“But everything’s good now?” The few bites of salad Emily had eaten felt like lead in her stomach. Mr. Roland’s hip-grab floated into her mind again.

Chloe shrugged. “It seems to be.”

A figure loomed over them, and Emily looked up. Ben, her old boyfriend from swimming, leered at both of them. “Hey, Emily. Who’s your friend?”

Chloe smiled innocently. “Chloe Roland. I’m from North Carolina.”

She stuck out her hand, and Ben made a big deal of shaking it. His best friend, Seth Cardiff, sidled up behind him and started to snicker. “You guys look pretty cozy together,” Ben teased.

“I’m going to vote you Best Couple,” Seth joked.

“Very funny,” Emily snapped. “Leave us alone.”

Ben looked at Chloe. “You know about her, right? You know what she’s into?” He made a humping motion with his hips.

“Go away,” Emily said through her teeth.

The two boys dissolved into dirty-sounding chuckles and wandered away. Emily stared out the window, her heart raging in her ears.

“What was that about?” Chloe asked.

“He’s my ex,” Emily said flatly. “He’s kind of never forgiven me for something.”

“What?”

Emily turned and watched as Ben and Seth bumbled out of the cafeteria, periodically shoving each other into the wall. She hadn’t wanted to tell Chloe about her past so soon, but there was no way around it now. “I broke up with him last year to go out with a girl.”

A surprised look passed over Chloe’s face, but it disappeared fast. “God. I bet it was a huge blow to his manhood, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. He tormented me for months.” Emily’s squinted at Chloe, surprised at her tempered reaction. It was so nice that someone wasn’t freaking out for once. “You don’t think that’s weird that I dated a girl?”

“Hey, if it feels good, go with it.” Chloe popped the last of her pretzel into her mouth. “That’s my motto. So was this girl special?”

Emily thought of Maya St. Germain, her crush last year, and smiled. “She was at the time. She really helped me figure out what I did and didn’t want. But we don’t talk much now—she’s seeing someone else, a sophomore. She wasn’t the love of my life or anything.”

That, of course, was Ali—her Ali. Was it crazy to still crush on a dead girl? Her Ali still had such a hold on her. And when “Courtney” returned, confessed to Emily that she was her real friend, and kissed Emily passionately on the lips, Emily had been in heaven. Now, even though Emily knew, logically, that her Ali had died the night of the seventh-grade sleepover, she still longed for that girl to return once more.

It made her think of that fateful first night in Jamaica. When Emily was on her way back from the bathroom after yet another puke session, a hand caught her arm. “Hey!” a girl said in a bright, familiar voice.

Emily stared. It was the girl she’d seen earlier, the one she thought was Ali. “H-Hi?”

“I’m Tabitha.” The girl thrust out her hand, which was covered in scars. “I saw you watching me from across the room. Do you go to my school?”

“I-I don’t think so,” Emily squeaked. But she couldn’t stop staring. Did Tabitha look like Ali, or didn’t she?

Tabitha cocked her head. “Want to take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

Emily wrenched her eyes away. “Sorry. I just feel like I know you from somewhere.”

“Maybe you do.” Tabitha winked. “Maybe we’ve met in a past life.” A Ke$ha song blared over the stereo. Tabitha’s eyes lit up. “I love Ke$ha!” she exclaimed, grabbing Emily’s hand harder. “Dance with me!”

Dance with her? It was one thing for this girl to remind Emily of Ali, but now she was acting like her, too. Still, Emily couldn’t resist. Feeling hypnotized, she let Tabitha lead her onto the dance floor and spin her around. Halfway through the song, Tabitha stretched out her arm and took a picture of both of them with her phone. She promised to send it to Emily later, but she never did.

A straw wrapper bounced off Emily’s nose. Chloe giggled across the table. “Gotcha, space cadet!”

It was enough to break Emily out of her funk. “That’s it.” She grabbed her own straw and peeled off the wrapper. “You’re going down.”

She blew the wrapper at Chloe’s ear. Chloe retaliated by tossing her napkin at Emily’s shoulder. Emily beaned a crouton at Chloe, and Chloe pelted her with an M&M. It ricocheted off Emily’s forehead and disappeared down Imogen Smith’s shirt.

Imogen turned around and glowered. James Freed stood at a nearby table and grinned. “I’ll search for it, Imogen!” Imogen had some of the biggest boobs in the class.

The cafeteria monitor, an ancient woman named Mary, stormed over to Emily and Chloe. “No throwing food! Am I going to have to separate you two?” Her glasses swung on a chain around her neck. She wore a sweatshirt with kittens on the front.

“Sorry,” Emily whispered. Then she and Chloe looked at each other and burst into giggles. It reminded Emily of a feeling she’d had a long time ago, when she, Ali, and the others used to giggle in just this way in just this cafeteria.

Suddenly, she realized what that feeling was: happiness.

Chapter 15

Hanna Marin, Role Model

“Okay, everyone, please find your seats!” Jeremiah flitted around the back room of Mr. Marin’s campaign headquarters, a large office in a luxury building that also housed a plastic surgeon, a high-end interior design firm, and several psychiatrists’ offices. His glasses were askew, and there were bags under his eyes. What Jeremiah needed, Hanna thought, was a very long day at the spa.

