She reached for her gear bag, pulled out her shin guards, and fastened one around her left shin. Then she fastened the other around her right. Then she unfastened both, refastening them much tighter. She pulled up her socks and then pulled them down again. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
“Someone’s awfully OCD today,” Melissa teased. She turned to Ian. “Oh, did you hear the big Spencer news? She won the Golden Orchid. The Philadelphia Sentinel is coming over to interview her this week.”
“I didn’t win,” Spencer barked quickly. “I was only nominated.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will win,” Melissa simpered, in a way Spencer couldn’t quite read. When her sister gave Spencer a wink, she felt a pinch of terror. Did she know?
Ian let out a whistle. “A Golden Orchid? Damn! You Hastings sisters—smart, beautiful, and athletic. You should see the way Spence tears up the field, Mel. She plays a mean center.”
Melissa pursed her shiny lips, thinking. “Remember when Coach had me play center because Zoe had mono?” she chirped to Ian. “I scored two goals. In one quarter.”
Spencer gritted her teeth. She’d known Melissa couldn’t be charitable for long. Yet again, Melissa had turned something completely innocent into a competition. Spencer scrolled through the long list in her head for an appropriate fake-nice insult but then decided to screw it. This wasn’t the time to pick a fight with Melissa. “I’m sure it rocked, Mel,” she conceded. “I bet you’re a way better center than I am.”
Her sister froze. The little gremlin that Spencer was certain lived inside Melissa’s head was confused. Clearly it hadn’t expected Spencer to say something nice.
Spencer smiled at her sister and then at Ian. He held her gaze for a moment and then gave her a little conspiratorial wink.
Spencer’s insides flipped. She still got gooey when Ian looked at her. Even three years later, Spencer remembered every single detail about their kiss. Ian had been wearing a soft gray Nike T-shirt, green army shorts, and brown Merrills. He smelled like cut grass and cinnamon gum. One second, Spencer was giving him a good-bye peck on his cheek—she’d gone out to flirt, nothing more. The next second, he was pressing her up against the side of his car. Spencer had been so surprised, she’d kept her eyes open.
Ian blew the whistle, breaking Spencer out of her thoughts. She jogged back to her team, and Ian followed. “All right, guys.” Ian clapped his hands. The team surrounded him, taking in Ian’s golden face longingly. “Please don’t hate me, but we’re going to do Indian sprints, crouching drills, and hill running today. Coach’s orders.”
Everyone, including Spencer, groaned. “I told you not to hate me!” Ian cried.
“Can’t we do something else?” Kirsten whined.
“Just think how much butt you’re going to kick for our game against Pritchard Prep,” Ian said. “And how about this? If we get through the entire drill, I’ll take you guys to Merlin after practice tomorrow.”
The hockey team whooped. Merlin was famous for its low-calorie chocolate ice cream that tasted better than the full-fat stuff.
As Spencer leaned over the bench to fasten her shin guards—again—she felt Ian standing above her. When she glanced up at him, he was smiling. “For the record,” Ian said in a low voice, shadowing his face from her teammates, “you play center better than your sister does. No question about it.”
“Thanks.” Spencer smiled. Her nose tickled with the smell of cut grass and Ian’s Neutrogena sunscreen. Her heart pitter-pattered. “That means a lot.”
“And I meant the other stuff, too.” The left corner of Ian’s mouth pulled up into a half-smile.
Spencer felt a faint, trembling thrill. Did he mean the “smart” and “beautiful” stuff? She glanced across the field to where Melissa was standing. Her sister leaned over her BlackBerry, not paying a bit of attention.
Good.
7 NOTHING LIKE AN OLD-FASHIONED INTERROGATION
Monday evening, Hanna parked her Prius in her side driveway and hopped out. All she had to do was change clothes, and then she was off to meet Mona for their dinner. Showing up in her Rosewood Day blazer and pleated skirt would be an insult to the institution of Frenniversaries. She had to get out of these long sleeves—she’d been sweating all day. Hanna had spritzed herself with her Evian mineral water spray bottle about a hundred times on the drive home, but she still felt overheated.
When she rounded the corner, she noticed her mother’s champagne-colored Lexus next to the garage and stopped short. What was her mom doing home? Ms. Marin usually worked über-long hours at McManus & Tate, her Philadelphia advertising firm. She often didn’t get back until after 10 P.M.
Then Hanna noticed the four other cars, stuffed one after the other against the garage: the silver Mercedes coupe was definitely Spencer’s, the white Volvo Emily’s, and the clunky green Subaru Aria’s. The last car was a white Ford with the words ROSEWOOD POLICE DEPARTMENT emblazoned on the side.
What the hell?
“Hanna.”
Hanna’s mother stood on the side porch. She still had on her sleek black pantsuit and high snakeskin heels.
“What’s going on?” Hanna demanded, annoyed.
“Why are my old friends here?”
“I tried calling you. You didn’t pick up,” her mother said. “Officer Wilden wanted to ask you girls some questions about Alison. They’re out back.”
Hanna pulled her BlackBerry out of her pocket. Sure enough, she had three missed calls, all from her mom.
Her mother turned. Hanna followed her into the house and through the kitchen. She paused by the granite-topped telephone table. “Do I have any messages?”
“Yes, one.” Hanna’s heart leapt, but then her mother added, “Mr. Ackard. They’re doing some reorganization at the burn clinic, and they won’t need your help anymore.”
Hanna blinked. That was a nice surprise. “Anyone…else?”
The corners of Ms. Marin’s eyes turned down, understanding. “No.” She gently touched Hanna’s arm. “I’m sorry, Han. He hasn’t called.”
Despite Hanna’s otherwise back-to-perfect life, the silence from her father made her ache. How could he so easily cut Hanna out of his life? Didn’t he realize she’d had a very good reason to ditch their dinner and go to Foxy? Didn’t he know he shouldn’t have invited his fiancée, Isabel, and her perfect daughter, Kate, to their special weekend? But then, Hanna’s father would be marrying plain, squirrelly Isabel soon—and Kate would officially be his stepdaughter. Maybe he hadn’t called Hanna back because Hanna was one daughter too many.
Whatever, Hanna told herself, taking off her blazer and straightening her sheer pink Rebecca Taylor camisole. Kate was a prissy bitch—if her father chose Kate over her, then they deserved each other.
When she looked through the French doors to the back porch, Spencer, Aria, and Emily were indeed sitting around the giant teak patio table, the light from the stained-glass window sparkling against their cheeks. Officer Wilden, the newest member of Rosewood’s police force and Ms. Marin’s newest boyfriend, stood near the Weber grill.