But instead she was stuck here, with her father moving in with his new family—his replacement wife, Isabel, the ex-ER nurse who wasn’t nearly as pretty or interesting as Hanna’s mom, and his perfect stepdaughter, Kate, who’d taken Hanna’s place in her dad’s heart and who hated Hanna’s guts.
Hanna padded into the empty master bedroom. It smelled slightly of mothballs, and there were four heavy indentations on the carpet where her mother’s sleek Danish-modern bed used to stand. When Hanna dropped the DELICATES box on the floor, one of the flaps popped open and a little blue gift box with a blank gift tag peeked out.
Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she lifted the lid. Inside was a round white-gold locket with a cluster of pavé-cut diamonds in the center.
Hanna breathed in. It was the Cartier locket that had belonged to her grandmother, whom everyone, even nonrelatives, called Bubbe Marin. Bubbe had worn it religiously when she was alive, boasting that she didn’t even take it off in the bathtub. She’d died when Hanna was going into seventh grade, shortly after Hanna’s parents divorced; by that time, Hanna hadn’t been on speaking terms with her dad. She hadn’t known what had happened to the locket, or who it had been willed to.
But now she did. She touched the blank gift tag and felt an angry pang. Her dad was probably going to give it to Isabel or Kate for Christmas.
“Hanna?” a voice floated up from the first floor.
Hanna shoved the lid back on the box and stepped into the hall. Her father was standing at the base of the stairs. “Pizza’s here!”
The tantalizing aroma of mozzarella cheese wafted into Hanna’s nostrils. Just half a slice, she decided. Sure, her Citizens jeans didn’t button so easily this morning, but she’d probably left them in the dryer for too long. She walked down the stairs just as Isabel was carrying a pizza box to the kitchen. Everyone sat down at the table—Hanna’s table—and Mr. Marin passed out plates and silverware. It was weird how he knew exactly which cabinet and drawer to open. But Isabel wasn’t supposed to be sitting in her mother’s chair, using her mother’s cloth napkins from Crate & Barrel. Kate wasn’t supposed to be drinking from the pewter cup her mother had bought for Hanna on a trip to Montreal.
Hanna let out another sneeze, her nostrils tickling with someone’s cloying perfume. Not one of them said Bless you.
“So when are your entrance exams for Rosewood Day again, Kate?” Mr. Marin said as he grabbed a pizza slice from the open box. Unfortunately, Kate would be attending the same school Hanna went to.
Kate took a dainty bite of crust. “In a couple of days. I’ve been going over geometry proofs and vocabulary words.”
Isabel waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not the SATs. I’m sure you’ll ace the exams.”
“They’ll be thrilled to have you.” Mr. Marin looked at Hanna. “Did you know Kate won the Renaissance Student prize last year? She excelled above her peers in every subject.”
You’ve only told me that eight million times, Hanna wanted to say. She took a bite of pizza so she wouldn’t have to speak.
“And her grades were outstanding at the Barnbury School,” Isabel went on, referencing Kate’s old school in Annapolis. “Barnbury has a better reputation than Rosewood Day. At least there, kids aren’t stalking other kids and running them down with their cars.”
She shot a pointed look at Hanna. Hanna reached unconsciously for a second slice of pizza and pushed it into her mouth. Nice how Isabel was basically blaming her for her ordeals with A, the stalker who’d almost ruined her life this fall, and for tarnishing Rosewood Day’s sterling reputation.
Kate leaned forward and stared at Hanna with wide eyes. Hanna had a feeling she knew exactly what question was coming next. “You must be so devastated that your best friend turned out to be . . . you know,” Kate said in a fake-concerned voice. “How are you holding up?” A tiny smile crossed her lips, and it was obvious what her real question was: How are you dealing with the fact that your BFF wanted to kill you?
Hanna looked desperately at her father, hoping he’d put a stop to this line of questioning, but he was also staring at her worriedly. “I’m holding up just fine,” she mumbled gruffly.