Pretty Little Secrets

“Because it’s a class full of fat people!” Hanna finally blurted.



Vince took a few steps back, his mouth forming a small O. “You’re kidding, right?”



A techno version of a Rihanna song thumped in the background. When Hanna didn’t answer, Vince shook his head. “The other members aren’t fat. Okay, maybe some of them are a little over their healthiest weights, but don’t you think it’s great that they want to get back in shape? I feel like I can really help them.”



You’re like a muscled Mother Teresa, Hanna wanted to snap. “Well, I think I’ll pass.”



“You’re going to pass on a fitness class that’s going to kick your ass? Why, because everyone else doesn’t look like they stepped out of Vogue?”



He was talking awfully loudly. Hanna looked around cautiously. The whip-thin girl at the check-in desk scanned two members’ cards, the machine making two efficient little beeps. A college-age guy sprinted on the treadmill, his floppy blond hair bouncing. What if someone had been listening, someone from Rosewood Day? If anyone caught wind of this, she would be the school’s biggest loser—in more ways than one.



Vince gave Hanna a knowing look. “I think I understand what’s going on. You don’t have it in you. It’s not called boot camp because it’s easy. You don’t have the mental edge to go through such a rigorous program.”



Hanna sniffed indignantly. “This has nothing to do with my mental edge.”



“Nah, forget it.” Vince waved his hand. “I should have seen the signs. Not everyone is cut out for this class—you have to really want wellness, really be ready to go for it. Don’t worry about it, Hanna. I thought you were tough enough for it—but it’s cool.”



“I’m plenty tough,” Hanna said so loudly that a twenty-something girl in a Hollis sweatshirt by the mats glanced up in alarm. “I’m sure I’m tougher than all of those other . . . people in there.”



Vince squared his jaw. “Okay, then. Prove it to me. Show me you’re serious.”



His voice sounded gruff and stern, but his eyes were soft, almost yearning. Once again, Hanna felt a tiny inkling that he might be interested in her. And just knowing someone liked her eased the loneliness she felt whenever she thought about Lucas’s MIAness. If she walked out of here, condemning the fitness retreat and its overweight participants, Vince would probably never speak to her again. And she hated that he thought she was a quitter. It was practically synonymous with loser—and there was no way she was going to be a loser ever again.



“All right,” she groaned. “I guess I’ll give it another shot. But I have one condition. I am not wearing one of those muumuus.” She pointed to the T-shirt Vince was holding.



Vince shrugged and clapped his hand on Hanna’s arm. “It’s a deal.”



Chapter 7



Mazel Tov!



Two hours later, Hanna slumped into the Prius, barely able to move. Vince was definitely right about one thing: The boot camp was anything but a relaxing spa experience. She had never squatted, kicked, jogged in place, bicep-curled, or sweat so much in her life. Vince jam-packed the session with so many activities, Hanna had barely noticed the other people in the class except when one of them collapsed in exhaustion or whined that they couldn’t do one more bicycle crunch. The only person who stood out was Dinah. She kept pushing her boobs in Vince’s face and asking if her poses were right. One time she even made him stand behind her while she was squatting, his hand on her back and dangerously close to her butt, just to be sure she was working the correct muscle group. Her shameless flirting reminded Hanna of Brooke, which made her feel nauseated about Lucas all over again.



She pulled into the driveway of her house, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and watch hours and hours of bad TV. Strangely, her father’s car was still in the driveway—not at Longwood Gardens. And the Christmas decorations that had festooned the front of the property were gone. When she opened the front door, it no longer smelled like fresh pine and cinnamon sticks but more like . . . potato pancakes?



“Hanna!” Mr. Marin appeared from the kitchen. “There you are! Come in, come in! We have a surprise for you!”



He whisked Hanna through the living room, but not before she noticed that the mechanical Mrs. Claus had vanished, the Christmas tree was unlit, and the stockings that had hung over the fireplace—there were monogrammed ones for Isabel, Kate, and Hanna’s dad, and a blank one presumably for Hanna—had been taken down. The old silver menorah Bubbe Marin had given Hanna’s parents sat on the mantel. Three candles blazed.



“What’s going on?” Hanna asked suspiciously.



Mr. Marin turned Hanna toward the dining room. There was a huge spread of food on the table, and Kate and Isabel were sitting in high-backed chairs, tepid smiles on their faces. “Surprise!” Mr. Marin crowed. “Happy Hanna-kah!”



Hanna blinked at the items on the table. There were all the traditional Hanukkah foods her grandmother used to serve: latkes, jelly donuts called sufganiyot, kugel, chocolate coins, and a large brisket. Off to the side were the old dreidels she and her cousins had spun for hours, turning the game into a kind of truth or dare—if the dreidel fell on the gimel side, Tamar, her younger cousin, had to steal a dollar out of her mother’s wallet, and so on. A blue foil banner with Star of David cutouts was draped across the windows, and candles glowed around the room. Small gifts wrapped in silver paper sat on everyone’s plates.



“I thought you guys were going to Santa’s Village,” Hanna said slowly.



