affectionately called it the “taco shack.” Perhaps it was because Nana’s mansion in Longboat Key, Florida, had wall frescoes, marble floors, three tennis courts, and a temperature-controlled wine cellar.
Spencer haughtily passed Melissa, who was lounging on one of the tan leather couches, murmuring on her iPhone. She was probably talking to Ian Thomas. “I’ll be in my room,” Spencer yelled dramatically at the base of the stairs. “All. Night.”
She flopped down on her sleigh bed, pleased to see that her bedroom was exactly as she’d left it five years ago. Alison had come with her the last time she visited, and the two of them had spent hours gazing at the surfers through her late Grandpa Hastings’s antique mahogany spyglass on the crow’s-nest deck. That had been in the early fall, when Ali and Spencer were just starting seventh grade. Things were still pretty normal between them—maybe Ali hadn’t started seeing Ian yet.
Spencer shuddered. Ali had been seeing Ian. Did A know about that? Did A know about Spencer’s argument with Ali the night Ali disappeared, too—had A been there? Spencer wished she could tell the police about A, but A seemed above the law. She looked around haltingly, suddenly frightened. The sun had sunk below the trees, filling the room with eerie darkness.
Her phone rang, and Spencer jumped. She pulled it out of her robe pocket and squinted at the number. Not recognizing it, she put the phone to her ear and tentatively said hello.
“Spencer?” said a girl’s smooth, lilting voice. “It’s Mona Vanderwaal.”
“Oh.” Spencer sat up too fast, and her head started to spin. There was only one reason why Mona would be calling her. “Is…Hanna…okay?”
“Well…no.” Mona sounded surprised. “You haven’t heard? She’s in a coma. I’m at the hospital.”
“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered. “Is she going to get better?”
“The doctors don’t know.” Mona’s voice wobbled. “She might not wake up.”
Spencer began to pace around the room. “I’m in New Jersey right now with my parents, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning, so—”
“I’m not calling to make you feel guilty,” Mona interrupted. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed. I called because I heard you were good at planning events.”
It was cold in the bedroom and smelled a little like sand. Spencer touched the edge of the enormous conch shell that sat on top of her bureau. “Well, sure.”
“Good,” Mona said. “I want to plan a candlelight vigil for Hanna. I think it would be great to get everyone to, you know, band together for Hanna.”
“That sounds great,” Spencer said softly. “My dad was just talking about a party he was at a couple of weeks ago in this gorgeous tent on the fifteenth green. Maybe we could hold it there.”
“Perfect. Let’s plan for Friday—that’ll give us five days to get everything ready.”
“Friday it is.” After Mona said she’d write out the invitations if Spencer could secure the location and the catering, Spencer hung up. She flopped back on the bed, staring at its lacy canopy. Hanna might die ? Spencer pictured Hanna lying alone and unconscious in a hospital room. Her throat felt tight and hot.
Tap…tap…tap…
The wind grew still, and even the ocean was quiet. Spencer pricked up her ears. Was someone out there?
Tap…tap…tap…
She sat up fast. “Who’s there?” The bedroom window offered a sandy view. The sun had set so quickly that all she could see was the weathered wooden lifeguard stand in the distance. She crept into the hall. Empty. She ran into one of the guest bedrooms and looked below to the front porch. No one.
Spencer slid her hands down her face. Calm down, she told herself. It’s not like A is here. She stumbled out of the room and down the staircase, nearly tripping over a stack of beach towels. Melissa was still on the couch, holding a copy of Architectural Digest with her good hand and propping up her
Spencer haughtily passed Melissa, who was lounging on one of the tan leather couches, murmuring on her iPhone. She was probably talking to Ian Thomas. “I’ll be in my room,” Spencer yelled dramatically at the base of the stairs. “All. Night.”
She flopped down on her sleigh bed, pleased to see that her bedroom was exactly as she’d left it five years ago. Alison had come with her the last time she visited, and the two of them had spent hours gazing at the surfers through her late Grandpa Hastings’s antique mahogany spyglass on the crow’s-nest deck. That had been in the early fall, when Ali and Spencer were just starting seventh grade. Things were still pretty normal between them—maybe Ali hadn’t started seeing Ian yet.
Spencer shuddered. Ali had been seeing Ian. Did A know about that? Did A know about Spencer’s argument with Ali the night Ali disappeared, too—had A been there? Spencer wished she could tell the police about A, but A seemed above the law. She looked around haltingly, suddenly frightened. The sun had sunk below the trees, filling the room with eerie darkness.
Her phone rang, and Spencer jumped. She pulled it out of her robe pocket and squinted at the number. Not recognizing it, she put the phone to her ear and tentatively said hello.
“Spencer?” said a girl’s smooth, lilting voice. “It’s Mona Vanderwaal.”
“Oh.” Spencer sat up too fast, and her head started to spin. There was only one reason why Mona would be calling her. “Is…Hanna…okay?”
“Well…no.” Mona sounded surprised. “You haven’t heard? She’s in a coma. I’m at the hospital.”
“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered. “Is she going to get better?”
“The doctors don’t know.” Mona’s voice wobbled. “She might not wake up.”
Spencer began to pace around the room. “I’m in New Jersey right now with my parents, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning, so—”
“I’m not calling to make you feel guilty,” Mona interrupted. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed. I called because I heard you were good at planning events.”
It was cold in the bedroom and smelled a little like sand. Spencer touched the edge of the enormous conch shell that sat on top of her bureau. “Well, sure.”
“Good,” Mona said. “I want to plan a candlelight vigil for Hanna. I think it would be great to get everyone to, you know, band together for Hanna.”
“That sounds great,” Spencer said softly. “My dad was just talking about a party he was at a couple of weeks ago in this gorgeous tent on the fifteenth green. Maybe we could hold it there.”
“Perfect. Let’s plan for Friday—that’ll give us five days to get everything ready.”
“Friday it is.” After Mona said she’d write out the invitations if Spencer could secure the location and the catering, Spencer hung up. She flopped back on the bed, staring at its lacy canopy. Hanna might die ? Spencer pictured Hanna lying alone and unconscious in a hospital room. Her throat felt tight and hot.
Tap…tap…tap…
The wind grew still, and even the ocean was quiet. Spencer pricked up her ears. Was someone out there?
Tap…tap…tap…
She sat up fast. “Who’s there?” The bedroom window offered a sandy view. The sun had set so quickly that all she could see was the weathered wooden lifeguard stand in the distance. She crept into the hall. Empty. She ran into one of the guest bedrooms and looked below to the front porch. No one.
Spencer slid her hands down her face. Calm down, she told herself. It’s not like A is here. She stumbled out of the room and down the staircase, nearly tripping over a stack of beach towels. Melissa was still on the couch, holding a copy of Architectural Digest with her good hand and propping up her
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