Stunning. Part 4

"It was genius of the gym to introduce a pole-dancing cla.s.s," Mason Byers's telltale gravelly baritone rang out. "Have you seen the girls that take it?"

"Dude, don't even get me started," James Freed answered. "I didn't even work out the last time I was there-I just watched them the whole time."

"That girl Mike's dating takes it," Mason said.

Hanna frowned. Colleen was pole dancing now? For an eighth grade talent show, Colleen had dressed in a Latvian costume and danced her ancestors' native steps. Hanna and Mona had made fun of her for months afterward.

"I know." James made a weird boy grunt. "No wonder he's doing her." He snickered. "Did you know Bebris means beaver in Latvian?"

Wait. The guys didn't just say Mike was doing her, did they? Hanna felt a hurt twinge. She and Mike hadn't done it, and they'd dated for over a year.

Two more guys emerged from the locker room, and Hanna peeked inside. James and Mason were nowhere to be seen, but Mike was at his locker. He was standing in his boxers, his black hair wet and matted against his head, little water droplets on his broad shoulders. Had he always been that muscled?

Hanna rolled back her shoulders. Go time. She sauntered into the steamy room. She'd never been inside the boys' locker room before and was disappointed to find that it didn't look all that different from the girls', aside from the jockstrap lying on the floor in one of the aisles. The room smelled like talc and sweaty socks, and the trash can was overflowing with empty Gatorade bottles.

She tiptoed across the gray tiled floor until she was only a few feet away from Mike. On his back was the crescent moonshaped scar he'd gotten from falling off his bike when he was little. They'd shown each other all their scars one afternoon at Hanna's house, stripping down to their underwear but not going any further. In some ways, Hanna had been too afraid to have s.e.x with Mike-she'd never slept with anyone before, and it seemed like such a big deal with him. And despite how Mike was always talking about how s.e.x-crazed he was, Hanna had wondered if he had been a little afraid, too.

Hanna reached out and clapped her hands over Mike's eyes. "Boo."

Mike jumped, but then relaxed. "Heeeyy," he said, drawing out the word. "What are you doing in here?"

Instead of saying anything, Hanna began to pepper the back of Mike's neck with little kisses. Mike leaned into her, his bare skin warm against her tight dress. He reached back and raked his fingers through Hanna's long ringlets. Suddenly, he whipped around, opened his eyes, and stared.

"Hanna!" Mike grabbed the towel from the bench and covered his bare torso. "What the h.e.l.l?"

Hanna grabbed for the rope necklace Mike had worn ever since his family returned from Iceland and yanked him closer. "Don't be shy. Just go with this. Isn't this one of your s.e.x fantasies?"

Mike stepped away from her, his eyes bulging. "Have you lost your mind?" He wasn't checking out Hanna's skintight dress or the super-high-heeled shoes that made her ankles ache. Instead, he was glaring at her like she was being wildly inappropriate. "You need to go."

Hanna stiffened. "You seemed into it just a few seconds ago."

"That's because I thought you were someone else." Mike pulled a T-s.h.i.+rt over his head and stepped into his pants.

Hanna leaned against the lockers, not budging. "Look, Mike, I want you back, okay? Things are over with me and my boyfriend. I know you want me back, too. So stop acting like an idiot and kiss me already!"

She punctuated this with a little laugh so that she didn't sound complete pushy, but Mike just stared at her blankly. "You heard me at the mall the other night-I have a girlfriend now."

Hanna rolled her eyes. "Colleen? Please. Don't you remember how she had her head flushed in the Old Faithful toilet four times in sixth grade? And Mike, she's a drama geek. You're totally bringing down your popularity quotient by dating her."

Mike crossed his arms over his chest. "Actually, Colleen has an agent for her drama stuff. She's been on auditions for some big stuff on TV. And I don't care about popularity."

Yeah, right. "Is she easy or something?" Hanna was surprised by how bitter she sounded.

Mike's face hardened. "I like her, Hanna."

He stared at her unflinchingly, and the clouds in Hanna's head began to lift. Mike wasn't going out-and sleeping-with Colleen because she was willing, but because he cared about her.

