by Sara Shepard
Rooming with a Villa Gorilla was a terrible possibility. Hanna couldn’t be the uglier roommate. And she felt like she was skating on thin ice with popularity-hungry Mike, anyway, what with everyone snubbing her.
The conversation between Mike and James moved from the Villa girls to the fact that several people had already had things stolen from their rooms. “It’s not iPads or cell phones, either,” James said. “It’s random crap like shampoo and socks.”
“Dude, I’d better hide my boxers,” Mike joked.
Then James pulled a flask out of his bag. “Want some?” he asked, pushing it toward Mike, though not Hanna. When he unscrewed the cap, the scent of freshly squeezed limes wafted out.
Hanna inhaled the fragrant limes of the margarita—it was one of her favorite aromas, though it had been ages since she’d smelled it. Suddenly, a memory of the last time she really remembered the scent wriggled its way into her mind. The memory was about the other secret she was keeping, the one about Madison last summer.
She’d been in Philly with her dad that day to attend a political rally for one of his cronies—her dad’s campaign hadn’t really ramped up yet, but he’d done his fair share of handshaking and drumming up financial support. Afterward, when her dad had gone to a fancy dinner at the Four Seasons, Hanna had wandered over to South Street, wanting to get lost in the crowd of sightseers. Even though she was psyched that her dad was running for office, the secret from spring break weighed heavily on her. What if someone found out about it?
She’d noticed someone smiling at her from one of the side streets and saw an attractive guy standing in front of a bar called the Cabana. He was cute in that clean-cut, interchangeable-frat-boy way.
“Drinks are half-off right now,” he said, pointing to the bar. “Come in for happy hour.”
“Uh, I have a boyfriend,” Hanna said quickly.
One corner of the guy’s mouth turned up. “I’m the bartender. I’m just on a break right now. I’m not trying to hit on you.”
Hanna peered into the bar. It wasn’t really her type of place—there was an outdated Phillies schedule in the window, a naked girl–silhouette doormat at the front door, and the smell of stale beer and cigarettes. But there was an old-timey jukebox in the back playing a classic country song. No one knew, but old country songs were her weakness. She wanted to sit in the darkness and not think for a while. Besides, this didn’t seem like the kind of place anyone from her dad’s campaign would go, meaning they wouldn’t catch her.
So she followed the guy in. A couple of downtrodden-looking men and women nursed beers at the bar, and two guys were halfheartedly playing darts in the back.
The bartender who’d coaxed her inside had now taken his post behind the counter. “I’m Jackson, by the way,” he’d said. “What can I get you?”
Hanna didn’t really want anything to drink, but she asked for a margarita anyway. As she inhaled the drink’s syrupy sweetness someone called out from the other end of the bar, “Watch out. Those things are super potent.”
It was a slender girl a few years older than Hanna with wide blue eyes and high cheekbones. There was something sporty about her broad shoulders, freshly scrubbed skin, and high blond ponytail. She nudged her chin toward Hanna’s drink. “Seriously. Jackson should have warned you.”
Hanna licked her fingers clean. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
The girl grabbed her cocktail, got up, and slid into a seat next to her. “He’s kind of cute.”
Hanna shrugged. “He looks like he rows crew. Not my thing.”
The girl sipped her drink. “I dare you to ask him to do a shot with us.”
“That’s okay,” Hanna said quickly. She wasn’t in the partying mood.
The girl cocked her head. “Is someone scared?”
Hanna flinched. Ali used to dare Hanna, Emily, Aria, and Spencer to do all kinds of things they didn’t want to do, teasing that they were scared when they refused. She always made them feel like such losers.
“Fine.” Hanna flagged Jackson over and ordered three lemon drops—one for him, too. The bartender and the girl knocked theirs back, but Hanna dumped hers on the floor when they weren’t looking.
The girl sloppily wiped her mouth and gave Hanna an approving grin. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Olivia.” Hanna blurted out the first name that came to mind. It was the name of her father and Isabel’s wedding planner, whom she’d spoken with earlier that day.
