“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his ear.

“I know,” Noel said. “I’m sorry, too. I should have told you about my dad instead of letting you discover it for yourself. I kept something from you, too.” He pulled away and touched the tip of her nose. “Can you forgive me?”

“Of course,” Aria said, hugging him even tighter. She’d never felt so connected to Noel, to anyone, in her whole life. But as she nuzzled her nose into his chest, she heard something across the yard and looked up. It sounded like someone was clearing her throat. She scanned the trees for a sign of life. The guesthouse windows were shuttered. A bird sat on the fence, raising and lowering its tail.

No one’s here, she told herself, and tried to swallow the fear as best she could. But it got stuck in her throat, leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

A was still out there, after all. And it was very possible A was close, listening. But A had taken so much from her. A wasn’t getting Noel, too.

34

A SURPRISE STALKING SIDE EFFECT

Later that Monday morning, Hanna steered into the parking lot of Rosewood Day. The clouds hung heavy and low in the sky, matching her mood. Kate, who was riding next to her, had set the radio to WKYW news. The local newscaster was recapping Gayle’s tragic murder. “Ms. Riggs was a great benefactor to the Philadelphia Art Museum, the Camden Aquarium, and Big Brothers Big Sisters of New Jersey,” the reporter said, the news ticker clacking in the background. “She will be greatly missed. The funeral is tomorrow morning, and record crowds are expected to attend. Ms. Riggs is survived by her husband, though she recently lost a stepdaughter, Tabitha—”

Hanna switched the radio off abruptly. “This is so horrible,” Kate murmured, picking at her manicure. “You really didn’t see who killed her?”

“Shh,” Hanna hissed, even though they were the only people in the car. When she’d left the police station last night, she’d called her dad and told him as much of the story as she was willing to explain—that she’d gone on a wild goose chase with Emily, that she hadn’t known it was Gayle’s house, and that she was stunned to find Gayle dead in the driveway. Naturally, her father had been horrified, and he called his campaign manager and press secretary for advice on how best to spin the news. Kate had been privy to the conversation, but instead of looking at Hanna like she was a freak of nature—or a crazy killer—she’d been sympathetic. “That must have been awful,” she’d said, a concerned look on her face.

Luckily, Spencer’s dad had finagled a way to keep the Rosewood PD from telling the press that the girls were on Gayle’s property, and everyone else who knew swore not to talk, too. But Hanna’s father still gave her a stern lecture in the privacy of her bedroom. “Those photos you told me about were bad enough,” he said through clenched teeth. “What were you doing trespassing? You could have gotten killed!”

Hanna hated to see her dad disappointed in her and more or less promised not to leave the house until the elections were over. But when her dad pressed her about what she was doing on Gayle’s property to begin with, she fumbled for an excuse. There was no way she could tell him about Emily’s baby or A.

Hanna pulled into a parking space and climbed out of the car. She trudged toward the side entrance, and Kate headed for the art wing, where she had homeroom. A few kids paused to look at Hanna as though she were on fire. “Loser,” muttered Devon Arliss, pulling ski team gear from the back of her car. Kirsten Cullen stopped texting on her phone and burst out laughing. Phi Templeton and Chassey Bledsoe nudged each another by the knoll where all the smokers hung out, and Lanie Iler and Mason Byers stopped making out long enough to whisper “Psycho stalker” in voices just loud enough for her to hear. Hanna would have thought a local murder would have trumped that stupid video of her, but she guessed wrong.

The torture didn’t stop when she reached the halls, either. Everyone sitting at Steam, the school’s coffee shop, raised their heads and whispered about the video they’d all received last night. Even a few teachers glanced at her with raised eyebrows. Hanna put her head down and darted for her locker as fast as she could, but the nasty laughter felt like barbs in her skin. Her nose began to twitch, but she could not let anyone see her cry. Being the loser of the school was bad enough.

She yanked open her locker and took out a handful of books without looking to see if they were the right ones for her classes. Then, a familiar figure at the end of the hall caught her eye. Mike was standing next to Colleen, his hand on her shoulder. Hanna turned away, willing them to disappear. She couldn’t deal with seeing their smiling faces right now.

She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then checked the hallway again. They were still standing there. But when Hanna looked closer, she saw tears in Colleen’s eyes. Mike was holding out his palms. Then he lowered his head, patted Colleen’s arm, and headed down the hall. Straight. Toward. Hanna.

Shit. Hanna slammed her locker shut and shoved her books into her bag as fast as she could. Mike’s gaze was on her as he zigzagged around a bunch of freshmen horsing around in front of one of the chemistry rooms. It was clear he was going to chew her out for spying on Colleen and stealing her photos. On one hand, Hanna really didn’t want to face him, but on the other, she knew she deserved it. Wouldn’t she want to scream at New A if they ever came face-to-face?

