Stunning

11 WORK IT

Later that night, Hanna walked through the steamed-up double doors of The Pump, a musclehead gym at the King James Mall. The gym smelled like sweat, spilled Gatorade, and that unidentifiable but utterly boy smell of burgeoning testosterone that always made Hanna gag. A slick-haired guy straight out of Jersey Shore central casting sat behind the check-in desk, drinking a protein shake and reading a bodybuilding magazine. Across from him was a giant mural of a gorilla lifting weights, his ab muscles well defined, his biceps bulging. She supposed it was meant to inspire people to work out more, but who wanted to look like a gorilla?

Hanna paid for a day pass and walked into the main exercise room, which consisted of racks of free weights, lines of bench-press machines, and a long bank of mirrors. There was the ear-splitting clang of metal weights hitting steel bars. When Hanna looked in the corner by the windows, her heart began to pound. James Freed and Mason Byers were doing pull-ups on side-by-side machines. Standing next to them, dressed in an old Phillies T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, staring dreamily at something across the room, was Mike.

Hanna swiveled around and followed Mike’s gaze to a large exercise classroom. On the front of the door was a sign that said POLE DANCING, 6:30. A bunch of metal poles had been spaced evenly in front of the mirrors. A few middle-aged women dressed in tight-fitting leotards, flirty miniskirts, and wobbly high heels stood around the room. Positioned in the very center, balanced perfectly in pointy stripper heels, was Colleen.

Mike’s new girlfriend raked her fingers through her hair. It didn’t seem quite so mousy brown today, and her body looked both curvy and lithe at the same time in tight spandex shorts and a yellow bra top. When Colleen noticed Mike’s reflection, she turned around, waved, and blew him a kiss. Mike blew one back.

Hanna balled up her fists, thinking of the two of them in bed together.

She stormed to the dressing room, dropped her duffel on the floor, and stepped into a tiger-printed, stripper-style crop top she’d found at the mall earlier that afternoon. After pouring herself into it—she’d bought a size smaller than normal for maximum cleavage—she checked herself out in the mirror. Her hair was full and wild, thanks to tons of hairspray. She had on triple the amount of makeup she normally wore, though she’d stopped before applying false eyelashes. And then there was the pièce de résistance: a pair of incredibly high, incredibly spiky, silver Jimmy Choo sandals. She’d only worn them once before, to last year’s prom; Mike had thought they were so sexy he even made her wear them to the after-party with her jeans. Hanna slipped them on her feet and pivoted back and forth. They looked perfect. She just hoped she could pole dance in them.

Her cell phone buzzed, and she eyed it nervously. One new text message. Luckily, it was only from Kate, asking if she’d be willing to help her hand out fliers at a 10k race around Rosewood Saturday morning. Sure, Hanna wrote back, trying to ignore her shaking hands as she typed. Now that Spencer and Emily had received new notes from A, she’d been waiting all day for hers.

Could Gayle be A? Hanna hadn’t met the woman over the summer—she only heard about her when Emily reached out shortly before her C-section—but the phone messages Gayle had left the night they sneaked Emily and the baby out of the hospital had stayed with her. They weren’t the desperate, sobbing voicemails most people would leave if they thought they might not get the child they’d hoped and prayed for—they were steely and enraged. Gayle was not the kind of person you crossed, and now she was knee-deep in Mr. Marin’s campaign.

That morning at breakfast, Hanna had sat down next to her dad at the table. “How do you know Gayle? Are you old friends?”

Mr. Marin continued to butter his toast. “I actually didn’t know her until about a week ago. She called me up to say she’d recently moved to Pennsylvania and really liked my platform. The amount of money she’s promised is astounding.”

“You didn’t do a background check on her? What if she’s, I don’t know, a Satan worshipper?” Hanna’s face had felt hot. Or a crazy person who’s stalking your daughter?

Her father gave her a curious look. “Gayle’s husband just gave a substantial donation to Princeton to build a new cancer research lab. I don’t know too many Satan worshippers who would do that.”

Discouraged, Hanna had gone upstairs and Googled Gayle’s name, but nothing damning came up. She was influential in countless charities in New Jersey, and she’d participated in a dressage competition at the Devon Horse Show ten years ago. Then again, what would come up? It wasn’t as if Gayle would keep a blog about how she was systematically torturing four high-school girls and calling herself A.

The door to the locker room squeaked open and a buff, sweaty woman strutted in. Hanna stuffed her duffel in a locker, spun the combination lock, and tottered toward the fitness classroom. Mason and James stopped their pull-ups as she passed. They nudged Mike. Hanna pretended not to notice as he turned and looked, rocking her hips back and forth and praying that her butt looked amazing.