Someone snickered from near the sinks, and Hanna spied James and Mason hiding behind the wall, hanging on every word. She wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly feeling exposed. They were laughing at her. Dorky Hanna, throwing herself at her ex. Dorky Hanna, making an idiot out of herself. She might as well have been fat again, with p.o.o.p-brown hair and braces on her teeth. The ultimate chubby, ugly loser who n.o.body loved.

Without another word, she whipped around and marched out of the locker room, not even stopping when her ankle twisted beneath her. This isn't happening, this isn't happening, she silently repeated over and over. There was no way she had been beaten by someone as milquetoast as Colleen.

She slammed the locker room door hard and emerged into the silent hall. Suddenly, a new laugh rang through the corridor, high-pitched and even more sinister than the boys'. Hanna froze and listened. Was she crazy, or did that sound like Ali's laugh? She c.o.c.ked her head to the side, waiting. But just like that, the sound disappeared.

8.

h.e.l.lO, MY NAME IS HEATHER.

That night, Emily walked into the Rosewood Arms, a hotel near Hollis that was half quaint B&B, half fancy resort. The old mansion was once owned by a railroad baron, and each room was decorated with priceless antique cabinetry and a smattering of deer, bison, and lion heads. One of the wings had been converted into a spa. The baron's old garage, which used to house dozens of top-of-the-line carriages and early race cars, was now the banquet hall.

On this particular night, the s.p.a.ce had been rented out for Mr. Marin's town hall talk. There were long rows of chairs facing a stage. A lone microphone stood in the center, and there were banners proclaiming messages like TOM MARIN FOR CHANGE and PENNSYLVANIA NEEDS MARIN. It was weird to see Hanna's dad's face on campaign posters. Emily still thought of him as the guy who'd once reprimanded Ali for throwing her Bubble Yum out his car window. Later, Ali had made them all go around in a circle, calling Hanna's dad Mr. Moron-even Hanna, who had done it with tears in her eyes.

Emily scanned the crowd. There were people here she hadn't seen in years-Mrs. Lowe, her old piano teacher, whose angular face always reminded Emily of a greyhound's, was sipping from a Starbucks thermal mug in the corner. Mr. Polley, who used to emcee Emily's swim team banquets, was looking at his BlackBerry near one of the windows. Mr. and Mrs. Roland, who had moved into the Cavanaughs' old house, sat on folding chairs that had been set up near the stage, their daughter, Chloe, perched next to them. Emily ducked. Mr. Roland had gotten her the scholars.h.i.+p to UNC, but his lascivious behavior had cost Emily her friends.h.i.+p with Chloe.

The only people Emily didn't see were her friends. As she turned mid-stride to look for them in a different room, she smacked into a caterer who was carrying a silver tray loaded with appetizers. The caterer shot forward, but he miraculously caught the tray before it fell to the floor. "I'm so sorry!" Emily cried.

"No worries," he answered breezily. "Luckily, I have lightning-quick reflexes." Then he turned around and did a double take. "Emily?"

Emily blinked. Staring back at her, dressed in a caterer's tuxedo, was Isaac Colbert, her ex-boyfriend-and the father of her child. She hadn't seen him since they'd broken up over a year ago.

"H-hey." Emily's heart pounded. Isaac looked taller than she remembered-broader, too. His brown hair was down to his chin, and a tattoo peeked out from under his collar. She stared at the black spiral pattern on his skin. What did his overprotective mother have to say about that? Given that Mrs. Colbert had cut Emily's head out of all the photos of her and Isaac together and called her a wh.o.r.e, Emily couldn't imagine she was thrilled her son had gotten inked.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted.

Isaac gestured to the logo on his breast pocket. COLBERT CATERING. "My dad's company is providing refreshments. He's a Tom Marin fan." Then he stood back and looked Emily up and down. "You look . . . different. Have you lost weight?"

"I doubt that. I still feel like I'm hanging onto some weight from being-" She caught herself before she could say being pregnant and almost swallowed her tongue. What was wrong with her?