“Hanna,” Mike said when he got close.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m the biggest jerk ever, and I should never have followed Colleen around. I have her photos. She can have them back, and I’ll even pay for them.”

Hanna braced herself, but then felt the unexpected sensation of Mike’s hand slipping into hers. There was an expression on his face she couldn’t read. “I’m sure Colleen would like to hear that, Hanna. But, actually, I think what you did was kind of . . . amazing.”

At first, Hanna thought that the classical music that was pumped through the hallway speakers was messing with her brain. “Excuse me?”

Mike’s eyes gleamed. “You followed Colleen around because you wanted to see what she had over you, right? Why I was going out with her instead?”

Hanna bit the inside of her cheek. “Well, kind of . . .”

“You wanted me back that bad.” Mike hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder. “No one’s ever liked me that much.”

“Colleen likes you that much,” Hanna mumbled.

Mike glanced over his shoulder at the students clogging the halls. “I know. I feel bad. But . . . she’s not for me.” He inched closer. “You are.”

A muscle in Hanna’s jaw twitched. She smelled Mike’s familiar piney, smoky scent. She always used to tease him for smelling like a ski lodge. She’d missed it so much.

But then she made a face. “So wait. You sleep with Colleen, then break up with her a week later? That’s a pretty shitty thing to do, Mike.”

Mike gave her a crazy look. “What gave you the idea Colleen and I were sleeping together? I know I’m a stud and everything, but we’d only been going out for a couple of weeks.”

“But Mason and James . . . I overheard them saying . . .” Hanna ran her tongue over her teeth. “Wait. Is this just a guy thing? Do guys just assume everyone’s doing their girlfriends?”

Mike shrugged. “I guess.” He gave her a sweet, vulnerable smile. “Honestly, Hanna? I’m saving myself for you.”

Fireworks went off in Hanna’s head. “Well, it’s your lucky day,” she murmured. “I’m saving myself for you, too. Remember what I said about the Marwyn Trail? I’m game if you are.”

Mike leaned into her again, and Hanna savored every second of their kiss. Then Mike pulled away and poked Hanna’s side. “So, Ms. Stalker. What did you dig up on Colleen, anyway? Anything good?”

The between-classes music stopped, and when Hanna looked around, she realized that most of the students had cleared out of the halls. She licked her lips, considering spilling the beans, but suddenly, it didn’t matter that much. Exposing a secret was only important when you felt threatened by someone—when they made you feel insecure or had something you wanted or made you scared—and Colleen didn’t make her feel any of those things anymore. She wasn’t like A, looking for revenge.

“Nah, nothing good at all,” she chirped, taking Mike’s hand and pulling him down the hall. It felt freeing to no longer be Colleen’s A.

The only thing that would make everything perfect was if her A was gone, too.

35

ANY CLUB THAT DOESN’T WANT SPENCER AS A MEMBER . . .

That afternoon, Spencer sat at the kitchen table with her parents. Her dad was staring at his phone, and her mother was sipping a glass of iced tea. It was almost like old times, when her parents were still together. But Mr. Pennythistle was there, too, leaning against the kitchen island, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done, Peter,” Spencer’s mom said, twisting a napkin between her hands. “The last thing this family needs is more scandal.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Mr. Hastings said. “I wanted to protect all of us, and Spencer’s spot at Princeton.” Then he gave her a stern look. “I still don’t understand what you were thinking, though. Someone had a gun, Spencer. What if you’d been caught in the crossfire?”

“Haven’t you been through enough?” Mrs. Hastings jumped in. “What do we have to do, lock you in your room until you go off to college so that you don’t get in any more trouble?”

“I said I was sorry,” Spencer mumbled. She’d gotten this same lecture three times now.

The doorbell rang, startling Mrs. Hastings so much that she nearly dropped her coffee mug. “Who could that be?” she grumbled.

“I’ll get it.” Spencer rose from her seat, zipped up her sweatshirt, and padded for the door, praying it wouldn’t be that cop with more questions. A blond head moved back and forth behind the window. Spencer halted in her tracks. Was that . . . Harper?

She pulled the door open. Cold air swirled into the hall. Harper had her coat buttoned up to her neck, and the tip of her nose was bright red. Her eyes were red, too, as though she’d been crying nonstop. The corners of her mouth turned down, and for a few long seconds, she didn’t say a word, just glared.

“Uh, why aren’t you at Princeton?” Spencer asked cautiously.

Harper’s eyes blazed. “Because I’m on academic probation. Because of you.”

Spencer glanced over her shoulder to make sure her mom wasn’t listening. “What do you mean?”

Harper sank into one hip. “Isn’t it obvious? The disciplinary committee blamed me for throwing a party with drugs.” A sinister look washed across her face. “Funny, though. I recall you telling me about bringing a batch of brownies that had a few special ingredients in them. You seemed pretty proud of yourself, in fact.”