twisted-9

Emily looked up. “UNC is a great swimming school.”
“Maybe I could talk to him about you.”
Emily stared at her. “But you don’t even know me!”
Chloe shifted Grace higher in her arms. “You seem nice.”
Emily peered at Chloe more closely. She had a pleasant round face, sparkling hazel eyes, and long, shiny brown hair the color of a chocolate Pudding
Pop. Her eyebrows looked like they hadn’t been plucked in a while, she didn’t have much makeup on, and Emily was pretty sure she’d seen the dress
Chloe was wearing at The Gap. She liked her instantly for not trying so hard.
The front door to the Hastingses’ house opened, and a few guests emerged onto the porch. A zing of fear bolted through Emily’s chest. Coat check!
“I-I have to go,” she cried, spinning around. “I’m supposed to be working coat check. I’m probably going to be fired now.”
“It was nice to meet you!” Chloe waved, and then made Grace wave, too. “And, hey! If you’re that eager for money, want to babysit for us Monday night?
My parents don’t know anyone yet, and I have a college interview.”
Emily paused in the frosty grass. “Where do you live?”
Chloe laughed. “Right. That would be helpful, huh?” She pointed across the street. “There.”
Emily stared at the large Victorian and swallowed a gasp. Chloe’s family had moved into the Cavanaughs’ old house.
“Um, sure. Yeah.” Emily waved good-bye and sprinted back toward the house. As she passed by the thick line of shrubs that separated the Hastings
property from the DiLaurentises’, she heard a high-pitched giggle.
She stopped suddenly. Was someone watching her? Laughing?
The giggling faded into the trees. Emily shuffled up the front walk, trying to shake the sound from her head. She was just hearing things. No one was
watching her anymore. Those days were thankfully long, long gone.
Right?
Chapter 3
Just another perfect political family
That same Saturday night, Hanna Marin sat with her boyfriend, Mike Montgomery, in an old glass bottle warehouse turned photography studio in
downtown Hollis. The high-ceilinged industrial space was filled with hot lights, multiple cameras, and several different backdrops—a blue cloth, an autumn
scene, and a screen covered with a big, waving American flag, which Hanna found unbearably cheesy.
Hanna’s father, Tom Marin, stood amid the throng of political advisors, adjusting his tie and mouthing his lines. He was running for U.S. Senate next
November, and today he was filming his very first political commercial that would introduce Pennsylvania to just how senatorial he was. His new wife,
Isabel, stood next to him, fluffing her brown, chin-length hair, smoothing down her red politician’s-wife power suit—complete with shoulder pads, ugh—
and inspecting her orangey skin in a Chanel hand mirror.
“Seriously,” Hanna whispered to Mike, who was helping himself to yet another sandwich from the food cart. “Why didn’t someone tell Isabel to lay off
Mystic Tan? She looks like an Oompa Loompa.”
Mike snickered, squeezing Hanna’s hand as Hanna’s stepsister, Kate, glided past. Unfortunately, Kate wasn’t a clone of her mom—she looked like she’d
spent the day in the salon getting her chestnut hair highlighted, fake eyelashes glued on, and teeth whitened so she’d look absolutely perfect for her
father’s big commercial. Stepfather, not that Kate ever made the distinction. And not that Hanna’s dad ever did, either.
Then, as if sensing Hanna was thinking nasty thoughts about her, Kate pranced over. “You guys should be helping, you know. There’s a ton to do.”
Hanna took an apathetic sip from the can of Diet Coke she’d pilfered from the cooler. Kate had taken it upon herself to be her dad’s mini assistant like
some eager intern on The West Wing. “Like what?”
“Like you could help me run my lines,” Kate suggested bossily. She reeked of her favorite Jo Malone Fig and Cassis body lotion, which to Hanna smelled
like a moldy prune left out in the woods too long. “I have three sentences in the ad, and I want them to be perfect.”
“You have lines?” Hanna blurted, and then instantly regretted it. That was exactly what Kate wanted her to say.
As Hanna predicted, Kate’s eyes widened with fake sympathy. “Oh, Hanna, you mean you don’t haveany? I wonder why that is?” She whirled around and
sauntered back to the set. Her hips swung. Her glossy hair bounced. No doubt there was a huge smile on her face.
Shaking with fury, Hanna grabbed a handful of potato chips from the bowl next to her and shoved them in her mouth. They were sour cream and onion, not
her favorite, but she didn’t care. Hanna had been warring with her stepsister ever since Kate reentered Hanna’s life last year and became one of the most
popular girls at Rosewood Day. Kate was still BFFs with Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe, two bitches who’d had it in for Hanna ever since their Ali (aka
Courtney) ditched them at the beginning of sixth grade. After Hanna reunited with her old friends, Kate’s rise to popularity didn’t bother her so much, but
now that she, Spencer, Aria, and Emily weren’t speaking, Hanna couldn’t help but let Kate get to her.
“Forget her.” Mike touched Hanna’s arm. “She looks like she has an American flag shoved up her butt.”