Pretty Little Liars #14 (12 page)

“Oh my God,” Kate gasped. “Hanna!”

Hanna opened and closed her mouth. First Mike, now her dad? This was getting ridiculous.

“I called your mom, but she said you weren't home. I called your cell phone—twice—but you didn't pick up.”

Hanna twisted her mouth. She'd seen those calls from her dad. She hadn't answered because she wasn't prepared quite yet to talk to him.

“I was so worried you were going to . . .” He trailed off, pressing his lips together. His chin wobbled, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Isabel shifted in the corner. There was a disgruntled look on her face, but she didn't say anything.

“Dad, I'm okay,” Hanna said softly, walking toward him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Mr. Marin squeezed her tight. “I just want you to be happy,” he said in a thick voice. “And if this accident was part of why you wrote that note, if you were afraid about telling me or how I'd react, don't worry about it.” He sniffed hard. “I've probably been too focused on the campaign. Maybe I should withdraw.”

“Tom, have you lost your mind?” Isabel screeched.

Hanna pulled back from her father. The right thing to do was to come clean that she'd never intended on killing herself, but his attention felt so good. Besides, she
did
feel overwhelmed. She
did
need his help.

And though she was dying to ask her dad to see the note, she didn't want to raise his suspicion that there could be a new A.

“Don't pull out of the campaign,” she told him instead. “I'm fine, I promise. And I'm sorry, again. Whatever I can do to make this right, I'll do it.”

Mr. Marin patted Hanna on the back. Isabel's face got redder and redder, and finally she let out a closemouthed groan and stormed out of the room. Kate fidgeted in the doorway. Hanna locked eyes with her and shot her a grateful smile. What she really wanted to do was to give her stepsister a hug, but she was still afraid to leave her father's grasp.

Mr. Marin's eyes were red and watery; Hanna hadn't seen him cry in a long, long time. “I think it would be good if you made amends with the girl. What was her name, Madison?”

Hanna nodded. “I didn't know how to find her until a few weeks ago. Her cousin is Naomi Zeigler, though, from school.” She figured her father would remember Naomi—Hanna used to complain about her when she and her dad talked. “She could tell me how to get in touch with Madison.”

“Okay. I want you to reach out to Madison's family and go to see her. After that, I'm thinking you and I do a public service announcement about drinking and driving. If you're amenable, that is.”

Hanna squinted. “What do you mean?”

“You admit what you did on TV. We do the media circuit talking about it.”

“You want to call
attention
to this?” Maybe her father
had
lost his mind.

“We'll be drawing attention in the right way. Remember, one of my issues is underage drinking. If you're comfortable with it, you can tell your story and support the stricter underage-drinking penalties I want to enforce.”

Hanna twisted her mouth. Only losers wanted drinking laws to be
stricter
. But she couldn't very well say that right now. “Okay. I guess I can do that.”

“Then we have a plan.” Mr. Marin's gray eyes canvassed her face. “Oh, Hanna. I almost lost you.”

There was a huge lump in Hanna's throat.
You
did
lose me
, she wanted to remind him. He lost her when he up and left Hanna and her mom, found Isabel, and started a new life. But whatever. Maybe that didn't matter anymore.

Mr. Marin opened his arms. “Come here.”

Hanna hugged him and laid her chin on his chest, inhaling the smell of detergent and soap. She smiled into his scratchy sweater.
Here
was the release she'd been waiting for after they confessed to the police. Nothing felt snagged in her brain anymore. No troubles poked her like splinters, stopping her in her tracks.

But then something caught her eye out the window. She turned just as a shadow slipped out of sight. Had it been Ali, listening? Helper A, monitoring? Then she remembered it didn't matter if they were. She stood up straighter and stared through the glass, then stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes.
Take that
, she mouthed.

It felt so frickin' good.

THE WINGED HORSE

That Wednesday night, Emily changed into a Marple Newtown Relay Carnival T-shirt and a pair of Victoria's Secret Pink sweats, her favorite pajama combo. Just as she was pulling back the covers of her twin bed, she felt a presence in the doorway. She yelped and whirled around, half certain it was A. Carolyn backed away.

“God, it's just me,” her sister said, sounding offended.

