More people streamed out of the church. Then, Hanna saw a head of chestnut hair and flinched. It was Kate, arm-in-arm with Sean Ackard. Sean walked stiffly, like he was a little afraid of Kate’s touch. He held a flyer in his hand that said V CLUB across the top in big capital letters.
That was why ugly Knockoff Burberry Jacket was familiar— it was Candace, the head of the Virginity Club meeting Hanna had crashed long ago in hopes of getting back together with Sean. They must have moved the support group from the Rosewood YMCA, where it had been held last year, to here. So Sean was still a devout virgin! Hanna was dying to ask Kate how she’d liked her first V Club meeting. Had they sworn off touching? Had Sean bought her a no-sex promise ring yet? A mirthful laugh slipped from her lips.
Kate froze and Sean came to a halt next to her. She looked around. “Is someone there?”
Hanna clamped her mouth shut. Liam stood very still beside her.
“It was probably a raccoon,” Sean said finally, guiding her to the parking lot.
“Did you know her?” Liam whispered once they were out of earshot.
“She’s my stepsister,” Hanna said. “If she saw me with you, I’d be dead.”
Liam stiffened. “I’d be dead, too. My dad would probably stop paying my tuition at Hyde. Take away my car. Kick me out of the house.”
“That makes two of us.” She leaned her head on Liam’s shoulder. “We’d be homeless together.”
“I can think of much worse punishments,” Liam said.
Hanna ducked her head. “You probably say that to all the girls.”
“No, I don’t.” He looked so sincere that Hanna leaned in and kissed him forcefully on the mouth. He kissed her back, and then moved to her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead. His hands caressed her waist. Who cared if she’d only met him a few days ago? Who cared if this was wrong? Who cared if their families hated each other? Liam was right: This kind of connection shouldn’t be ignored. It was like one of those rare comets—it only came around once every thousand years.
Two hours and a million kisses later, Hanna climbed back into her car and sank against the seat. She felt blissed-out and exhausted. It was only then that she noticed the little blinking green light on the top of her cell phone. She pulled it from the pocket of her bag and touched the screen. ONE NEW TEXT, it said.
She glanced up, gazing around the parking lot. The streetlights cast golden, uninterrupted circles of light on the pavement. The wind rattled the handicapped parking signs and blew an empty gum wrapper into the grass. No one was here. With shaking hands, she touched the screen to read the message.
Hannakins: I know you guys are living out your own private Romeo and Juliet love story, but remember: Both of them die in Act V. —A
Chapter 18
ALL GREAT ACTRESSES HALLUCINATE!
“Double, double, toil and trouble,” Naomi, Riley, and Kate screeched as they circled a cauldron on the Rosewood Day stage on Monday afternoon. “Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
The three girls beckoned Beau-as-Macbeth toward them, shaking their boobs and making kissy-faces, which definitely wasn’t called for in the script. All of them had changed out of their Rosewood Day uniforms into skinny jeans, low-cut tunics, and Halloween-esque witches’ hats.
One row in front of Spencer, Jasmine Bryer, a brunette sophomore who was playing Lady Macduff, nudged Scott Chin, her on-stage husband. “They look like hookers, not witches.”
“You’re just pissed because they blew you off when you asked to sit with them at Steam yesterday,” Scott said knowingly, snapping his gum.
Spencer sunk down lower in her seat and picked absently at a tiny hole in her knee socks. The auditorium smelled like old shoes, the salami hoagies the crew advisor always brought in for an after-school snack, and patchouli oil. There was a commotion on the stage, and when Spencer looked up, Kate, Naomi, and Riley were daintily stepping off the risers, their witch hats in their hands. “Oh, everyone?” Naomi called out. “We want to remind you about the cast party after the performance on Friday. It’s going to be at Otto. We hope you all can come.” She looked directly at Beau as she said this.
Spencer rolled her eyes. Only Naomi, Riley, and Kate would hold the cast party at Otto, a fancy bistro down the street. Usually, the cast fetes were held in the auditorium or the gym. Two years ago, they’d thrown it in the cafeteria.
“We also suggest you all dress nicely, as the Philadelphia Sentinel is going to be there,” Riley added nasally, now glowering at the other actors, who usually looked as though they were going to a Renaissance Faire—even when they weren’t rehearsing Shakespeare. “Hopefully, they’ll interview all of us.”
Pierre snorted. “We’d better work our asses off, then.” He spied Spencer in the back row. “Speaking of which, Mr. M? Lady M? Are you ready?”
Spencer jumped up. “Definitely.” Beau rose, too.