That afternoon, Hanna and Mike lounged on the couch at her father’s house, watching an episode of Parks and Recreation on DVR. She had her hands in the pockets of Mike’s hooded sweatshirt, and Mike wound his socked feet around Hanna’s bare ones. Mr. Marin sat behind the glass doors of his office, talking to someone about his senatorial campaign.
The doorbell rang, and she and Mike looked at each other and frowned. Hanna padded to it and peered through the glass. Standing on the other side was Chassey Bledsoe, looking perfectly put-together in a silk dress and brown boots and holding a bakery box in her hands. Hanna frowned down at her stained University of Pennsylvania yoga pants.
“Uh . . . hi?” she asked as she opened the door.
“Hey, Hanna!” Chassey smiled. “I was in the neighborhood, and I just wanted to say I’m really honored to run against you for queen.”
Hanna stared at the box she was holding. Through the clear plastic top, she could see twenty iced cupcakes all lined up. Each of them bore the words VOTE CHASSEY FOR QUEEN!
“Oh!” Chassey noticed her looking and opened the lid. “Would you like one? I’ve been passing them around to potential voters.”
Hanna snorted. “They probably have shingles germs all over them.”
Chassey looked confused. “I don’t have shingles.”
Hanna cocked her head. “Then why were you out of school for a month?”
Chassey blinked. “My mom was doing some work in LA, so I went with her and got a tutor. I went to a lot of amazing spas, too—I bet you would have loved them, Hanna.”
Now Hanna really didn’t feel sorry for Chassey. She took a cupcake, trilled that it was nice to see Chassey, and then shut the door in Chassey’s face. She turned around and handed Mike the cupcake—she certainly wasn’t going to eat it. “That was lame.”
Mike peeled off the wrapper and took a big bite. “She’s really working hard to get votes. I thought you’d be more into it, too.”
Hanna pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “I guess I’ve been busy.”
Mike shoved another piece of cupcake in his mouth. “With what?”
“Honestly?” Hanna flung herself back on the couch. “I refuse to campaign against Chassey. If I don’t win on my own good looks and popularity, I don’t deserve to win at all.”
Mike stared at her, chewing. She knew how stupid it sounded. But what could she say? Hey, Mike, some psycho stranger who might actually be your best friend, Noel, told me that if I campaigned, he’d tell the FBI we killed a girl.
Mike sat down and picked up the remote. “So how was the salon yesterday?”
Hanna blinked at him, struggling to shift gears. “What?”
“You know, your practice hair appointment for prom?”
Right. Hanna had forgotten about that lie. “Uh, it was good.”
Mike leaned in and sniffed her head. “You don’t smell all fruity, like you usually do when you come home from the salon.”
“That’s because I washed my hair this morning. Duh.” Hanna moved her head away. Then she checked her watch and jumped up. “Shit. I need to go.” Her burn clinic shift started in a half hour.
“Where now?” Mike complained.
Hanna’s mind scrambled for an answer, but it was irritatingly blank. She grabbed her purse and walked out the front door. “I’ve got to do something for my mom. I’ll see you.”
Mike followed her to her car. He could tell she was lying—she just knew it. She licked her lips, about to tell him the truth—or some approximation of it. But as she turned the ignition in the Prius, a news report blared.
The search for the thieves of a priceless practice painting of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night has been reopened, a reporter intoned, a keyboard click-clacking in the background. At first, authorities thought there was only one thief, but now there is new evidence that the criminal might not have acted alone. The story, the newscaster went on to say, was particularly pertinent in this area because Baron Brennan, from whom the painting had been stolen, had been a prominent contributor to the Philadelphia Art Museum.
Hanna’s stomach flipped over. What if the new evidence had been a phone call from A? How long until A gave names?
She gazed at Mike, then shut her mouth tight. Yes, she was lying to him. But it was for his own good.
The burn clinic lobby was quiet when Hanna walked in fifteen minutes later. Sean jumped up from his office chair and strode across the floor to meet her. Hanna couldn’t help but notice how middle-aged he looked in khakis and a checked shirt. Even her father didn’t dress like such a dork.
“Kelly’s not here today,” he said, worry lines present on his brow. “She said you did a great job on the bedpans, though—do you think you could handle the chores on your own?”
“Sure.” Hanna shrugged.
“Great.” Sean looked relieved. “Thanks so much.”