At first she felt much, much calmer. But by the time she pulled into her driveway, the old, familiar feelings of panic and shame had welled up inside her. Hanna was amazed how, even though it had been years since she’d done this, everything felt exactly the same. Her stomach ached, her pants felt tight, and all she wanted was to be rid of what was inside of her.
Ignoring Dot’s excited cries from her bedroom, Hanna bolted to the upstairs bathroom, slammed the door, and collapsed onto the tiled floor. Thank God her mom wasn’t home from work yet. At least she wouldn’t hear what Hanna was about to do.
12
MMM, LOVE THAT NEW-TEST-SCORE SMELL
Okay. Spencer had to calm down.
Wednesday night, she pulled her black Mercedes C-Class hatchback—her sister’s castoff car, since she got the new, “practical” Mercedes SUV—into the circular driveway of her house. Her student council meeting had gone extra late and she’d been on edge driving through Rosewood’s dark streets. All day, she’d felt like someone was watching her, like whoever had written that “covet” e-mail could jump out at her at any second.
Spencer kept thinking uneasily about that familiar ponytail in Alison’s bedroom window. Her mind kept going back to Ali—all the things she knew about Spencer. But no, that was crazy. Alison had been gone—and most likely dead—for three years. Plus, a new family lived in her house now, right?
Spencer ran to the mailbox and pulled out a pile, tossing everything back that wasn’t hers. Suddenly, she saw it. It was a long envelope, not too thick, not too thin, with Spencer’s name typed neatly in the windowpane. The return address said, The College Board. It was here.
Spencer ripped open the envelope and scanned the page. She read the PSAT results six times before it sunk in.
She’d gotten a 2350 out of 2400.
“Yessssss!” she screamed, clutching the papers so tightly they wrinkled.
“Whoa! Someone’s happy!” called a voice from the road.
Spencer looked up. Hanging out the driver’s-side window of a black Mini Cooper was Andrew Campbell, the tall, freckly, long-haired boy that beat out Spencer for class president. They were number-one and number-two in the class in practically every subject. But before Spencer could brag about her score—telling Andrew about her PSATs would feel so good—he peeled away. Freak. Spencer turned back to her house.
As she excitedly scampered inside, something stopped her: she remembered her sister’s near-perfect score and quickly converted it from the 1600-scale they used to use into the 2400-scale the College Board used nowadays. It was a full 100 points lower than Spencer’s. And weren’t they supposed to be harder these days, too?
Well, now who’s the genius?
An hour later, Spencer sat at the kitchen table reading Middlemarch—a book on the English AP “suggested reading” list—when she began to sneeze.
“Melissa and Wren are here,” Mrs. Hastings said to Spencer as she bustled into the kitchen, carrying in the mail Spencer had left in the box. “They’ve brought all of their luggage to move in!” She opened the oven a crack, checking on the rotisserie chicken and seven-grain rolls, and then bustled into the living room.
Spencer sneezed again. A cloud of Chanel No. 5 always preceded her mom—even though she spent the whole day working around horses—and Spencer was certain she was allergic. She considered announcing her PSAT news, but a twinkly voice from the foyer stopped her.
“Mom?” Melissa called. She and Wren strolled into the kitchen. Spencer pretended to study Middlemarch’s boring back cover.
“Hey,” Wren said above her.
“Hey,” she answered coolly.
“Whatcha reading?”
Spencer hesitated. It was better to steer clear of Wren, especially now that he was moving in.
Melissa brushed by without saying hello and began to unpack purple pillows from a Pottery Barn bag. “These are for the couch in the barn,” she practically yelled.
Spencer cringed. Two could play at this game. “Oh, Melissa!” Spencer cried. “I forgot to tell you! Guess who I ran into!”
Melissa continued to unpack the pillows. “Who?”
“Ian Thomas! He’s coaching my field hockey team now!”
Melissa froze. “He…what? He is? He’s here? Did he ask about me?”
Spencer shrugged and pretended to think. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Who’s Ian Thomas?” Wren asked, leaning against the marble island counter.
“No one,” Melissa snapped, turning back to the pillows. Spencer slapped her book shut and skipped off to the dining room. There. That felt better.
She sat down at the long, mission-style farmhouse table, running her finger around the stemless wineglass Candace, the family’s housekeeper, had just filled with red wine. Her parents didn’t care if their kids drank while they were at home as long as no one was driving, so she grabbed the glass with both hands and greedily took a large gulp. When she looked up, Wren was smirking at her from across the table, his spine very straight in his dining chair.
“Hey,” he said. She raised her eyebrows in answer.
Melissa and Mrs. Hastings sat down, and Spencer’s father adjusted the chandelier lights and took a seat as well. For a moment everyone was quiet. Spencer felt for the PSAT score papers in her pocket. “So guess what happened to me,” she began.
“Wren and I are so happy you’re letting us stay here!” Melissa said at the same time, grabbing Wren’s hand.
Mrs. Hastings smiled at Melissa. “I’m always happy when the family’s all here.”