The phone nearly slipped from her fingers. Special Agent?
She opened the e-mail, her heart thudding hard. Jasmine Fuji was an FBI agent on Tabitha’s murder case, and Hanna’s name had come up on a roster of guests who’d been staying at The Cliffs resort in Jamaica the same time Tabitha Clark had been. I would like to ask you a few questions about what you might remember from that night, the note read. I’m sure you understand that time is of the essence, so please contact me as soon as possible.
Bile rose in Hanna’s throat. The girls knew now that they hadn’t killed Tabitha, but A had incriminating photographs of them talking to her on the vacation—and even one of Aria shoving Tabitha off the roof while Hanna and the others stood there, watching. A had so much else on them, too: Hanna had covered up a serious car accident, Spencer had framed another girl for drug possession, Emily had accepted money for a baby . . . though she’d tried to give it back. Once A dumped all that in Agent Fuji’s lap, she would never believe they were innocent.
“Hanna?” Mike’s voice rang out behind her.
She swung around to see him. He looked adorable in his Rosewood Day Lacrosse T-shirt, fitted black jeans, and beat-up Vans. There was an excited-little-boy smile on his face.
“I have a surprise for you!”
“What?” Hanna asked warily, dropping her phone back into her bag. She wasn’t really in the mood for a surprise right now.
Mike snapped his fingers, and suddenly a line of JV lacrosse players trooped in. At the count of three, in one synchronized motion, they whipped off their shirts and faced Hanna. Letters had been painted onto their rock-hard abs. First was an H, then an A, and then . . .
Hanna blinked hard. Their bodies spelled out Hanna for May Queen.
Someone in the restaurant applauded. Kate Randall, Hanna’s stepsister, who was sitting in one of the booths, nodded appreciatively. A waitress’s eyes popped wide at the boys’ well-developed pecs and abs, and she almost dropped her tray. Then, Mike turned around, tore off his shirt, and grinned at Hanna. On his bare chest was an exclamation point.
“You’re going to run, right?” he asked excitedly. “You’ve already got the lax team behind you—JV and varsity.”
Speechless, Hanna fingered the Tiffany chain around her neck. May Queen was Rosewood Day’s term for prom queen. Hanna and Mike were going to prom together—she’d bought her dress last month at a Marchesa sample sale. It cost more than her dad wanted to spend, but he knew how much prom meant to her—she used to wax poetic about her ideal prom night in the same way most little girls dream of a fairy-tale wedding.
But queen? Sure, Hanna had thought about it, dreamed about it, but after this crazy year, she hadn’t really taken it seriously. “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly, looking at Mike and then the line of shirtless guys. “What about Naomi?”
Naomi Zeigler was Rosewood’s queen bee. Naomi hadn’t let Hanna join her clique after Mona’s death, and though Hanna had begun to make inroads with Naomi on the cruise, that all had come crashing down when Hanna discovered that Naomi’s cousin was Madison, the girl she’d left for dead on the side of the road after crashing her car last summer. Hanna had even suspected Naomi was A . . . but she had been wrong. When Hanna confessed what she’d done, Naomi had been so disgusted that she’d gone back to not speaking to her again.
A hand touched Hanna’s arm. Kate swam into view. “Naomi’s not running, Han. Her GPA isn’t high enough.” She smiled triumphantly. For reasons Hanna still wasn’t sure about, Naomi and Kate were in a fight.
“And you’re not running, either?” Hanna asked her. With Kate’s long chestnut hair, even features, and runner’s body, she was more than pretty enough.
Kate shook her head. “Nah. Not my thing. You should totally run, though. I’ll get everyone to vote for you.”
Hanna blinked hard. She and Kate had made up in the past month, but after years of being enemies, she still wasn’t used to it. “What about Riley?” she asked.
Kate snickered. Mike gave Hanna a crazy look. “Riley? Are you serious?”
Hanna pictured Riley’s startlingly red hair and vampire-pale skin—definitely not May Queen material. “Okay. I guess you’re right.”
Mike turned around and started riling up the rest of the team. “Han-na!” he chanted.
“Han-na!” The other boys joined in. Kate did, too.
Hanna grinned and started to consider it. She could already picture the fabulous, slightly spooky photo of herself and the king in the graveyard near the Philadelphia Four Seasons, a yearly Rosewood Day tradition that was printed in a special insert in the yearbook. If she won, her legacy at Rosewood would be that of a beautiful girl wearing the May Queen crown—not the girl who’d been tortured by A.