“I’m Madison.” Madison raised her empty shot glass. “I’m having one last hurrah before I head back to Penn State. I’m on academic probation there, and if they catch you with even the teensiest bit of alcohol on your breath, they go ballistic. Where do you go to school?”
“Temple.” It was another think-fast answer—Emily was starting a summer program at Temple next week.
Madison asked Hanna more questions about herself, and Hanna made up more details. She said she was a cross-country runner, that she wanted to be a lawyer, and that she lived in Yarmouth, which was near Rosewood but not Rosewood. It felt good to slip into someone else’s identity for a few hours. This fictitious Olivia didn’t have two murderous BFFs and various stalkers. Her life seemed so enviously simple. The only real thing she shared was that she was going on a trip to Reykjavik, Iceland, soon with Aria, Noel, and Mike. “Is that the place where you can smoke pot in the streets?” Madison asked excitedly.
Hanna shook her head. “No, that’s Amsterdam.” Madison looked disappointed.
Madison told Hanna that she lived in the area, though she didn’t say where. At first, she put on a good face about going back to school next fall, but as she downed drink after drink, her enthusiasm seemed forced and manufactured.
Within an hour, Madison became aggressively flirtatious with every guy at the bar—especially Jackson, who she said shopped at the store where she worked. Eventually, she slurred her words, dropped things, and spilled her sixth drink across the bar. As Hanna ran for napkins, Jackson scooped up the empty glass. Hanna wanted to tell him to cut Madison off—she could barely stand up.
“We’re taking a quick break, but we’ll be right back!” the steel drum player boomed, jarring Hanna from her thoughts. She looked around. The plate of fries was now empty. James was gone, and Mike was fiddling with his cell phone. She gritted her teeth, annoyed she’d given Madison any thought. Hadn’t she just told herself not to think about all the crappy things in her past?
“I still have no signal,” Mike grumbled, punching buttons. “What if it stays this way through the whole trip?”
“The crew told us the service is spotty,” Hanna reminded him. “Besides, why do you need your phone so badly right now? Are you secretly texting with a Villa girl?”
“Never,” Mike said, then stood. “I’m going to unpack. Wanna meet up later in your room?” His eyes danced playfully.
“Yes, but only if my roommate isn’t a Villa girl,” Hanna said. “I’ll let you know.”
Then she headed toward her cabin, which was two decks down and through a labyrinth of hallways. On her way there, she spied Zelda Millings, a cool girl from Doringbell Friends who was always at Noel Kahn’s parties. “Hey, Zelda!” she called out.
Zelda looked at Hanna, then sniffed and pretended to talk on her cell phone. Hanna glanced around, horrified that someone might have seen.
As she slipped the keycard into the lock and opened the door, the room looked different than when she’d left it. The lights Hanna had turned off were on again, and the TV was blaring.
“Hello?” Hanna called tentatively, peering around. Someone had dumped their suitcase on the second bed. A pair of bright-yellow skinny jeans lay on the floor. A silky scarf, several T-shirts—in size extra-small—and a pair of espadrilles were spread across the mattress. Hanna’s gaze scanned the rest of the room. There wasn’t a plaid Catholic schoolgirl uniform in sight. Yes.
“Hello?” she called again, more happily this time.
A figure appea
red in the balcony doorway. “Hanna?”
Hanna’s eyes adjusted. Standing before her, in a cloud of her signature Kate Spade Twirl, was a girl with long, supple limbs, white-blond hair, and ice-blue eyes. It was someone Hanna hadn’t prepared for at all.
“Oh,” Hanna said stupidly. It wasn’t a Villa girl. It was Naomi Zeigler.
She braced herself, waiting for an insult to spew from Naomi’s mouth—probably something about her being a stalker. Or maybe Naomi would groan and march out of the room, disappointed that she’d gotten stuck with Hanna, the ship’s biggest dork.
But the corners of Naomi’s lips edged up in a grin. “Oh thank God,” she blurted, slumping in relief. “I was so afraid they were going to stick me with someone like Chassey Bledsoe!”
She strode up to Hanna and linked her arm through her elbow, which was stiff with caution. “I am so glad you’re here,” Naomi gushed. She squeezed Hanna’s arm. “I need someone to party with. What do you say?”
