Perfect (Book Two)

Seventeen: Daddy's Little Girl Has A Secret.

Hanna stood six inches from her bedroom mirror, closely inspecting herself. It must've been a freak reflection at the mall—here, she looked normal and thin. Although...were her pores looking a little bigger? Were her eyes slightly crossed?

Nervous, she opened her bureau drawer and pulled out a giant bag of salt-and-pepper kettle chips. She shoved a big handful into her mouth, chewed, then stopped. Last week, A's notes had led her into the horrible binge/purge cycle all over again—even though she'd refrained from the habit for years. She wouldn't start doing this again. And especially not in front of her father.

She rolled up the bag and looked out the window again. Where was he? Nearly two hours had passed since her mom called her at the mall. Then she saw a forest-green Range Rover turn into her driveway, which was a winding, wooded, quarter-mile-long road. The car easily maneuvered around the driveway's twists and turns in a way that only someone who had lived there could. When Hanna was younger, she and her dad used to sled on the driveway. He taught her how to lean into each turn so she wouldn't tip.

When the doorbell rang, she jumped. Her miniature pinscher, Dot, started to bark, and the bell rang again. Dot's barking became more high-pitched and frenzied, and the bell rang for the third time. "Coming!" Hanna growled.

"Hey," her father said as she flung open the door. Dot began to dance around his heels. "Hello there." He reached down to pick up the tiny dog.

"Dot, no!" Hanna commanded.

"No, he's fine." Mr. Marin petted the miniature pinscher's little nose. Hanna had gotten Dot shortly after her dad left.

"So." Her father lingered on the porch awkwardly. He wore a charcoal gray business suit and a red and blue tie, as if he'd just come from a meeting. Hanna wondered if he wanted to come on. She felt funny inviting her dad into his own house. "Should I...?" he started.

"Do you want to...?" Hanna said at the same time. Her father laughed nervously. Hanna wasn't sure if she wanted to hug him. Her father took a step toward her, and she took a step back, bumping into the door. She tried to make it look like she'd meant to do it. "Just come on," she said, the annoyance in her voice showing.

They stood in the foyer. Hanna felt her father's eyes on her. "It's really nice to see you," he said.

Hanna shrugged. She wished she had a cigarette or something to do with her hands. "Yeah, well. So do you want the financial thingie? It's right here."

He squinted, ignoring her. "I meant to ask you the other day. Your hair. You did something different with it. It's...Is it shorter?"

She smirked. "It's darker."

He pointed. "Bingo. And you don't have your glasses on!"

"I got LASIK." She stared him down. "Two years ago."

"Oh." Her father put his hands in his pockets.

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"No," her father answered quickly. "You just look...different."

Hanna crossed her arms. When her parents decided to divorce, Hanna thought it was because she got fat. And clumsy. And ugly. Meeting Kate had just felt like more proof. He'd found his replacement daughter, and he'd traded up.

After the Annapolis disaster, her father tried to stay in touch. At first, Hanna complied, having a couple of moody, one-word phone conversations. Mr. Marin tried to tease out what was wrong, but Hanna was too embarrassed to talk about it. Eventually, the length of time between conversations became long and long...and then they stopped happening altogether.