Sara Shepard - Perfect

“Oh, probably about your interests, your education,” Mrs. Hastings singsonged. “Be sure to tell her about those educational camps I sent you to. And remember how I started teaching you French when you were eight? You were able to go straight to French II in sixth grade because of that.”

Spencer giggled into her hand. “There are going to be other stories in Saturday’s edition of the Sentinel, Mom. Not just mine.”

“Maybe she’ll ask you about your essay,” Melissa said flatly.

Spencer looked up sharply. Melissa was calmly flipping through a Town & Country , her expression giving nothing away. Would Jordana ask about the essay?

Bridget waltzed back in with a rolling rack of garment bags. “Start unzipping these and see if there’s anything you like,” she instructed. “I just have to run out to the car and get the bag of shoes and accessories.” She wrinkled her nose. “An assistant would be great right now.”

Spencer ran her hands along the vinyl bags. There had to be at least twenty-five. “All these are just for my little photo shoot?”

“Didn’t Jordana tell you?” Bridget widened her gray eyes. “The managing editor loved this story, especially since you’re local. We’re putting you on the front page!”

“Of the Style section?” Melissa seemed incredulous.

“No, of the whole paper!” Bridget cried.

“Oh my God, Spencer!” Mrs. Hastings took Spencer’s hand.

“That’s right!” Bridget beamed. “Get used to this. And if you win, you’ll be on one wild ride. I styled 2001’s winner for Newsweek . Her schedule was crazy.”

Bridget strode back toward the front door, her jasmine perfume punctuating the air. Spencer tried to breathe yoga fire breaths. She unzipped the first garment bag, running her hands over a dark wool blazer. She checked the tag. Calvin Klein. The next one was Armani.

Her mother and Melissa joined her in unzipping. They were quiet for a few seconds, until Melissa said, “Spence, there’s something taped on this bag.”

Spencer looked over. A folded piece of lined paper was affixed to a navy garment bag with duct tape. On the front of the note was a single, handwritten initial: S .

Spencer’s legs stiffened. She pulled the note off slowly, angling her body so that Melissa and her mother couldn’t see it, and then opened it up.

“What is it?” Melissa moved away from the rack.

“J-just directions for the stylist.” Her words came out garbled and thick.

Mrs. Hastings continued to calmly unzip the garment bags, but Melissa held Spencer’s gaze for a beat longer. When Melissa finally looked away, Spencer slowly unfolded the note again.

Dear Ms. Finalist, How’d you like it if I told your secret RIGHT NOW? I can, you know. And if you don’t watch it, maybe I will.

—A

Wednesday afternoon at lunch, Hanna sat at a teak farmhouse table that overlooked the Rosewood Day practice fields and the duck pond. Mount Kale rose up in the distance. It was a perfect afternoon. Tiffany-blue sky, no humidity, the smell of leaves and clean air all around them. The ideal setting for Hanna’s perfect birthday present to Mona—now all Mona had to do was show up. Hanna hadn’t been able to get a word in while they were fitted for their champagne-colored Zac Posen court dresses at Saks yesterday—not with Naomi and Riley around. She’d tried to call Mona to talk to her about it last night, too, but Mona had said she was in the middle of studying for a big German test. If she failed, the Sweet Seventeen was off.

But whatever. Mona was due any minute, and they’d make up for all the private Hanna-Mona time they’d missed. And yesterday’s note from A about Mona not being trustworthy? Such a bluff. Mona might still be a little pissed about the Frenniversary misunderstanding, but there was no way she’d bail on their friendship. Anyway, Hanna’s birthday surprise would make everything all better. So Mona had better speed it up before she missed the whole thing.

As Hanna waited, she scrolled through her BlackBerry. She had it programmed to keep messages until manually erased, so all her old Alison text conversations were still stored right in her inbox. Most of the time, Hanna didn’t like going through them—it was too sad—but today, for some reason she wanted to. She found one from the first day of June, a few days before Ali went missing.

Trying to study for the health final, Ali had written. I have all this nervous energy.

Y? had been Hanna’s answer.

Ali: I don’t know. Maybe I’m in love. Ha ha.

Hanna: Yr in love? w/ who?

Ali: Kidding. Oh shit, Spencer’s at my door. She wants to practice field hockey drills…AGAIN.

Tell her no, Hanna had written back. Who do U love?

You don’t tell Spencer no, Ali argued. She’ll, like, hurt you.

Hanna stared at her BlackBerry’s bright screen. At the time, she’d probably laughed. But now Hanna looked at the old texts with a fresh eye. A’s note—saying one of Hanna’s friends was hiding something—scared her. Could Spencer be hiding something?

All of a sudden, Hanna recalled a memory she hadn’t thought of in a long time: A few days before Ali went missing, the five of them had gone on a field trip to the People’s Light Playhouse to see Romeo and Juliet . There weren’t many seventh-graders who’d opted to go—the rest of the field-trippers had been high-schoolers. Practically all of the Rosewood Day senior class had been there—Ali’s older brother, Jason, Spencer’s sister, Melissa, Ian Thomas, Katy Houghton, Ali’s field hockey friend, and Preston Kahn, one of the Kahn brothers. After the play was over, Aria and Emily disappeared to the bathroom, Hanna and Ali sat on the stone wall and started eating their lunches, and Spencer sprinted over to talk to Mrs. Delancey, the English teacher, who was sitting near her students.

“She’s only over there because she wants to be near the older boys,” Ali muttered, glaring at Spencer.

“We could go over too, if you want,” Hanna suggested.

Ali said no. “I’m mad at Spencer,” she declared.

“Why?” Hanna asked.

Ali sighed. “Long, boring story.”

Hanna let it drop—Ali and Spencer often got mad at each other for no reason. She started daydreaming about how the hot actor who played Tybalt had stared right at her all through his death scene. Did Tybalt think Hanna was cute…or fat? Or perhaps he wasn’t staring at her at all—maybe he was just acting dead with his eyes open. When she looked up again, Ali was crying.

“Ali,” Hanna had whispered. She’d never seen Ali cry before. “What’s wrong?”

Tears ran silently down Ali’s cheeks. She didn’t even bother wiping them away. She stared off in the direction of Spencer and Mrs. Delancey. “Forget it.”

“Shit! Look at that!” Mason Byers cried out, breaking Hanna out of her old seventh-grade thoughts. Up in the sky, a biplane cut a line through the clouds. It passed over Rosewood Day, swooped around, and then zoomed by again. Hanna jiggled up and down in her seat and swiveled around. Where the hell was Mona?

“Is that an old Curtiss?” James Freed asked.

“I don’t think so,” Ridley Mayfield answered. “I think it’s a Travel Air D4D.”

“Oh, right,” James said, as if he’d known it all along.

Hanna’s heart fluttered excitedly. The plane made a few long, sweeping strokes through the air, puffing out a trail of clouds that formed a perfect letter G . “It’s writing something!” a girl near the door called out.

The plane moved on to the E , then the T , and then, after a space, the R . Hanna was practically bursting. This was the coolest party court gift ever .