“It’s horrible. It sounds like pukey.” And they were going, Hanna thought, to the Puke-atán peninsula with Princess Puke-a-tan herself.
Lucas shrugged. “It’s just a stupid nickname.”
Hanna squeezed her eyes shut. “Are you seriously going on vacation with . . . her?”
“Are you jealous? Over me?” Lucas grinned like this was the most amusing thing he’d ever heard. “Hanna, you have nothing to worry about. Brooke’s like a cousin.”
Some people hook up with their cousins, especially when they see them sunbathing nude, Hanna thought bitterly.
She eyed Brooke in the other room. She was studying herself in the round mirror near the door, puckering her lips and slathering on more gloss. If Mona were here, they could nudge each other and make fun of Brooke’s tacky press-on nails. If Ali were here, she’d freeze Brooke out and make her feel like the biggest dork in the universe.
A sour feeling streaked through Hanna’s stomach. Dating a popular boy came with its pitfalls and insecurities, but she’d figured she would never, ever have to be concerned about other girls with a nerd like Lucas. Then again, because skanks didn’t regularly throw themselves at Lucas, taking off their tops and tempting him with Jell-O shots, he had no immunity against this kind of thing. There were so many people who had dropped out of Hanna’s life in the last few years—her dad, her ex-boyfriend Sean Ackard, Ali, Mona, her mom. All she wanted was someone stable who’d be around forever. But now even Lucas felt so precarious . . . and there was nothing she could do to stop him from going.
Chapter 3
Old Habits Die Hard
Hanna skirted around Brooke, marched out the door, and gunned her Prius as fast as it would go out of the Beatties’ driveway. The last thing she wanted was to hear another word about Brooke’s tanning goals, Jell-O shots, and thinly veiled double entendres of how Brooke was going to get Lucas into bed.
Her cell phone rang just as she turned at the end of Lucas’s street. Lucas’s name flashed on the screen. Hanna considered not answering, then sighed, picked up, and said hello.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Lucas blurted. “I promise.”
Hanna didn’t answer, instead squeezing the steering wheel so hard she was sure she was giving her palms blisters.
“My dad just told me that the hotel we’re staying at has Wi-Fi. I’ll Skype you every day and send tons of photos and tell you how much I adore you on Facebook every few hours.”
“How about every hour on the hour?” If Lucas was constantly in touch with her, he couldn’t get into that much trouble, could he? “And promise to get me a present—something good. And don’t you dare look at any boobs on that nude beach.”
When they hung up a few minutes later, she felt a little better. Hanna wound through the streets of Rosewood, the only sound in the car the whooshing noise of the heater. As she passed the busy shopping district, she noticed two headlights pull up behind her. They followed her as she drove by the school, the lit-up windows of Otto, the fancy Italian restaurant, and Fresh Fields grocery. With every turn, the car kept pace. She glanced at the dark figure behind the wheel in the rearview mirror, her heart starting to beat faster. Was she being followed? What if it was Ian—had he broken out of prison? She pulled over at an intersection and waited. The driver passed her by without slowing, and Hanna exhaled in relief.
Hanna looked at the street sign and realized where she’d stopped. This was Mona’s old street—and Ali’s.
Some of the houses on the block were already decorated for the holidays. The Hastingses’ estate had twinkling lights that traced the perimeter of the roof. Jenna Cavanaugh’s house had solemn candles in the windows. Ali’s old house, which a new family lived in now, had a glowing wreath on the door. The Ali Shrine, which friends and strangers alike had set up shortly after Ali’s body had been found, blazed at the curb. It was anyone’s guess who kept those votive candles lit.
The Vanderwaals’ property was dark. Hanna could just make out the long, five-car garage at the corner of the lot, the one she and Mona had climbed on top of and written HM + MV = BBBBBFF in big white letters on the roof. “Promise me we’ll never be anything but besties,” Mona had said after they’d finished and were washing the white paint off their hands with the garden hose. “I promise,” Hanna had said. And she’d believed Mona with all her heart.
Now Hanna wanted to fire-bomb the garage. Or climb up there and leave a bouquet of flowers in Mona’s memory. Her emotions veered so wildly from second to second it was hard to know what she felt.
And then, unbidden, the memory of the car that had roared toward Hanna in the parking lot two months ago flashed in her mind. Hanna had tried to run, but it had come at her too quickly. She remembered the sharp, binding terror she’d felt when she knew the car was going to hit her—that Mona was going to hit her.
“Don’t think about it,” Hanna whispered to herself.
Hanna drove slowly the rest of the way home, taking deep, cleansing breaths. After gunning the car up her family’s driveway, she nearly crashed into a line of vehicles she didn’t recognize. There had to be about fifteen sedans, SUVs, and crossovers parked in the circular drive. Then she noticed something blinking by the garage. Christmas lights. And was that a glow-in-the-dark Santa and an inflatable gingerbread man in the front yard?
She took tentative steps toward the house. Dot, wearing some kind of bizarre headpiece, yipped at her feet when she walked inside. Wait. Were those reindeer antlers? Hanna scooped him up and stared at the two plush stalks on his head. Each was tipped with a tiny jingle bell.
