Three: Just Another Perfect Political Family.

That same Saturday night, Hanna Marin sat with her boyfriend, Mike Montgomery, in an old glass bottle warehouse turned photography studio in downtown Hollis. The high-ceiling industrial space was filled with hot lights, multiple cameras, and several different backdrops—a blue cloth, an autumn scene, and a screen covered with a big, waving American flag, which Hanna found unbearably cheesy.

Hanna's father, Tom Marin, stood amid the throng of political advisors, adjusting his tie and mouthing his lines. He was running for U.S. Senate next November, and today he was filming his very first political commercial that would introduce Pennsylvania to just how senatorial he was. His new wife, Isabel, stood next to him, fluffing her brown chin-length hair, smoothing down her red politician's-wife power suit—complete with shoulder pads, ugh—and inspecting her orangey skin in a Chanel hand mirror.

"Seriously," Hanna whispered to Mike, who was helping himself to yet another sandwich from the food cart. "Why didn't someone tell Isabel to lay off Mystic Tan? She looks like an Oompa Loompa."

Mike snickered, squeezing Hanna's hand as Hanna's stepsister, Kate, glided past. Unfortunately, Kate wasn't a clone of her mom—she looked like she'd spent the day in the salon getting her chestnut hair highlighted, fake eyelashes glued on, and teeth whitened so she'd look absolutely perfect for her father's big commercial. Stepfather, not that Kate ever made the distinction. And not that Hanna's dad ever did, either.

Then, as if sensing Hanna was thinking nasty thoughts about her, Kate pranced over. "You guys should be helping, you know. There's a ton to do."

Hanna took an apathetic sip from the can of Diet Coke she'd pilfered from the cooler. Kate had taken it upon herself to be her dad's mini assistant like some wager intern on The West Wing. "Like what?"

"Like you could help me run my lines," Kate suggested bossily. She reeked of her favorite Jo Malone Fig and Cassis body lotion, which to Hanna smelled like a moldy prune left out in the woods too long. "I have three sentences in the ad, and I want them to be perfect."

"You have lines?" Hanna blurted, and then instantly regretted it. That was exactly what Kate wanted her to say.

As Hanna predicted, Kate's eyes widened with fake sympathy. "Oh, Hanna, you mean you don't have any? I wonder why that is?" She whirled around and sauntered back to the set. Her hips swung. Her glossy hair bounced. No doubt there was a huge smile on her face.

Shaking with fury, Hanna grabbed a handful of potato chips from the bowl next to her and shoved them in her mouth. They were sour cream and onion, not her favorite, but she didn't care. Hanna had been warring with her stepsister ever since Kate reentered Hanna's life last year and became one of the most popular girls at Rosewood Day. Kate was still BFFs with Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe, two bitches who'd had it in for Hanna ever since their Ali (aka Courtney) ditched them at the beginning of sixth grade. After Hanna reunited with her old friends, Kate's rise to popularity didn't bother her so much, but now that she, Spencer, Aria, and Emily weren't speaking, Hanna couldn't help but let Kate get to her.

"Forget her." Mike touched Hanna's arm. "She looks like she has an American flag shoved up her butt."

"Thanks," Hanna said flatly, but it wasn't much of a salve.

Today, she just felt…diminished. Unnecessary. There was only room for one shining teenage daughter, and that was the girl who'd received three whole sentences to say on camera.

Just then, Mike's cell phone pinged. "It's from Aria," he murmured, texting back. "Want me to tell her hi?"

Hanna turned away, saying nothing. After Jamaica, Aria and Hanna had tried to remain friends, going to Iceland together because Noel had already bought the tickets. But by the end of that summer, there were just too many bad memories and secrets between them. These days, Hanna tried not to think about her old friends at all. It was easier that way.

A shirt guy in thick geek-chic glasses, a pink pinstriped shirt, and gray pants clapped his hands, startling Hanna and Mike. "Okay, Tom, we're ready for you." It was Jeremiah, Mr. Marin's number-one campaign advisor—or, as Hanna liked to call him, his bitch boy. Jeremiah was by her dad's side at all hours of the day, doing whatever was needed. Hanna was tempted to make a whip-cracking noise whenever he was around.

