“So listen, Hanna.” Hank cleared his throat. “You might not know this, but our production has been put on hold for a little bit. The story kind of got . . . bigger than what we’d written. Alison faking her death, Emily also faking her death and finding Alison in Florida—we wanted to use all of it.”
“Yeah,” Hanna said faintly. “Emily is a hero.”
“Indeed,” Hank agreed. “So we’ve gone back to the drawing board and rewritten quite a few of the scenes. Compressed some stuff, added a bunch of new drama as well. But our backers and the studio are very, very impressed with our new script, and we’ve gotten the green light to continue. It’s going to be an even more incredible movie than before.”
“That’s great,” Hanna said. It made sense to tell the story all the way to the end.
“I think you should come back and play yourself,” Hank said. “If you’re still interested, that is.”
Hanna held the phone outstretched. “Really?”
“Absolutely. Everyone loves you. And now that you’ve gotten the trial out of the way, there’s only one catch: The movie is filming in L.A. now, not Rosewood. A few of our stars had dual commitments out West, and because we didn’t want to lose them we were forced to relocate. We’ll shoot it at the Warner studio in Burbank this summer. It’ll have the same feel and look as Rosewood though, don’t worry. So what do you say?”
Hanna peeked at Mike. He stared back excitedly, probably sensing what the call was about. “I’m supposed to go to college in the fall . . . ,” she said, trailing off.
“Not a problem. We plan on wrapping in mid-August, so that will give you plenty of time. We do start shooting next week though,” Hank said, sounding nervous.
“I’ll have to check with my husband,” Hanna told him. “I’m assuming the salary package is competitive?”
“Naturally,” Hank answered quickly. “We’ll give you a raise from your last offer.”
“Good to hear,” Hanna said in a clipped voice. “Well, my agent will get back to you shortly.”
Then she hung up, placed her phone on the table, and selected another gift from the floor. Mike blinked at her hard. “Um, hello? I’m dying over here!”
Hanna looked up at him, ready to explode from excitement. “How would you feel about going to L.A. for the summer?”
Mike’s eyes gleamed. “Is my wife going to be a star?”
“I think so,” Hanna said giddily. “So what do you say? Will you come with me?”
Mike opened his arms. And Hanna knew, just from the way he hugged her, that he was going to say yes.
Six months later
35
REAL LIFE
Emily sat on her bed, looking around her old bedroom. She hadn’t been in here in months, and it felt both the same and different. The same old Michael Phelps posters were on the walls, and some of her old clothes still hung in the closet. But Carolyn’s side was now overrun by a big Singer sewing machine and a bunch of plastic bins full of thread and fabric. The carpets had also been changed to pale white instead of their old candy pink. The room felt emptier, no longer as full of life.
And as Emily sprang out of bed and looked at herself in the mirror, she was different, too. Her face was no longer drawn and freaked-out looking. Her hair still had highlights from the summer she’d spent working at the surf shop in Monterey, California. She felt utterly . . . well, herself. To be honest, it actually felt stifling being back in the house—she’d left soon after she came back from Florida, and she hadn’t had a ton of contact with her parents since. But she was only here for a night to celebrate the big premiere of Burn It Down.
She was dressed in her new uniform as of late: Toms shoes, oversize snowboarding-style pants, and a fitted Hurley shirt—a perk of being one of the new faces of the brand, thanks to her newfound fame. With one more glance at her reflection, she rolled back her shoulders and padded downstairs. The Christmas tree was up in the family room, and lights were strung on the staircase. Her mother was in the kitchen, stuffing some things in a large, holiday-themed basket. When she turned and saw Emily, she broke into a twitchy smile. “Want breakfast?”
Emily didn’t answer, her eyes on the basket. It was yet another one of her mother’s Welcome Wagon efforts for someone who’d just moved to the community. It gave her a spiky twinge. More than two years before, her mom had prepared a basket just like this one—albeit autumn-themed—for Maya St. Germain’s family, who’d moved into Ali’s house. As it turned out, though, she’d been totally unwelcoming to them, after she found out Emily was in love with Maya.
Her mom noticed Emily’s gaze on the basket and flinched. Emily could tell her mom was groping for a way to break the ice. Last night, when Emily had gotten in, Mrs. Fields had looked at her in the same longing way, full of questions she didn’t feel like she could ask anymore. Emily knew her well enough to know what they might be: Are you going to go to college? Why are you still living at the beach? Why won’t you talk to me?
But Emily wasn’t going to take her family back that easily, not after what her friends had told her about the funeral. Emily had confronted her mom about not letting Hanna, Spencer, or Aria speak, and Mrs. Fields had just given her a crazy jumble of excuses. “We were so confused about what had happened,” she’d said in a scattered voice. “We didn’t know if your friends were the problem or the solution.”
“Yeah, but they knew me best,” Emily had snapped. “And if it was really my funeral, with my wishes, you would have let them speak no matter what they had to say.”