Wicked

2 WE ARE FAMILY

A half hour later, Hanna Marin burst through the front door of her house, nuzzled her mini Doberman, Dot, and flung her embossed-snakeskin satchel on the living room couch. “Sorry I’m late,” she called.

The kitchen smelled like tomato sauce and garlic bread, and Hanna’s father; his fiancée, Isabel; and Isabel’s daughter, Kate, were already seated in the dining room. There were big ceramic bowls of pasta and salad in the center of the table, and a scallop-edged plate, napkin, and tall flute of Perrier waited at Hanna’s empty seat. On her arrival Christmas Day—practically seconds after Hanna’s mother had boarded a jumbo jet to her new job in Singapore—Isabel had decided that every Sunday dinner would be in the dining room, to make things feel more special and “family-esque.”

Hanna slumped in her seat, trying to ignore everyone’s looks. Her father was shooting her a hopeful smile, and Isabel was making a face that indicated that she was either trying to contain a fart or was disappointed that Hanna was tardy to Family Time. Kate, on the other hand, tilted her head pityingly. And Hanna just knew which of them would speak first.

Kate smoothed her irritatingly straight chestnut-colored hair, her blue eyes round. “Were you with your grief counselor?”

Ding ding ding!

“Uh-huh.” Hanna took a giant gulp of Perrier.

“How did it go?” Kate asked in her best Oprah voice. “Is it helping?”

Hanna sniffed haughtily. Honestly, she thought the meetings with Marion were bullshit. Maybe the rest of her old best friends could get on with their lives post–Ali and A, but Hanna was struggling with not one best friend’s death, but two. Hanna was reminded of Mona practically every moment of her day: when she let out Dot to run around the frozen backyard in the Burberry plaid doggy coat Mona had gotten him as a birthday gift last year. When she opened her walk-in closet and saw the silver Jill Stuart skirt she’d borrowed from Mona but never returned. When she looked in the mirror, attempting to say Marion’s lame-ass chants, and saw the teardrop earrings she and Mona had stolen from Banana Republic last spring. She saw something else, too: the faded, Z-shaped scar on her chin from when Mona had hit Hanna with her SUV, after Hanna realized that Mona was A.

She hated that her future stepsister knew every detail of what happened to her this fall—especially that her best friend had tried to kill her. Then again, all of Rosewood knew; the local media had talked of little else since. Even weirder, the country had been infected with A mania. Kids across the country had reported receiving texts from someone called A, all of which ended up being from jilted ex-boyfriends or jealous classmates. Hanna had even received a few faux-A texts of her own, but they were obviously spam—I know all your dirty secrets! And hey, wanna purchase three ringtones for a dollar? So lame.

Kate’s gaze remained fixed on Hanna, perhaps waiting for her to spill her guts. Hanna quickly grabbed a piece of garlic bread and took a giant bite so she wouldn’t have to speak. Ever since Kate and Isabel set foot in this house, Hanna had been spending all her time either locked in her bedroom, retail-therapying at the King James Mall, or hiding at her boyfriend Lucas’s place. Even though things had been shaky between them before Mona died, Lucas had been unbelievably supportive in the aftermath. Now they were inseparable.

Hanna preferred to be out because whenever she was in plain view in her house, her dad kept assigning little chores for Hanna and Kate to do together: clearing out Hanna’s extra clothes from Kate’s brand-new bedroom closet, taking out the garbage, or shoveling snow off the front walk. But hello? Wasn’t that what housekeepers and snow removal services were for? If only the snow removal people could remove Kate, too.

“Are you girls excited to start school again tomorrow?” Isabel wound pasta around her fork.

Hanna shrugged one shoulder and felt a familiar pain radiate down her right arm. She’d broken it when Mona slammed into her with her SUV, yet another lovely reminder that her friendship with Mona had been a sham.

“I’m excited,” Kate filled the silence. “I looked through the Rosewood Day catalogue again today. The school has really amazing activities. They put on four plays a year!”

Mr. Marin and Isabel beamed. Hanna ground her molars together so furiously, her jaw started to go numb. All Kate had talked about since arriving in Rosewood was how thrilled she was to be going to Rosewood Day. But whatever—the school was huge. Hanna planned on never seeing her.

“The place seems so confusing, though.” Kate daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin. “They have separate buildings for different subjects, like a journalism barn and a science library and a greenhouse. I’m going to get so lost.” She twirled a piece of chestnut hair around her index finger. “I would love it if you showed me around, Hanna.”

Hanna almost burst out laughing. Kate’s voice was faker than a ninety-nine-cent pair of Chanel sunglasses on eBay. She’d pulled this let’s be friends act at Le Bec-Fin, too, and Hanna would never forget how that had turned out. When Hanna fled into the restaurant’s bathroom during the appetizers, Kate followed behind, acting all sweet and concerned. Hanna broke down and explained to Kate that she’d just received a note—from A…er, Mona—that Sean Ackard, whom she’d thought she was still dating, was at the Foxy benefit with another girl. Kate immediately sympathized and urged Hanna to ditch their dinner, go back to Rosewood, and kick Sean’s ass. She even said she’d cover for her. That’s what almost-stepsisters were for, right?

