Sara Shepard - Killer

Mike’s eyes widened. He reached out for it, but Hanna yanked it away. Mike stuck out his bottom lip. “Come on. What’ll it take for you to give that piece to me?”

Hanna had to hand it to him—most sophomore guys were so nervous in Hanna’s presence, they started quivering and stuttering. She pressed the flag to her chest. “I’m not letting this baby out of my sight.”

“There’s gotta be something I can do for you,” Mike pleaded. “Your history homework? Hand-wash your bras? Fondle your nipples?”

Kate let out another girlish titter, trying to bring the attention back to her, but Hanna quickly grabbed Mike’s arm and pulled him back toward the condiments table, away from the crowd. “I can give you something way better than this flag,” she murmured.

“What?” Mike asked.

“Me, silly,” Hanna said flirtatiously. “Maybe you and I could go out sometime.”

“Okay,” Mike said to Hanna emphatically. “When?”

Hanna peeked over her shoulder. Kate’s mouth had dropped open. Ha , Hanna thought, feeling triumphant. That was easy.

“How about tomorrow?” she asked Mike.

“Hmm. My dad’s throwing his mistress a baby shower.” Mike stuffed his hands in his blazer pockets. Hanna flinched—Aria had told her about her dad running off with his student, but Hanna hadn’t been aware that they were talking about it so candidly. “I’d blow it off, but my dad would kill me.”

“Oh, but I love showers,” Hanna exclaimed, even though she sort of hated them.

“I love showers too—the kind I take with a couple of hot girls,” Mike said, winking.

Hanna fought the urge to roll her eyes. Seriously, what did Kate see in him? She peeked over Mike’s shoulder again. Now, Kate, Naomi, and Riley were whispering to Noel and Mason. They were probably just trying to act secretive to throw Hanna off—but she wasn’t falling for it.

“Anyway, if you really want to come, awesome,” Mike said, and Hanna turned back to him. “Give me your number and I’ll text you the deets. Oh, and you don’t have to bring a gift or anything. But if you do, Meredith’s really eco and shit. So, like, don’t get her disposable diapers. And don’t get her a breast pump—I already got that department covered.” He crossed his arms over his chest, as if terribly pleased with his idea.

“Got it,” Hanna said. Then, she stepped forward until she was just inches from Mike’s mouth. She could see flecks of gray in his blue eyes. He had that sweaty boy smell, probably from a morning gym class. Surprisingly, it was kind of hot. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered, her lips touching his cheek.

“Definitely,” Mike breathed. He walked back to Noel and Mason, who were watching, and did that shoulder-punching thing all the lax boys loved.

Hanna dusted off her hands. Done and done . When she turned around, Kate was standing right behind her.

“Oh!” Hanna simpered. “Hi, Kate! Sorry, I had something I had to ask Mike.”

Kate crossed her arms over her chest. “Hanna! I told you I wanted to go for Mike.”

Hanna wanted to laugh at Kate’s wounded tone of voice. Had Little Miss Perfect never fought for a guy before? “Mmmm,” Hanna answered. “Seems like he likes me.”

Kate’s pale eyes darkened. A serene look came over her face. “Well, I guess we’ll have to see about that,” she said.

“I guess we will,” Hanna chirped, her voice ice.

They stared each other down. The song over Steam’s speakers changed from an emo-punk ballad to a throbbing, African dance beat. It reminded Hanna of a song a tribe might play before they went off to battle.

Game on, bitch , Hanna mouthed to Kate. Then she daintily pulled her bag into her chest and waltzed around her stepsister-to-be into the Rosewood Day hallway, waggling her fingers at Mike, Noel, and the others. But as she was passing the cafeteria, she heard a sarcastic cackle reverberate off the walls. She stopped, the hair on the back of her neck rising. The laugh wasn’t coming from Steam, but from the cafeteria.

All the tables in the lunchroom were full. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Hanna saw a figure behind the rotating pretzel oven slither out the back door. The person was tall and lanky and had blond, curly hair. Hanna’s heart stopped. Ian ?

But no. Ian was dead. The person who had sent his parents that text earlier today was an impostor. Shaking off the thought, Hanna pulled her school blazer around her shoulders, drained the last of her latte, and continued down the corridor, trying her best to strut like the fearless, gorgeous, unflappable girl she was.

As soon as Emily finished swim practice Tuesday afternoon, she drove to Isaac’s house and parked at the curb. Isaac opened the front door of his house, grabbed Emily tight, and inhaled deeply. “ Mmm. I just love it when you smell like chlorine.”

Emily giggled. Despite the fact that she always washed her hair twice in the locker room showers after every practice, the distinct pool smell stubbornly clung to her hair.

Isaac stepped aside, and Emily walked into the house. The living room smelled like apple and peach potpourri. There was the picture on the mantel of Isaac, his mom, and Minnie Mouse at Disney World. The floral couch was covered with lacy pillows Mrs. Colbert had embroidered, bearing messages like Hugging Is Healthy and Prayer Changes Everything .

Isaac pulled at one of the sleeves of Emily’s coat, then the other. When he turned to open the closet door, she heard a creak coming from the mudroom. Emily froze, her eyes round. Isaac turned to her and touched her hand. “Why so jumpy? The press isn’t here, I promise.”

Emily licked her lips. The press had been hounding her and her friends constantly, and earlier that day, she’d heard the latest: that the Thomas family had received an e-mail from Ian, and that Emily and the others had made up seeing Ian’s body in the woods. That obviously wasn’t true—but what was? Where had Ian gone? Was he really alive…or did someone just want them to think he was?

More than that, Emily couldn’t stop thinking about the Jason DiLaurentis incident on Sunday night. She had no idea what she would’ve done if Isaac hadn’t been with her. Every time she considered the possibility of facing Jason alone, she shuddered with fear.

“Sorry,” she said to Isaac, trying to snap out of her mood. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” Isaac said. He took her hand. “Since we have the place to ourselves, I thought I’d show you my bedroom.”

“Are you sure?” Emily glanced at the photo of Isaac, his mom, and Minnie Mouse again. Mrs. Colbert had a policy that Isaac wasn’t allowed to bring any girls into his room—ever.

“Sure I’m sure,” Isaac answered. “My mom will never know.”

Emily smiled. She had been curious about his bedroom. Isaac squeezed her hand and led her up the stairs. Each stair riser was decorated with a different doll. Some of them were yarn-haired rag dolls in calico dresses, and others were baby dolls with hard china heads and eyes that closed when they were laid flat. Emily averted her eyes. She’d never been one to play with dolls like other girls—they’d always kind of freaked her out.

Isaac pushed through a door at the end of the hall. “Voilà.” There was a striped spread on the double bed in the corner, three guitars on stands, and a small desk with a new iMac. “Very nice,” Emily said.

Then she noticed a large white object on top of the dresser. “You have a phrenology head!” She walked over to the big mold of a skull and traced her fingers over the words that were written across the head. Guile. Forethought. Avarice. Victorian doctors thought they could determine a person’s character simply by the way his or her skull was shaped. If he had a lump in a particular spot on his head, he was a good poet. If the lump was elsewhere, he was very religious. Emily wondered what her head bumps said about her.