“I don’t know, but hopefully someone way better.”
Hanna’s thoughts began to churn. Maybe that was a good thing. Hanna’s character would be redeemed. No one would make fun of her once the film came out. And Hailey would find something else, wouldn’t she? She was a huge star. Her agent probably had something lined up already.
“Like Lucy Hale,” she suggested, suddenly excited. “Or maybe that cute girl on that Netflix series?”
“Actually, I think you should go for it.”
Hanna blinked hard. Jared was staring at her with a completely serious expression. “Excuse me?” she blurted.
Jared sidled closer. “I’m serious,” he murmured. “You’re good—really good. Hank can’t stop talking about you. And we both already know you make a better Hanna Marin than Hailey. . . .”
He smiled leadingly, one eyebrow raised. Hanna lowered her eyes, feeling guilty about what she’d said to Jared about Hailey’s performance—and about the kiss.
But it was true. Hanna thought about how Hank had done nothing but praise her after every scene. Sure, the Hanna role was more demanding and time-consuming than the Naomi part, but Hanna could handle it. Anyway, why hire another actress when the real Hanna was right here, ready and waiting?
Was Hanna ready and waiting? Could she ask for the role? She thought of something Hailey had said in New York: Never pass up an opportunity. You never know where it’s going to take you.
Jared shifted his weight. When Hanna looked up, he was studying her closely, a whisper of a smile on his face as if he knew what Hanna was thinking. “Talk to Hank,” he urged. “All he can say is no.” And then, patting her arm, he turned on his heel and went back to the soundstage.
22
A TOUR AND AN A
Thursday evening, Aria stood on the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum as the sun set. Though the museum was almost closed, visitors were still lingering, eating pretzels from the cart at the foot of the steps, racing up and down the stairs like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky, or listening to a saxophone player belt out a rendition of “Let It Be.”
Then a neon-green car with PHILADELPHIA QUICK CAB printed on the side pulled up to the curb, and Harrison, dressed in crisp jeans and a gingham button-down, climbed out. When he spied Aria, his whole face lit up. Aria waved happily.
“Hey!” he cried after bounding up the stairs to meet her. He leaned forward and gave Aria a hug. Aria sighed happily, inhaling the sandalwood smell of his coat.
“Ready for this?” Harrison asked when he pulled away.
Aria ducked her head, suddenly feeling shy. “A private tour in the museum? Of course I’m ready.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Harrison said earnestly.
Harrison had sent her a text this morning telling her how many comments the article had already received, though she’d been too afraid to look at them herself. He’d also added that he’d scored several new advertisers and had been asked to be an “expert” on an art-scene retrospective the New York Times was writing for its Sunday edition. At this rate, he’d said, he could actually start making money from the blog and quit his part-time bartending job.
As he reached for her hand, he looked intimately into her eyes, and Aria held his gaze. She wanted to go slowly with Harrison, but whenever he looked at her like that, it felt like there were horse hooves pounding in her chest. Which was a welcome feeling, especially after seeing Noel and Scarlett in Best Buy.
Not that she was really dwelling on that or anything.
They started up the stairs toward the museum. Everyone was streaming out instead of going in. “How’d you manage to score an after-hours tour, anyway?” Aria asked.
Harrison smiled. “The perks of being just the teensiest bit connected. A lot of art critics get to go after-hours to all the museums—that way they can really see the works without fighting the tourists. All it took was one phone call—and a mention of your name.”
Aria gasped. Her name had clout?
Harrison held the door open for her. “But actually, I was hoping you’d give me the tour. The Philly Art Museum, Aria Montgomery–style.”
Aria cocked her head. “I’d be honored, Mr. überblogger.”
They walked into the lobby, which Aria knew like the back of her hand. It was strange to see the place so empty, no hustle and bustle of kids racing for the armor and weaponry rooms or the gift shop. An echo spiraled from high above, and then came a loud clank. Aria looked around nervously. She didn’t like the idea of being totally alone.