When she opened her eyes again, the train had stalled. All the lights were out, except for the emergency glow-in-the-dark exit signs. Only, they didn’t say EXIT anymore. They said WATCH IT.

To her left, Hanna saw miles of forest. The moon shone full and clear over the treetops. But hadn’t it been pouring just minutes ago? The train paralleled Route 30 on the other side. The road was usually packed with traffic, but now, not a single car waited at the intersection. As she craned her neck down the aisle to see how the others were reacting to SEPTA’s breakdown, she noticed that all the passengers were asleep.

“They’re not asleep,” a voice said. “They’re dead.”

Hanna jumped. It was Toby. His face was blurry, but she knew it was him. Slowly, he rose from his seat and walked over to her.

The train blew its whistle, and Hanna was jolted awake. The fluorescent lights were as bright and unflattering as ever; the train chugged toward the city; and outside, lightning crackled and danced. When she looked out the window, she saw a tree branch snap off and careen to the ground. Two white-haired old ladies in the seat ahead of her kept commenting on the lightning, saying, “Oh, goodness! That was a big one!”

Hanna pulled her knees up to her chest. Nothing like an earth-shattering confession about Toby Cavanaugh to rock your world. And make you paranoid as hell.

She wasn’t sure how to take the news. She didn’t react to things right away, like Aria did; she had to mull them over. She was angry at Spencer for not telling, yes. And terrified about Toby. But at the moment, her only overwhelming thoughts were about Jenna. Did she know, too? Had she known all along? Did she know that Toby had killed Ali?

Hanna had actually seen Jenna after her accident—just once, and she’d never told the others. It was just a few weeks before Ali went missing, and she’d thrown an impromptu party in her backyard. All of Rosewood Day’s popular kids came—even some older girls from Ali’s field hockey team. For the first time ever, Hanna was having a real conversation with Sean; they were talking about the movie Gladiator. Hanna was talking about how scary the movie was when Ali sauntered up beside them.

At first Ali gave Hanna a look that said, Hooray! You’re finally talking to him! But then, when Hanna said, “When my dad and I came out of the theater, oh my God, I was so scared, I went straight to the bathroom and threw up,” Ali nudged Hanna’s side. “You’ve had some trouble with that lately, haven’t you?” she joked.

Hanna paled. “What?” This wasn’t long after the Annapolis thing happened.

Ali made sure she had Sean’s attention. “This is Hanna,” she said, and stuck her finger down her throat, gagged, and then giggled. Sean didn’t laugh, however; he looked back and forth at them, seeming uncomfortable and confused. “I, um, have to…” he muttered, and slipped away to his friends.

Hanna turned to Ali, horrified. “Why did you do that?”

“Oh, Hanna,” Ali said, whirling away. “Can’t you take a joke?”

But Hanna couldn’t. Not about that. She stomped to the other side of Ali’s wraparound deck, heaving deep, angry breaths. When she looked up, she found herself staring right into Jenna Cavanaugh’s face.

Jenna was standing at the edge of her property, wearing big sunglasses and carrying a white cane. Hanna’s throat seized up. It was like seeing a ghost. She really is blind, Hanna thought. She sort of thought it hadn’t actually happened.

Jenna stood very still on the curb. If she could have seen, she would have been looking at the big hole in Ali’s side yard that they were digging for her family’s twenty-seat gazebo—the exact spot where, years later, workers would find Ali’s body. Hanna stared at her for a long time, and Jenna stared blankly back. Then it hit her. Back there, with Sean, Hanna had taken Jenna’s place, and Ali had taken Hanna’s. There was no reason for Ali to tease Hanna except that she could. The realization struck Hanna so forcefully, she had to grab onto the railing for balance.

She looked at Jenna again. I’m so sorry, she mouthed. Jenna, of course, didn’t respond. She couldn’t see.

Hanna was never so happy to see the lights of Philadelphia—she was finally far away from Rosewood and Toby. She still had time to get back to the hotel before her father, Isabel, and Kate returned from Mamma Mia!, and perhaps she could take a bubble bath. Hopefully there was something good in the minibar, too. Something strong. Perhaps she’d even tell Kate what happened and they’d order room service and kill a big bottle of something together.

Wow. That was a thought Hanna never imagined would cross her mind.

She slid her room card into the door, pulled it open, slumped inside, and…nearly bumped into her father. He was standing in front of the door, talking on his cell phone. “Oh!” she screamed.

Her father whirled around. “She’s here,” he said into the phone, then slapped it shut. He eyed Hanna coolly. “Well. Welcome back.”

Hanna blinked. Beyond her father were Kate and Isabel. Just…sitting there, on the couch, reading the Philadelphia tourist magazines that came with the room. “Hey,” she said cautiously. Everyone was staring at her. “Did Kate tell you? I had to—”

“Go to Foxy?” Isabel interrupted.

Hanna’s mouth fell open. Another bolt of lightning outside made her jump. She turned desperately to Kate, who had her hands haughtily folded in her lap and her head raised high. Had she…had she told? The look on her face said yes.

