by Sara Shepard
Meredith had stepped back, dropping the dish towel from her hands. So she did feel guilty about something! Still, Meredith clearly hadn’t said a word about it to Byron. Just this morning they’d peacefully crunched on bowls of Kashi GoLean at the table, getting along as happily as before. So Aria had decided to take matters into her own hands.
Even though it was midafternoon, the Hooters parking lot was nearly full. Aria noticed four cop cars lined up—the place was a notorious cop hangout, as it was right next to the police station. The Hooters owl on the sign grinned at them, and Aria could just make out girls in skintight shirts and orange mini shorts through the restaurant’s tinted windows. But when she looked over to Mike, he wasn’t frothing at the mouth or getting a hard-on or whatever normal boys did when they pulled up to this place. Instead, he looked annoyed. “What the hell are we doing here?” he sputtered.
“Meredith works here,” Aria explained. “I wanted you to be here with me so we could confront her together.”
Mike’s mouth dropped open so wide, Aria could see the bright green gum lodged behind his molars. “You mean…Dad’s…?”
“That’s right.” Aria reached into her yak-fur bag for her Treo—she wanted to take pictures of Meredith, for evidence—but it wasn’t in its usual place. Aria’s stomach churned. Had she lost it? She’d dropped her phone on a table after she’d gotten A’s note in art class, fleeing the room and peeling off her mask in Hollis’s lobby bathroom. Had she forgotten to pick it up? She made a mental note to stop by class later to look for it.
When Aria and Mike swept through the double doors, they were greeted by a blaring Rolling Stones song. Aria was overcome by the stench of hot wings. A blond, super-tan girl stood at the hostess station. “Hi!” she said happily. “Welcome to Hooters!”
Aria gave their name and the girl turned around to check on available tables, shaking her ass as she walked away. Aria nudged Mike. “Did you see the boobs on her? Ginormous!”
She couldn’t believe the things that were spilling out of her mouth. Mike, however, didn’t even crack a smile. He was acting like Aria had dragged him to a poetry reading instead of hooter heaven. The hostess returned and led them to their booth. When she bent to place their silverware on the table, Aria could see right down the girl’s T-shirt to her bright fuchsia bra. Mike’s eyes remained fixed on the orange carpet, as if this sort of thing was against his religion.
After the hostess left, Aria looked around. She noticed a group of cops across the room, shoveling in enormous plates of ribs and french fries, staring alternately at a football game on TV and the waitresses that passed by their table. Among them was Officer Wilden. Aria slid down in her seat. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t be here—Hooters always stressed that it was a family place—but she didn’t really feel like seeing Wilden right now, either.
Mike stared sourly at the menu as six more waitresses passed by, each one more jiggly than the last. Aria wondered if somehow, instantly, Mike had turned gay. She turned away—if he was going to be like that, fine. She’d search for Meredith herself.
All the girls were dressed alike, their shirts and shorts eight sizes too small and their sneakers the kind the cheerleading squad wore on game day. They all sort of had the same face, too, which would make it easy to pick out Meredith among them. Only, she didn’t see a single dark-haired girl here, much less one with a spiderweb tattoo. By the time the waitress set down their enormous plate of fries, Aria finally got up the courage to ask. “Do you know if someone named Meredith Gates works here?”
The waitress blinked. “I don’t recognize that name. Although sometimes the girls here go by different names. You know, stuff that’s more…” She paused, searching for an adjective.
“Hooters-y?” Aria suggested jokily.
“Yes!” The girl smiled. When she sashayed away again, Aria snorted and poked Mike with a fry. “What do you think Meredith goes by here. Randi? Fifi? Oh! What about Caitlin? That’s really perky, right?”
“Would you stop?” Mike exploded. “I don’t want to hear anything about…about her, okay?”
Aria blinked, sitting back.
Mike’s face flushed. “You think this is the big thing that’s going to make things right? Shoving the fact that Dad is with someone else in my face yet again?” He stuffed a bunch of fries in his mouth and looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I’m over it.”
“I wanted to make everything up to you,” Aria squeaked. “I wanted to make this all better.”