“Sorry,” Emily said quickly. “I guess I was off in another world.”

They stood silently for a few beats. Emily expected Carolyn to move on down the hall—Carolyn was sleeping in the guest room while she was here, so they were no longer sharing the space—but she remained where she was. Emily shifted. Should she invite her in? They weren't exactly fighting now . . . but were they friends? Last night after dinner, Emily had retreated to the den and turned on a snowboard competition on NBC Extreme, Carolyn's favorite channel. Carolyn had sat down next to her, but they hadn't said a single word through the entire competition, not even when one of the contestants took a scary-looking tumble off the ramp.
That
was their big sisterly bonding time?

Now Carolyn leaned against the doorjamb. “So I was thinking about going to a bar.”

Emily was so surprised that she sat down on the bed. “
Now
?”

Carolyn set her mouth in a line. “Don't sound so excited. I thought we could hang, but forget it.”

“Carolyn!” Emily whined, springing up from the bed. “Wait! A bar . . . with
alcohol
?” At the Rosewood Day French Festival last year, which was held during lunch, the school had allowed the students to sample a glass of wine each, provided no one drove anywhere. Carolyn had abstained even from
that
, opting for Dr Pepper.

She caught her sister's arm. “I'll go to a bar with you. Which one?”

Carolyn stepped into the bathroom. “It's a surprise. Meet me in ten minutes. We'll go out the back door and take the minivan. It's in the driveway.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. The back door was farther from their parents' bedroom—they wouldn't hear. Same with taking the car in the driveway: They always heard a car start in the garage. Was goody-goody, rule-abiding Carolyn sneaking out?

Her sister shut the bathroom door before Emily could ask. She smiled to herself, wondering what she was in for. Then again, did she really care? She was just happy her sister was making the effort after so, so long.

“
Pegasus
?” Emily blurted thirty minutes later as Carolyn steered the minivan into a parking lot. In front of them was a long, squat building with floor-to-ceiling windows and a large, neon winged horse hanging over the front door. Three women in matching plaid shirts sashayed toward the entrance. Two skinny girls in miniskirts held hands in the window.

Emily and Carolyn were in a wooded neighborhood in West Hollis nicknamed The Purple Triangle . . . for obvious reasons. Emily had never dared go into Lilith's Tomes, the lesbian bookshop; Closer to Fine, the lesbian teahouse; or Pegasus, the only lesbian bar in the area, but she'd always been curious. She didn't think Carolyn even
knew
about this neighborhood, though.

Carolyn shifted into park. “There's a cool singer tonight.” She started across the gravel lot toward the front door.

Emily scampered after her sister and grabbed her arm. “We can go to a regular bar in Hollis. We don't have to go here.”

Carolyn's eyebrows made a V. “My roommate at Stanford is gay. I've been to a lesbian bar in Palo Alto with her a bunch of times.”

Again, Carolyn had that defensive, I'm-pretending-I'm-not-mad-at-you-but-I'm-still-furious tone, almost like she expected Emily to apologize to her for assuming she was being narrow-minded. Emily raised her palms to the sky in surrender. “Okay. Let's go.”

They were halfway across the parking lot when Emily heard a giggle. The cars cast long shadows onto the ground. There was a rustling sound behind a picnic table.
Even if it's Ali, I'm safe
, she thought, glancing at the black town car that had parked discreetly in the back of the lot.

Still, there was something spooky about the fact that it really
could be
Ali. If Ali walked up to Emily right now, would Emily be vengeful and punishing, or would she smile weakly and accept her apology? In the days since they'd told the cops, Emily had felt guilty twinges. She'd told them everything. The cops would be looking for Ali now. Emily didn't love Ali anymore, though—the guilt was more a knee-jerk reaction. She wondered how long it would take to go away.

Inside were sounds of a female singing voice and an acoustic guitar. Emily followed Carolyn inside, noting the silvery streamers hanging from the ceiling, the fruity-smelling candles on the bar, the giant tropical fish tank, and the plushy armchairs—which were all filled with girls. There was a stage set up at the back with a dance floor in front of it. Several couples were waltzing. Two girls were making out on the windowsill. But other than that, the bar didn't seem that different from anywhere else in Hollis—the same beers were on tap, and the same dart boards and pool tables stood at the side. There was even a hockey game on a small screen over the bar.