Hanna felt like she’d been dropped on her head. “It…it was an emergency.”

“I’m sure it was.” Her father put his hands flat on the table. “I can’t believe you even came back. We thought you were going to pull another all-nighter…steal another car, maybe. Or…or who knows? Steal someone’s airplane? Assassinate the president?”

“Dad…” Hanna pleaded. She’d never seen her father like this. His shirt was untucked, the ends of his socks weren’t taut against his toes, and there was a smudge behind his ear. And he was raving. He never used to yell like this. “I can explain.”

Her father pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “Hanna…can you explain this, too?” He reached into his pocket for something. Slowly, he unfurled his fingers, one by one. Inside, was the little foil packet of Percocet. Unopened.

As Hanna lunged for it, he snapped his hand closed like a clamshell. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

Hanna pointed at Kate. “She took those from me. She wanted them!”

“You gave them to me,” Kate said evenly. She had this knowing, gotcha look on her face, a look that said, Don’t even think you’re worming your way into our lives. Hanna hated herself for being so stupid. Kate hadn’t changed. Not a bit.

“What were you doing with pills in the first place?” her father asked. Then he held up his hand. “No. Forget it. I don’t want to know. I…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know you anymore, Hanna. I really don’t.”

A dam inside Hanna broke. “Well, of course you don’t!” she screamed. “You haven’t bothered to speak to me for almost four fucking years!”

A hush fell over the room. Everyone seemed afraid to move. Kate’s hands were flat against her magazine. Isabel froze, one finger bizarrely at her earlobe. Her father opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again.

There was a knock on the door, and everyone jumped.

Ms. Marin was on the other side, looking uncharacteristically disheveled: Her hair was wet and stringy, she didn’t have much makeup on, and she was wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans, a far cry from the put-together ensembles she usually wore to Wawa.

“You’re coming with me.” She narrowed her eyes at Hanna but didn’t even glance at Isabel or Kate. Hanna wondered fleetingly if this was the first time everyone was meeting. When her mother saw the Percocet in Mr. Marin’s hand, she paled. “He told me about that on the way here.”

Hanna looked over her shoulder at her father, but he had his head down. He didn’t look disappointed exactly. He just looked…sad. Hopeless. Ashamed. “Dad…” she squeaked desperately, wrenching away from her mom. “I don’t have to go, do I? I want to stay. Can’t I tell you what’s going on with me? I thought you wanted to know.”

“It’s too late,” her father said mechanically. “You’re going home with your mother. Maybe she can talk some sense into you.”

Hanna had to laugh. “You think she’s going to talk sense into me? She’s…she’s sleeping with the cop who arrested me last week. She’s been known to come home at two A.M. on school nights. If I’m sick and have to stay home from school, she tells me it’s okay to call up the front office and just pretend I’m her, because she’s too busy, and—”

“Hanna!” her mother screamed, clamping her fingers around Hanna’s arm.

Hanna’s brain was so scrambled, she had no idea whether telling her dad this stuff was helping or hurting her. She just felt so duped. By everyone. She was sick of people walking all over her. “There are so many things I wanted to tell you, but I can’t. Please let me stay. Please.”

The only thing that wavered in her father was a tiny muscle, up by his neck. Otherwise, his face was stony and impassive. He took a step closer to Isabel and Kate. Isabel took his hand.

“Good night, Ashley,” he said to Hanna’s mother. To Hanna, he said nothing at all.

32

EMILY GOES TO BAT

Emily sobbed with relief when she discovered her house’s side door was open. She threw her soaked body into the laundry room, nearly bursting into tears at the insulated, untroubled domesticity of everything: her mother’s BLESS THIS MESS! cross-stitch above the washer and dryer; the neat row of detergent, bleach, and fabric softener on the little shelf; her father’s green rubber gardening boots by the door.

The phone rang; it sounded like a scream. Emily grabbed a towel from the laundry pile, wrapped it around her shoulders, and tentatively picked up the cordless extension. “Hello?” Even the sound of her own voice seemed scary.

“Emily?” came a familiar gravelly voice on the other end.

Emily frowned. “Spencer?”

“Oh my God.” Spencer sighed. “We’ve been looking for you. Are you all right?”

“I…I don’t know,” Emily said shakily. She’d run crazily through the cornfield. The rain had created rivers of mud between the rows. One of her shoes had fallen off, but she’d kept going, and now the bottom of her dress and her legs were filthy. The field butted up to the woods behind her house, and she’d torn through those, too. She’d slid twice on wet grass, scraping up her elbow and hip, and once, lightning hit a tree just twenty feet from her, violently snapping branches to the ground. She knew it was dangerous to be out there in a storm, but she couldn’t stop, afraid Toby was right behind her.

“Emily. Stay where you are,” Spencer instructed. “And stay away from Toby. I’ll explain everything later, but for right now, just lock your door and—”