up her silver clutch and pulling out a stick of Trident. “Remember Darren? He pulled out the intestines like they were spaghetti!”
They both shuddered. Emily wrinkled her nose. Why was everyone suddenly talking about how creepy Ian used to be? It seemed like revisionist history. And she couldn’t believe the stuff Ian had told Spencer—that he’d liked Ali far more than she liked him, that he wouldn’t have hurt her, ever. Why couldn’t he just admit it? Nothing said guilty like an accused criminal fleeing his own trial, after all.
“Emily?”
Officer Wilden stood behind her, a worried but stern look on his face. Tonight he wore a crisp black suit and tie instead of his Rosewood PD uniform, though Emily guessed he had a gun hidden in his jacket. Emily shuddered, feeling uneasy. The last time she’d seen Wilden had been in the parking lot on the edge of town, telling someone on the phone to just stay away. She couldn’t even recall seeing him at Ian’s trial yesterday, but he must have been there.
There was a nervous little tremor under Wilden’s left eyelid. “Have you seen Spencer?”
“About a half hour ago.” Emily quickly adjusted the strap of her dress, hoping it wasn’t painfully obvious that she’d just spent the last few minutes lying on the floor, making out with a boy. She glanced behind her, looking for the older Rosewood girls, but they’d slunk away. “Why?”
Wilden rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “I’m supposed to do head counts every thirty minutes or so, just to make sure no one leaves. And I can’t find her anywhere.”
“She’s probably up in her bedroom,” Emily suggested. It wasn’t as if any of them were in a partying mood tonight.
“I checked already.” Wilden tapped his fingers against his tumbler of water. “You’re sure she didn’t mention anything about going outside?”