Mike let out a guffaw. “There’s nothing you can do, Aria. You’ve ruined my life.”
“I didn’t ruin anything!” Aria gasped.
Mike’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. He threw his napkin on the table, stood up, and shoved his arm into his anorak sleeve. “I have to get to lacrosse.”
“Wait!” Aria grabbed his belt loop. Suddenly, she felt like she was going to cry. “Don’t go,” Aria wailed. “Mike, please. My life is ruined too. And not just because of Dad and Meredith. Because of…of something else.”
Mike glanced at her over his shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“Sit back down,” Aria said desperately. A long second passed. Mike grunted, then sat. Aria stared at their plate of fries, working up the courage to speak. She overheard two men discussing the Eagles’ defensive tactics. A used-car-dealership commercial on the flat-screen TV above the bar featured a man in a chicken suit babbling about deals that were more cluck for your buck.
“I’ve been getting these threats from someone,” Aria whispered. “Someone who knows everything about me. The person who’s been threatening me even tipped off Ella about Byron and Meredith’s relationship. Some of my friends have been getting messages, too, and we think the person writing them is behind Hanna’s hit-and-run accident. I even got a message about Meredith working here. I don’t know how this person knows all of this stuff, but they just…do.” She shrugged, trailing off.
Two more commercials passed before Mike spoke. “You have a stalker?”
Aria nodded miserably.
Mike blinked, confounded. He gestured to the booth of cops. “Have you told any of them?”
Aria shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Of course you can. We can tell them right now.”
“I have it under control,” Aria said through her teeth. She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”
Mike leaned forward. “Don’t you remember all the freaky shit that’s happened in this town? You have to tell someone.”
“Why do you care?” Aria snapped, her body filling with anger. “I thought you hated me. I thought I ruined your life.”
Mike’s face went slack. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. When he stood up, he seemed taller than Aria remembered. Stronger, too. Maybe it was from all of the lacrosse he’d been playing, or maybe it was because he was the man of the house these days. He snatched Aria’s wrist and pulled her to her feet. “You’re telling them.”
Aria’s lip wobbled. “But what if it’s not safe?”
“What’s unsafe is not telling,” Mike urged. “And…and I’ll keep you safe. Okay?”
Aria’s heart felt like a brownie, straight out of the oven—all gooey and warm and a little melted. She smiled unsteadily, then glanced at the blinking neon sign above the Hooters’ dining room. It said, DELIGHTFULLY TACKY, YET UNREFINED. But the sign was broken; all the letters were dark except for tacky’s lowercase A, which flickered menacingly. When Aria shut her eyes, the A still remained, glowing like the sun.
She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she whispered.
Just as she moved away from Mike toward the cops, the waitress returned with their check. As the girl turned to leave, Mike got a sneaky look on his face, reached both his hands out, and squeezed the air, mimicking squeezing the girl’s tight, orange satin–clad butt. He caught Aria’s eye and winked.
It looked like the real Mike Montgomery was back. Aria had missed him.
&nb
sp; 27
BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE
Friday night, just before the limo was supposed to arrive to escort Hanna to her party, Hanna stood in her bedroom, twirling around in her brightly printed Nieves Lavi dress. She was finally a perfect size two, thanks to a diet of IV fluids and facial stitches that made it too painful to chew solid foods.
“That looks great on you,” a voice called. “Except I think you’re a tad too thin.”
Hanna whirled around. In his black wool suit, dark purple tie, and purple-striped button-down, her father looked like George Clooney circa Ocean’s Eleven. “I’m so not too thin,” she answered quickly, trying to hide her thrill. “Kate’s way thinner than me.”
Her father’s face clouded over, perhaps at the mention of his perfect, poised, yet incredibly evil quasi-stepdaughter. “What are you doing here, anyway?” Hanna demanded.
“Your mom let me in.” He walked into Hanna’s room and sat down on her bed. Hanna’s stomach flipped. Her dad hadn’t been in her bedroom since she was twelve, right before he moved out. “She said I could change here for your big party.”
“You’re coming?” Hanna squawked.
“Am I allowed?” her father asked.
