Wanted

32 HANNA MARIN, TRULY FABULOUS

“Here we go.” Hanna plunked down a stiff cardboard holder of four hot coffees on the café table. “One skim cappuccino, one regular latte, and one café au lait with soy milk.”

“Sweet,” Aria said, grabbing a packet of Sugar In The Raw. She tore it open with her neon-yellow-painted nails. Aria kept telling Hanna and the others that neon yellow was the hottest color in Europe, but no one had been brave enough to try it yet.

“It’s about time,” Spencer grumbled, taking a greedy sip of her cappuccino. She’d been cramming for the big AP econ pre-exam all week and had just pulled an all-nighter.

“Thanks, Hanna.” Emily adjusted her pleated Free People top. Hanna had finally gotten her to stop wearing swimming tees under her Rosewood Day blazer.

Hanna sat down and gazed around the table at Spencer’s stacks of AP econ textbooks and notes, Aria’s iPod, probably full of weird Scandinavian yodeling bands, and Emily’s palmistry book, which promised to teach anyone how to tell fortunes. It was just like old times…only better.

A news bulletin flashed on the plasma TV on Steam’s back wall. A familiar reporter stood in front of an even more familiar pile of rubble. Police still searching through DiLaurentis rubble, the caption said. Hanna touched Aria’s arm.

“Recovery workers are still sifting through the burned wreckage of the house that once belonged to Alison DiLaurentis’s family, searching for the real Alison’s remains,” the blond reporter shouted over the sound of heavy machinery. “But they’re saying it’ll be weeks before they can be sure Alison died in the fire.”

The fireman who’d rescued them the night of the fire appeared on the screen. “I was there moments after the house exploded,” he said. “It’s very possible Alison’s body incinerated instantly.”

“As usual, the DiLaurentis family cannot be reached for comment,” the reporter added.

The broadcast cut to a commercial for All That Jazz, the Broadway musical–themed restaurant at the King James Mall. Hanna and her friends sipped in silence, staring out at the lawn. The snow had finally melted, and a couple of overeager daffodils had sprouted in the beds near the flagpole.

Five weeks had passed since Ali almost killed them. As soon as they got home from the Poconos, Wilden and the other Rosewood PD detectives had opened an official investigation into Ali. Her house of cards collapsed ridiculously fast: Police found copies of A’s notes to the girls on a cell phone underneath the deck behind the DiLaurentises’ new house. They’d discovered that the laptop found in Billy’s truck had been tampered with. They analyzed the Polaroids Aria had found in the woods and determined that the reflection in the windows was one of the DiLaurentis sisters. It was unclear why Ali had taken the photos—except that she was obsessed with the life her sister had stolen from her—but she must have buried the photos shortly after pushing her sister in the hole, ridding herself of the evidence.

There was some talk of arresting the DiLaurentis family as accessories to Ali’s crimes, but Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis and even Jason had fled the area without a trace. Hanna took another sip of her coffee, letting the hot liquid wash over her tongue. Had they suspected all along that one sister had killed the other? Was that why they’d quickly whisked her back to the mental hospital after the girl everyone thought was Ali went missing? Or had Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis vanished simply out of shame and horror that their beautiful, perfect daughter had done such barbaric things?

As for Hanna and the others, the Ali aftermath had been insane. Reporters banged on their doors at all hours of the night. The girls traveled to New York for an interview on the Today show and did a photo shoot in People. They attended a society-studded gala concert sponsored by the Philadelphia Orchestra to raise money for Jenna’s Seeing Eye Dogs Fund and a new scholarship set up in Ian Thomas’s name. But things had just begun to calm down, and life had almost returned to semi-normal.

Hanna tried not to think about what had happened with Ali, but that was like asking her to go a whole day not counting calories—pointless. All this time, Hanna had thought Ali had chosen her because she’d seen some special spark in Hanna that simply needed to be nurtured and encouraged. But she’d befriended her for the exact opposite reasons. Hanna had been unspecial. A joke. A ploy for revenge. The only saving grace was that Ali had done this to all of them, not only her. And now that Hanna knew both sisters were crazy, would she really have wanted to be singled out by either of them?

Aria tipped back her coffee cup so far that Hanna could see the recycled paper mark on the bottom. “So when are the movers coming?”

