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Just knowing Iris had eating issues made Hanna less self-conscious about her own. Safe in their room, she didn’t struggle to hide the food journal she’d kept since the summer after seventh grade, a record of all the calories she ate in a day. Nor did she freak out when Iris caught her struggling into her jeans from eighth grade, which she’d brought along for the express purpose to gauge whether she was gaining or losing weight. As it turned out, Iris had an old pair of skinny jeans in her closet too.
Whatever A intended by sending Hanna here, it was having the opposite effect. Which had led Hanna to a new theory: Maybe A was on Hanna’s side. Maybe A had sent her here to get her away from the chaos of Rosewood, to keep her safe from whoever had set that fire.
Now Hanna followed Iris down the saffron yellow hall to a small door marked EMERGENCY EXIT. Iris wiggled her eyebrows, put her finger to her lips, then punched numbers into a small keypad located just to the left of the knob. The bolt released and the door opened. At the top of a set of metal stairs was a small, cozy room, just big enough for two comfy chairs. Graffiti covered the four walls, amazing murals of people’s faces, big, spindly trees, a couple of cartoonish owls, and tons ofscribbled messages and names. There was also a big stack of contraband People and Us Weekly magazines on the windowsill.
“Wow,” Hanna breathed.
“This is my secret hiding spot,” Iris said, throwing her arms open as if to say taa-daah! “I’m the only one here right now who knows the combo to get in. Most of the staff don’t even know it, and those who do just let me do whatever I want.” She held up a copy of People. Angelina Jolie was on the cover, as usual. “I’ve got someone who sneaks these in for me. I’m totally addicted. I’ve got a bunch in the drawer of my nightstand, too. You can read them, as long as you keep quiet about it.”
“Absolutely,” Hanna said, grinning. “Thanks.”
Iris gestured at the drawings on the walls. “They’re all by former patients. Isn’t it awesome?”
Hanna nodded, though she also felt eerie shivers as she looked at all the names. Eileen. Stef. Jenny. Why had they been here? What had they suffered from—an eating disorder or ADD, the milder reasons for coming to the Preserve, or something much scarier? Ali’s brother, Jason, had apparently spent time in a hospital like this back in high school. His name had been all over that ledger Emily found in the office at the Radley party.
It was weird that Ali had never shared that secret with any of them. There was only one memory Hanna could recall where Ali might have hinted at Jason’s mental problems. At the beginning of seventh grade, Hanna and Ali were hanging out alone on a Sunday afternoon, trying to pick out their outfits for the next day. As Ali was slipping out of a pair of Citizens corduroys, the phone rang. Ali picked it up and was silent. Her mouth got very small, and her face paled a shade. Hanna heard screechy, spooky laughter through the receiver. “For the last time, stop it, loser!” Ali screamed, and hung up.
“Who was that?” Hanna whispered.
“Just my stupid brother,” Ali mumbled into her chest.
And then she dropped it. But now, Hanna was pretty sure Jason had been calling from the Radley—the logbooks Emily found said he checked in for a few hours on the weekends. Maybe he’d called Ali from there to scare her. Jerk.
Iris settled on one of the chairs, and Hanna plopped down on the other. Silently, they both stared at the doodles and names. Helena. Becky. Lindsay. “I wonder where they all are now,” Hanna said softly.
“Who knows,” Iris answered, finger-combing her white-blond hair. “Though I heard a rumor about this one patient who was supposed to check in for, like, two weeks, but her parents forgot about her. She still lives here . . . in the basement.”
Hanna snorted. “That’s so not true.”
“Yeah, probably not. But you never know.”
Iris reached under the cushion and pulled out a small disposable camera wrapped in green paper. “I smuggled this in from the outside, too. Want to get a picture of us together?”
Hanna hesitated—the last thing she wanted was proof that she’d been in a mental hospital. “It’s not like you’ll be able to get it developed,” she said warily.
“I want to send the camera to my dad.” Iris lowered her eyes. “Not that he opens my letters.” Her bottom lip started to tremble. “We used to be really close, but then he took this high-stress job as the dean of medicine at some stupid hospital. He has no time for me anymore. And now that I’m here . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t exist for him.”
“My dad’s the same,” Hanna gasped, amazed they had this in common, too. “I used to talk to him about everything, but then he moved away and got this new girlfriend, Isabel. Now they’re living in my house—with Isabel’s perfect daughter, Kate.” She curled her toes. “Kate can do absolutely nothing wrong. My dad’s totally obsessed with her.”
“I can’t believe your dad would like someone better than you.” Iris sounded appalled.
“Thanks,” Hanna said gratefully, staring out the little attic window at the empty tennis courts behind the facility. For a long time, she’d reasoned that her dad no longer loved her as much because she wasn’t pretty and perfect. But Iris was perfect . . . and her dad still treated her like shit. Maybe daughters weren’t the problem—maybe fathers were.
Fueled with fury, she plucked the camera from Iris’s hand and held it outstretched between the two of them. “Let’s give all the sucky dads in the world the finger.”
