argyle_princess: (looking sideways)
[personal profile] argyle_princess


Hannah’s sitting on her bed, playing solitaire the old-fashioned way (i.e., without a computer), when Emily calls to tell that Sam Keith is taking Sophie Marx to the Winter Formal.

“Apparently,” Em says, “she asked him.”

Hannah feels oddly like she’s been punched, even though – rationally – she knows she has absolutely no right to.

“Okay,” she tells Emily. “That’s—”

“No. No, it’s not okay,” Em snaps. “It makes no sense. Sophie Marx?”

“Sure it does,” Hannah says. “She’s—”

She’s Hannah. Or rather, she’s who Hannah would probably be if Logan Echolls hadn’t brought her world down around her ears two years ago. Bright, nice, sunny, uncomplicated. Without the secrets and the reputation and the somewhat creepy interest in studying corpses for a living.

“—she’s sweet,” Hannah finishes, since she doesn’t want to explain what she’s thinking. Besides, sweet is a perfectly adequate description of both Sophie and the girl Hannah used to be.

“Yeah, she’s perfectly sweet. She’s . . . I can’t believe he said ‘yes.’ She’s so boring. And, anyway, damn it, Hannah, he’s supposed to be going out with you. Not some little pep squad junior.

“Em,” says Hannah, quietly. “I said ‘no,’ remember?”

Repeatedly. Decidedly. And without leaving a whole lot of hope that the answer was going to change.

“Yeah, well, I don’t understand that, either. And if you say, ‘It’s complicated,’ so help me, I will drive over there and slap you.”

Hannah doesn’t. After all, it’s not all that complicated now.

She just isn’t worth waiting for anymore.

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Hannah Griffith

June 2009

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