Hanna straightened up. “Tomorrow.”

“You must be thrilled.” Spencer tied her hair back in a loose ponytail.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

That was the other big news: A few days after Ali nearly killed them, Hanna had received a call while she was lounging in bed watching Oprah. “I’m at the Philadelphia airport,” her mother barked on the other end. “I’ll see you in about an hour.”

“What?” Hanna squawked, startling Dot from his Burberry doggie bed. “Why?”

Ms. Marin had asked for a transfer back to the ad agency’s Philadelphia office. “Ever since you called me about those fashion show tickets, I’ve been worried about you,” she explained. “So I spoke to your father. Why didn’t you tell me he sent you to a mental hospital, Hanna?”

Hanna hadn’t known how to answer—it wasn’t exactly something she could’ve written in an e-mail or on the back of a Greetings from Rosewood! postcard. And anyway, she’d figured her mom already knew. Didn’t they get People in Singapore?

“It’s absolutely deplorable!” Ms. Marin ranted. “What was he thinking? Or maybe he wasn’t thinking at all. All he cares about is that woman and her daughter.”

Hanna sniffed and there was static on the line. Ms. Marin said, “I’m moving back in, but things need to change between us. No more relaxed rules. No more me looking the other way. You need to have a curfew and boundaries, and we need to talk about things. Like if someone tries to institutionalize you. Or if a crazy friend tries to kill you. Okay?”

A lump formed in Hanna’s throat. “Okay.” For once in her life, her mom had said exactly what Hanna needed her to say.

Everything after that happened so fast. There were arguments, bartering, and crying—on Kate’s and Isabel’s parts—but Hanna’s mom was firm. She was staying, Hanna was staying, and Tom, Isabel, and Kate had to go. The house-hunting started that weekend, but apparently Kate went total diva and thumbs-downed every property they looked at. Because the process was taking so long, they were going to have to move into a townhouse in East Hollis, the most hippie-ish, unkempt district of Rosewood while they continued to look.

A flash of blond hair caught Hanna’s eye across the café. Naomi, Riley, and Kate strutted in, settled into one of the tables nearest the door, and gave Hanna a nasty smirk. Loser, Naomi mouthed. Bitch, Riley seconded.

Not that Hanna really cared. More than a month had passed since Hanna lost her queen bee status, and all the things she’d most feared hadn’t happened. She hadn’t spontaneously gained back the weight she’d lost. She hadn’t sprouted volcanic zits. She hadn’t woken up to find her teeth were snaggled and crooked. In fact, she’d lost a couple pounds, not having to binge fretfully whenever some other girl stole away a bit of her power. Her skin glowed, and her hair shone. Guys from other prep schools still ogled her at Rive Gauche, and Sasha at Otter still held clothes for her. Cheesy as it was, Hanna had begun to wonder if it wasn’t popularity that made her truly beautiful but something much deeper. Maybe she really was fabulous Hanna Marin, after all.

The end-of-the-day bell rang, and everyone emerged from the classrooms. Hanna’s stomach clenched as she noticed a tall, black-haired boy walking by himself toward the art wing. Mike.

She rolled her half-empty coffee cup between her hands, stood, and started across the café.

“Going to see the school counselor, Psycho?” Kate teased as she passed.

Mike watched Hanna as she approached. His black hair was mussed, and there was a cute, uncertain smile on his face. Before he could say a word, Hanna marched right up to him and kissed him on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around him, and Mike quickly did the same. Someone hooted.

Hanna and Mike broke apart, breathing hard. Mike looked into her eyes. “Uh…hi!”

“Hi, yourself,” Hanna whispered.

The day Hanna returned to Rosewood from the Poconos, she’d driven straight to the Montgomery home and begged Mike to take her back. Thankfully, Mike forgave Hanna for dumping him—although he’d added, “You have to make it up to me. I think I deserve a couple of stripteases, right?”

She leaned in to kiss Mike again when his cell phone bleated in his pocket. “Hold that thought,” he said, putting the phone to his ear without saying hello. “Okay,” he said a couple of times. When he hung up, his face was pale.

“What is it?” Hanna asked.

Mike glanced across the café to Aria. “That was Dad,” he called to her. “Meredith’s in labor.”