She'd almost called Isaac to confess a few times while she was pregnant-Isaac had been wonderful to her before that stuff happened with his mom. They used to talk for hours, and he'd been so accepting when she told him that she'd dated girls in the past. Then one wintery afternoon, they'd undressed slowly in his bedroom. He had been so sweet about wanting to make their first time meaningful.

But every time she picked up the phone to call him, she couldn't figure out how to break the news. "Hey! I've got a story for you!" Or, "Hey, remember that one and only time we slept together?" And what would Isaac have said? Would he have wanted to give the baby up for adoption, too, or would he have demanded that they raise it together? Emily couldn't imagine doing something like that-she loved kids, but she wasn't ready for her own. Then again, Isaac might not even have believed her. Or he might have gotten really, really angry that she hadn't told him earlier. It was something, she'd decided, she had to handle on her own. And so she'd flipped through the online profiles of hopeful adoptive couples by herself. When she came to an account for two happy, smiling people that read Loving couple married for eight years so excited to be a mommy and daddy, she stopped. Charles and Lizzie Baker said they were soul mates, went on kayaking trips on the weekends, read the same book at the same time so they could discuss it over dessert, and were fixing up their old house in Wess.e.x. We will always let your child know that he or she was placed for adoption out of love, their profile had said. Something about it had touched Emily at her core.

Now, Isaac set the tray down on a nearby table and laid his hand on her arm. "I wanted to call so many times. I heard about the horrible thing you went through."

"What?" Emily felt the color drain from her face.

"Alison DiLaurentis coming back," Isaac said. "I remember you talking about Ali, how much she meant to you. Are you okay?"

Emily's heart slowly returned to its normal rhythm. Of course-Alison. "I guess," she answered shakily. "And, um, how are you? Is the band still together? And what's that?" She pointed to his tattoo. Anything to get him off the topic of her.

Isaac opened his mouth to speak, but a tall, older guy in a caterer's uniform tapped his shoulder and told him he was needed on prep duty. "I should go," he said to Emily, starting toward the door. Then he stopped and faced her again. "You wouldn't want to get together after the meeting tonight and catch up, would you?"

For a moment, Emily considered taking him up on it. But then she thought about how tense she'd be the whole time, the secret bulging inside her like an overfilled water balloon. "Um, I already have plans," she lied. "Sorry."

Isaac's face fell. "Oh. Well, maybe another time, then."

He followed the other caterer into the crowd. Emily spun around and darted in the opposite direction, feeling like she'd just narrowly escaped something awful, but also sad and regretful that she'd blown Isaac off.

"Emily?"

Emily turned to her left. Hanna stood next to her, dressed in a fitted pinstriped sheath and chunky heels. Mr. Marin was at her side, looking senatorial in his red power-tie. "Hey," she said, hugging both of them.

"Thanks for coming." Hanna sounded grateful.

"We're happy to have you, Emily," Mr. Marin said.

"I'm happy to be here," Emily answered, though after her run-in with Isaac, all she wanted to do was go home.

Then Mr. Marin turned to a woman who'd just joined the group. She had ash-blond hair, perfect posture, and wore an impeccable suit that looked like it cost a small fortune. Emily started, her body suddenly on fire. No. It couldn't be. Emily had to be seeing things.

The woman noticed her, too, and stopped talking mid-sentence. "Oh!" she blurted, her face going white.

Bile rose in Emily's throat. It was Gayle.

Mr. Marin noticed the strange look pa.s.s between both of them and cleared his throat. "Uh, Emily, this is Ms. Riggs, one of my biggest donors. She and her husband recently moved to the area from New Jersey. Ms. Riggs, this is my daughter's friend Emily."

Gayle pushed a strand of blond hair from her eyes. "I thought your name was Heather," she said in a measured, ice-cold voice.

All eyes were on her. Hanna shot around and stared at Emily. It felt like ten years pa.s.sed before Emily spoke again. "Uh, you must have me confused with someone else," she blurted. And then, unable to stand there a moment longer, she whipped around and ran as fast as she could for the nearest door, which led to a back storage room. She shut herself inside and leaned against the wall, her heart thudding in her ears.

