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Hanna’s dad then gave a special shout-out to Jeremiah, who bowed humbly. He regaled Isabel with a long-winded thank-you-for-sticking-by-me-through-thick-and-thin serenade. Gag. Isabel stood and smiled beatifically, her eyes wet with tears. Hanna could see visible panty lines through her skirt.
The lights dimmed, and the television flipped on. Mr. Marin stood in front of the Rosewood courthouse, looking chic in his blue suit, red-and-white striped tie, and American flag lapel pin. There were shots of him talking to citizens, waving his hands earnestly and eagerly, surveying a building site, and talking to a classroom of kids about the dangers of alcohol. An inspiring orchestral score played, and an announcer confidently insisted that Tom Marin was the right choice for Pennsylvania. Rah, rah, rah.
Next was the family scene in front of the waving flag. Hanna inched forward in her chair, surprised to see her own image on the screen. The camera even remained on her for a moment. Had someone made a mistake? Was this not the final cut?
The camera moved to Kate, who spoke her lines overly loudly and directly, as though she were leading a recital of the Pledge of Allegiance. Hanna’s own face appeared on the screen once again, startling her anew.
“We all deserve a better life,” the Hanna on the screen said, looking straight into the lens, her eyes twinkling, the dimple on her left cheek prominent. She seemed natural and poised. She didn’t have a double chin. Her teeth weren’t crooked. Her hair was a pretty coppery color, not poop brown. Several people in the audience turned around and gave her big smiles.
The commercial finished with a Tom Marin logo splashed across the screen. When the TV went dark, everyone applauded. Several people jumped up and pounded Hanna’s father on the back. A champagne cork popped, and one of Hanna’s father’s aides poured the liquid into waiting glasses. The rest of the aides went right back to tapping on their BlackBerrys.
“Surprised, Hanna?”
Hanna jumped and looked over. Jeremiah had sidled over and was now staring down his nose at her.
“Yeah, but in a good way,” she admitted.
“Well, it wasn’t my decision,” Jeremiah said snootily. “Let’s just say I was outvoted.”
Two women Hanna didn’t recognize bustled around him and clasped Hanna’s arms. Both were in power skirt suits and black high heels. “There you are!” one of them crowed in Hanna’s face, her breath smelling like cinnamon Tic Tacs. “Hanna, I’m Pauline Weiss of Weiss Consulting.”
“And I’m Tricia McLean of Wright Focus Groups. It’s so nice to meet you.” The other woman pushed a business card into Hanna’s hand.
“H-Hi?” Hanna looked at both of them, feeling overwhelmed.
“We ran the focus groups,” Pauline explained. She had big teeth and a bulbous mole on her cheek. “And they loved you! You tested so well with Tom’s potential voters!”
“You were fresh and real,” Tricia continued. She was at least six inches shorter than Pauline and shaped like a bowling ball. “Have you done television work before?”
Hanna blinked hard. “Um, a little.” Did the microphones shoved in her face during Ian’s murder trial count? What about the reporters who camped out on her doorstep when the press had deemed Hanna and her friends the Pretty Little Liars?
“The public recognized you from People,” Tricia said. “You caught their attention instantly, which is great for a candidate.”
“Everyone sympathizes with what you went through last year, Hanna!” Pauline piped up. “You’ll bring in the emotional vote.”
Hanna stared at the two consultants. “But what about my . . . mistakes?” she asked, eyeing Jeremiah, who lurked behind them, eavesdropping.
“People said that made you more relatable.” Tricia paused to flip through her clipboard. She read straight from a sheet of paper. “‘We all have incidents in our past we’re not proud of, and the goal is to learn from them and become better people.’”
“The public thinks you’re repentant and humbled,” Pauline added. “It works especially well with your father’s campaign against underage drinking—you’re the poster child of what not to do. We were even thinking you could do speaking tours to help campaign!”
“Whoa.” Hanna sank back into her chair. A poster child? Speaking tours? Were they serious?
Hanna’s father appeared behind them. “I guess they told you the news.” He draped his arm around her shoulders, and several flashbulbs popped. “It’s pretty amazing, huh? It looks like you’re a real asset to my team!”
He gave Hanna’s shoulders another squeeze. Hanna grinned maniacally, feeling like she was having an out-of-body experience. Was he really saying these things to her? Was he really grateful she was his daughter?
“Uh, Dad?”
Kate stood timidly behind the focus-group ladies. “What about my lines? Did the focus groups say anything about me?”
Pauline and Tricia’s smiles wavered. “Ah. Yes.”
They glanced at each other nervously. Finally, Tricia spoke. “Well, people seemed to think you were a little . . . wooden. Not quite as relatable, dear.”
“With a good media coach you can learn to get more comfortable in front of the camera,” Pauline added.
“But I am comfortable in front of the camera!” Kate wailed. “Aren’t I, Dad?”
Everyone nervously bit their lips and averted their eyes, including Hanna’s father.
“Why would anyone like her?” Kate jabbed a finger at Hanna. “She stole someone’s car! She was accused of killing her best friend!”