Hanna licked her lips. She wanted to ask Naomi where her BFF, Riley Wolfe, was, but now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen Riley anywhere. Maybe she hadn’t come.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror over the bureau. Her auburn hair hung glossily down her back, the zits on her forehead seemed to have suddenly cleared up, and her arms looked toned and trim, not bloated from stress eating. Even though Naomi was probably glomming on to Hanna because her other friends weren’t aboard, it had been a long time since a popular girl had begged her to hang. And with everyone still snickering about her little stalking episode, the offer felt even more tantalizing. With Naomi at her side, she’d become a queen bee again in no time. And isn’t that what she’d wanted, forever?
I’m Hanna Marin, and I’m fabulous, she used to say when she was friends with Mona. And, okay, maybe she didn’t feel quite as fabulous these days, but surely she still had a little bit of sparkle left in her.
She turned to Naomi and squeezed her arm back. “Let’s party.”
5
SPEAKING OF VILLA GIRLS …
At 10 P.M. that same night, Emily stood on the Fiesta Deck next to Spencer, Aria, and Hanna at the Welcome to Paradise Luau. Fragrant leis hung in loops from the archways. Palms sprouted out of brightly painted pots. Pink and yellow strobe lights flashed from the ceiling. The place was so stuffed that Emily had had her toes stepped on a zillion times. The air had a sweaty, humid quality to it, and every few seconds a flash popped.
“It’s great to see you all groovin’, people!” Jeremy called from the stage as the DJ launched into “I’m Sexy and I Know It.” A bunch of girls screamed.
Emily watched them as they barreled toward the dance floor, keeping her eyes peeled for a tall girl with dark hair and haunting eyes—Ghost Girl, she’d begun to call her. She’d thought of little else since their interaction on the balcony. Had there been something magical between them, or was it just her imagination? And why had she let the girl go without asking who she was?
Spencer, whose eyes kept wandering all over the crowd, too, pointed at a table across the room. “How about some ice cream?”
She was looking at the make-your-own sundae bar in the corner. It was slightly less crowded than other parts of the party, so Emily and the others made a beeline for it.
As they chose their glasses and long silver spoons, Aria nudged Emily, her gaze on someone across the room. “Hey, is that your roommate over there?” she asked.
Emily looked through the dancing bodies. A tall girl with dip-dyed blond-to-brown hair in a tight black dress and black boots was holding court in a booth. Her chocolate-brown eyes were heavily lined and shadowed, and her lips were a vampy red, reminding Emily a little of Angelina Jolie. The silver cross around her neck made her seem both untouchable and irresistible. A few snooty-looking blond girls were sitting with her, and about eight guys flocked around them, flirting.
Emily rolled her eyes. “Yes.”
Hanna, who had just plopped a modest-sized scoop of vanilla into her bowl, gasped. “Your roommate is Erin Bang Bang?”
Emily gave her a crazy look. “What?”
“Erin Bang Bang. But just the guys call her that, not the girls. She’s from Villa Louisa, that Catholic school that’s obsessed with sex.”
“I heard a rumor about that girl today,” Spencer said as she deliberated over chocolate or rainbow sprinkles. “She’s the one who dumped Justin Bieber because he was too boring, right?”
“Noel told me she made out with the pastry chef minutes after the boat disembarked,” Aria piped up. “He created a dessert in her honor.”
Hanna made a face. “She’s not that great.”
Emily stared at the labels on the tubs of ice cream. They all had politically correct names like Free-Trade Vanilla, Sensitively Harvested Chocolate, Organic Strawberry, and Cruelty-Free Rocky Road (No Marshmallows). Then she eyed Erin again. “This afternoon, she walked into our room for about one minute, took one look at me, and walked out again,” she said stiffly. “I guess she thought I was a sucky choice for a roommate.”
“Aw, Em.” Hanna placed her hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure it wasn’t because of anything you did.”
“I’d love to be your roommate,” Aria added. “I’m stuck with this girl from Tate who’s obsessed with the talent show at the end of the trip. She’s already working on a song—and her voice is awful.”
