Six: The Biggest Losers.

That day after school, Hanna sat on steps outside Body Tonic and cradled her cell phone between her shoulder and her ear. "Sorry, Dad. I swore I told you that I had plans tonight."

"But you're going to miss Santa's Village at Longwood Gardens." Mr. Marin sounded very disappointed. "It's going to be a blast."

Hanna resisted the urge to gag. In seventh grade, she, Ali, and the other girls had gone to Longwood Gardens, which was essentially just that—a big, boring garden. It was hot, crowded, and downright miserable inside, so they'd spent most of the time hanging out in the parking lot, gossiping about which boy at Rosewood Day they most wanted to kiss and which celebrities they'd invite to their fantasy birthday parties.

"I'm really sorry," Hanna repeated. "But I made these plans before I knew about your Twelve Days of Christmas thing."

Mr. Marin sighed. "This isn't because you're uncomfortable with Isabel and Kate, is it? Kate says wants to get to know you, but you keep yourself at a distance. She also mentioned you ditched out on going to the mall with her the day we moved in."

Hanna opened her mouth, then shut it again. Kate had some nerve. "This has nothing to do with them," she lied.

When she hung up, she rested the phone in her lap, wishing it would ring once more and she'd hear Lucas's voice on the other end. But it stayed silent. She stared at the cars swishing back and forth on the remote country road. Snow was falling lightly, making the pavement sparkle. Hanna heard a shuffling noise to the left and sat up straighter. It sounded like someone was lurking behind the corner.

Hanna shrugged it off—no one was stalking her anymore—and jumped to her feet. She headed inside the gym, an excited flurry in her stomach. She might have been resistant to the group fitness idea at first, but now she was pumped. Everyone would probably be pretty, young Main Line girls—maybe she'd even make a new friend or two. And Vince had said that the class incorporated fitness, nutrition, and well-being; perhaps that meant regular massages at the end of each session, by Vince, of course. On a strictly professional basis, so Lucas wouldn't get too jealous.

A printed sign that said Holiday Fitness Retreat was pasted on the door of one of the regular exercise rooms. Hanna had expected that the class would be in a secret Body Tonic space—something for VIPs only—but whatever. She took a deep breath and pushed through the door, a huge smile on her face, half-expecting all the beautiful participants to spin around and welcome her with open arms, sort of like a group therapy session except way more glamorous.

But the lights, which were very bright, almost fluorescent, revealed an entirely different scent. Ten people sat on the floor with various mats, balls, bands, balancing apparati, and toga blocks in front of them. All of them did indeed turn and stare at her, but they didn't spread out their arms to welcome her in a group hug. Not that she wanted to touch them. They were as far from glamorous fitness junkies as possible.

There was a woman with a triple chin. A man whose guy plunged his waistband. Frump suburban mothers. Dumpy suburban dads. The kind of teenage girls who joined drama club or band or spent their lunch periods in the art room, not giving a shit about how their bodies looked. One girl had the biggest boobs she had ever seen. She was Hanna's age and sexily padded, with big hips and a large butt, like a fifties pinup girl. She had a punish style—tall, lustrous black hair, copious eyeliner on her almond-shaped eyes, lots of red lipstick on her baby-doll lips, and a tattoo shaped like a swirly dagger on her shoulder. Normally Hanna wasn't into the look, but it kind of worked on her. Not that she would admit it out loud.

A glam fitness retreat this wasn't. It was more like a low-rent version of The Biggest Loser. Hanna hadn't seen a single one of them on the floor of Body Tonic, ever—it was like the gym had hidden these people away so as not to scare off the regulars. And every last person was wearing an oversized red T-shirt that said Get Your Butt In Gear! in big white letters on the front and Holiday Fitness Boot Camp! on the back.

"Hanna!" Vince appeared from behind a set of stereo equipment in the corner and grinned at her broadly. He was also wearing a red Get Your Butt In Gear! shirt—albeit a much tighter one. "Glad you could make it! Here, take a T-shirt!"