Carolyn hovered at the edge of the bar. Emily stood next to her, not knowing what to say. A pretty black girl caught Emily's eye. She raised her hand and waved. Emily looked down, feeling shy. Carolyn still didn't say a word. Were they just going to stand here all night?

The singer played a Beatles cover, then something by Bob Marley. Suddenly, Carolyn whirled around. “We need to lighten the mood. Want to dance?”

Emily almost burst out laughing. Carolyn totally wasn't the dancing type. But her sister looked serious, her arms outstretched, her hips rocking back and forth. “Okay,” Emily said, following.

They walked onto the dance floor and started to move to the beat of the reggae song. The pretty black girl who'd waved at Emily sidled up to her and took her hand, but Emily gave her a demure smile. “I have a girlfriend.”

“Don't we all?” The black girl smiled, showing off the straightest teeth Emily had ever seen. “It's just a dance, honey. No strings.” Then she handed Emily a champagne flute full of bubbling liquid. “I'm River. And this is on me.”

Emily glanced at her sister, who was grinning at her. Suddenly, amid the hand-holding, cheek-kissing, slow-dancing couples, Emily could almost feel Jordan's soft skin in her palm, smell the jasmine perfume on her neck. She missed Jordan times a million, but it
was
only a dance and a glass of champagne. Whatever.

The song morphed into something fast, with a techno beat, and River took Emily's hands and spun her around. Emily sipped her drink, the fizzy bubbles making her feel lighter and free. A tall girl who had her hair in pigtails coaxed Carolyn into a conga line, and they shuffled around the dance floor, their cheeks shiny and their eyes bright. Emily and her new friend grabbed on and followed them. Someone held up her phone and snapped a picture. The bartender, a muscled girl with arms full of tattoos, tipped back her head and laughed.

Suddenly, Emily noticed a familiar skinny, white-blonde in the crowd.
Iris?

She pushed away from Carolyn and wove through the group. The white-blond girl stood in front of an ATM, her back to Emily. Emily touched her bony shoulder, her heart pounding. The girl turned. She had a pointier face, brown eyes instead of green. “Yes?” she said in a friendly enough voice. But it wasn't Iris's voice.

Emily's heart sank. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” Despair fluttered through her.
Please let Iris turn up
, she prayed to the universe.
Please let her be okay
.

She went back to Carolyn, trying not to think about it. They danced for three more songs, to the point of sweatiness. Finally, Carolyn careened to the sidelines, breathing hard. River kissed Emily on the cheek and disappeared into the crowd. Emily plopped down on a couch with her sister again, daring to lean into Carolyn's shoulder. Carolyn didn't pull away.

“Thanks,” Emily said. “That was a good idea.”

Carolyn's eyes softened. “So . . . truce?”

“Truce,” Emily said. “Definitely.”

Carolyn held up a drink and clinked it to Emily's drained champagne glass. Emily peered at Carolyn's tall glass of dark liquid. It had a familiar smell, and she burst out laughing. “Is that straight-up Dr Pepper?”

Carolyn raised her glass. “Heck yeah, it is.”

Emily clinked her glass to her sister's, hiding a smile. It seemed like Carolyn was still the same girl from the Rosewood Day French Festival, after all.

And you know what? Emily was kind of glad.

COFFEE TALK

That same Wednesday evening, Spencer lay on her bed, looking at the picture of the Acura keychain she'd taken with her phone just before dropping it off at Fuji's office. Had Ali meant to drop it? Also, if Ali or Helper A were driving around in an Acura, it meant they had some cash. Clearly that wasn't coming from Ali—her family was in financial trouble from keeping her in The Preserve for so many years. Did that mean Helper A had money? Maybe Spencer should call Fuji and suggest they get a list of every Acura driver on the Main Line. Maybe it would turn up a rich boy whose first name started with
N
.

“Spence?”

Spencer shot up. Her sister, Melissa, stood in the hall. She still had on a gray business suit and heels, which meant she'd come from her job at an investment firm in Philly. Only, Melissa didn't live at home anymore—she'd moved into her city town house last year.