Ali backed up. Her forehead wrinkled. “No. No way.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” Ali brushed her long blond hair over her shoulder. A freshman boy nearby double-taked and dropped his biology textbook on the marble floor. “Honestly, Spence? Melissa’s probably just jealous. You both have another sister now…and I like you better.”
A warm, comforting feeling seeped into Spencer’s bones as Ali said her good-byes and headed down the art wing. Spencer cut through the lobby toward homeroom, but when she passed Steam, a rack of today’s Philadelphia Sentinel made her stop short. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
The Polaroid Aria had found last night was splashed on the front page, the blurry, spooky eyes gazing straight at Spencer. Spencer recognized the face immediately.
Melissa.
18 TWO FASHIONISTAS, ONE CUNNING PLAN
Even though it was barely four o’ clock on Friday, Rive Gauche, the French bistro in the King James Mall, was teeming with well-dressed, well-groomed prep school girls. Gorgeous leather purses were slung over empty seats, and large, glossy shopping bags embossed with luxe designer labels were tucked under tables. Waiters dressed in crisp white shirts and skinny black pants swirled around the diners, delivering bottles of wine and crèmes brûlées. The air smelled like clarified-butter-drenched escargot and wonderfully greasy Belgian fries.
Hanna sighed with pleasure. She hadn’t been to Rive Gauche in a while, and she’d missed it. Merely standing in the lobby of Rive Gauche gave her an extreme sense of well-being. It was like instant therapy.
The hostess led Hanna and Ali through the dining room. Both girls toted heavy bags from Otter. They’d spent the past hour and a half trying on almost everything in the store. For once, it wasn’t all about Ali twirling in front of the three-way mirrors in size-two dresses and twenty-five-inch-waist skinny jeans while Hanna slumped on the couch like an ugly, pimply manatee. Today, Hanna looked just as beautiful in high-waist trousers, wrap dresses, and slinky shifts. Ali had even asked Hanna for some fashion advice on light denim—she had been locked up in a hospital for three years, after all, and was out of touch.
The only teensy annoyance was when Hanna remembered the last time she’d been in Otter’s dressing room with a friend—Mike had taken Hanna there on her first date, and he’d picked out all kinds of skanky, waytoo-tight outfits for her to try on. She’d mentioned Mike briefly to Ali, asking if Naomi and Riley were behind the Skidz thing. Ali said she didn’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise her.
Ali and Hanna plopped down in a booth. Ali pulled a silk scarf out of her Otter bag and wound it around her neck. “I want everyone to come to the Poconos house tomorrow after the Valentine’s dance. We can get drunk, go in the hot tub, reconnect….”
“That would be awesome.” Hanna clapped.
Ali looked uncertain for a moment. “Do you think the others will go for it?”
“Spencer and Emily definitely will,” Hanna answered. Aria, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop talking about some old wishing well. “Ali said it was the inspiration for the well on her flag,” she’d whispered urgently to Hanna last night on the phone. “Did she ever tell you about a well?”
“No, but who cares?” Hanna had answered, not understanding where Aria was going with this. So Ali had a secret wishing well she kept all to herself. Who cared?
“We’ll have to pick up alcohol and snacks,” Ali said, ticking the items off on her fingers.
Hanna imagined a trip to the Poconos. They’d play drinking games and tell secrets. They’d climb into the hot tub, clad in string bikinis, except this time Hanna wouldn’t self-consciously cover her chubby stomach. Back in the day, Hanna had been plagued by the worry that she was the joke of the group, the girl who was always on the verge of being ousted. But there was a new Hanna in town—a pretty, skinny, confident Hanna.
A skinny waitress with a French twist and high cheekbones flitted to their table. Hanna handed back the menu without looking at it. “We’ll get moules frites.”
The waitress nodded and left, pausing to check on a table of Quaker schoolgirls by the window.
Ali whipped out her iPhone from its cracked leather case. “Okay. On to Operation TTBD—Take Those Bitches Down.”
“Great,” Hanna chirped. She was so ready. Kate, Naomi, and Riley had strutted around school today, telling everyone that all Hanna’s couture was as fake as the DVF fashion show tickets. And that morning at breakfast, Kate had complained to Hanna’s father that Hanna had dragged her all the way to New York as a joke, making her miss the Hamlet rehearsal. As usual, Hanna’s dad believed Kate. Hanna didn’t even bother to defend herself. What was the point?
“I’ve figured out the perfect thing to do.” Ali tapped her iPhone’s screen. “So at the sleepover the other day?”
“Yeah.” Hanna shoved her Otter carrier bags under the booth.
Ali started pressing buttons on the phone. “Well, before you got home, we were buzzed on rum, and they all wrote love letters to their crushes.”
“Love letters? Really?” Hanna wrinkled her nose. “That’s so…”
“Seventh grade?” Ali rolled her eyes. “I know. Anyway, you should’ve seen the letters they wrote. Really juicy stuff.” She leaned across the table, her mouth so close that Hanna could smell her strawberry lip gloss. “I stayed out of it, of course, because as Courtney, I haven’t been here long enough to have a crush on anyone yet. But right before I left, I stole the letters and scanned them on the machine in your mom’s old office. They’re all on my phone. We can print them and pass them out at the dance. Valentine’s Day is all about unrequited love, after all!”
Ali brought up the images on her phone and waved the screen in Hanna’s face. Kate’s letter gushed about how she had a secret crush on Sean Ackard, Hanna’s ex, vowing to attend V Club sessions with him. Riley’s love letter was to Seth Cardiff, a stocky swimmer. Apparently she loved how he looked in his tight Speedo. Naomi’s letter was to Christophe Briggs, the flaming senior director of the Rosewood Day drama club, saying she wanted a crack at “turning him straight.” Each girl had signed their love letter with a red-lipstick kiss. They must have been wasted when they wrote them.
Humiliating.
“Sweet.” Hanna high-fived Ali.
“So until the dance, I need to pretend Naomi, Riley, Kate, and I are still BFFs. They can’t know we’re talking, otherwise it’ll blow the whole thing.”
“Of course,” Hanna agreed. It would be such an appropriate, satisfying repeat of the first time Ali ditched Naomi and Riley, just before the Rosewood Day Charity Drive in sixth grade. Hanna would never forget the mortified looks on Naomi’s and Riley’s faces when they’d realized they’d been replaced. So satisfying.
“Why did you ditch Naomi and Riley back in seventh grade anyway?” Hanna asked. It was something she and Ali had never discussed—Hanna had been too afraid to bring it up, worried that it might jinx her friendship with Ali. But that was years ago, and they were finally equals.
The double doors to the kitchen swished open, and a waitress emerged carrying a tray of dishes. A muscle near Ali’s mouth twitched. “I realized they weren’t really my friends after all.”