Spencer turned to face her mother, her heart pounding. “Mom?”
Spencer’s mother whirled around. She touched her diamond tennis bracelet protectively, as if she thought Spencer might try to steal it.
“Do you…need help with the fund-raiser?” Spencer’s voice broke.
Mrs. Hastings tightly gripped the sides of a jar of organic blackberry preserves. “I’ve got it covered, thank you.”
There was a cold hard knot at the pit of Spencer’s stomach. She took a deep breath. “I also wanted to ask you about Nana’s will. Why was I left out? Is it even legal to give some grandchildren money and not others?”
Her mother placed the preserves on a pantry shelf and let out a chilling snicker. “Of course it’s legal, Spencer. Nana can do whatever she wants with her money.” She pulled her black cashmere cape around her shoulders and strode past Spencer to the garage.
“But…,” Spencer cried. Her mother didn’t turn around. She slammed the door on her way out. The sleigh bells hanging from the doorknob jangled loudly, startling the two dogs from sleep.
Spencer’s body went slack. So that was it. She was really, truly disowned. Maybe her parents had told Nana about the Golden Orchid debacle a few months ago. Maybe they’d even encouraged Nana to alter her will, deliberately leaving Spencer out because she’d disgraced the family. Spencer squeezed her eyes shut, wondering what her life would be like right now if she’d just kept quiet and accepted the Golden Orchid award. Could she have gone on Good Morning America, as the other Golden Orchid winners had done, and accepted everyone’s congratulations? Could she seriously have attended a college that had given her early admission based on an essay she hadn’t written—and didn’t even really understand? If she’d just kept quiet, would there still be this chatter that Ian was going to be acquitted due to lack of reliable evidence?
She leaned against the granite-topped island and let out a small, pathetic whimper. Melissa dropped a folded grocery bag to the table and walked over to her. “I’m so sorry, Spence,” she said quietly. She hesitated a moment and then wrapped her thin arms around Spencer’s shoulders. Spencer was too numb to resist. “They’re being so awful to you.”
Spencer plopped into a seat at the kitchen table, reached for a napkin from the holder, and dabbed at her teary eyes.
Melissa sat down next to her. “I just don’t understand it. I’ve been going over and over it, and I don’t know why Nana would leave you out of her will.”
“She hated me,” Spencer said flatly, her nose getting that peppery, about-to-sneeze feeling it always did whenever she was about to start bawling. “I stole your paper. Then I admitted I stole it. I’m a huge disgrace.”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with that.” Melissa leaned closer. Spencer could smell Neutrogena sunscreen—Melissa was so anal, she put on sunscreen even when she was going to be spending the entire day indoors. “Something about it was really suspect.”
Spencer lowered the napkin from her eyes. “Suspect…how?”
Melissa scraped the chair closer. “Nana left money to each of her natural-born grandchildren.” She tapped the kitchen table three times to emphasize the last three words, and then stared at Spencer searchingly, as if Spencer was supposed to deduce something from this. Then Melissa glanced out the window, where their mother was still unloading groceries from the car. “I think there are a lot of secrets in this family,” she whispered. “Things you and I aren’t allowed to know. Everything has to look all perfect on the outside, but…” She trailed off.
Spencer squinted. Even though she had no idea what Melissa was talking about, a sick, swooping feeling began to wash over her. “Will you just spit out what you’re trying to say?”
Melissa sat back. “Natural-born grandchildren,” she repeated. “Spence…maybe you were adopted.”
11
IF YOU CAN’T BEAT HER, JOIN FORCES WITH HER
Wednesday morning, Hanna burrowed under her down comforter, trying to drown out the sound of Kate singing scales in the shower. “She’s so sure she’s going to get the lead in the play,” Hanna grumbled into her BlackBerry. “I wish I could see her face when the director tells her it’s Shakespeare, not a musical.”
Lucas chuckled. “Did she seriously threaten to tell on you when you weren’t going to give her a tour of the school?”
“Basically,” Hanna growled. “Can I move in with you until we graduate?”
“I wish,” Lucas murmured. “Although we’d have to share a bedroom.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Hanna purred.
“Me neither.” Hanna could tell he was smiling.
There was a knock at the door, and Isabel poked her head in. Before she’d gotten engaged to Hanna’s father, she’d been an ER nurse, and she still wore hospital-issue scrubs to bed. Yecch. “Hanna?” Isabel’s eyes were even droopier than usual. “No talking on the phone if you haven’t made your bed, remember?”
Hanna scowled. “Fine,” she said under her breath. Seconds after Isabel had hauled in her Tumi luggage and replaced the custom-made plantation shutters with purple, crushed-velvet drapes, she’d laid down all these rules: No Internet after 9 P.M. No talking on cell phones if chores weren’t finished. Absolutely no boys in the house when Isabel and Hanna’s father weren’t home. Hanna was basically living in a police state.