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Her phone bleated, startling Hanna so that she almost dropped it on the floor. Mike’s number flashed on the screen. She stared at Kyla in amazement.
“Is it him?” Kyla whispered. Hanna nodded. “Well, answer it!” Kyla cried.
Hanna swallowed hard and turned away. “Thank you for calling me back,” Hanna said into the phone. She scurried to the break room, even though she wasn’t on break yet, and flopped down on one of the couches. “Like I said, I can explain. The truth is, I really have been volunteering at the burn clinic. I’m here right now.”
Mike sighed. “Hanna, at least tell me a better lie. You hate the burn clinic. You would never voluntarily work there again.”
“I’m telling the truth.” Hanna picked at a loose thread on the upholstery. “The guy who got hurt in the blast is here—Graham. There’s something you don’t know: Just before that explosion went off, he chased Aria into the boiler room. They were both there when the bomb went off—Aria’s lucky she got out safe. We wanted to ask him some questions about it when he wakes up.”
She held her breath, wondering if Mike would buy her half-true story . . . and hoping her friends didn’t kill her for spilling some of it. Mike breathed in. “Aria never told me she was down there.”
“I know. She was afraid you’d freak.”
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to talk to this guy? He set off the bomb, right? What if he’s dangerous?”
“Mike, he’s covered in bandages and tubes—he’s not going to do anything. As for the bomb—I don’t really know. There was another person down there, too, at the time—it could have been him instead. That’s what I want to ask Graham about—if he wakes up.” She paused, then decided to ask: “Actually, do you remember where Noel was when the bomb went off? It would have been right when the talent show was about to start.”
There was a long pause. “Are you suggesting Noel bombed the boiler room?” Mike sounded horrified. “What drugs are you on, Hanna? He’s her boyfriend!”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just asking questions.”
Mike sighed. “Well, Noel and I were practicing our routine an hour before the talent show. But—okay. Right before the bomb, he said he had to go back to his room. So I don’t know where he was, technically.” There was a clunking sound on the other end. “Does Noel know you’re asking these questions?”
“No, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell him,” Hanna said sharply, her heart pounding hard.
“I still don’t believe that’s why you’re at the burn clinic, though.”
Hanna stomped her foot. “Ask your sister, okay? But one thing’s for sure: I’m definitely, definitely not with Sean. I didn’t even know he’d be working here when I signed up. And he and my stepsister go to V Club together. Is that enough? Will you take me to prom?”
“Hmm,” Mike said, still sounding miffed. “I’ll have to check your sources.”
Hanna rolled her eyes. Why was he being such a hard-ass? “Who told you about me being here, anyway?”
Mike cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter. He was just trying to be a good buddy.”
The hairs on Hanna’s arms stood on end. He? “Just tell me who. I won’t be mad.”
“Hanna, drop it. We’ll go to the dance, okay? I have to get off. I’m getting in my car.” And then, with a click, Mike was gone.
Hanna stared at the flashing numbers on the phone, a strange taste in her mouth.
As if on cue, a movement outside the room caught her eye. A familiar figure walked out the double doors and headed toward the exit. His head was tilted toward his phone, and he was talking too quietly for Hanna to hear. He wore fitted, dark-wash jeans; Adidas sneakers; and a black T-shirt printed messily with words in another language.
Hanna’s heart started to pound. She knew exactly where that T-shirt had been purchased: the only cool boutique in Reykjavik. Mike had bought one in white.
It was Noel.
22
The Trip to Tripp’s
“Turn left at the next intersection,” said the automated voice of the GPS Emily had suction-cupped to the windshield of the Volvo. She dutifully stopped at the light and angled the car into a development full of columned mansions. “Whoa,” she murmured, looking right and left. “Swanky.”
Iris, who had taken her usual spot in the passenger seat, shrugged apathetically. “I’m not surprised Tripp lives here,” she said. “You have to have a lot of cash to afford The Preserve.”
“Are you sure Tripp lives here?” Emily asked as they passed a white stone house with a miniature version of it for a mailbox. When she’d picked Iris up at the King James that afternoon, Iris had announced that she’d discovered where Tripp, her old crush, lived, and that they were going to track him down that very night. Luckily, his house was only on the other side of Philly, in a pretty New Jersey suburb that looked a lot like Rosewood. Still, there was something about this neighborhood that made Emily feel uneasy. The houses reminded her of the Crestview Manor ones, except even more soulless and spooky. In fact, this neighborhood reminded her of the big, impersonal, oddly generic neighborhood Gayle Riggs lived in when Emily had met her.
“I researched it,” Iris said snootily, gazing at a notepad on her lap. “His family is listed on four-one-one.” Then she pointed to a country club parking lot. “Let’s park here and walk the rest of the way. I don’t want Tripp to see a car at the curb and run.”