“Oh, we can do that any day,” Mr. Marin said. “I thought you might be a little upset since we’re doing so many Christmas activities, so we thought we’d celebrate our holiday tonight! Hanukkah—or Hanna-kah!” He gestured to the food on the table. “Kate and Isabel did some baking this evening, though some of this came from the kosher deli near Ferra’s Cheesesteaks.”



“Your dad says you know all of the Hanukkah stories, Hanna,” Isabel said politely. “I’d love to hear them.”



“This is all so nice.” Hanna’s heart expanded, just like the Grinch’s. This was definitely the nicest thing her dad had done for her in a long, long time.



Her father passed around plates, and everyone began serving themselves latkes and pieces of brisket bathed in sauce. Hanna took a moderate amount of food, feeling virtuous from boot camp. Wine was poured—even Hanna and Kate got some—and everyone opened their gifts. Kate and Hanna got gift cards to Fermata Spa. Isabel got a small Christmas tree–shaped charm to add to her silver Pandora bracelet. Mr. Marin had given himself a new Swiss Army knife. He immediately unfolded the scissors and cut the tag off of Isabel’s bauble.



Then, Mr. Marin launched into stories about Bubbe Marin, who used to make the best potato pancakes in the world. “We used to go over there every night of Hanukkah,” he explained. “She’d always have huge gifts for Hanna.”



“Isn’t that sweet,” Isabel trilled, looking surprised, as though she’d never imagined someone would shower Hanna with gifts.



“And she had this African gray parrot, Morty,” Mr. Marin went on, spearing a latke. “He knew every swearword in the world.”



“He was crazy!” Hanna giggled. “I think I learned some new ones from him!”



“And he loved to watch those tabloid shows—what were they called?” Mr. Marin’s face was flushed.



“E! News,” Hanna repeated. “He was obsessed with Giuliana Rancic. Remember? He said she was such a pretty bitch in that crazy bird voice!”



“Who’s Giuliana Rancic?” Isabel asked, blinking quickly.



Hanna’s father was too busy shaking with laughter to answer. Hanna laughed too, also not bothering to fill Isabel in. It felt nice to have an inside joke with her father again, something from their lives before Isabel and Kate.



They continued eating, sharing stories about Hanna’s grandmother’s obsessions with yard sales, animal figurines, and her crush on Bob Barker from The Price Is Right. By the time the meal was over, Hanna and her dad kept bursting into laughter but not bothering to explain themselves. Isabel rose to clear the table, but Mr. Marin waved her to sit down. “I can clean up,” he said.



“I’ll clean up, too,” Kate volunteered quickly.



Hanna set her jaw. “No, I’ll clean up with you, Dad.” The last thing she wanted was for Kate to usurp her father’s love again.



Mr. Marin grinned. “Hey, if both of you are going to clean up, I guess you don’t need me!” He stacked the plates and handed them to Hanna. “How about you wash, Kate dries?”



Hanna stared at the congealed latke on her plate, wondering if this was a trick on her father’s part to get her and Kate to bond.



Kate was already filling the sink with soap by the time Hanna walked in with all the dishes. “So did you like your little celebration?” she said in an icy voice, handing Hanna a dishrag.



“It was very nice,” Hanna answered just as frostily.



“My mom and I baked for hours.” Kate wiped imaginary sweat off her brow. “You could have at least helped out. So where were you after school, anyway?”



Hanna plunged her hands into the scalding hot water. “Just . . . out and about. Doing some shopping. Going to the gym. I didn’t know you were going to do this for me.”



Kate raised an eyebrow. “For four hours? That’s quite a marathon shopping session. Or a marathon workout.”



She stared at Hanna for a long beat. Hanna held Kate’s gaze, trying her hardest not to give anything away. There was no chance in hell she was going to tell Kate about the holiday boot camp. She’d never hear the end of it.



Kate leaned against the counter and narrowed her eyes. “I think someone’s hiding something.”



“No, I’m not,” Hanna snapped a little too quickly. “Maybe you’re hiding something.”



Kate froze. “I . . .” She tossed the dish towel onto the island. “Neither am I,” she said tightly, then whipped around and headed for the hall.



Hanna listened to her footfalls on the stairs, then the heavy slam of Kate’s bedroom door. Okaaay. Kate’s abrupt disappearance meant she’d have to clean up all on her own, but maybe that was all right. It felt like she’d just won an argument without even trying. And with Kate, that was nothing short of a miracle.



Chapter 8



A Sexy Stretch Does the Body Good



The following morning before school, Hanna gazed at herself in the Body Tonic full-length mirror and adjusted the straps of her black Lululemon tank top. Then she twisted around and checked out her butt in the matching black-and-pink short-shorts, pleased to see that her legs looked toned and sexy. She dabbed tinted moisturizer on her cheeks and nose, ran a tube of gloss across her lips, reshaped her shiny auburn hair into a ponytail, and spritzed a little bit of Aveda Chakra 4 on her pressure points. Every guy she’d met went crazy for the scent. Lucas had loved it—until he’d gone to a nude beach with Puke-a-tan and forgotten all about her. She still hadn’t received a single text from him. She had flipped over all the pictures of him in her room so she wouldn’t have to look at his cornflower-blue eyes and wonder if Brooke was staring into them right then.