Sara Shepard - Unbelievable

Then she stopped herself, letting out a haughty laugh. What was she doing ? She couldn’t like Lucas. He was… Lucas.

Hanna wriggled her shoulders, let out a breath, and flung open the door. “Hi,” she said, trying to act bored.

“Hi,” Lucas said back.

They stared at each other for what seemed like ages. Hanna was certain Lucas could hear her heart beating. She wanted to muzzle it. Dot danced around their legs, but Hanna was too transfixed to reach down and shoo him away.

“Is this a bad time?” Lucas asked cautiously.

“Um, no,” Hanna said quickly. “Come in.”

When she backed up, she nearly tripped over a carved Buddha doorstop that had been in her hallway for at least ten years. She wheeled her arms around, trying to keep herself from falling. Suddenly, she felt Lucas’s strong arms wrap around her waist. When he pulled Hanna upright again, they stared at each other. The corner of Lucas’s mouth curled into a smile. He leaned to her, and his mouth was on hers. Hanna melted into him. They danced over to the couch and fell down onto the cushions, Lucas carefully maneuvering around her sling. After minutes of nothing but smacking and slurping noises, Hanna rolled over, catching her breath. She let out a whimper and covered her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry.” Lucas sat back up. “Should I not have done that?”

Hanna shook her head. She certainly couldn’t tell him that for the past two days, she’d been fantasizing that this would happen again. Or that she had an eerie feeling that she’d kissed Lucas before their kiss on Wednesday—only, how was that possible?

She pulled her hands away from her face. “I thought you said you were in the ESP club at school,” she said quietly, remembering something Lucas had told her on their balloon ride. “Shouldn’t you telepathically know if you should’ve done that or not?”

Lucas smirked and poked her bare knee. “Well, then, I would guess that you did want me to. And that you want me to do it again.”

Hanna licked her lips, feeling as though the thousands of wild butterflies she’d seen at the Museum of Natural History a few years ago were fluttering around in her stomach. When Lucas reached out and lightly touched the inside of her elbow, where all the IVs had been, Hanna thought she was going to dissolve into goo. She ducked her head and let out a groan. “Lucas…I just don’t know.”

He sat back. “What don’t you know?”

“I just…I mean…Mona…” She waved her hands futilely. This wasn’t coming out right at all, not that she had any idea what she was trying to say.

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “What about Mona?”

Hanna picked up the stuffed dog her father had given her in the hospital. It was supposed to be Cornelius Maximillian, a character they’d made up when Hanna was younger. “We just became friends again,” she said in a small eggshell of a voice, hoping that Lucas knew what that meant without her having to explain.

Lucas leaned back. “Hanna…I think you should watch out for Mona.”

Hanna dropped Cornelius Maximillian to her lap. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean…I don’t think she wants the best for you.”

Hanna’s mouth fell open. “Mona’s been by my side at the hospital this whole time! And you know, if this has something to do with the fight at her party, she told me about it. I’m over it. It’s fine.”

Lucas studied Hanna carefully. “It’s fine?”

“Yes,” Hanna snapped.

“So…you’re okay with what she did to you?” Lucas sounded shocked.

Hanna looked away. Yesterday, after they’d finished talking about A and interviewed the male models and the other girls had left, Hanna found a bottle of Stoli Vanil in the same cabinet where her mother hid her wedding china. She and Mona had flopped down in the den, turned on A Walk to Remember, and played their Mandy Moore drinking game. Whenever Mandy looked fat, they drank. Whenever Mandy pouted, they drank. Whenever Mandy sounded robotic, they drank. They didn’t talk about the note A had sent Mona—the one about their fight. Hanna was certain they’d just bickered about something stupid, like party pictures or whether Justin Timberlake was an idiot. Mona always said he was, and Hanna always said he wasn’t.

Lucas blinked furiously. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”

Hanna breathed forcefully out of her nose. “It doesn’t matter , okay?”

“Okay,” Lucas said, holding up his hands in surrender.

“Okay,” Hanna stated again, squaring her shoulders. But when she closed her eyes, she saw herself in her Prius again. The Hollis Planetarium flag flapped behind her. Her eyes stung from crying. Something—maybe her BlackBerry—beeped at the bottom of her bag. Hanna tried to grab hold of the memory, but it was useless.

She could feel warmth radiating off Lucas’s body, he was sitting so close. He didn’t smell like cologne or fancy deodorant or other weird things boys sprayed on themselves, but just kind of like skin and toothpaste. If only they lived in a world where Hanna could have both things—Lucas and Mona. But she knew that if she wanted to stay who she was, that wasn’t possible.

Hanna reached out and grabbed Lucas’s hand. A sob welled up in her throat, for reasons she couldn’t explain or even understand completely. As she moved forward to kiss him, she tried yet again to access her memory of what was surely the night of her accident. But, as usual, there was nothing there.

Friday morning, Spencer stepped into Daniel on Sixty-fifth Street between Madison and Park, a quiet, well-maintained block somewhere between Midtown Manhattan and the Upper East Side. It looked like she’d stepped onto the set of Marie Antoinette . The restaurant’s walls were made of carved marble, which reminded Spencer of creamy white chocolate. Luxurious dark red curtains billowed, and small, elegantly sculpted topiaries lined the entrance to the main dining room. Spencer decided that when she earned her millions, she would design her house to look exactly like this.

Her entire family was right behind her, Melissa and Ian included. “Do you have all your notes?” her mother murmured, fiddling with one of the buttons on her pink houndstooth Chanel suit—she was dressed as if she were going to be interviewed. Spencer nodded. Not only did she have them, she’d alphabetized them.

Spencer tried to quell the churning feelings in her stomach, although the smell of scrambled eggs and truffle oil wafting in from the dining room wasn’t helping. There was a sign that said GOLDEN ORCHID INTERVIEW CHECK-IN over the hostess station. “Spencer Hastings,” she said to a shiny-haired Parker Posey look-alike who was taking names.

The girl found Spencer on the list, smiled, and handed her a laminated name tag. “You’re at table six,” she said, gesturing toward the dining room entrance. Spencer saw bustling waiters, giant flower arrangements, and a few adults milling about, chatting and drinking coffee. “We’ll call you when we’re ready,” the check-in girl assured her.

Melissa and Ian examined a marble statuette near the bar. Spencer’s father had migrated out to the street and was talking to someone on his cell phone. Her mom was on her cell phone, too, half-concealed behind one of Daniel’s bloodred curtains. Spencer heard her say, “So we’re booked? Well, fantastic. She’ll love it.”

I’ll love what? Spencer wanted to ask. But she wondered if her mom wanted to keep it a surprise until after Spencer won.

Melissa slipped off to the bathroom, and Ian plopped down on the chaise beside Spencer. “Excited?” He grinned. “You should be. This is huge.”