Hanna checked on Colleen. She was talking to one of the other Tom Marin volunteers by the trash can. “And then there was the 10k on the Marwyn Trail this summer, where it was so hot we went skinny-dipping in that pond halfway through. Remember how that old lady almost caught us?”
Mike’s cheeks got redder. “Hanna, I’m not sure—”
“We should have done it that day, don’t you think?” Hanna interrupted.
Mike’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He might have been uncomfortable, but he definitely didn’t look disgusted. Maybe he did want to have sex with her, after all.
Hanna wiped a droplet of water off Mike’s cheek. “You know, my dad’s having a campaign party tomorrow night,” she murmured into his ear. “You should come.”
Mike’s lips parted again. There was an intrigued sparkle in his eyes, and Hanna could tell he was considering saying yes. Then a hand gripped his arm. “Hey, my two favorite people! What are we talking about?” Colleen asked.
Mike blinked hard, then stood up straighter. “Mr. Marin’s campaign party,” he mumbled.
Colleen’s eyes lit up. “Omigod! Mike and I are so excited for that!”
Hanna glared at Mike, but he was pointedly avoiding her gaze. “Colleen got a really pretty dress,” he muttered.
“Yes,” Colleen swooned. “It was from the bebe store at the King James. Do you know that place, Hanna?”
Hanna snorted. “Yeah. Only sluts shop there.”
Colleen’s face crumpled. Mike’s eyebrows shot up, and then he grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and pulled her into the crowd of runners. “That wasn’t very nice,” he said over his shoulder. And then he was gone.
What. The. Hell? As Hanna contemplated throwing cut-up bananas at the backs of their heads, a taunting giggle lilted through the air, and the hair on the back of her neck rose.
Ping. She glanced down at her phone, which was tucked in her jacket pocket. One new text. Disturbingly, it was from a jumble of nonsensical letters and numbers.
Think Colleen is as innocent as she seems? Think again. Everyone has secrets . . . even her. —A
Hanna stared at the text for a long time. What the hell was A talking about?
“Hanna! There you are!”
Her dad stood behind her, clutching an enormous striped golf umbrella. Standing next to him was a tall, slender woman dressed in a rain hat, North Face top, straight-leg jeans, and furry boots. A Louis Vuitton bag was slung casually over her arm, a cell phone was in her hand, and she was looking at Hanna with a smirking expression. Hanna’s stomach dropped to her feet for the second time in under a minute when she realized who it was.
Gayle.
“Oh.” It came out like a croak. “H-hi.” Hanna eyed the cell phone in Gayle’s hand. The screen was lit up, as if the phone had just been used. Had she sent Hanna that text?
“Hanna, Ms. Riggs is going to help us campaign,” Mr. Marin said. “Isn’t that nice of her?”
Gayle waved her hand dismissively. “Please. Anything to help the Tom Marin cause.” She slipped her phone into the pocket of her coat. “I’m sorry I got here so late, Tom. My husband and I were in Princeton for a dinner last night to celebrate the new cancer lab he funded, and we just got in.”
“It’s no problem at all.” Mr. Marin peered into the crowd of runners. “I hate to make you stand in this weather, though. If you really insist on helping, maybe you’d prefer to make calls in the coffee shop instead?”
“Really, it’s no trouble,” Gayle said breezily. “I don’t mind a little drizzle. And besides, I can get to know your lovely daughter!” She turned to Hanna, an ominous smile on her lips. “I really wanted to chat with you at the town hall meeting, but you disappeared, Hanna,” she said sweetly. “I guess you wanted to hang out with your friends, huh?”
“Yes, several of Hanna’s friends attended the town hall meeting,” Mr. Marin said. “They’ve all been very supportive of the campaign.”
“That’s so nice,” Gayle trilled. “Who was that girl with the reddish hair I saw you with?”
Hanna stiffened. “Ah, you must mean Emily Fields,” Mr. Marin jumped in before she could stop him. “She’s been Hanna’s friend for a long time.”
“Emily Fields.” Gayle pretended to contemplate this. Mr. Marin turned to take a phone call, and Gayle inched closer. “Funny, she told me she went by Heather,” she added under her breath.
Hanna bit down hard on the inside of her lip, feeling Gayle’s hot, impatient stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled.
“Oh, I think you do.” Gayle gazed at the passing crowd. “I think you know exactly what I mean. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on. Don’t think I don’t know about everything.”
Hanna tried to keep her expression neutral, but it felt like ping-pong balls were bouncing in her stomach. Was Gayle admitting she was A?