Wrong. When Hanna returned to Philadelphia, surprise! Kate had tattled instead and told Mr. Marin that Hanna was carrying around a bunch of Percocet in her purse. Mr. Marin had been so angry, he’d cut the trip short…and hadn’t spoken to Hanna for weeks.

“Of course Hanna will show you around,” Mr. Marin piped up.

Hanna clenched her fists under the table and tried for a dismayed tone. “Oh, wow, I’d love to, but my school day is so jam-packed!”

Her father cocked an eyebrow. “What about before school or at lunch?”

Hanna sucked her teeth. Way to sell me out, Dad. Had her father forgotten that Kate had stabbed Hanna in the back at their disastrous dinner at Le Bec-Fin in Philadelphia this fall—the dinner that was supposed to be for Hanna and her dad only? But then, her dad hadn’t seen it that way. In his mind, Kate wasn’t a backstabber. She was perfect. Hanna looked back and forth from her father to Isabel to Kate, feeling more and more helpless. All at once, she felt a familiar tickle rising in the back of her throat. Pushing back her chair, she stood up, let out a grunt, and stumbled to the downstairs bathroom.

She hung over the sink and dry-heaved. Don’t do this, she told herself. She’d been so good about the purging thing the past few months, but it was like Kate was a trigger. The very first time Hanna had puked on command was the one and only time Hanna had visited her father, Isabel, and Kate in Annapolis. She’d brought Ali along, and Ali and Kate had gotten along instantly—that pretty-girl bond or something—while Hanna shoveled handful after handful of popcorn into her mouth, feeling fat and hideous. Her dad calling her a little piggy had been the last straw. She’d run into the bathroom, snatched Kate’s toothbrush from a cup by the sink, and forced herself to vomit.

Ali had walked in as Hanna was in the middle of her second heave. She’d promised Hanna her secret was safe with her, but Hanna had learned a lot about Ali between then and now. Ali kept a lot of secrets from a lot of people—and had played people against each other. Like how she’d told Hanna and the others that they’d caused The Jenna Thing when really, Jenna and Ali had orchestrated it all along. Hanna wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Ali had marched back out to the patio that day and told Kate everything.

After a few minutes the sick feeling passed. Hanna took a deep breath, stood back up, and reached into her pocket for her BlackBerry. She opened up a new text message. You won’t believe this, she typed. My dad wants me to be the Rosewood Day Welcome Wagon for Psycho Kate. Can we do emergency mani-pedis tomorrow a.m. to discuss?

She was halfway through scrolling down her Contacts list when she realized she had no one to send the text to. Mona had been the only person she’d gotten mani-pedis with.

“Hanna?”

Hanna whirled around. Her father had cracked the bathroom door open a couple inches. His eyebrows were crinkled in concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, using a gentle tone of voice Hanna hadn’t heard in so long.

Mr. Marin stepped closer and put his hand on Hanna’s shoulder. Hanna swallowed hard, ducking her head. Back when she was in seventh grade, before her parents divorced, she and her dad had been really close. It had broken her heart when he’d left Rosewood after the divorce, and when he’d moved in with Isabel and Kate, Hanna had worried that he’d traded ugly, chubby, poop-brown-haired Hanna for pretty, skinny, perfect Kate. A few months ago, when Hanna was in the hospital after Mona hit her with her SUV, her dad had promised to be a bigger part of Hanna’s life. But in the week her dad had been here, he’d been too busy helping redecorate the house according to Isabel’s tastes—lots of velvet and tassels—to make much time for her.

But maybe he was going to apologize for all that. Maybe he was going to apologize for dropping her cold this past fall without getting her side of the story…and for dropping Hanna for Isabel and Kate for three whole years.

Mr. Marin patted her arm awkwardly. “Listen. This fall has been terrible for you. And I know testifying at Ian’s trial on Friday must be creating stress for you. And I realize that Kate and Isabel moving here was a little…abrupt. But Hanna, this is a huge life change for Kate. She abandoned her friends in Annapolis to move here, and you’ve barely spoken to her. You need to start treating her like family.”

Hanna’s smile drooped. It felt like her father had conked her over the head with the mint green soap holder on the porcelain sink. Kate certainly did not need Hanna’s help, not one bit. Kate was like Ali: graceful, beautiful, the object of everyone’s attention…and incredibly manipulative.

But as her dad lowered his chin, waiting for her to agree with him, Hanna realized there were two little words he’d left off of his last statement. Two words that were very indicative of how things were going to be around here from now on.

Hanna needed to start treating Kate like family…or else.