Angela’s eyes narrowed. “Only for very special cases.” She stared right into Spencer’s eyes. “It’s not for everyone, you know. You can’t leave any traces behind. You can’t be in touch with anyone you know from your previous life. You have to start over as if you were . . . I don’t know. Dropped down here from an alien craft. Some people can’t deal.”
Spencer couldn’t believe it. For the past two weeks, lying on her bed, she’d fantasized about someone who, like a travel agent, could get you a passport and travel documents that would extract you from your current predicament and plop you into a world where you were no longer in trouble. And here was someone who actually did it, sitting across from her.
She considered what it would be like, leaving Rosewood and never looking back. Becoming someone else entirely, and never, ever telling anyone the truth. Never seeing her family again. She’d miss them. Well, maybe not her mom, who really didn’t seem to care that Spencer was on trial for murder, but she’d miss her dad. And she’d miss Melissa, who she’d become closer to lately—Melissa had been very vocal about how Spencer was wrongfully accused, though she’d stayed away from explicitly talking about Ali to the press. She’d miss her friends, of course—it would be so strange not to talk to them ever again. But what did she have to live for here? She had no boy in the picture. No college future. And anything was better than prison.
She looked up and stared into Angela’s eyes. “Would you do it for me?”
Angela stubbed out her second smoke. “Starting price is a hundred.”
“Dollars?”
Angela tittered. “Try a hundred thousand dollars, honey.”
Spencer’s jaw dropped. “I-I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Well, then, this conversation never happened,” Angela said, her voice suddenly going scary-cold. “And if you tell anyone that it did, I’ll hunt you down and destroy you.” She recrossed her legs and continued, her voice normal again. “So. Do you want to talk about girl gangs or what?”
Maybe it was the menthol smoke, maybe it was the pissed-off-looking king and queen staring at her from the tapestry, or maybe it was the threat of that giant chandelier breaking off and crushing her head, but suddenly Spencer felt dizzy. She stood from the chair. “Actually, I-I’m sorry. I think I should go.”
“Your loss.” Angela waggled her fingers. “I get to keep the three hundred, though.”
In seconds, Spencer was on the porch again. Angela didn’t follow her out.
A car honked noisily a few streets away. Spencer slumped against the wall, her breath fast. In those ten seconds when she had thought disappearing was actually plausible, she’d started to envision a new life. Living quietly. Making a few acquaintances, friends. Then going to college as another person. Still living a purposeful life. Still succeeding. Still being Spencer Hastings, just with a different name.
Prison will ruin your life, mark my words.
She pulled out her phone and looked at it, suddenly humbled. Angela was right: Prison would eat her alive. She dialed Emily’s number. It rang twice before Emily answered.
“I changed my mind,” Spencer said before Emily even had the chance to say hello. “I can talk to my dad. Let’s go see Nick.”
3
THE INTERROGATION
Hanna Marin steered her Prius down a winding road that led out of Rosewood. The late-spring air smelled like Flowerbomb perfume, the bright sun was hopefully giving her face a bit of color, her three best friends were crammed into the car with her, and the radio was turned up loud. To most passersby, they probably looked like a bunch of girls on a summer road trip. Not accused murderers on their way to talk to their own almost-murderer, in prison. Her cell phone pinged, and as she slowed to a stoplight she glanced at the screen. What time should I come over? her boyfriend, Mike, had texted.
Hanna ran her tongue over her teeth. Thank God she hadn’t lost Mike after the paparazzi released those photos of her canoodling with Jared Diaz, her costar in Burn It Down, a movie chronicling her and her friends’ struggles with Ali. Now she and Mike were closer than ever. Since she was let out on bail he’d come over every day, bringing takeout and girly movies that he actually watched with her and tried his hardest not to make fun of.
She looked around, taking in the wide fields and red barns. For a brief second, she considered telling Mike what they were up to. Bad idea, though: Mike fancied himself as Hanna’s knight in shining armor. He’d probably try and rescue them.
Didn’t sleep well last night, thinking of taking a nap, Hanna typed back quickly. Maybe this afternoon?
There was a pause before Mike texted back, Sure. When another text pinged in, Hanna figured it was from Mike again, not buying it. But then she saw Hailey Blake’s name.