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?

She thought back to the end of the summer. Right before Emily had her C-section, she’d gathered Hanna and the other girls at the hospital and explained that she needed them to help her sneak the baby out before Gayle could come and take her away.

She’d pressed a weighty envelope into Hanna’s hands. “I need you to drive this to New Jersey and put it in Gayle’s mailbox,” she explained. “It’s the cash from the check she gave me, along with a letter of apology. Just put it in the mailbox and drive away. Don’t let her see you. If she realizes I’ve given her money back, she’ll come to the hospital early, and our plan will be ruined.”

Hanna couldn’t say no. That afternoon, after the baby was born, she drove the fifteen minutes over the Ben Franklin Bridge to Gayle’s enormous house. She’d rolled up to the curb, feeling shaky and sick. She didn’t want to come face-to-face with a crazy woman. Not after what happened with Real Ali.

She winced as she rolled down her window and pulled the handle to open the mailbox. Her hands trembled as she dropped the envelope inside. A swishing sound rushed through her ears. Something moved in the trees beside the house. Hanna hit the gas fast, not slowing to buckle her seat belt until she was safely out of the neighborhood. Had she just blown Emily’s cover? Had someone seen her? Did the property have security cameras?

A bunch of people next to Hanna cheered loudly, snapping her back to the present. Her dad was still chatting on his cell phone, and Gayle was standing so close to Hanna that their hips touched. She laid an icy hand on Hanna’s arm. “Listen up, and listen good,” she whispered with clenched teeth. “All I want is what I’m owed. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. And if I’m not given it, I can—and will—go to great lengths to make sure I get it. I can play dirty—very dirty. Pass that message to your friend. Got it?”

Her lips curled into a cruel smile, and her fingernails dug into Hanna’s skin. Hanna’s jaw trembled.

“Gayle?” Mr. Marin hung up and appeared beside them.

Gayle immediately released Hanna’s arm. She swiveled around and smiled brightly at Hanna’s father. “My campaign manager is here,” Mr. Marin said. “I’d love for you to meet him.”

“Wonderful!” Gayle gushed. And just like that, she was gone.

Hanna shot to a nearby bench, sank down, and covered her face with her hands. Her pulse was vibrating so vigorously she could feel it in her palms. Gayle’s words crackled in her ears. All I want is what I’m owed. I can play dirty—very dirty. There was so much Gayle could do. Expose all of them. Ruin them. Send them to jail. Destroy their lives. Ruin her dad’s life, too.

She reached into her pocket for her phone and pressed the speed dial button for Emily. “Pick up, pick up,” she whispered, but the phone rang and rang. She hung up without waiting for the beep, instead tapping out a text for Emily to call her as soon as possible. It was then that she noticed a little mailbox icon in the top corner of the screen. Another text had come in while she was typing.

Hanna looked around uneasily. Her father, Gayle, and Mr. Marin’s campaign manager were standing near the coffee shop, talking. Gayle was pretending to pay attention, but her eyes were on her phone. For a split second, she glanced at Hanna, an eerie smirk on her face.

Shuddering, Hanna pressed READ.

Better do as you’re told! You wouldn’t want Daddy’s campaign to go up in smoke. —A

17

SMILE! YOU’RE ON CAMERA!

Saturday afternoon, Aria stood in the Kahns’ game room, a large, sectioned-off part of the basement, complete with a pool table, several pinball machines, and a large felt-covered poker table. Noel, Noel’s parents, and his older brother, Eric, stood around the pool table with her, eyeing the balls in play. Mrs. Kahn chalked up her cue and sank the six into the corner pocket.

“Yes,” Mrs. Kahn said primly, standing back up and blowing off the tip of the cue as though it were smoking.

“Nice one, dear.” Mr. Kahn nudged Noel and Eric. “I think the ladies have us beat.”

Noel pouted. “That’s because it’s five against three.”

Aria considered protesting, shooting a look at Klaudia, Naomi Zeigler, and Riley Wolfe, the third, fourth, and fifth members of the all-girl pool team. They hadn’t taken one shot. Aria knew they were only here to make her feel uncomfortable.

“Klaudia?” Mrs. Kahn said sweetly. “Do you want to play?”

“That okay.” Klaudia glanced at Aria. “I waiting for a call from my new boyfriend. He writer who live in New York.”

“I think you know him, Aria,” Naomi said, and Riley burst into giggles.

Aria gripped the pool cue hard, resisting the urge to javelin-throw it toward them.

Noel sauntered over to Aria, wrapped his arm around her, and gave her a long, passionate kiss. She sensed the girls shifting uncomfortably behind her, and when she opened her eyes, Klaudia was pointedly looking away. Aria slipped her hand into Noel’s, grateful. “What did I do to deserve you?” she whispered.

“I’m sorry they’re freezing you out.” Noel rolled his eyes in their direction.

Aria shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

It was Mr. Kahn’s turn to shoot, and he rolled up the sleeves of his blue Brooks Brothers shirt, leaned over the table, and hit the cue ball with laserlike precision. It banked off the far rail and clonked against the number six, sending two more balls plopping into the pockets.

Mrs. Kahn golf-clapped. “Brilliant shot, dear! You’ve still got the magic touch.”

Mr. Kahn looked at his kids. “Did Mom ever tell you I hustled pool one weekend in Monte Carlo?”

“You were so sexy,” Mrs. Kahn purred, kissing Mr. Kahn’s cheek.

“Guys, gross.” Noel covered his eyes.

Mr. Kahn took his wife’s hands and started waltzing her around the room. “We need to practice for the Art Museum Costume Gala next month.”

“I can’t wait,” Mrs. Kahn lilted. “It’s so lovely to dress up, isn’t it, dear?” She glanced at the others. “We’re going as Marie Antoinette and Louis the Sixteenth.”

“We’ll make a lovely pair.” Mr. Kahn dipped his wife so low that the top of her head practically kissed the carpet. “I do love a good costume.”

Aria was so startled she nearly swallowed her gum. But as she watched the Kahns swirl around the game room, she felt herself relaxing. No matter what Mr. Kahn did in his free time, this was a couple that loved each other. There was probably a logical explanation for why Mr. Kahn had dressed up as a woman at Fresh Fields. Maybe he was getting in character for his Art Museum Gala costume—people spent thousands of dollars on flamboyant disguises for that event. Or maybe he’d lost a bet with a business partner.

Aria grabbed Noel’s hand and squeezed it tight, feeling victorious. She hadn’t gotten a single text about this, which meant she’d beaten A at A’s game. For once, she was in control of the information, not the other way around.

Mr. and Mrs. Kahn kept dancing, and the pool game continued. The boys sank the rest of the balls, edging them to victory. Afterward, Noel scooped Aria up in his arms. “Want to get out of here? Escape to a movie at the Ritz, maybe?” His eyebrows rose up and down suggestively. Going to the Ritz was code for sitting in the back row and making out.