Hanna tried not to get jostled by the staff members, consultants, and focus group leaders piling into the room. It was Wednesday evening, and they’d gathered here to watch the final cut of her dad’s commercial.

The elevator dinged and Isabel and Kate swept in, all broad smiles and glossy hair. Isabel looked orange and ridiculous as usual, but Kate looked fresh and pretty in a coral-colored Rachel Pally jersey dress and black Kate Spade platform heels. As soon as she saw Hanna, she shot her a tight, self-satisfied smile. “Hey, Hanna! Excited to see the final result?”

Hanna rolled her eyes at Kate and her saccharine, rubbing-it-in-your-face enthusiasm. Yeah, yeah, yeah, Kate was about to be the star of a political commercial. A few days ago, it might have stung, but not anymore.

“Sure.” Hanna pulled the Love Quotes silk scarf she’d bought this afternoon at Otter, her favorite boutique, around her shoulders. All the models on Full Frontal Fashion wore diaphanous scarves backstage. “Any exposure is good for my modeling career.”

Kate’s icy smile drooped. “What modeling career?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? A photographer discovered me at my dad’s taping,” Hanna said breezily, as though this were a regular occurrence. “We did a shoot in Philly. It was super high-fashion. He’s going to send my portfolio to some New York agents pronto. He’s really well-connected.”

Kate’s eyes shifted back and forth, and her cheeks reddened. She looked like she was about to spontaneously combust. “Oh,” she said finally, the word sounding like a belch. “Well, good luck with that.” Then she flounced away, her shoulders rigid, her butt cheeks tightly clenched. Score.

Hanna’s father appeared through the doors, and everyone applauded. He walked to the front of the room and waved his hands to quiet them down. “Thank you all for coming! I can’t wait for you to see the commercial. But first, let me introduce some people who helped make it happen . . .”

Then he proceeded to praise about fifty billion people, from the video editor to his stylist to the lady who cleaned the office. Hanna looked around, hoping Patrick might be here, but Sergio was the only representative from the photo shoot. Her crush on Patrick had blossomed over the last twenty-four hours: She’d sent him several texts during school, and he’d responded immediately, saying her photos were as beautiful as she was. Already, she had visions of the two of them taking New York by storm, the up-and-coming fashion photographer and his supermodel girlfriend.

Hanna’s dad then gave a special shout-out to Jeremiah, who bowed humbly. He regaled Isabel with a long-winded thank-you-for-sticking-by-me-through-thick-and-thin serenade. Gag. Isabel stood and smiled beatifically, her eyes wet with tears. Hanna could see visible panty lines through her skirt.

The lights dimmed, and the television flipped on. Mr. Marin stood in front of the Rosewood courthouse, looking chic in his blue suit, red-and-white striped tie, and American flag lapel pin. There were shots of him talking to citizens, waving his hands earnestly and eagerly, surveying a building site, and talking to a classroom of kids about the dangers of alcohol. An inspiring orchestral score played, and an announcer confidently insisted that Tom Marin was the right choice for Pennsylvania. Rah, rah, rah.

Next was the family scene in front of the waving flag. Hanna inched forward in her chair, surprised to see her own image on the screen. The camera even remained on her for a moment. Had someone made a mistake? Was this not the final cut?

The camera moved to Kate, who spoke her lines overly loudly and directly, as though she were leading a recital of the Pledge of Allegiance. Hanna’s own face appeared on the screen once again, startling her anew.

“We all deserve a better life,” the Hanna on the screen said, looking straight into the lens, her eyes twinkling, the dimple on her left cheek prominent. She seemed natural and poised. She didn’t have a double chin. Her teeth weren’t crooked. Her hair was a pretty coppery color, not poop brown. Several people in the audience turned around and gave her big smiles.

The commercial finished with a Tom Marin logo splashed across the screen. When the TV went dark, everyone applauded. Several people jumped up and pounded Hanna’s father on the back. A champagne cork popped, and one of Hanna’s father’s aides poured the liquid into waiting glasses. The rest of the aides went right back to tapping on their BlackBerrys.

“Surprised, Hanna?”

Hanna jumped and looked over. Jeremiah had sidled over and was now staring down his nose at her.

“Yeah, but in a good way,” she admitted.

“Well, it wasn’t my decision,” Jeremiah said snootily. “Let’s just say I was outvoted.”

Two women Hanna didn’t recognize bustled around him and clasped Hanna’s arms. Both were in power skirt suits and black high heels. “There you are!” one of them crowed in Hanna’s face, her breath smelling like cinnamon Tic Tacs. “Hanna, I’m Pauline Weiss of Weiss Consulting.”

“And I’m Tricia McLean of Wright Focus Groups. It’s so nice to meet you.” The other woman pushed a business card into Hanna’s hand.

“H-Hi?” Hanna looked at both of them, feeling overwhelmed.

“We ran the focus groups,” Pauline explained. She had big teeth and a bulbous mole on her cheek. “And they loved you! You tested so well with Tom’s potential voters!”