Perfect (Book Three)

Nineteen: It's Better Than A Sign Saying, "Kick Me."

Thursday afternoon, Hanna followed her chemistry class across the commons to the flagpole. There had been a fire drill, and now her chem teacher, Mr. Percival, was counting to make sure none of the students had run off. It was another freakishly hot October day, and as the sun beat down on the top of Hanna's head, she heard two sophomore girls whispering.

"Did you hear that she's a klepto?" hissed Noelle Frazier, a tall girl with cascading blond ringlets.

"I know," replied Anna Walton, a tiny brunette with enormous boobs. "She, like, organized this huge Tiffany heist. And then she went and wrecked Mr. Ackard's car."

Hanna stiffened. Normally, she wouldn't have been bothered by a couple of lame sophomore girls, but she was feeling sort of vulnerable. She pretended to be really interested in a bunch of tiny pine trees the garden had just planted.

"I heard she's at the police station like every day," Noelle said.

"And you know she's not invited to Mona's anymore, right?" Anna whispered. "They had this huge fight because Hanna humiliated her with that skywriting thing."

"Mona's wanted to drop her for a couple months now," Noelle said knowingly. "Hanna's become this huge loser."

That was too much. Hanna whirled around. "Where did you hear that?"

Anna and Noelle exchanged a smirk. Then they sauntered down the hill without answering.

Hanna shut her eyes and leaned against the metal flagpole, trying to ignore the fact that everyone in her chem class was now staring at her. It had been twenty-four hours since the disastrous skywriting debacle, and things had gone from bad to worse. Hanna had left at least ten apologetic messages on Mona's cell phone night...but Mona hadn't called back. And today, she'd been hearing strange, unsavory things about herself...from everyone.

She thought of A's note. And Mona? She's not your friend, either. So watch your back.

Hanna scanned the crowd of kids in the commons. Next to the doors, two girls in cheerleading uniforms were pantomiming a cheer. Near the gum tree, a couple of boys were "blazer fighting"—whapping each other with their Rosewood Day blazers. Aria's brother, Mike, walked by playing his PSP. Finally, she spied Mona's white-blond hair. She was heading back into the main building via one of the side doors with a bored, haughty look on her face. Hanna straightened her blazer, clenched and unclenched her fists, and made a beeline for her best friend.

When she reached Mona, she tapped her on her bony shoulder. Mona looked over. "Oh. It's you," she said in a monotone, the way she normally greeted losers not cool enough to be in her presence.

"Are you saying stuff about me?" Hanna demanded, putting her hands on her hips and keeping pace with Mona, who was striding quickly through the side door and down the art studio hallway.

Mona hitched her tangerine Dooney & Bourke tote higher on her shoulder. "Nothing that's not true."

Hanna's mouth fell open. She felt like Wile E. Coyote in one of those old Looney Toons cartoons she used to watch—he would be running and running and running and suddenly run off a cliff. Wile E. would pause, not realizing it for a second, and then rapidly plummet. "So you think I'm a loser?" she squeaked.

She left Hanna standing in the middle of the hall, students swarming around her. Mona walked to the end of the corridor and stopped at a clump of girls. At first they all looked the same—expensive handbags, shiny hair, skinny fake-tanned legs—but then Hanna's eyes unblurred. Mona was standing with Naomi and Riley, and they were all whispering.

Hanna was certain she was going to cry. She fumbled through the bathroom door and closed herself into a stall next to Old Faithful, an infamous toilet that randomly spurted out plumes of water, drenching you if you were stupid enough to use it. The boys' room had a spewing toilet, too. Through the years, plumbers had tried to fix them both, but since they couldn't figure out the cause, the Old Faithfuls had become a legendary part of Rosewood Day lore. Everyone knew better than to use them.