Twisted. (Book Nine)

Ten: A Star Is Born.

The next afternoon, after the SEPTA R5 stopped at every possible local station, Hanna finally arrived in Philadelphia. As soon as the metal door slid open she slung her silver studded hobo bag over her shoulder and stepped onto the steel escalator. Two girls in Bryn Mawr College sweatshirts and boot-cut jeans stared at her.

For a moment, Hanna tensed, thinking of the postcard in Ali's old mailbox last night. Then it hit her: They recognized her from the news reports last year. Rude stares happened to Hanna more than she liked.

She stuck her nose in the air, feigning her best aloof celebrity pose. After all, she was going to her very first photo shoot—what were they doing in the city? Bargain shopping for knockoffs at Filene's Basement?

A tall figure with a camera around his neck stood outside the station's McDonald's. Hanna's heart leapt. Patrick even looked like an up-and-coming photographer—he wore an army-green coat with a fur-lined hood, slim-cut jeans, and polished chukka boots.

Patrick turned and noticed Hanna approaching. He raised the long-lensed digital camera around his neck and pointed it at her. For a second, Hanna wanted to cover her face with her hands, but instead she threw back her shoulders and gave him a big smile. Maybe this was a test, an action shot of a model in the dingy train station, surrounded by overweight tourists with fanny packs.

"You made it," Patrick said as Hanna walked up.

"Did you think I'd bail?" Hanna teased, trying to control her excitement.

He looked her up and down. "Great outfit. You look like a hotter Adriana Lima."

"Thanks." Hanna put her hands on her hips and tilted to the right and left. Damn right it was a great outfit—she'd agonized over the pink frilly dress, motocross jacket, chunky suede booties, and gold-scented bracelets and necklace all morning, trying on a zillion combinations before she found something that hit just the right note. Her bare legs would probably get frostbite, but it would be worth it.

The SEPTA announcer shouted that a train to Trenton had just pulled into the station, and a bunch of people clamored down the stairs. Patrick picked up a canvas bag full of camera gear and strode toward the Sixteenth Street exit. "I'm thinking we'll do a couple outdoor shots around the city. Some classics in front of City Hall and the Liberty Bell. The light's great right now."

"Okay," Hanna answered. Patrick even sounded uber-professional.

"Then we'll finish up with some indoor photos at my studio in Fishtown. Do you mind all that? It would be amazing for my portfolio. And like I said, I can help you pick out shots for agents."

"It sounds perfect."

As they climbed the stairs, Patrick pressed his arm against Hanna's, pointing out a patch of ice. "Careful."

"Thanks," Hanna said, steering around the ice. Patrick removed his hand as soon as she'd crossed safely.

"So, have you always wanted to be a photographer?" Hanna asked as they headed along Market Street toward City Hall. It was freezing outside, and everyone was walking around with their heads down and their hoods up. Dirty, slushy snow piled at the curbs.

"Ever since I was little," Patrick admitted. "I was that kid who never went anywhere without a disposable camera. Remember those—or are you too young?"

"Of course I remember them," Hanna scoffed. "I'm eighteen—how old are you?"

"Twenty-two," Patrick said, as if that were so much older. He gestured to the left, off to another section of the city. "I went to Moore College of Art. Just graduated."