As they exited their room, Tara, Ruby, and Alexis followed, obviously spying. “Hey, Hanna, can I talk to you for a sec?” Tara simpered.
Iris whipped around. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Can’t Hanna speak for herself?” Tara demanded. “Or have you brainwashed her, too?”
They had reached the window seats that looked out onto the gardens behind the facility. A few pink-patterned boxes of Kleenex sat next to the window seats; apparently, this was a prime spot for girls to sit and cry. Hanna sneered at Tara, who was obviously seething with jealousy and rejection and was trying to pit Hanna and Iris against each other. Not that Hanna believed a word of it. Puh-lease. “We’re trying to have a private conversation,” Hanna snapped. “No freaks allowed.”
“You can’t get rid of us that easily,” Tara spat. “We have GT today too.”
The GT room was just ahead through a large oak door. Hanna rolled her eyes and whirled around. Unfortunately, Tara was right—all the girls on the floor had GT this morning.
Hanna didn’t understand GT at all. Private, one-on-one therapy she could handle—she’d met with her therapist, Dr. Foster, again yesterday, but all they’d talked about were the facials the Preserve offered, how she’d started dating Mike Montgomery just before she checked in, and the benefits of her insta-friendship with Iris. She hadn’t mentioned Mona or A once, and there was no way she was going to spill any of her secrets to Tara and her gang of trolls.
Iris looked over, noticing Hanna’s sullen expression. “GT is okay,” she assured her. “Just sit there and shrug. Or say you have your period and don’t feel like talking.”
Dr. Roderick—or “Dr. Felicia,” as she liked everyone to call her—was the polished, chirpy, whirlwind of a woman in charge of GT. Now she poked her head out into the hall and grinned broadly. “Come in, come in!” she singsonged.
The girls filed in. Cushy leather chairs and ottomans were arranged in a circle in the center of the room. A small fountain burbled away in the corner, and there was a large line of bottled waters and sodas on a mahogany sideboard. There were more boxes of Kleenex on the tables, and a big, mesh bin near the door held those foam fun noodles Hanna, Ali, and the others used to play with in Spencer’s pool. A bunch of bongo drums, wooden flutes, and tambourines were stacked on shelves in the corner. Were they going to start a band ?
After all the girls sat down, Dr. Felicia shut the door and sat too. “So,” she said, cracking open an enormous leather-bound day planner. “Today, after we talk about how our weeks have gone, we’re going to play Minefield.”
Everyone made varying grunts and groans. Hanna looked at Iris. “What’s that?”
“It’s a trust exercise,” Iris explained, rolling her eyes. “She scatters this stuff around the room, and it’s supposed to represent bombs and landmines. One person is blindfolded, and her partner leads her around the mines so she doesn’t get hurt.”
Hanna made a face. This was what her dad was paying a thousand dollars a day for?
Dr. Felicia clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, let’s talk about how we’re doing. Who wants to start?”
No one spoke. Hanna scratched her leg, her mind on whether she would get a French manicure today or a hot oil hair treatment. A slender, dark-haired girl across the room named Paige chewed her fingernails.
Dr. Felicia cupped her hands around her knees, sighing wearily. Then her gaze locked on Hanna. “Hanna!” she chirped. “Welcome to the group. Everyone, this is Hanna’s first time here. Let’s all make her feel safe and accepted.”
Hanna curled her toes inside her black Proenza Schouler ankle boots. “Thanks,” she mumbled into her chest. The burbling fountain roared in her ears. It kind of made her have to pee.
“Do you like it here?” Dr. Felicia’s voice swooped up and down. She was one of those people who never blinked but always smiled. It made her seem like a deranged cheerleader on Ritalin.
“It’s great,” Hanna said. “Really, um, fun so far.”
The doctor frowned. “Well, fun is good, but is there anything you’d like to discuss with the group?”
“Not really,” Hanna snapped.
Dr. Felicia pursed her lips, looking disappointed.
“Hanna’s my roommate, and she seems fine,” Iris jumped in. “She and I talk tons—I think this place is doing wonders for her. I mean, at least she doesn’t pull out her hair like Ruby.”
At that, everyone turned to Ruby, who indeed was grasping her hair in mid-yank. Hanna shot Iris a grateful smile, appreciative that she’d diverted Felicia’s attention elsewhere.
But after Dr. Felicia asked Ruby a few questions, she turned back to Hanna. “So, Hanna, would you like to tell us why you’re here? You’d be amazed at how much talking helps.”
Hanna jiggled her foot. Maybe if she sat here silent for long enough, Felicia would move on to someone else. Then she heard someone across the room take a breath.
“Hanna has normal, run-of-the-mill problems,” Tara said in a high-pitched, scathing voice. “She has eating issues, like every perfect girl does. Her daddy doesn’t love her anymore, but she’s trying not to think about it. And oh, she had a bitchy ex-best friend. Blah, blah, blah, nothing worth talking about.”
Satisfied, Tara leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest, and shot Hanna a look that said, You asked for it.
Iris sniffed. “Wow, Tara, good for you. You spied on us. You have ears. And what ugly little rat ears they are.”
“Now,” Dr. Felicia warned.
