Perfect (Book Three)

Twelve: Ah, Court Life.

Tuesday evening, Hanna strolled down the main concourse at the King James Mall, puzzling over her BlackBerry. She'd sent Mona a text asking R we still meeting 4 my dress fitting? but she hadn't received a response.

Mona was probably still annoyed at her because of the Frenniversary thing, but whatever. Hanna had tried to explain why her old friends had been at her house, but Mona had interrupted her before she could even start, declaring in her frostiest voice, "I saw you and your besties on the news. Congrats on your big TV debut." Then she hung up. So sure she was pissed, but Hanna knew Mona couldn't stay mad for long. If she did, who would be her BFF?

Hanna passed Rive Gauche, the mall brasserie where they were supposed to have their Frenniversary dinner yesterday. It was a copy of Balthazar in New York, which was a copy of zillions of cafes in Paris. She caught sight of a group of girls at Hanna's and Mona's favorite banquette. One of the girls was Naomi. The next was Riley. And the girl next to her was...Mona.

Hanna did a double take. What was Mona doing with...them?

Even though the lights in Rive Gauche were dim and romantic, Mona was wearing pink-tinted aviators. Naomi, Riley, Kelly Hamilton, and Nicole Hudson—Naomi and Riley's bitchy sophomore toadies—surrounded her, and a big, uneaten plate of fried sat in the middle of the table. Mona appeared to be telling a story, waving her hands around animatedly and widening her big, blue eyes. She came to a punch line, and the others hooted.

Hanna squared her shoulders. She strode through the cafe's antique brown door. Naomi was the first to notice her. Naomi nudged Kelly, and they whispered together.

"What are you girls doing here?" she demanded, standing over Riley and Naomi.

Mona leaned forward on her elbows. "Well, isn't this a surprise? I didn't know if you still wanted to be on the court, since you're so busy with your old friends." She flicked her hair over her shoulder and took a sip of Diet Coke.

Hanna rolled her eyes and settled on the end of the dark banquette bench. "Of course I still want to be in your court, drama whore."

Mona gave her a bland smile. "'Kay, tubbykins."

"Bitch," Hanna shot back.

"Slut," Mona said. Hanna giggled...and so did Naomi, Riley, and the others. Sometimes she and Mona got in mock-fights like this, although normally they didn't have an audience.

Mona twirled a piece of pale blond hair around her finger. "Anyway, I decided the more, the merrier. Small courts are boring. I want this party to be over-the-top."

"We're so excited," Naomi gushed. "I can't wait to try on the Zac Posen dress Mona picked out for us."

Hanna shot them a taut smile. This really didn't make any sense. Everyone at Rosewood knew Riley and Naomi had been talking about Hanna behind her back. And wasn't it just last year that Mona had vowed she'd despise Naomi forever after Naomi gossiped that Mona had gotten skin grafts? Hanna had fake-friended Naomi for that—she'd pretended she and Mona were in a fight, won Naomi's confidence, then pilfered a cheesy love letter Naomi and written to Mason Byers from Naomi's notebook. Hanna posted the letter anonymously on Rosewood Day's intranet the very next day, everyone laughed, and all was right again.

All at once, Hanna had epiphany. Of course! Mona was fake-friending! It was completely made sense. She felt a little better, realizing what was going on, but she still wanted confirmation. She eyed Mona. "Hey, Mon, can I talk to you for a sec? Alone?"

"Can't right now, Han." Mona looked at her Movado watch. "We're late for our fitting. C'mon."

With that, Mona strolled out of the restaurant, her three-inch heels clacking against the shiny walnut floor. The others followed. Hanna reached over to grab her enormous Gucci purse, but the zipper had come undone and the entire contents spilled under the table. All her makeup, her wallet, her vitamins, the Hydroxycut she'd stolen ages ago from GNC but was a little too scared to take...everything. Hanna scrambled to pick it all up, her eyes on Mona and the others as they snaked away. She knelt down, feverishly trying to stuff everything into her bag as quickly as possible.

"Hanna Marin?"

Hanna jumped. Above her was a familiar, tall, floppy-haired waiter. "It's Lucas," he reminded her, fiddling with the cuff on his white button-down, the Rive Gauche uniform. "You probably don't recognize me because I look so French in this outfit."

"Oh," Hanna said wearily. "Hey." She'd known Lucas Beattie forever. In seventh grade, he'd been popular—and, bizarrely, for a second, he'd liked Hanna. Word had gotten around that Lucas was going to send Hanna a red heart-shaped box of candy on the schoolwide Candy Day. A boy sending you a heart-shaped box of candy meant love, so Hanna got really excited.

But then, a few days later before Candy Day, something changed. Lucas was suddenly a dork. His friends started to ignore him, girls began to laugh at him, and a rampant rumor that he was a hermaphrodite swirled. Hanna couldn't believe her luck, but she secretly wondered if he'd gone from popular to a loser all because he'd decided to like her. Even if she was Ali's D's friend, she was still a fat, dorky, clumsy loser. When he sent her the candy, Hanna hid it in her locker and didn't thank him.

"What's up?" Hanna asked blandly. Lucas had pretty much stayed a loser.

"Not much," Lucas responded eagerly. "What's up with you?"

Hanna rolled her eyes. She meant to start a conversation. "I have to go," she said, looking toward the courtyard. "My friends are waiting for me."

"Actually..." Lucas followed her toward the exit, "your friends forgot to pay the bill." He whipped out a leather booklet. "Unless, um, you were getting it this time."

"Oh." Hanna cleared her throat. Nice of Mona to mention it. "No problem."

Lucas swiped her AmEx and gave her the bill to sign, and Hanna strode out of Rive Gauche without adding a tip—or telling Lucas good-bye. The more she thought about it, she was excited that Naomi and Riley were part of Mona's court. Around Rosewood, party court girls competed over who could get the birthday girl the most glamorous gift. A day pass to the Blue Springs Spa or a Prada gift card didn't cut it, either—the winning gift had to be totally over the top. Julia Rubenstein's best friend had hired male strippers to perform at an after-party for a select few—and they'd been hot strippers, not muscleheads. And Sarah Davies had convinced her dad to hire Beyonce to sing "Happy Birthday" to the girl-of-honor. Thankfully, Naomi and Riley were about as creative as the newborn panda at the Philadelphia Zoo. Hanna could out-glam them on her worst day.

She heard her BlackBerry humming in her bag and pulled it out. There were two messages in her mailbox. The first, from Mona, had come in six minutes ago.

Where R U, bee-yotch? If you're any later, the tailor's going to get pissed. —Mon

But the second text, which had arrived two minutes later, was from a blocked number. That could only be one person.

Dear Hanna, We may not be friends, but we have the same enemies. So here are two tips: One of your old friends is hiding something from you. Something big. And Mona? She's not your friend, either. So watch your back. —A