Sara Shepard - Crushed

But she couldn’t say anything. If she told him anything, not only would his political career be ruined . . . his next job would be bending metal in a prison yard.

“Is this about prom queen?” Mr. Marin asked gently.

Hanna cocked her head. “Why would you ask that?”

Mr. Marin shifted his weight, looking guilty. “Don’t be mad. But I heard you talking to Mike the other day about how you’d rather die than campaign against Chassey Bledsoe.” His brow furrowed. “That’s not really a nice thing to say, Hanna. Every rival is worthy of a good campaign.”

Hanna’s mouth fell open. A mix of emotions surged through her—betrayal, guilt, regret, embarrassment, frustration at A.

“It’s not what you think,” she admitted. “I didn’t really mean it.” But was that true, either? Part of her had laughed at Chassey as a competitor. Suddenly, Chassey’s teary-eyed face when she’d lost flashed in her mind.

Mr. Marin put his hand over hers. “You know what I do think? That you’re a good person. That you do the right thing—when you win and lose.”

Then his gaze lighted on something out the window. Mike’s car had pulled up to the curb. He stepped out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a tux. He held a huge bouquet of roses in his hand.

Hanna shot to the mirror in the hallway and checked her makeup. She smoothed her dress and adjusted her crown. When the doorbell rang, she whipped it open. “Where have you been?”

Mike shrugged. “Sorry, I was running a little late. There was a crazy line at the florist’s.”

Hanna placed her hands on her hips. “Haven’t you heard of calling? I’ve sent you a million texts today! I wasn’t even sure you were coming!”

Mike looked her up and down and smirked. “You must have been pretty sure.” He sighed. “I told you I was coming, Hanna. And you always jump all over me when I call while driving.” Then he eyed Mr. Marin, who had drifted into the kitchen. “I shouldn’t have been so mad about the burn clinic, either. I talked about it a little bit to Aria, and she made me feel like an idiot for even considering you might be with Sean. I should have just believed you.”

Hanna eyed the roses. They were purplish-black, her favorite. Mike had a worried, pleading, please-love-me hangdog expression on his face, too. Maybe he did feel bad. Then she glanced at her father lurking in the kitchen. She did sort of want to take pictures.

“Fine,” she said, primly kissing his cheek. “You’re forgiven.” And then she turned to grab her dad so he could take all those awkward pictures she’d always wanted.

After a traffic-heavy drive to the Four Seasons, Hanna walked into the large, ornate ballroom. The air smelled overpoweringly of grilled scallops. Girls in long silk gowns giggled in twos and threes. Boys in well-fitting tuxes looked almost like adults. A few couples were already slow-dancing, and there was a line for prom pictures in the corner. Every wall was awash with color, the Van Gogh masterpieces come alive. Irises took up the wall behind the dance floor. A huge Starry Night mural covered the space behind the tables, whose linens and plates were replicas of other works. The prom committee had bought huge stars and moons made out of papier-mâché and arranged them around the room in art installations.

“Whoa.” Mike nodded appreciatively. “Trippy.”

“Aria did a really good job in such a short amount of time,” Hanna murmured, searching for her in the crowd. She didn’t see her anywhere.

“Hey, Hanna, congratulations!” Jillian Woods said as she swirled past.

“Hey there, prom queen!” a group of boys called from a table. Hanna gave them a beauty-queen wave.

More and more people flocked to her. Heather Jonas, who’d had a thing for Hawaii since spending last summer there, placed a lei around Hanna’s neck. Becky Yee and Olivia Kurtz, who were nerdy but sweet, asked to have their picture taken with her. Even Hanna’s old friend Scott Chin, who was there with a tall guy who looked like a male model, gave her a huge bear hug. “You’re a way hotter queen than that freak-show Chassey Bledsoe,” he whispered.

Normally, Hanna would have laughed, but she pulled away, feeling prickly. After her conversation with her dad, she felt kind of guilty about how she’d treated Chassey.

Something off to the left caught her eye. There was an upright plywood replica of Van Gogh’s self-portrait, a cutout where his face was. Phi Templeton’s face poked through the hole. She crossed her eyes and shouted, “Ow! My ear’s cut off!” Chassey Bledsoe, dressed in a shimmery gold raw-silk gown, snapped her photo and laughed.

Hanna ran her tongue over her teeth. Chassey looked awesome tonight. And she had worked harder than Hanna had for this.

Rolling back her shoulders, she broke away from Mike and walked over to Chassey and tapped her arm. The girl turned. Her smile dimmed a little as she saw the crown on Hanna’s head.

Hanna undid the bobby pins in her hair, removed the crown, and handed it to Chassey. “Here,” she said. “This is for you.”

Chassey stared at the crown in her hands, clearly not understanding. Hanna rolled her eyes. “Put it on , idiot,” she said. She thrust the scepter at her, too.

Chassey blinked hard. “W-what?”

“Just do it before I change my mind,” Hanna growled. And then she turned away, leaving the crown behind. But as she walked back toward Mike, a smile spread across her face like liquid. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She looked a million times better. That silver crown had really clashed with her skin.

“Ms. Marin?”

Hanna turned. A woman in a Four Seasons uniform stood behind her. “Are you Hanna Marin?” she asked. Hanna nodded, and the woman took her arm. “There’s a call for you at the front desk. She says it’s urgent.”

Mike gave Hanna a curious look, then followed her out into the lobby. Hanna took the phone, her heart pounding with the possibilities. But when she said hello, a surprising voice spoke back to her. “Hanna?” a muffled girl’s alto asked. “It’s Kelly. From the William Atlantic.”

“Kelly?” Hanna blinked hard. “What is it?”

“It’s that guy you’re friends with,” Kelly said. “Graham. He’s waking up. I called your house and your dad said you were at the prom, but you told me to call you whenever, wherever, so—”

“Thank you,” Hanna cut her off, gripping the phone hard. She gazed at the cabs just outside the lobby, her mind spinning in a million directions. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Then she hung up, trying to figure out the best route for a cab driver to take. Mike cleared his throat behind her. “You’re going to be where in fifteen minutes?”

Hanna froze. Mike looked crushed . . . and confused . . . and worried. Then she glanced into the crowd. Suddenly, Aria swam into view, Noel at her side. She pictured Graham rolling around in his bed. Muttering things. Remembering things. They could solve everything in a matter of minutes.

She turned back to Mike. “Graham woke up. I need to talk to him.”

Mike stepped closer to her. “Fine, let’s go.”

“ Let’s? ” Hanna shook her head. “No way.”

“You’re not winning this one.” Mike placed his hands on his hips. “I’m not letting you talk to that psycho alone.”

Hanna searched his face. There was no way he was taking no for an answer. What did it matter, really? Everything would be out in the open soon. Maybe she did need the protection.

“If you insist,” she mumbled. “But let’s go!” And then she grabbed his arm and ran into the night.