“Don’t worry, Han,” Ali assured her. “We’ll outclass whoever this Kate girl is.” When Hanna looked at her, unconvinced, she reminded Hanna of her signature phrase: “I’m Ali and I’m fabulous!” It sounded almost silly now, but back then Hanna could only imagine what it would feel like to be so confident. Having Ali there was like a security blanket—proof she wasn’t a loser her dad just wanted to get away from.
The day had been a train wreck, anyway. Kate was the prettiest girl Hanna had ever met and her dad had basically called her a pig right in front of Kate. He’d quickly backpedaled and said it was only a joke, but that was the very last time she’d seen him…and the very first time she ever made herself throw up.
But Hanna hated thinking about stuff in the past, so she rarely did. Besides, now Hanna got to ogle her mom’s dates in a not so will-you-be-my-new-father? way. And would her father let Hanna have a 2 A.M. curfew and drink wine, like her mom did? Doubtful.
Her mom snapped her phone shut and fastened her emerald green eyes on Hanna. “Those are your back-to-school shoes?”
Hanna stopped chewing. “Yeah.”
Ms. Marin nodded. “Did you get a lot of compliments?”
Hanna turned her ankle to inspect her purple wedges. Too afraid to face the Saks security, she’d actually paid for them. “Yeah. I did.”
“Mind if I borrow them?”
“Um, sure. If you wa—”
Her mom’s phone rang again. She pounced on it. “Carson? Yes. I’ve been looking for you all night…. What the hell is going on there?”
Hanna blew at her side-swept bangs and fed Dot a tiny piece of eel. As Dot spit it out on the floor, the doorbell rang.
Her mother didn’t even flinch. “They need it tonight,” she said to the phone. “It’s your project. Do I have to come down and hold your hand?”
The doorbell rang again. Dot started barking and her mother stood to get it. “It’s probably those Girl Scouts again.”
The Girl Scouts had come over three days in a row, trying to sell them cookies at dinnertime. They were rabid in this neighborhood.
Within seconds, she was back in the kitchen with a young, brown-haired, green-eyed police officer behind her. “This gentleman says he wants to speak with you.” A gold pin on the breast pocket of his uniform read WILDEN.
“Me?” Hanna pointed at herself.
“You’re Hanna Marin?” Wilden asked. The walkie-talkie on his belt made a noise.
Suddenly Hanna realized who this guy was: Darren Wilden. He’d been a senior at Rosewood when she was in seventh grade. The Darren Wilden she remembered allegedly slept with the whole girls’ diving team and was almost kicked out of school for stealing the principal’s vintage Ducati motorcycle. But this cop was definitely the same guy—those green eyes were hard to forget, even if it had been four years since she’d seen them. Hanna hoped he was a stripper that Mona had sent over as a joke.
“What’s this all about?” Ms. Marin asked, looking longingly back at her cell phone. “Why are you interrupting us at dinner?”
“We received a call from Tiffany’s,” Wilden said. “They have you on tape shoplifting some items from their store. Tapes from various other mall security cameras tracked you out of the mall and to your car. We traced the license plate.”
Hanna started pinching the inside of her palm with her fingernails, something she always did when she felt out of control.
“Hanna wouldn’t do that,” Ms. Marin barked. “Would you, Hanna?”
Hanna opened her mouth to respond but no words came out. Her heart was banging against her ribs.
“Look.” Wilden crossed his arms over his chest.
Hanna noticed the gun on his belt. It looked like a toy. “I just need you to come to the station. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing!” Ms. Marin said. Then she took her Fendi wallet out of its matching purse. “What will it take for you to leave us alone to have our dinner?”
“Ma’am.” Wilden sounded exasperated. “You should just come down with me. All right? It won’t take all night. I promise.” He smiled that sexy Darren Wilden smile that had probably kept him from getting expelled from Rosewood.
“Well,” Hanna’s mother said. She and Wilden looked at each other for a long moment. “Let me get my bag.”
Wilden turned to Hanna. “I’m gonna have to cuff you.”
Hanna gasped. “Cuff me?” Okay, now that was silly. It sounded fake, like something the six-year-old twins next door would say to each other. But Wilden pulled out real steel handcuffs and gently put them around her wrists. Hanna hoped he didn’t notice that her hands were shaking.
If only this were the moment when Wilden tied her to a chair, put on that old ’70s song “Hot Stuff,” and stripped off all his clothes. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.