Jeremiah bustled about, positioning Hanna's father in front of the blue screen. "We'll do a few voiceovers of you talking about how you're the future of Pennsylvania," he said in a girlish nasal voice. When he ducked his head, Hanna could see the growing bald spot on his crown. "Be sure to talk about all the good community work you've done in the past. And definitely mention your pledge to end teenage drinking."

"Absolutely," Mr. Marin said in a presidential tone.

Hanna and Mike exchanged a look and struggled not to laugh. Ironically, Mr. Marin's cause celebre was abolishing teenage drinking. Couldn't he have focused on something that didn't have a direct impact on Hanna's life? Darfur, maybe? Better treatment for Wal-Mart employees? What fun would a party be without a keg?

Mr. Marin ran through his lines, sounding robust, trustworthy, and vote-for-me chipper. Isabel and Kate grinned and nudged one another proudly, which made Hanna want to puke. Mike gave his opinion by belching loudly during one of the takes. Hanna adored him for it.

Next, Jeremiah guided Mr. Marin toward the American flag background. "Now let's do the family segment. We'll splice this into the end of the commercial—everyone will see what a good family man you are. And what a gorgeous family you have." He paused to wink at Isabel and Kate, who tittered faux-bashfully.

Family man my ass, Hanna thought. Funny how no one had mentioned that Tom Marin had divorced, moved to Mary; and, and forgotten his old wife and daughter for three long years. Interesting, too, that no one had brought up that her dad moved himself, Kate, and Isabel into Hanna's house last year while Hanna's mother took a job overseas, nearly ruining Hanna's life. Thankfully, they'd had kicked out after Hanna's mother returned from Singapore, finding a McMansion in Devon that wasn't nearly as cool as Hanna's house on top of Mt. Kale. But their presence still lingered: Hanna still got whiffs of Kate's Fig and Cassis perfume when she walked down the hall or sank into the couch.

"Okay, family!" The director, a long-haired Spaniard named Sergio, flicked the lights. "Everyone against the flag! Get ready with your lines!"

Kate and Isabel obediently walked into the hot spotlights and posed next to Mr. Marin. Mike poked Hanna's side. "Go!"

Hanna hesitated. It wasn't that she didn't want to be in front of a camera—she'd always fantasized about becoming a famous anchorwoman or a runway model—but she didn't want to be in a commercial with her stepsister like they were a big happy family.

Mike poked her again. "Hanna, go."

"Fine." Hanna groaned, sliding off the table and stomping toward the set.

Several of the directors' assistants turned and stared at her confusedly. "Who are you?" Sergio asked, sounding like the hookah-smoking caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland.

Hanna laughed uncomfortably. "Uh, I'm Hanna Marin. Tom's biological daughter."

Sergio scratched his mop of long curls. "The only family members on my call sheet are Isabel and Kate Randall.

There was a long pause. Several of the assistants exchanged uncomfortable glances. Kate's smile broadened.

"Dad?" Hanna turned to her father. "What's going on?"

Mr. Marin tugged at the microphone one of the assistants had threaded under his jacket. "Well, Hanna, it's just that…" He craned his neck and located his assistant.

Swiftly, Jeremiah scuttled over to the set and gave Hanna an exasperated look. "Hanna, we'd prefer if you just watched."

We? "Why?" Hanna squeaked.

"We're just trying to spare you from more nosy press people, Hanna," Mr. Marin said gently. "You were in the limelight a lot last year. I didn't know if you wanted to bring more attention to yourself."

Or maybe he didn't want to bring the attention back to her. Hanna narrowed her eyes, realizing her dad was worried about the mistakes she'd made in the past. How she'd gotten caught shoplifting from Tiffany and then stole and wrecked her boyfriend Sean Ackard's car. How the second A—the real Ali—had sent Hanna to The Preserve, a mental institution for troubled teens. And, the cherry on top, some people had believed Hanna and her friends killed Ali—their Ali, the girl who'd disappeared in seventh grade.