“I…I guess so.” Spencer’s parents were coming, as well as some Rosewood Day faculty and staff. “But, I mean, I thought you’d want to get back to Annapolis…and Kate and Isabel. You’ve been away from them for almost a week, after all.” She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice.
“Hanna…” her father started. Hanna turned away. She suddenly felt so angry that her dad had left her family, that he was here now, that maybe he loved Kate more than he loved her—not to mention that she had scars all over her face and that her memory about Saturday night still hadn’t returned. She felt tears in her eyes, which made her even angrier.
“Come here.” Her father put his strong arms around her, and when she pressed her head to his chest, she could hear his heart beating.
“You okay?” he asked her.
A horn honked outside. Hanna pulled back her bamboo blinds and saw the limo Mona had arranged waiting in her driveway, its wipers moving furiously over the windshield to keep off the rain. “I’m great,” she said suddenly, the whole world tipping up again. She slid her Dior mask over her face. “I’m Hanna Marin, and I’m fabulous.”
Her father handed Hanna a huge black golf umbrella. “You definitely are,” he said. And for the first time ever, Hanna thought she just might believe him.
What seemed like only seconds later, Hanna was perched atop a pillow-laden platform, trying to keep the balcony’s tassels from knocking off her Dior mask. Four gorgeous man-slaves had hoisted her up, and they were now beginning their slow parade into the party tent on the fifteenth green of the Rosewood Country Club.
“Presenting…in her big return to Rosewood…the fabulous Hanna Marin!” Mona screamed into a microphone. As the crowd erupted, Hanna waved her arms around excitedly. All of her guests were wearing masks, and Mona and Spencer had transformed the tent into the Salon de l’Europe at Le Casino in Monte-Carlo, Monaco. It had faux-marble walls, dramatic frescoes, and roulette and card tables. Sleek, gorgeous boys roamed the room with trays of canapés, manned the tents’ two bars, and acted as croupiers at the gambling tables. Hanna had demanded that none of her party’s staff be female.
The DJ switched to a new White Stripes song and everyone began to dance. A thin, pale hand caught Hanna’s arm, and Mona dragged her through the crowd and gave her a huge hug.
“Do you love it?” Mona cried from behind her expressionless mask, which looked similar to Hanna’s Dior masterpiece.
“Naturally.” Hanna bumped her hip. “And I love the gambling tables. Does anyone win anything?”
“They win a hot night with a hot girl—you, Hanna!” Spencer cried, prancing up behind them. Mona grabbed her hand, too, and the three jiggled with glee. Spencer looked like a blond Audrey Hepburn in her black satin trapeze dress and adorable round-toe flats. When Spencer put her arm around Mona’s shoulders, Hanna’s heart leaped. As much as she didn’t want to give A credit for anything, A’s notes to Mona had made Mona accept Hanna’s old friends. Yesterday, in between rounds of their Mandy Moore drinking game, Mona had told Hanna, “You know, Spencer’s really cool. I think she could be part of our posse.” Hanna had waited years for Mona to say something like that.
“You look great,” a voice said in Hanna’s ear. A boy stood behind her, dressed in fitted pin-striped pants, a white long-sleeved button-down, a matching pin-striped vest, and a long-nosed bird mask. Lucas’s telltale white-blond hair peeked out from the mask’s top. When he reached out and clasped her hand, Hanna’s heart started racing. She held it for a second, squeezed, and let it drop before anyone could see. “This party is awesome,” Lucas said.
“Thanks, it was nothing,” Mona piped in. She nudged Hanna. “Although, I don’t know, Han. Do you think that hideous thing Lucas is wearing qualifies as a mask?”
Hanna glanced at Mona, wishing she could see her face. She looked over Lucas’s shoulder, pretending she’d been distracted by something that was going on over at the blackjack table.
“So, Hanna, can I talk to you for a sec?” Lucas asked. “Alone?”
Mona was now chatting with one of the waiters. “Um, okay,” Hanna mumbled.
Lucas led her to a secluded nook and pulled off his mask. Hanna tried to thwart the tornado of nerves rumbling inside her stomach, avoiding looking anywhere near Lucas’s super-pink, super-kissable lips. “Can I take yours off, too?” he asked.