Hanna didn’t want to give Tara the satisfaction either, but as she reviewed Tara’s words, the blood drained from her face. Something Tara had just said was very, very wrong.
“H-how did you know about my best friend?” she stammered. Mona’s face swam into her mind, her eyes fiery with rage as she gunned the engine of her SUV.
Tara blinked, caught off guard.
“It’s obvious,” Iris jumped in acidly. “She had her ear pressed to our door all night.”
Hanna’s heart beat faster and faster. A salt truck roared by outside. The sound of its plow blade scraping against the pavement made her wince. She looked at Iris. “But I never said anything about my bitch ex-best friend. Do you remember me saying anything about her?”
Iris scratched her chin. “Well, no. But I was tired, so maybe I’d fallen asleep by then.”
Hanna ran her hand over her forehead. What the hell was happening? She’d taken an extra dose of Valium last night to help her sleep; had it made her blurt out stuff about Mona? Her mind felt like a dark, endless tunnel.
“Maybe you didn’t want to talk about this friend, Hanna,” Dr. Felicia rushed in. She rose to her feet and walked to the windows. “But sometimes our minds and bodies have a way of pushing our problems out nevertheless.”
Hanna glared at her. “I don’t just blurt shit out. I don’t have Tourette’s. I’m not a moron.”
“You don’t need to get worked up,” Dr. Felicia said gently.
“I’m not getting worked up!” Hanna roared, her voice echoing off the walls.
Felicia backed off, her eyes round. A tense ripple swept through the other girls. Megan coughed, “Psycho,” into her hand. Pinpricks danced across Hanna’s skin.
Dr. Felicia returned to her chair and riffled her notebook pages. “Well. Let’s move on.” She turned a page in her notebook. “Uh . . . Gina. Have you spoken to your mom this week? How did that go?”
But as Dr. Felicia asked the other girls about how their weeks had been, Hanna’s mind wouldn’t quiet down. It was like there was a tiny splinter in her brain that desperately needed to be dislodged. When she shut her eyes, she was in the Rosewood Day parking lot again, Mona’s car barreling toward her. No, she shouted to herself. She couldn’t go down this path, not here, not ever again. She forced her eyes open. The fun noodles in the corner blurred and wobbled. The girls’ faces warped and stretched, like she was looking at them through a fun house mirror.
Unable to stand it any longer, Hanna pointed a shaking finger at Tara. “You have to tell me how you know about Mona.”
Silence fell. Tara’s pimply brow crinkled. “Excuse me?”
“Did A tell you about her?” Hanna asked.
Tara shook her head slowly. “A who?”
Dr. Felicia stood up, crossed the room, and touched Hanna’s arm. “You seem confused, honey. Maybe you should go back to your room and rest.”
But Hanna didn’t move. Tara matched her stare for a while, then rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I have no idea who Mona is. I thought your bitchy best friend was Alison.”
Hanna’s throat shunted closed. She sank back into her seat.
Iris perked up. “Alison? Isn’t that the girl whose flag you have? Why is she an ex-best friend?”
Hanna barely heard her. She stared at Tara. “How do you know about Alison?” she whispered.
Begrudgingly, Tara reached into her grubby canvas bag. “From this.” She tossed a copy of People Hanna had never seen before across the room. It skidded to a stop next to Hanna’s chair. “I was going to tell you about this before GT. But you were too cool to talk to me.”
Hanna snatched the magazine and opened to a marked page. Splashed out across the spread was the headline A Week of Secrets and Lies. Beneath it was a picture of Hanna, Spencer, Aria, and Emily, running from the fire in the woods. The caption said The Pretty Little Liars, followed by each of their names.
“Oh my God,” Hanna whispered.
Then she noticed a box and a graph in the bottom right-hand corner. DID THE PRETTY LITTLE LIARS KILL ALISON DILAURENTIS? They’d surveyed a hundred people in Times Square. Almost the whole pie—92 percent—was purple for yes.
“I love your nickname, by the way,” Tara simpered, crossing her legs. “Pretty Little Liars. So cute.”
Everyone crowded around Hanna’s chair to read. She felt powerless to stop them. Ruby gasped. A patient named Julie clucked her tongue. And Iris—well, Iris looked horrified and disgusted. Everyone’s opinions about Hanna were changing instantaneously. From now on, she would be that girl. The psycho everyone thought killed her best friend four years ago.
Dr. Felicia snatched the magazine from Hanna’s lap. “Where did you get this?” she scolded Tara. “You know magazines aren’t allowed.”
Tara cowered, shy and sheepish now that she was in trouble. “Iris always brags that she gets early editions of the magazine snuck in,” she mumbled, peeling away the wrapping on her water bottle. “I just wanted to see a copy for myself.”
Iris rose to her feet, almost knocking over a chrome floor lamp next to her. She strode over to Tara. “I had that issue in my bedroom, you bitch! I hadn’t even read it yet! You went through my stuff!”
“Iris.” Dr. Felicia clapped her hands, trying to regain control. A nurse peered through the little side pane in the GT door, probably trying to decide whether or not she should come to Dr. Felicia’s aid. “Iris, you know your room is locked. No patient can get in.”