Emily smiled at all of them, instantly feeling better. One good thing had come out of this A mess: She’d reunited with her friends for real.
They moved closer to Erin Bang Bang’s booth. Now she was sitting on the lap of a tall guy with surfer-dude blond hair. “What do you say to a Titanic moment later on?” she cooed to him loudly, sounding a little drunk.
Surfer Dude widened his eyes. “Which moment would that be? ‘I’m the king of the world’? The part where Leo sketches Kate in the nude?”
“Whatever moment you want,” Erin Bang Bang said, trailing her finger up the boy’s cheek. “Want to meet in your room in an hour?”
Emily turned away. So much for a heart-to-heart bonding session tonight. For some reason, she felt like Erin was rejecting her, not just being a slut.
Spencer grabbed a napkin from the stack. “Forget about her, Em—we’ll have a great time together.” She pointed at a talent show poster on the wall, which featured silhouettes of kids dancing à la the iPod ads. “Why don’t we do an act together?”
Hanna rolled her eyes. “Why is everyone so into this stupid talent show? Didn’t they go out in, like, fourth grade?”
“Come on.” Aria nudged her. “We could all make up a dance routine.”
“What about a hula dance?” Emily suggested, spooning up whipped cream from the top of her sundae. “We could wear bathing suits and make grass skirts.”
“Perfect,” Spencer said. When she noticed Hanna’s sour face, she poked her arm. “You’re doing it with us whether you like it or not.”
“Fine,” Hanna said, rolling her eyes.
Sundaes in hand, they pushed through the crowd toward a booth that had just opened up. Emily slumped into the seat and gazed around the huge room once more. Kids hung on the railings and crammed against the bar. When she saw a flash of a white dress, her heart sped up a little. Ghost Girl?
But then the girl stepped out from the crowd. She had a stubby blond ponytail and a big nose. Emily’s shoulders drooped in disappointment.
A new song came on, and Jeremy’s voice boomed through the speakers. “This is going to be the last song of the night. I hope everyone had a great time, but we gotta get our beauty sleep!”
Spencer snorted into her hand. “Beauty sleep? That dude is so weird.”
“Does anyone else think he’s sort of a lech?” Hanna whispered. “I swear I’ve felt someone watching me all day. And when I turn around, he’s always there.”
“Are you sure it’s not A?” Aria asked.
“A’s not on the ship,” Emily insisted. “Didn’t you see all that secu
rity checking IDs at the gate?”
Aria raised an eyebrow. “Who says A doesn’t have an ID? I’m with Hanna. Ever since I boarded the cruise, I’ve felt … weird. Like someone is watching, but then ducking away before I can see who it is.”
“But …” Emily trailed off. She didn’t even want to consider the idea of A being on the boat.
She glanced around. A shadow slipped behind a large potted plant, but when Emily turned to see who it was, no one was there. James Freed was grinding against a few girls from Pritchard. Phi Templeton carried a big dish of ice cream to her seat.
As Beyoncé launched into a new verse, Jeremy cleared his throat. “One other thing, guys. Not to be a buzzkill, but some items have gone missing from people’s rooms. Please know we don’t tolerate this behavior. Respect the earth, respect people’s stuff, you know?”
Zora-Jean Jaffrey, a bookish girl from Rosewood Day whom everyone called Z-J, banged her spoon against her sundae glass from the next table over. “That thief took my makeup bag!” she said to her group of friends. “My mom quilted it for me and everything!”
When the song ended, the lights came up. Kids started toward the exit. Spencer leaned forward. “So what’s our game plan, guys? What should we do about A?”
“We should try to put together all the clues as to who A might be,” Emily said, shrugging. “It’s someone who knows everything, who was in Jamaica and Rosewood. I feel like the answer is right in front of us, and we just don’t see it.”
“Watch what you say,” Aria said warily. “A might be right in front of us—literally. If anyone sees anything weird, send a text, okay?”
“And maybe we should just enjoy ourselves a little, too.” Spencer dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “We haven’t had a chance to breathe since Tabitha’s body was found. This might be a good opportunity.”
