Mr. Marin stacked the printouts in a neat pile. “So. Is there anything anyone would like to come clean with?”
Hanna’s insides churned. Would Wilkinson’s people find out about Tabitha? She glanced out the window. A car rolled slowly down the road. She squinted toward the silhouetted trees that served as a barrier between her dad’s property and the neighbor’s. For a split second, it looked like a shadow darted between the trees.
Her cell phone beeped.
Hanna pulled it out of the bag and hit the SILENT button, but then, glancing around to make sure her dad wasn’t looking, she peeked at the screen. When she saw the garbled letters and numbers of the return center, a cold, rigid feeling seeped into her bones. She pressed READ.
What would Daddy say if he knew his new favorite daughter was a thief? —A
Hanna tried her hardest to keep a composed look on her face. Who could be doing this to her? How did A know where Hanna was right this second? She glanced at Kate—she had been fiddling on her own phone seconds ago. Kate gave her an annoyed glare back.
She shut her eyes and rifled through the other possibilities of who New A might be. At first, Real Ali had made so much sense. She must have somehow survived the fire and the fall from the crow’s nest and come back to haunt them. But now that Hanna knew the girl they’d killed was Tabitha, she realized how crazy it was to think Ali had made it out of the Poconos house. But who else had they hurt? Who had seen what had happened in Jamaica, and the mess Hanna had made with Patrick, and God knows what else?
“Hanna?”
Hanna looked up dazedly. Everyone was standing and leaving the room. Her father stood over her, a concerned look on his face. “Are you okay? You look kind of . . . pale.”
Hanna glanced out the French doors. Kate and Isabel wandered off toward the kitchen. The other staff members had vanished. “Actually, do you have a second?” Hanna asked.
“Sure. What’s up?”
Hanna cleared her throat. She could never tell her dad about Tabitha, but there was one thing she could come clean about before A confessed for her. “Well, you know how you said we should come to you about skeletons in our closets?”
A crease formed on Mr. Marin’s brow. “Yes . . .”
“Well, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Hanna turned away from her father and let the whole story spill out. About Patrick. How sure she’d been that he really believed in her. How he’d leered at her when he’d showed her the incriminating photos. “I was so afraid he was really going to post them online,” she said, her eyes trained on a bunch of rolled-up campaign posters in the corner. “I was afraid he was going to ruin you. So I took the money from the safe. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to destroy your campaign.”
After she finished, there was a punishingly long silence. Mr. Marin’s cell phone beeped, but he didn’t move to check it. Hanna didn’t dare look at him. She felt filled with shame and hatred. This was even worse than the time Their Ali had caught Hanna vomiting at her dad’s house in Annapolis after a massive binge.
All at once, the pain was just too much. She let out a pathetic puppy-whimper of a sob. Her shoulders shook silently. After a moment, she heard him sigh.
“Hey.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Hanna. Don’t cry. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Hanna blubbered. “I ruined everything. And now you hate me again.”
“Again?” Mr. Marin drew back, frowning. “I never hated you.”
Hanna sniffed loudly and raised her eyes to him. Yeah, right.
Her father stroked his chin. “I mean, I’m surprised. And a little shocked. But it was very brave to admit something you aren’t proud of. Only, why would you go to some stranger’s apartment to have photos taken in the first place? And why didn’t you come to me when this was happening?”
Hanna hung her head. “I didn’t want to upset you.”
Her dad looked imploringly at her. “But I could have done something. I could have stopped this. You should know you can come to me with your problems.”
Hanna inadvertently laughed. “Actually, Dad, I can’t,” she blurted. “I haven’t been able to for years.” Her father flinched, and Hanna’s whole body sagged. “Sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant to say was . . .”
He held up his hand to cut her off, looking defensive. “I think you did mean it. But I’ve tried with you, Hanna. Don’t forget you didn’t want to speak to me for years, either. How do you think I felt?”
Hanna widened her eyes. For a long time, when her dad lived in Annapolis, she hadn’t taken his calls, pretending she was busy. Really, she didn’t want to hear about Kate and how wonderful she was compared to chubby, ugly, fat Hanna. It was something they’d never really talked about. Hanna hadn’t realized her dad had even noticed.
“I’m sorry,” Hanna mumbled.
“Well, I’m sorry, too,” her father said gruffly.
This made tears spill down Hanna’s cheeks even faster. After a moment, her father pulled her close, running his fingers up and down Hanna’s arm. Finally, she wiped her eyes and looked up at her dad. “Do you want me to call Jeremiah? I could beg him to come back. Come clean about what I did.” She could only imagine the satisfied smirk on Jeremiah’s face when she told him that.
Mr. Marin shook his head. “Actually, Jeremiah is working for Tucker Wilkinson now.”
Hanna gaped. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. I guess we really couldn’t trust him.” Mr. Marin grabbed a TOM MARIN FOR SENATOR printed notepad from his desk. “I want you to give me any information you’ve got on this Patrick guy. Emails, phone numbers, anything you can think of. What he did to you is sick, Hanna. We need to find him and make him pay.”
Hanna scrolled through her phone and gave him Patrick’s details. “What about the money I stole? Do you want me to pay you back somehow?”
Mr. Marin twirled the pen between his fingers. “Just work extra hard on the campaign for me. I was going to mention this to you after the meeting anyway—we need to figure out ways to capture the youth vote. Kate’s already on board. What about you?”
“Don’t you have a paid staff to do that?”
“Of course I do. But I want you girls to be involved, too.”
Hanna pressed her tongue into her cheek. The last thing she wanted was to be on a committee with perfect Kate, but there was no way she could say no to her dad—not now. “Okay.”
“I can’t figure out how to reach young people,” Mr. Marin said. “I assumed that you two would have some insight.”
Hanna thought for a moment. “Do you have a Twitter account?”
“Yes, but I don’t entirely understand Twitter.” Mr. Marin looked sheepish. “Do you have to invite people to be your friends, like on Facebook?”
“People just follow you. I can take over your Twitter account if you want. And what if we use it to arrange a flash mob?”
Mr. Marin frowned. “Didn’t a flash mob cause riots in Philly a few summers ago?”
“It would be a controlled flash mob,” Hanna said with a small smile. “We could reach out to everyone on a local campus like Hollis or Hyde and have them gather for an impromptu rally. Maybe we could hire a band. The cooler we make it sound, the more kids will want to come even if they don’t know what it is. You could appear and make a speech, and we could have people in the crowd registering them to vote, too.”