As if on cue, her phone chimed. Emily grabbed for it, her stomach jumping all over the place. One new text, the screen said.

Hey, baby mama. Guess the jig is up! -A

9.

h.e.l.l HATH NO FURY LIKE A RICH LADY SCORNED.

As Mr. Marin took the stage at the town hall meeting, beaming at his adoring crowd, Spencer banged through the back doors of the banquet room into a small parking lot. Only a few s.p.a.ces were occupied, taken by beat-up pickup trucks and compact cars. At the back of the lot, next to a green Dumpster stuffed with empty cardboard boxes, Emily hopped from foot to foot as if her sweater dress was on fire.

The door opened again, and Aria and Hanna stepped outside. They were both holding their phones and looking confused. Just moments ago, Emily had sent all of them a cryptic text saying they needed to talk and to meet her here. Spencer had texted back asking if they could talk inside-it was cold out-but Emily had written back NO!

"Em?" Aria called out, walking down the rickety metal steps. "Are you okay?"

"My dad's going to wonder where I am." Hanna held the railing tight, cautious in her high heels. "What's going on?"

Emily thrust her phone toward them when they were close. "I just got this."

The girls read the note on the screen. Spencer's stomach flipped as she took in the words. "Wait. A knows about the baby?"

Emily nodded, looking terrified.

"But how is that possible? And why didn't A mention it before?" Spencer asked. She still couldn't believe Emily had had a baby. Before school was dismissed last year, Emily had looked-and seemed-so normal, like nothing was bothering her at all. But halfway through July, shortly after Spencer's run-in with the police for possession of Easy A, Emily had called Spencer in a panic, saying she was pregnant. At first, Spencer had thought it was a joke. Not a very funny one, either.

"I don't know," Emily answered, tears in her eyes. "Maybe because A knows everything. Has anyone else gotten a note?"

Spencer shakily raised her hand. "Actually, I did. Last night. I was going to tell you tonight."

She pulled up the text on her phone, and the others gathered around.

Think your college friends would let you into their Eating Club if they knew about your appet.i.te for murder?

Just reading it again made Spencer's heart gallop. She'd barely slept a wink last night, running over the possibilities of who A might be.

"How could A know about Tabitha and the baby?" Emily whispered.

Hanna exhaled sharply, her breath visible in the frigid air. "The same way A knows everything."

"Plenty of people saw you." Spencer s.h.i.+vered in the thin blazer she'd chosen to wear. "You were in Philly all summer. A could have been, too. Maybe that's how A knew about me and Kelsey."

Emily paced up and down a faded yellow line demarcating a parking s.p.a.ce. "You know how big I got. I didn't look like the girl on that People cover. But I suppose someone could have figured it out." She arched her back and stared at the spindly tree branches above their heads.

"This isn't just any random someone," Aria pointed out. "It's a person who's out to get us. Someone we wronged. Someone who wants revenge."

"But who?" Hanna cried.

Emily stopped pacing. "You all know who I think A is."

Spencer groaned. "Don't say Ali, Em."

"Why not?" Emily's voice cracked. "She and Tabitha were at the Preserve together. Ali could've found out we killed Tabitha. Maybe she wants revenge for that, on top of everything else we did to her."

Spencer sighed. She couldn't believe Emily was still on this Ali-is-alive mission. "So Ali and Tabitha were at the Preserve at the same time. That doesn't prove anything. And for the last time, Ali's bones weren't found in the rubble, but we all saw her in the house just before it blew up."

A shadow pa.s.sed over Emily's face. "It's just, who other than Ali would know to follow us around everywhere, track our every move?" she said, staring at her feet. "And you guys aren't going to believe who's here-Gayle. What if A is planning to tell her what I did with the baby? And what if Gayle tells everyone about me?"

"Wait a minute." Hanna furrowed her brow. "Gayle, the woman who wanted the baby, is inside?"

Emily nodded. "It was the woman your dad introduced me to. Ms. Riggs."

"So that's why she called you Heather." Hanna shut her eyes. "Gayle is promising my dad a lot of money for his campaign."

"Well, isn't that a lovely coincidence," Spencer said sarcastically.