There was also what had happened in Jamaica, not that Mr. Marin knew about that. Not that anyone would know about that—ever.

Hanna took a big step away, feeling like the floor had dropped out from under her. Her dad didn't want her associated with his campaign. She didn't fit his wholesome family portrait. She was his old daughter, his castoff, a scandal-ridden girl he didn't want to remember anymore. Suddenly, an old note from A flashed in her mind: Even Daddy doesn't love you best!

Hanna spun on her heel and walked back to Mike. Screw them. She didn't want to be in her father's stupid commercial, anyway. People in politics had bad hair, pasted-on smiles, and horrible fashion sense—except for the Kennedys, of course, but they were the exception that proved the rule. "Let's go," she growled, grabbing her purse from the empty chair.

"But, Hanna…" Mike stared at her with round blue eyes.

"Let's. Go."

"Hanna, wait," her father called behind her.

Keep walking, Hanna told herself. Let him see what he's missing. Don't speak to him ever again.

Her father called her name once more. "Come on back," he said, his voice dripping with guilt. "There's room for all of us. You can even say a few lines if you'd like. We can give some of Kate's to you."

"What?" Kate shrieked, but someone shushed her.

Hanna turned around and saw her father's eyes pleading with her.

After a moment's frustration, she handed Mike her purse and trudged back to the set. "Tom, I don't think this is a good idea," Jeremiah warned, but Mr. Marin just shrugged him off. When Hanna stepped into the lights, he gave her a big smile, but she didn't smile back. She felt like the loser kid the teacher made everyone play with at recess. Her dad was only asking her back because it made him look like an asshole of he excluded her.

Sergio ran their lines with the family, divvying up Kate's lines between the two daughters. When the camera turned to Hanna, she took a deep breath, cast off the negative vibes around her, and got into character. "Pennsylvania needs a strong leader who works for you," she said, trying to look natural, tamping down her wilted hopes. Sergio shot take after take until Hanna's cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. An hour later, it was over.

As soon as the lights dimmed and Sergio declared it was a wrap, Hanna ran over to Mike. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"You were really good, Han," Mike said, off the table.

"He's right," a second voice said.

Hanna looked over. One of Sergio's assistants stood a few feet away, two large black suitcases full of equipment in his hands. He was probably only a few years older than Hanna. His hair was cut in a messy yet artfully arranged way, and he wore snug-fitting jeans, a weathered leather jacket, and a pair of aviator sunglasses, which were propped atop his head. His fawn-colored eyes gazed Hanna up and down as if he approved of what he saw. "Totally poised," he added. "With a ton of presence. You kicked that other girl's ass."

"Uh, thanks." Hanna exchanged a suspicious glance with Mike. Was complimenting the clients part of this dude's job?

The guy rummaged through his pocket and handed her a business card. "You're seriously gorgeous. You could be a high-fashion model if you wanted." He pointed to the card. "I'd love to shoot you for my portfolio. I could even help you pick out some shots for agents. Give me a call if you're interested."

He hefted the suitcases higher and walked out of the studio, his sneakers slapping softly on the dusty wood floor. Hanna stared at the business card he'd given her. Patrick Lake, Photographer. On the back was his phone number, website, and Facebook page.

The door to the studio slammed. The rest of the crew packed up. Jeremiah opened the small gray pouch that contained Mr. Marin's campaign petty cash and handed Sergio a wad of bills. Hanna turned Patrick Lake's business card in her hands, suddenly feeling a bit better. When she looked up. Kate was staring at her, her brow wrinkled, her lips pursed. Clearly, she'd heard the exchange between Hanna and Patrick.

How do you like that, bitch? Hanna thought giddily, slipping the business card into her pocket. She may not have won the battle for daddy, but she still might win the pretty-girl war.