Sara Shepard - Heartless

In some ways, Hanna was crushed that it wasn’t. After all these years, she still had a burning wish for Ali to see with her own eyes how much Hanna had changed. The last time Hanna saw Ali, Hanna had been a chubby ugly duckling—definitely the dorkiest of the group—and Ali always made countless cracks about Hanna’s weight, frizzy hair, and bad skin. She’d probably never have guessed that Hanna would transform into a thin, gorgeous, popular swan. Sometimes Hanna wondered if the only way she’d truly know for sure that her transformation was complete was if Ali gave Hanna her blessing. Of course, now that could never happen.

“My pleasure,” Mike answered, snapping Hanna out of her reverie. “And be forewarned—I sent some very juicy Twitters to some of the press people who were waiting outside the ER. Just to get them focused on something other than the fire.”

“Like what?” Hanna asked, instantly on alert. Mike sounded up to something.

“ Hanna Marin in talks with MTV about reality show, ” Mike recited. “ Multimillion-dollar deal. ”

“Awesome.” Hanna let out a breath and started waving her hands around to dry her nails.

“I wrote one about myself, too. Mike Montgomery turns down date with Croatian supermodel. ”

“You turned down a date?” Hanna giggled flirtatiously. “That doesn’t seem like the Mike Montgomery I know.”

“Who needs Croatian supermodels when you have Hanna Marin?” Mike said.

Hanna wriggled with giddy delight. If someone had told her a few weeks ago that she’d be dating Mike Montgomery, she would have swallowed her Crest Whitestrip in surprise-she’d only pursued Mike because her soon-to-be stepsister, Kate, wanted him too. But somehow in the process, she’d actually started to like him. With his ice blue eyes, pink, kissable lips, and raunchy sense of humor, he was becoming more than just Aria Montgomery’s popularity-obsessed younger brother to her.

She stood up, crossed the room to her closet, and ran her fingers along Ali’s piece of the Time Capsule flag, which she’d taken at the hospital when Aria wasn’t looking. She didn’t feel guilty about it, either—it wasn’t like the flag belonged to Aria. “So I heard that you guys were getting notes from a new A,” Mike said. His voice was suddenly serious.

“I haven’t gotten any notes from A,” Hanna said truthfully. Since she’d gotten her new iPhone and changed her number, A had left her alone. It was certainly a welcome change from the old A, who had horribly turned out to be Hanna’s former bestie, Mona Vanderwaal—something she tried very hard never to think about. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Mike assured her. “Kick someone’s ass, whatever.”

“Aw.” Hanna flushed with pleasure. No other boyfriend had ever offered to defend her honor. She made a kissing sound, promised she and Mike would meet for lattes at Steam, Rosewood’s coffee bar, this afternoon, and hung up.

Then she padded down to the kitchen for breakfast, pulling a brush through her long auburn hair. The kitchen smelled like mint tea and fresh fruit. Her soon-to-be stepmother, Isabel, and Kate were already at the table, eating bowls of cut-up melon and cottage cheese. Hanna couldn’t think of a more vomit-inspiring food combination.

When they saw Hanna in the doorway, they both leapt to their feet. “How are you feeling?” they gushed at the same time.

“Fine,” Hanna answered tightly, scraping the brush against her scalp. Predictably, Isabel began to wince—she was a germaphobe, and had a thing against hair-brushing near food.

Hanna plopped down in an empty chair and reached for the carafe of coffee. Isabel and Kate sat back down, and there was a long, pregnant pause, like Hanna had interrupted something. They’d probably been gossiping about her. She wouldn’t put it past either of them.

Hanna’s father had been dating Isabel for years—even Ali had met both Isabel and Kate a few months before she disappeared—but they’d only begun living in Rosewood after Hanna’s mother was transferred to Singapore and Hanna’s father took a job in Philly. It was bad enough that her dad had decided to marry a fake-tan-obsessed ER nurse named Isabel— such a trade down from Hanna’s glamorous, successful mother—but throwing a tall, skinny stepsister Hanna’s exact same age into the mix was just unbearable. In the two weeks since Kate had moved in, Hanna had had to endure her daily medley of American Idol songs in the shower, the foul-smelling raw-egg conditioner Kate concocted to keep her hair shiny, and her father’s bottomless praise for every tiny thing Kate did well, as if she were his real daughter. Not to mention that Kate had won over Hanna’s new underlings Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe and then told Mike that Hanna had asked him out on a bet. Then again, at a party a couple weeks ago, Hanna had blurted out that Kate had herpes, so maybe they were even now.

“Melon?” Kate asked sweetly, pushing the bowl toward Hanna with her annoyingly thin arms.

“No thanks,” Hanna said in the same saccharine tone. It seemed like they’d called a cease-fire at the Radley party—Kate had even smiled when Hanna and Mike got together—but Hanna wasn’t about to push it.

Then Kate gasped. “Oops,” she whispered, pulling the Opinions section of this morning’s Philadelphia Sentinel toward her plate. She tried to fold it before Hanna saw the headline, but it was too late. There was a large picture of Hanna, Spencer, Emily, and Aria standing in front of the burning woods. How Many Lies Can We Allow? screamed one of the essays. According to Best Friends, Alison DiLaurentis Rises from the Dead.

“I’m so sorry, Hanna.” Kate covered the story with her bowl of cottage cheese.

“It’s fine,” Hanna snapped, trying to swallow her embarrassment. What was wrong with these reporters? Weren’t there more important things in the world to obsess over? And hello, it was smoke inhalation!

Kate took a dainty bite of melon. “I want to help, Han. If you need me to, like, be your advocate with the press-go on camera and stuff like that—I’d be happy to.”

“Thanks,” Hanna said sarcastically. Kate was such an attention whore. Then she noticed a photo of Wilden on the part of the Opinions page that was still visible. RosewoodPD, said the headline under his photo. Are They Really Doing Everything They Can?

Now that was an op-ed worth reading. Wilden might not have killed Ali, but he’d certainly been acting bizarrely over the past few weeks. Like how he’d given Hanna a ride home from her jog one morning, driving at twice the speed limit and playing chicken with an oncoming car. Or how he’d vehemently demanded that they stop saying Ali was alive . . . or else. Was Wilden really trying to protect them, or did he have his own reasons for keeping them quiet about Ali? And if Wilden was innocent, who the hell set that fire . . . and why?

“Hanna. Good. You’re up.”

Hanna turned around. Her father stood in the doorway, dressed in a button-down and pin-striped pants. His hair was still wet from the shower. “Can we talk to you for a minute?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Hanna lowered the paper. We?

Mr. Marin walked to the table and pulled back a chair. It scraped noisily against the tile. “A few days ago I received an e-mail from Dr. Atkinson.”

He was staring at Hanna as if she should understand. “Who’s that?” she finally asked.

“The school’s psychologist,” Isabel piped up in a know-it-all voice. “He’s very nice. Kate met him when she was touring the school. He insists that students call him Dave.”