“Welcome!” A woman in a skimpy black leotard and tights and tall eighties bangs waved as Hanna walked through the door. “You’re new, right? I’m Trixie.” The instructor gestured to a spare pole in the center of the room, right next to Colleen. “That pole has got your name on it.”

Hanna sauntered up to it and shot Colleen a smile. “Oh, hey!” she chirped in a mock-surprised voice, as though their meeting was completely by accident and Hanna hadn’t strategically planned this out from the moment she’d heard the boys talking about it in the locker room at school.

“Hanna?” Colleen looked Hanna up and down. “Omigod! How fun! I didn’t know you pole danced.”

“It’s not like it’s hard,” Hanna sniffed, summoning her inner Ali. She checked out her reflection in the mirror. Her hips were thinner than Colleen’s, but Colleen had bigger boobs.

“Well, you’re going to love this class,” Colleen said. “Of course, if you pole dance all the time, you’ll probably find it really easy. I bet you’re really good.” She leaned in closer. “And we’re cool about Mike, right?”

Hanna wasn’t sure if Colleen was genuinely being sweet or diplomatic, so she stuck her nose in the air. “Whatev,” she said coolly. “Mike was just too much work for me. There was so much pressure to look like a Hooters hostess. And he’s always checking out other girls at parties—it used to drive me crazy.” She shot Colleen an apologetic smile. “I’m sure he doesn’t do that to you, though.”

Colleen opened her mouth to speak, looking so worried that Hanna wondered if she’d gone just a teensy bit overboard. Just then, the song “Hot Stuff” blared through the speakers. Trixie sauntered to the front of the class, hooked her leg around her pole, lifted her butt in the air, and did a half-raunchy, half–Cirque de Soleil spin. “Okay, everyone!” she squawked into a headset. “Let’s start off with some low squats!”

She bent her knees out to the side and lowered herself toward the ground. The class followed, pumping in time with the beat. Hanna peeked at Colleen; her squats were low, balanced, and perfect. Colleen glanced back at her and gave her a broad smile. You’re doing great! she mouthed. Hanna fought the urge to roll her eyes. Could she be any more nauseatingly positive?

Trixie led them through a series of neck rolls, shoulder raises, and provocative hip bumps. Next, they tried out a series of dance moves that involved whipping around the pole like Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain. Hanna kept up just fine, her heart pounding hard and just the teensiest bit of sweat beading on her forehead. Sexy sweat, of course.

The next time Hanna glanced over her shoulder, the boys were sitting on the mats outside the classroom, staring at the girls like ravenous dogs. Fueled by their presence, she scooped up her hair and dropped it behind her back, wiggling her butt at them. James Freed visibly shuddered. Mason whistled. Colleen noticed the boys and did a sexy shimmy. The boys nudged each other appreciatively.

Colleen gave Hanna a conspiratorial wink. “They can’t get enough of us, huh?”

Hanna wanted to smack her. Didn’t she realize they were competing?

“Advanced students only for this next move,” Trixie announced as the soundtrack shifted to a sultry Adele song. She marched up to the pole, wrapped her arms and legs around it, and climbed it like a monkey. “Use your thighs to grip the pole, girls!”

Colleen proceeded to wriggle up the pole. She took one hand off, arched her back, and hung upside down for a moment. The boys applauded.

Hanna gritted her teeth. How hard could the move be? She grabbed the pole and began to climb. She was able to stay up for a moment, but then her thighs gave out, and she began to slip toward the ground. She sank farther and farther until her butt kissed the floor. Her reflection in the mirror looked ridiculous.

“Good try, Hanna,” Colleen chirped. “That move is really hard.”

Hanna dusted off her butt, then gazed around at the other girls in the room all making love to their poles. Suddenly, they didn’t look like strippers, just chubby middle-aged women making fools out of themselves. This was the most idiotic fitness class she’d ever taken. There was a much easier way to get the boys’ attention.

She turned to the window again and eyed the boys. When she was sure they were looking at her, she casually tugged down her leopard-print, too-small shirt, exposing the top of her red, scalloped-lace bra.

By the looks on the boys’ faces, she knew they saw it. Their jaws dropped. James grinned. Mason pretended he was going to faint. Mike didn’t crack a smile, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was good enough for Hanna. She sauntered out of the class, swishing her hips to the strip-club beat.

“You’re not staying?” James called out, his voice full of disappointment.

“Gotta leave something for your imagination, don’t I?” Hanna said coyly. She could tell without turning around that Mike was still staring. She also knew that Colleen was watching her in the mirror, probably feeling a little confused. But whatever. She knew what Their Ali would say if she were still alive: All’s fair in love and pole dancing.