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Now it was mealtime. Everyone else in the girls’ wing was gathered at tables of three and four. Most patients were wearing hospital scrubs or flannel jammies, their hair mussed, their faces without makeup, their fingernails without polish. There were, however, a few tables of pretty girls in skinny jeans, long tunics, and soft cashmere sweaters, their hair shiny, their bodies toned. But no one had noticed Hanna or welcomed her to sit with them. They all seemed to look through her, as if she were just a two-dimensional image drawn on tracing paper.
As Hanna stood in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, she felt transported back to the Rosewood Day cafeteria on the first day of sixth grade. Sixth graders were officially part of the middle school, which meant they ate lunch with kids in seventh and eighth. Hanna had stood at the edge of the room just like this, wishing she were pretty and thin and popular enough to sit with Naomi Zeigler and Alison DiLaurentis. Then Riley Wolfe bumped Hanna’s elbow, and Hanna’s spaghetti-and-meatballs lunch splattered all over her shoes and the floor. Even today, she could still hear Naomi’s high-pitched laugh, Ali’s demure chuckle, and Riley’s apathetic and insincere “Sorry.” Hanna had run out of the cafeteria in tears.
“Excuse me?”
Hanna turned around and saw a short, dumpy girl with dull brown hair and braces. She would’ve mistaken her for a twelve-year-old except that the girl had enormous boobs. Her melon-colored hoodie stretched tight across them, making them look rather like melons themselves. With a sad twinge, Hanna thought of Mike. He’d probably make the same boobalicious remark.
“Are you new?” the girl asked. “You look kind of lost.”
“Uh, yeah.” Hanna wrinkled her nose at the sudden, grandmotherly smell of Vicks VapoRub. It seemed to be wafting from this girl’s skin.
“I’m Tara.” The girl spat a little as she spoke.
“Hanna,” Hanna murmured apathetically, moving aside to let an aide in pink scrubs pass.
“You want to eat with us? It sucks to eat alone. We’ve all been there.”
Hanna lowered her eyes to the polished wood floor, considering her options. Tara didn’t seem crazy—just dorky. And beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Uh, sure,” she said, struggling to be polite.
“Great!” Tara—and her boobs—jiggled up and down. She wove through the tables, leading Hanna to a four-top at the back. A rail-thin girl with a long, hangdog face and goth-pale skin was picking at a plate of plain penne noodles, and a pudgy redhead with a noticeable bald patch above her right ear was nibbling furiously on an ear of corn. “This is Alexis and Ruby,” Tara announced. “And this is Hanna. She’s new!”
Alexis and Ruby shyly said hi. Hanna said hi back, feeling more and more unsettled. She was dying to ask these girls why they were here, but Dr. Foster had emphasized that diagnoses were not to be discussed except in private sessions or group therapy. Instead, patients were supposed to pretend that they were here by choice, like this was some kind of freaky camp.
Tara plopped down next to Hanna and immediately started cutting up the impressive pile of food on her plate—she had a hamburger, a square of lasagna, green beans bathed in butter and almonds, and a giant hunk of bread as big as Hanna’s palm.
“So this was your first day, right?” Tara asked cheerfully. “How was it?”
Hanna shrugged, wondering if Tara had overeating issues. “Kind of boring.”
Tara nodded, chewing with her mouth open. “I know. The no-Internet thing sucks. You can’t Twitter or blog or anything. Do you have a blog?”
“No,” Hanna answered, trying not to scoff. Blogs were for people who didn’t have lives.
Tara shoved another forkful of food into her mouth. She had a tiny cold sore at the corner of her lip. “You’ll get used to it. Most people here are really nice. There are only a couple girls to stay away from.”
“They’re bitches,” Alexis said, her voice surprisingly husky for someone so thin.
The other girls giggled naughtily at the word bitches. “They spend all their time at the spa,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes. “They can’t go one day without getting a manicure.”
Hanna almost choked on a broccoli stalk, certain she’d heard Ruby wrong. “Did you just say this place has a spa?”
“Yeah, but it costs extra.” Tara wrinkled her nose.
Hanna ran her tongue over her teeth. How had she not heard about the spa? And who cared if it cost extra? She was totally charging treatments to her dad’s tab. It served him right.
“So who’s your roomie?” Tara asked.
Hanna tucked her pebbled leather Marc Jacobs bag under her seat. “I haven’t met her yet.” Her roommate hadn’t returned to their shared room all day. She’d probably been sent to a padded isolation room or something.
Tara smiled. “Well, you should hang with us. We’re awesome.” She pointed her fork at Alexis and Ruby. “We make up plays about the hospital staff and perform them in our rooms. Ruby’s usually the lead.”
“Ruby is destined for the Broadway stage,” Alexis added. “She’s really good.”
Ruby blushed and ducked her head. Little corn kernels were stuck to her left cheek. Hanna had a feeling the closest Ruby would get to a Broadway stage would be as a cashier in the lobby snack bar.
“We play America’s Next Top Model, too,” Tara went on, stabbing at the lasagna.
This instantly sent Alexis and Ruby into hysterics. They slapped hands and belted out the show’s theme song, very off-key. “I wanna be on top!Na na na na NA na!”
