XI.
Before she came to Rosewood Academy, Hanna could have counted her traumatizing life experiences on one hand.
Her father walking out on her suddenly when she was too young to handle his absence.
The time her mother had sprinted through the house naked after a shower and revealed a bit too much to Hanna in the process.
The days when those pretty, evil girls in middle school would corner her and shove cupcakes against her teeth, into her mouth, as they chanted like a cult: "Hefty, Hefty, Hefty! Hanna, Hanna, Hanna!"
Now, in the course of a week, she had doubled — no, tripled — that list.
Watching the police seal off the greenhouse with bright yellow caution tape, Hanna felt her eyes glazing over and sealing shut. Behind them, the image of Mike Montgomery — the bruises on his sunken face, the raw skin of his neck where the rope had dug in — burned too bright.
A small crowd had gathered outside of the greenhouse now, and Hanna began to recognize some of the faces present: Lucas and Caleb were still standing, shell-shocked, some yards away from the scene; the Hastings Hall girls were huddled together, a little group of them holding a tiny dark-haired girl up as she slumped forward.
When the girl looked up, Hanna saw her mascara running thickly down her face. Real tears, it seemed. Maybe she was Mike's girlfriend?
The police officers, once they had finished labeling the scene, began to shoo the crowd away, calling forward only the students who had found the body and the immediate family of the victim, if present.
Soon, four students stood before the officers: Lucas, Caleb, Hanna, and the dark-haired girl with mascara streaming down her cheeks.
"Your names?" one officer asked, taking notes.
"Lucas Gottesman."
"Caleb Rivers."
"Hanna Marin."
The dark-haired girl sniffed. "Aria Montgomery."