Eleven: I Saw Someone Kissing Santa Claus.

On Wednesday afternoon after school, Hanna strutted through Devon Crest's double doors, walked right past Otter and the evil Lauren, and marched into the upper level of Saks. If caroling tonight was her one chance to make it or break it with Vince, she needed to find the perfect outfit to win him over. Something wholesome but pretty, like a nipped-at-the-he-waist Diane con Furstenberg wool coat. Or maybe one of those jackets with fur on the hood and at the cuffs. Something that said holy, not slutty.

"O little town of Bethlehem," Hanna sang quietly along with the Muzak over the speakers. Last night, she'd dug out Isabel's most religious Christmas CDs, and leaned the words, including all of the verses to "Joy to the World," the Latin version of "O Come, All Ye Faithful," and "O Christmas Tree"—what was the deal with Christmas carols starting with O?—in German. She'd also memorized the Hail Mary and the act of contrition Catholic prayers for good measure, but had stopped herself before ordering a rosary from Amazon. At one point last night, Isabel had paused in front of Hanna's room, raising her eyebrows at the music emanating from Hanna's stereo. "Well!" she'd said, pressing a hand to her chest. "It's so nice that you're getting into the spirit, Hanna!"

A fresh blast of Chanel No. 5 wafted into her nostrils as Hanna walked into the department store. A saleswoman at the MAC counter greeted her, and after giving her a perfunctory wave and then doing a once-over of the new eye shadow shades, Hanna drifted toward the clothes department. Mannequins dressed in pencil skirts and cashmere sweaters were positioned beside tables of folded tees in the softest cotton imaginable. The air smelled like Gucci Envy, and when Hanna glanced at herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but notice that her butt looked smaller and her arms were definitely less puffy. The morning and evening trips to the fitness retreat were doing magic. Even Vince had commented on how great she looked this morning—then again, he'd also said that to Inez, who had linebacker shoulders, and Richard, whose stomach jiggled over the waistband of his shorts.

Her gazed clapped on an emerald-green Elizabeth and James wrap dress hanging on a rack. She breathed in, already picturing herself in it—it would make the perfect caroling outfit. The only one left on the rack was a size four, but she was sure she could fit into it. She moved toward it, but a figure stepped in front of her, grabbing it first.

"Hey!" Hanna cried. "I was going to take that!"

"Sorry," a familiar voice said. Then the figure turned. "Hanna?"

"Dinah," Hanna growled, taking in the dark-haired girl in the ugly fifties-style white wool coat, poodle skirt, and quilted mock-Chanel bag. It was like Dinah was her new A.

Hanna's gaze fell to the dress in Dinah's hands. "That isn't your size," she said, unable to hide the disdain in her voice. "It isn't really your style either."

Dinah clutched the dress to her chest. "How do you know what my style is? And I'm small than I look, Hanna. Not all of us have a flat ass and no boobs."

Not all of us have a flabby waist, either, Hanna wanted to snipe. She gestured to the dress. "Where were you planning to wear it?"

A sly smile washed over Dinah's face. "Somewhere," she said cryptically, an instantly Hanna's heart began to pound. Had she made a date with Vince? We're they doing another volunteer activity together?

"How do you know about Elizabeth and James, anyway?" Hanna demanded.

An exasperated snort emanated from Dinah's nostrils. "My aunt works at Bazaar in New York. I went to the Elizabeth and James runway show at Fashion Week last year."

"You did?" Hanna bleated before she could stop herself. She was dying to go to a 7th and Sixth show, even for one of the smaller designers—hell, even for one of the winners of Project Runway. And it must be amazing to have an aunt who worked for Bazaar.

Hanna wavered, considering letting Dinah have the dress, but then she pictured Vince grinning at her across the table in the ice cream shop. "I saw the dress first," she insisted.

"I touched it first." Dinah pressed the dress to her chest. "It'll look better on me, anyway."

"It absolutely won't look better on you." Hanna held out her hands. "Your boobs are too big."

"Yeah, well, your body is too straight-up-and-down." Dinah lifted the hanger over Hanna's head so she couldn't reach it.

Hanna grabbed for it. "You'll look pathetic in it."

"You'll get sick of it in a week." Dinah hid the dress behind her back. "I can tell you're a fickle bitch."

"I am not a fickle!" Hanna shrieked. "You're whiny! And your tattoo is hideous! It'll clash!"

The girls glared at each other.

"Just give it to me!" Hanna lunged behind Dinah's back. "It isn't right for you, okay?"

Dinah stepped out of her way. Hanna let out a huff and dove for her again, yanking the dress out of her hands. "Ha!" she crowed, waving it over her head like a flag and running for the dressing rooms. A couple of shoppers looked up in surprise. A saleswoman paused at the counter, her mouth hanging open.

"Come back here!" Dinah screeched, right on Hanna's heels. Hanna wove around the racks of clothes, the entrance to the dressing rooms in full view. All of a sudden, she felt two heavy arms wrap around her waist and pull her down. Dinah fell on top of her, and for a moment Hanna was squished into the tattoo on her arm. She felt the dress being pried from her fingers.

"How dare you!" she muttered. "Get the hell off me!"

To Hanna's surprise, Dinah rolled off her, the dress still securely in Hanna's grip. Dinah wasn't even looking at her, instead staring at something in the dressing rooms. "Shh!" she whispered.

Hanna pricked up her ears, afraid she was going to hear the eerie high-pitched giggle that had been haunting her lately. But instead, she heard a loud smacking sound smoking from inside one of the dressing rooms.

"What is that?" Hanna said, slowly rising to her feet. She crept closer to the dressing rooms, which were empty except for the noisy stall. Two pairs of shoes peeked under the door, one of them dark black boots, the other prissy black-and-white heels that looked vaguely familiar.

Hanna exchanged a knowing look with Dinah. With a slight nod of her head, Dinah encouraged her to move closer. Hanna tiptoes a few more steps toward the room. The shoes and boots under the dressing room shuffled. The slurping sounds increased in intensity.

Suddenly, the door flung open, and two people tumbled into the corridor. Hanna pressed the wall, pulling Dinah with her. There, reflected in the three-way mirror, was a guy in a red Santa suit, Santa hat, Santa beard, and shiny black boots. "You're so hot," Santa said in a skeevy voice.

He was sucking on some skinny girl's neck, and the girl was running her hand through his beard. Hanna stared at her. The girl's chestnut hair was swept into a messy French bun, her ass was nonexistent, and on her thin, ballerina-like wrist was a very familiar silver David Yurman bangle.

It was Kate.

Hanna grabbed her phone, which was conveniently in her bag's front pocket, and snapped a picture. Then she and Dinah sprinted out of the dressed room. Out of breath, they collapsed on a table of jeans and stared at each other for a pregnant pause. At the exact same moment, they both burst into peals of laughter.