He tossed one to her, but Hanna didn't make an effort to catch it, letting it bounce off her chest and drop limply to the floor. Behind her, she heard a thin, high-pitched giggle and froze. A figure slipped around the corner, her long blond hair streaming. Had someone seen her? Would someone think she was part of…this?

"Let's start by introducing ourselves and saying why we're here," Vince began. He pointed to the pinup girl.

She jiggled her boobs at him and purred, "I'm Dinah Morrissey. I don't care about losing weight, but I do want to make a commitment to get healthier." She batted her lashes at Vince, who smiled broadly back at her.

"Nice to meet you, Dinah. Hanna, how about you go next?" Vince asked.

Hanna's mouth was sealed shut. She looked again at the lumpy misfits on the floor, let out a small squeaking noise, and spun around. She ran as fast as she could toward the main gym, back to where everyone was pretty and slender and normal.

"Hanna," Vince called out as she wound around the weight machines and treadmills. He cut her off in the hallway between the yoga studio and the macrobiotic snack bar. "What's the matter?"

Hanna shrugged awkwardly, noticing that Vice had followed after her with the red Get Your Butt In Gear! T-shirt that Hanna had rejected. "I don't think that class is for me."

"The retreat? Why?"

Was he high? First of all, it was boot camp, not a fitness retreat. Second, how could Vince think Hanna belonged in a class like that? Had he noticed her on the elliptical today and pegged her as someone out of shape, someone ordinary? Someone who salesgirls snickered at, fathers rejected, and best friends despised?

"Because it's a class full of fat people!" Hanna finally blurted.

Vince took a few steps back, his mouth forming a small O. "You're kidding, right?"

A techno version of a Rihanna song thumped in the background. When Hanna didn't answer, Vince shook his head. "The other members aren't fat. Okay, maybe some of them are a little over their healthiest weights, but don't you think it's great that they want to get back in shape? I feel like I can really help them."

You're like a muscled Mother Teresa, Hanna wanted to snap. "Well, I think I'll pass."

"You're going to pass on a fitness class that's going to kick your ass? Why, because everyone else doesn't look like they stepped out of Vogue?"

He was talking awfully loudly. Hanna looked around cautiously. The whip-thin girl at the check-in desk scanned two members' cards, the machine making two efficient little beeps. A college-age guy sprinted on the treadmill, his floppy blond hair bouncing. What if someone had been listening, someone from Rosewood Day? If anyone caught wind of this, she would be the school's biggest loser—in more ways than one.

Vince gave Hanna a knowing look. "I think I understand what's going on. You don't have it in you. It's not called boot camp because it's easy. You don't have the mental edge to go through such a rigorous program."

Hanna sniffed indignantly. "This has nothing to do with my mental edge."

"Nah, forget it." Vince waved his hand. "I should have seen the signs. Not everyone is cut for out for this class—you have to really want wellness, really be ready to go for it. Don't worry about it, Hanna. I thought you were tough enough for it—but it's cool."

"I'm plenty tough," Hanna said so loudly that a twenty-something girl n a Hollis sweatshirt by the mats glanced up in alarm. "I'm sure I'm tougher than all of those other…people in there."

Vince squared his jaw. "Okay, then. Prove it to me. Show me you're serious."

His voice sounded gruff and stern, but his eyes were soft, almost yearning. Once again, Hanna felt a tiny inkling that he might be interested in her. And just knowing someone liked her eased the loneliness she felt whenever she thought about Lucas's MIAness. If she walked out of here, condemning the fitness retreat and its overweight participants, Vince would probably never speak to her again. And she hated that he thought she was a quitter. It was practically synonymous with loser—and there was no way she was going to be a loser ever again.

"All right," she groaned. "I guess I'll give it another shot. But I have one condition. I am not wearing one of those muumuus." She pointed to the T-shirt Vince was holding.

Vince shrugged and clapped his hand on Hanna's arm. "It's a deal."