Sara Shepard - Wanted

“I didn’t know!” Hanna protested, her heels sinking into the slushy dirt around the tree trunk. “I’ll call my mom. She can work this out.”

“There’s nothing to work out,” Kate spat, her face inches from Hanna’s. Her breath smelled like stale pretzels. “We gave you a chance, and you blew it.”

Courtney crossed her arms, but didn’t say anything.

“You’re never going to be popular at Rosewood Day again,” Naomi threatened. She pulled her BlackBerry out of her clutch and grabbed Riley’s arm. “Let’s go to the Waverly Inn.” She shot a menacing look at Hanna. “Don’t you dare follow us.”

The four of them disappeared into the crowd. Hanna turned away, staring into a nearby trash can that was filled with plastic champagne glasses. Two girls with long, shiny hair passed, each holding a black key with the DVF label stamped on the front. “I’m so psyched for the show,” one of them trilled. She was wearing the same dress Hanna had on, except in a size zero instead of a four. Bitch.

Whipping out her cell phone, she dialed her mom’s number in Singapore, not caring that it probably cost a trillion dollars to connect. The phone rang six times before her mom picked up. “I can’t believe you!” Hanna howled. “You ruined my life!”

“… Hanna? ” Ms. Marin said, her voice sounding tinny and far away. “What’s going on?”

“Why would you send me fake tickets to a fashion show?” Hanna kicked a pebble, causing a few nearby pigeons to scatter. “It’s bad enough you ditched me and left me with Dad, who hates me, and Kate, who wants to ruin my life! Did you have to embarrass me in front of everyone, too?”

“ What tickets?” Ms. Marin said.

Hanna gritted her teeth. “Tickets to the Diane von Furstenberg show in Bryant Park? The ones you e-mailed me the other day? Or are you so consumed with your job that you’ve already forgotten?”

“I never sent you tickets,” her mother said, her voice suddenly laced with concern. “Are you sure the e-mail was from me?”

A bunch of lights in a skyscraper across the street snapped on. Pedestrians crossed from one side of Forty-second Street to the other in an amorphous herd. Goose bumps rose on Hanna’s arms. If her mom hadn’t sent those fake invitations, who had?

“Hanna?” Ms. Marin asked after a pause. “Honey, are you all right? Is there something we need to talk about?”

“No,” Hanna said quickly, stabbing the END button. Then she staggered back to the library and sat down below one of the stone lions. There was a newspaper kiosk on the sidewalk, a copy of today’s New York Post face out. Billy Ford’s wild eyes glowered back at Hanna, his expression spellbindingly chilling, his long blond hair plastered to his sallow forehead. Ford Didn’t Do It blared the headline.

A stiff wind gusted, blowing the top newspaper loose. It fluttered across the sidewalk, coming to a stop at a pair of familiar brown ankle boots. Hanna’s gaze traveled from the boots all the way up to the heart-shaped face topped with blond hair. “Oh,” she spurted, surprised.

“Hi,” Courtney said, a smile on her face.

Hanna lowered her head. “What do you want?”

Courtney plopped down next to her. “Are you okay?”

Hanna didn’t answer.

“They’ll get over it.”

“No they won’t. I blew it,” Hanna wailed over a grumbling Big Apple tour bus. She had a sudden craving for Cheez-Its. “I’m officially a loser.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” Hanna set her jaw. Maybe this was something she had to accept. “Before I met your sister, I was really lame. I don’t even know why she wanted to be friends with me. I’m not cool. I’ve never been cool. I can’t change that.”

“Hanna,” Courtney said sternly. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

Hanna snorted. “You’ve known me for two days.”

Headlights flashed across Courtney’s face. “I’ve known you for a lot longer than that.”

Hanna raised her head and stared at the girl on the steps. “Huh?”

Courtney cocked her head. “Come on. I thought you’d known for a while. Since the hospital.”

A chilly wind kicked up, blowing around cigarette butts and spare bits of trash. “The…hospital?”

“Don’t you remember?” Courtney smiled hopefully. “I visited you when you were in a coma.”

A hazy memory of a blond figure wavered and wobbled in Hanna’s mind. A girl had leaned over her bed murmuring I’m okay, I’m okay . But Hanna had always thought that girl was…

Hanna blinked in disbelief. “ Ali? ”

The girl next to her nodded. She extended her arms out ta-daa! style.

“What?” Hanna’s heart thundered. “ How? ”

Ali told her story. Hanna gasped at the end of almost every sentence, barely believing her ears. She gazed at the pedestrians walking down Fifth Avenue. A woman pushed a Silver Cross baby carriage, yakking on a Motorola Droid. A gay couple in matching John Varvatos leather jackets walked their French bulldog. It was amazing that their mundane lives could proceed apace amidst such a life-altering revelation.

She took Hanna’s hands. “Hanna, I never thought you were a loser. And seriously, look at you now.” She leaned back and gestured to Hanna’s hair and outfit. “You’re stunning.”

The surface of Hanna’s skin throbbed. In sixth grade, she’d felt like the Michelin Tire Man next to Ali. Her stomach bulged and her braces made her cheeks puffy. Ali had always looked so flawless—whether she was in her field hockey skirt or the white dress she’d worn to seventh-grade graduation. For years Hanna had longed to show Ali her makeover, to prove that she was fabulous, too. “Thanks,” she whispered, feeling thoroughly disembodied, as if caught in a dream.

“You and I are the ones who deserve to be popular, Hanna.” Ali’s eyes hardened for such a brief moment that Hanna wondered if she’d imagined it. “Not your stepsister. And especially not Naomi or Riley. So you know what we need to do?”

“W-what?” Hanna stuttered.

A coy smile slunk onto Ali’s face. All of a sudden, she was pure Ali again—irresistible, intoxicating, and utterly in control of everything. She stepped off the stairs and extended her arm for a cab. One pulled up immediately. Ali climbed in and motioned for Hanna to follow.

“Penn Station,” Ali said to the driver, slamming the door. Then she turned back to Hanna. “We ditch the bitches,” she said. “And then we take them down.”

Late Thursday night, Aria stood in her bedroom at Byron’s new house, examining the fringed red dress she’d bought for the Valentine’s Day dance. Would Noel think it was artistic and stylish…or kooky?

Suddenly, a flicker outside the big bedroom window caught her eye. A figure jogged past the house, her lithe body illuminated by the amber-hued streetlight. Aria immediately recognized the pink Windbreaker, black running tights, and dirty blond hair tucked into a silver beanie. Spencer’s sister, Melissa, religiously ran the neighborhood roads every afternoon.

But never at night. Aria’s heart started to pound as she remembered Melissa lurking outside Courtney’s house yesterday. An eerie feeling crept into her bones. Aria pulled on a sweatshirt, rammed her feet into her Uggs, and went outside.

The night was frigid and still. A fat, bloated moon hung in the sky. The houses loomed huge and imposing, and most people’s porch lights were already off for the night. The air still had a faint odor of charred earth to it from the fire, and Aria could make out jagged tree stumps in the woods. She spied the reflective tape on Melissa’s sneakers at the end of the street and started to run, following her at a safe distance.