Hanna made sure they were truly alone, and that no one else would be able to see her bare, scarred face, and then she let him lift off her mask. Lucas kissed her softly on her stitches. “I missed you,” he whispered.
“You only saw me a couple hours ago.” Hanna giggled.
Lucas smiled crookedly. “That seems like a long time.”
They kissed for a few more minutes, snuggled together on a single couch cushion, oblivious to the cacophony of party noises. Then Hanna heard her name through the tent’s gauzy curtains. “Hanna?” Mona’s voice called. “Han? Where are you?”
Hanna freaked. “I should go back out.” She picked up Lucas’s mask by its long bird beak and shoved it at him. “And you should put this back on.”
Lucas shrugged. “It’s hot under that thing. I think I’ll leave it off.”
Hanna tied her own mask’s strings tight. “It’s a masquerade, Lucas. If Mona sees that you’ve taken yours off, she’ll kick you out for real.”
Lucas’s eyes were hard. “Do you always do everything Mona says?”
Hanna tensed. “No.”
“Good. You shouldn’t.”
Hanna flicked a tassel on one of the pillows. She looked at Lucas again. “What do you want me to say, Lucas? She’s my best friend.”
“Has Mona told you what she did to you yet?” Lucas goaded. “I mean, at her party.”
Hanna stood up, annoyed. “I told you, it doesn’t matter.”
He lowered his eyes. “I care about you, Hanna. I don’t think she does. I don’t think she cares about anyone. Don’t let it drop, okay? Ask her to tell you the truth. I think you deserve to know.”
Hanna stared at him long and hard. Lucas’s eyes were shiny and his lip quivered a little. There was a purple welt on his neck from their earlier make-out session. She wanted to reach out and touch it with her thumb.
Without another word, she whipped the curtain open and stormed back onto the dance floor. Aria’s brother, Mike, was demonstrating his best stripper pole dance to a girl from the Quaker school. Andrew Campbell and his nerdy Knowledge Bowl friends were talking about counting cards in blackjack. Hanna smiled when she saw her father chatting with her old cheerleading coach, a woman whom she and Mona had privately called The Rock, because she bore a resemblance to the professional wrestler.
She finally found Mona sitting in another one of the pillow-laden enclaves. Eric Kahn, Noel’s older brother
, dangled next to her, whispering in her ear. Mona noticed Hanna and sat up. “Thank God you got away from Loser Lucas,” she groaned. “Why has he been hanging around you so much, anyway?”
Hanna scratched at her stitches underneath her mask, her heart suddenly racing. All at once, she needed to ask Mona. She needed to know for sure. “Lucas says I shouldn’t trust you.” She forced a laugh. “He says there’s something you’re not telling me, as if there would ever be something you wouldn’t tell me.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, he’s totally bullshitting me. It’s so lame.”
Mona crossed her legs and sighed. “I think I know what he’s talking about.”
Hanna swallowed hard. The room suddenly smelled too strongly of incense and freshly cut Bermuda grass. There was a burst of applause at the blackjack table; someone had won. Mona moved closer to her, talking right in Hanna’s ear. “I never told you this, but Lucas and I dated the summer between seventh and eighth grade. I was his first kiss. I dumped him when you and I became friends. He called me for, like, six months afterward. I’m not sure he’s ever gotten over it.”
Hanna sat back, stunned. She felt like she was on one of those amusement park swings that abruptly changed directions halfway through the ride. “You and Lucas…dated?”
Mona lowered her eyes and pushed a stray lock of golden hair off her mask. “I’m sorry I never said anything about it before. It’s just that…Lucas is a loser, Han. I didn’t want you to think I was a loser too.”
Hanna ran her hands through her hair, thinking about her conversation with Lucas in the hot-air balloon. She had told him everything, and his face had been so innocent and open. She thought about how intensely they’d kissed, and the little moaning noises he’d made when she ran her fingers up and down his neck.
“So, he was trying to be my friend and saying nasty things about you to…to get back at you for dumping him?” Hanna stammered.