Melissa stood outside the window, her hair messy and Medusa-like, her face absolutely expressionless. A cigarette shook in her tiny, usually steady fingers.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Spencer finally said.
Melissa didn’t answer. Instead, she took one more drag, threw the butt in the dewy grass, and turned back toward the main house.
“You coming, Wren?” Melissa called frostily over her shoulder.
25
STUDENT DRIVERS THESE DAYS!
Mona’s mouth dropped open when she came around the corner to Noel’s front lawn. “Holy shit.”
Hanna leaned out the window of Sean’s father’s BMW and grinned at Mona. “You love it?”
Mona’s eyes lit up. “I’m speechless.”
Hanna smiled gratefully and took a swig from the Ketel One bottle she’d swiped from the booze table. Two minutes ago, she’d texted Mona a picture of the BMW with the message, I’m all lubed up and out front. Come ride me.
Mona opened the heavy passenger door and slid into the seat. She leaned over and stared intensely at the BMW insignia on the steering wheel. “It’s so beautiful….” Shetraced the little blue and white triangles with her pinkie.
Hanna flicked her hand off. “Get stoned much?”
Mona raised her chin and appraised Hanna’s dirty hair, crooked dress, and tear-stained face. “Things didn’t go well with Sean?”
Hanna looked down and jammed the key into the ignition.
Mona moved to hug her. “Oh Han, I’m sorry…. What happened?”
“Nothing. Whatever.” Hanna jerked away and put on her sunglasses—which made it a little hard to see, but who cared?—and started the car. It burst into action, all of the BMW’s dashboard lights switching on.
“Pretty!” Mona cried. “It’s like the lights at Club Shampoo!”
Hanna slammed the gear into reverse and the tires rolled through the thick grass. Then she jerked it into drive, cut the wheel, and off they went. Hanna was too keyed up to worry about the fact that the double lines on the road were quadrupling in her vision.
“Yee haw,” Mona whooped. She rolled down the window to let her long, blond hair flutter behind her. Hanna lit a Parliament and swiveled the Sirius radio dial until she found a retro rap station playing “Baby Got Back.” She turned the volume up and the cabin throbbed—of course the car had the best bass money could buy.
“That’s more like it,” Mona said.
“Hells yeah,” Hanna answered.
As she navigated a sharp turn a little too quickly, something in the back of her mind made a ping.
It’s not gonna be you.
Ouch.
Even Daddy doesn’t love you best!
Double ouch.
Well, fuck it. Hanna pressed down on the gas and nearly took out someone’s dog-shaped mailbox.
“We’ve got to go somewhere and show this bitch off.” Mona put her Miu Miu heels up on the dashboard, smearing bits of grass and dirt on it. “How ’bout Wawa? I’m jonesing for some Tastykake.”
Hanna giggled and took another swig of Ketel One. “You must be super-baked.”
“I’m not just baked, I’m broiled!”
They parked crookedly in the Wawa lot and sang, “I like big BUTTS and I cannot lie!” as they stumbled into the store. A couple of grubby delivery guys, holding 64-ounce cups of coffee and leaning against their trucks, stared with their mouths open.
“Can I have your hat?” Mona asked the skinnier of the two, pointing to his mesh ball cap that said WAWA FARMS. Without a word, the guy gave it to her.
“Ew,” Hanna whispered. “That thing is germy!” But Mona had already put it on her head.
In the store, Mona bought sixteen Tastykake Butterscotch Krimpets, a copy of Us Weekly, and a huge bottle of Tahitian Treat; Hanna bought a Tootsie Pop for ten cents. When Mona wasn’t looking, she shoved a Snickers and a pack of M&M’s into her purse.
“I can hear the car,” Mona said dreamily as they paid. “It’s screaming.”
It was true. In her drunken haze, Hanna had activated the alarm on the keychain. “Oops.” She giggled.
Hooting with laughter, they ran back to the car and slid inside. They stopped at a red light, heads bobbing. The supermarket strip mall to their left was empty except for some loose shopping carts. The store’s neon signs glowed vacantly; even the Outback Steakhouse bar was dead.
“People in Rosewood are such losers.” Hanna gestured to the darkness.
The highway was barren too, so Hanna let out a startled, “Eep!” when a car stealthily rolled up in the lane next to her. It was a silver, pointy-nosed Porsche with tinted windows and those creepy blue headlights.
“Check that out,” Mona said, Krimpet crumbs falling out of her mouth.
As they stared, the car revved its engine.
“It wants to race,” Mona whispered.
“Bull,” Hanna answered. She couldn’t make out who was inside the car—only the red, glowing tip of a lit cigarette. An uneasy feeling washed over her.
The car revved its engine again—impatiently, this time—and she could finally see a vague outline of the driver. He revved his engine again.