“Who did this to you?” Hanna whispered, ripping them off. Dot just licked her face.
She looked around the living room and gasped. Holly leaves snaked around the banister. A mechanical Mrs. Claus waved from the console table that had once held Hanna’s mother’s austere ceramic vases. A tall, tinsel-laden tree stood in the corner, and the fireplace, which Hanna couldn’t remember the family ever using, was ablaze. “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” played on the stereo at maximum volume, and the whole house smelled like honey-glazed ham.
“Hello?” Hanna called out.
Laughter floated out from the kitchen, first Isabel’s goose-honk chortle, then her dad’s booming guffaw. Hanna rounded the corner. The kitchen was packed with people holding champagne flutes and appetizer plates filled with mini quiches and wedges of Brie. Many of them wore Santa hats, including Hanna’s dad. Isabel stood in the corner, wearing a red velvet dress tipped with Mrs. Claus white fur on the cuffs and hem, and Kate had on a tight-fitting red jersey sheath and black-and-white Kate Spade heels. Mistletoe hung from the chandelier, a carafe of mulled cider sat on the counter, and plates and plates of the most delicious-looking Christmas cookies and appetizers filled the island.
Isabel spied Hanna and glided over. “Hanna! Feliz Navidad! O Tannenbaum! Merry Christmas!”
Hanna sniffed. “Um, actually, I’m Jewish. And so is my father.”
Isabel blinked dumbly, like she couldn’t comprehend that anyone, let alone her own fiancé, could celebrate anything other than Christmas.
Mr. Marin appeared at Isabel’s side. “Hey, sweetie,” he said, ruffling Hanna’s hair.
Hanna stared at him incredulously. “Since when do you celebrate Christmas?” She said the word like she might have said Satan’s birthday.
Mr. Marin crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I’ve been celebrating it with Isabel and Kate for the past few years. I told Kate to tell you.”
“Well, she didn’t,” Hanna said flatly.
“We do the Twelve Days of Christmas every year. We always kick it off with a bash.” Isabel took a sip of champagne. “It’s a wonderful tradition. We started early this year with tonight—kind of a housewarming-meets-Christmas thing.”
“And we’d like you to be a part of the tradition too, of course,” Mr. Marin added.
Hanna stared at all of the red and green paraphernalia. Her family had never been that religious, but they lit menorah candles every night of Hanukkah. On Christmas Day, they ordered Chinese takeout, watched movie marathons, and went on a long family bike ride if the weather was decent. She liked those traditions.
The doorbell rang, and Isabel and Mr. Marin moved toward the front door. Hanna wandered toward the drinks table, wondering how much trouble she’d get into if she poured herself a giant glass of Scotch. Then, a familiar, red-sheathed figure swam into view.
“That’s an interesting outfit for this party.” Kate eyed the oversized Eagles sweatshirt Hanna was wearing. “This party is a big deal for Tom, you know. A lot of his new work colleagues are here. You could have put in a little more effort.”
Hanna wanted to club Kate over the head with a pepperoni stick from the food spread. “I didn’t know there would be a party.”
“You didn’t?” Kate raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I’ve known for a week. I guess I forgot to tell you.”
She turned and flounced away. Hanna grabbed a petit four and shoved it into her mouth without tasting it, staring at her dad across the room. He was schmoozing with a gray-haired man in a tailored black suit and a slender woman wearing enormous diamond earrings. When Kate approached, Mr. Marin placed his hand on her shoulder and made introductions, looking proud. He didn’t turn around and wave Hanna over so that he could introduce her too, though.
She was just a big, unwanted lump in an Eagles sweatshirt. A girl who wasn’t invited to parties in her own house. She felt like Lady in Lady and the Tramp, one of Hanna’s favorite movies as a kid. When Jim Dear and Darling had a new baby, they kicked Lady to the curb. Except Hanna didn’t even have a scruffy bad-boy stray she could run off and share spaghetti noodles with because her supposed boyfriend was going to be hundreds of miles away soaking up the sunshine on a nude beach with a skank.
She plopped down on a chair in the far corner next to Edith, an old woman from down the street who wore giant glasses and perpetually looked as though she’d swallowed her false teeth. “Who’s that?” Edith asked, leaning her ear toward Hanna’s chair. She smelled faintly of violets.
“It’s Hanna Marin,” Hanna told her in a loud voice. “Remember me?”
“Oh, Hanna, yes, of course.” Edith felt around for Hanna’s hand and patted it. “Nice to see you, dear.” She pushed a Saran-wrapped paper plate of chocolate-chip cookies across the table. “Have a cookie. I baked them myself. Tried to put them on the table with all the other food, but that new woman who lives here didn’t seem to want them there.” She wrinkled her nose as if she’d smelled something rancid.
“Thanks,” Hanna mumbled, wanting to kiss Edith for not liking Isabel either. She placed a cookie on her tongue, swooning at the taste of sugar and butter and chocolate. “These are delicious.”
“Glad you like them.” Edith pushed another cookie toward her. “Have another. You’re much too skinny.”
