Wanted. (Book Eight)

Ten: A Ticket To Popularity.

A few hours later, Hanna maneuvered her Prius up the winding driveway, turned off the engine, and grabbed two shopping bags from Otter from the passenger seat. She'd made an emergency, I-feel-sorry-for-myself trip to the King James Mall after school today, though it wasn't much fun shipping without a BFF or Mike. She didn't trust her judgment anymore, either, and she wasn't sure if the ultra-fabulous or just plain slutty. Sasha, Hanna's favorite salesgirl, had said Hanna looked great in them...but then again, she got a commission on the sale.

It was pitch-black outside, and a thin crust of frost had formed over the front yard. She heard a giggle. Her heart started to hammer. Hanna paused in the driveway. "Hello?" she called. The word seemed to freeze right in front of her face before shattering into thousands of shards on the driveway. Hanna looked right and left, but it was too dark to see anything.

There was another giggle, and then a full-throated laugh. Hanna exhaled with relief. It was coming from inside the house. Hanna crept up the front walk and slipped quietly into the foyer. Three pairs of boots sat by the front door. The emerald Loeffler Randalls were Riley's—she had a thing for green. Hanna had been with Naomi when she bought the spike-heeled booties lying next to them. Hanna didn't recognize the third pair at all, but when she heard another peel of giggles from upstairs, one girl's laugh stood out from the rest. Hanna had heard an identical version of that laugh many times, sometimes at her expense. It was Courtney. And she was in Hanna's house.

Hanna tiptoes up the stairs. The hallway smelled of rum and coconut. An old Madonna remix blared from Kate's closed bedroom door. Hanna approached and pressed her ear to the wall. She heard whispering.

"I think I saw her car pull into the driveway!" Naomi hissed.

"We should hide!" Riley cried.

"She'd better not try and hang out with us," Kate scoffed. "Right, Courtney?"

"Um," Courtney said, not really sounding certain at all.

Hanna padded to her bedroom and resisted the urge to slam the door behind her. Dot, her miniature Doberman, rose from her doggie bed and danced around her feet, but she was so angry that she barely noticed her. She should've seen this coming. Courtney had become Naomi, Kate, and Riley's pet project, probably because she was the new media darling. All day, they'd prowled the Rosewood Day hallways in an intimidating four-girl line, flirting with the cutest boys and rolling their eyes at Hanna whenever she crossed their path. By eighth period, students were no longer looking at Courtney with uneasiness but with respect and admiration. Four guys had asked her to the Valentine's Day dance. Scarlet Rovers, a finalist in the fashion design department's Project Runway contest, wanted to design a dress with Courtney as her muse. Not that Hanna was stalking Courtney or anything. It had all been on Courtney's brand-new Facebook page, which had already amassed 10,200 new friends from around the world.

There was a chime, and Hanna's iPhone lit up inside her bag. She pulled it out. One new e-mail, said the screen. The note was from her mom. Hanna rarely heard from her—Ms. Marin ran the Singapore division of McManus & Tate, an ad agency, and she was more in love with her career than her only daughter. Hey, Han, it began. I've been offered six tickets to the Diane von Furstenberg fashion show in NYC on Thursday, but I obviously can't use them. Would you like to go instead? I've attached them via PDF.

Anna read the message a few times over, her fingers twitching. Six tickets!

She stood up, checked her reflection in the mirror, and whipped out into the hall. When Hanna pounded on Kate's door, the giggles instantly ceased. After some heated whispers, Kate flung open the door. Naomi, Riley, and Courtney were sitting on the floor by Kate's bed, dressed in jeans and oversize cashmere sweaters. Bottles of foundation and tray of eye shadow were strewn across the carpet, and there was the usual array of Vogues, old Rosewood Day yearbooks, and smartphones jumbled at their feet. Four small tumblers and a bottle of Gosling's rum sat between them. Mr. Marin had brought the rum back from a recent business trip to Bermuda. Even if Hanna ratted Kate out for swiping it, her dad would probably somehow figure out a way to blame Hanna instead.