by Sara Shepard
She edged closer to Jordan, who was fidgeting excitedly. “Are you sure we should do this?”
Jordan’s brow furrowed. “You’re not going to chicken out on me now, are you? I’ve wanted to do this for years.”
“What if the lines break?” Emily looked nervously at the chasm below. The instructor had said it was at least a forty-foot drop.
“The lines are superstrong.” Jordan inspected Emily carefully. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?”
Emily swallowed hard. “I had this friend who was sort of crazy. She took me to this gulch earlier this year, and we had a fight, and for a moment I was sure she was going to push me over the edge.” She shut her eyes and thought about that horrible night with Kelsey Pierce.
Jordan’s eyes widened. “Whoa.”
“I was fine, of course,” Emily said quickly. “My friend was fine, too. It just shook me up, that’s all.” She didn’t even want to get into how Mona Vanderwaal had fallen off the very same cliff the year before. Although she’d filled Jordan in on the basics about Ali and A, she hadn’t gotten into too many of the details. And she certainly hadn’t told her about New A.
“Look, I promise I won’t push you off anything,” Jordan said. “And how about this? If your line breaks, I’ll dive into the abyss after you. If we both die, at least we’ll get to explore the afterlife together.”
“Okay,” Emily whispered. She fumbled for Jordan’s hand. Jordan looked nervously back and forth, then laced her fingers in hers. Though they’d kissed in private plenty of times since their boat tour yesterday, they hadn’t been public about anything yet. Emily was hesitant to ask why. Maybe it was too fast. Or maybe Jordan was worried about what her new Ulster classmates would say about her having a girlfriend, which is how Emily had come to think of her.
Jordan was totally perfect. Last night, after their secret boat cruise, they’d opened up about everything, covering topics Emily hadn’t dared to explore with anyone before. Jordan revealed that she’d had a few lackluster boyfriends, and then she’d fallen for a toxic girl named Mackenzie. When Emily pushed for details, Jordan couldn’t go on. “It was just too painful,” she admitted. “You’re actually the first person I’ve ever talked to about her. You officially know more about me than anyone else.”
Another boy went on the zip line, letting out a keening wail as he drifted across the gully. Suddenly, Emily and Jordan were next in line. “You girls ready?” the instructor asked.
Emily’s feet felt buried in the mud, but Jordan dragged her forward. “Yep.” She grabbed Emily’s hand and squeezed it hard. “I’ll hold on to you the whole time. I promise.”
Emily shakily let the instructor harness her up. She could barely hold the zip line handles, her palms were sweating so badly. The instructor counted down, then yelled, “Go!” and Jordan jumped off. Emily had no choice but to go with her.
She felt her body being pulled downward toward the gully and screamed. But then, suddenly, she realized she wasn’t falling—she was floating. The harness held, and the mechanism speedily pulled her across the ravine. The wind whipped through her hair. Below her, she could see the forest floor, carpeted with tons of brilliantly hued flowers. Beside her, Jordan was laughing her head off. Emily shot her a euphoric grin.
In seconds, they were on the other side, breathless. Emily’s whole body trembled as the instructor removed her harness and helped her take off her helmet. Then she turned to Jordan. Her lips felt wobbly as she smiled. “Can we do it again?”
“Of course,” Jordan said. “I knew you’d love it.”
They rode the line across the ravine three more times. When they boarded the Jeep that would take them back to the boat, Emily checked her phone. Aria had texted, asking if Emily could meet her and Spencer in the common room. Emily didn’t ask why, but she assumed it was to rehearse their hula routine.
“I wish you could participate in the talent show,” Emily sighed, resting her head on Jordan’s shoulder. “Hanna dropped out, so we need one more.” She hadn’t told her friends about Jordan yet, but maybe she should. Would they really care that Jordan was a stowaway? Even Jordan herself didn’t seem too worried about it.
“I wish I could, too,” Jordan sighed. “But you know I can’t. I’ll watch from the audience, okay? And if you win, you’d better give me a ride on your Vespa.”
“When I win,” Emily corrected her.
At the boat, Jordan slipped past the guard in a group of kids so she wouldn’t have to show ID. They parted at the elevators, Jordan saying she was going to lie down in the room while Emily went to meet Aria. Then Jordan leaned in for a kiss. When they pulled away, Emily pushed a lock of hair behind Jordan’s ear. “I thought you were uncomfortable about us being affectionate in public,” she said.
Jordan shrugged. “This is new to me. But with you, I don’t have anything to hide.”
She kissed Emily once more, then disappeared into the elevator car. Emily glided toward the common room, humming the salsa song she’d heard on the radio on the ride back to the ship. As she passed a long bank of mirrors in the hallway, she laughed. Her lips were swollen and full, her skin pink from too much sun. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked so happy.
She rounded the corner for the common room and scanned the couches. Neither Spencer nor Aria were there yet. She settled down on one of the couches, staring at the satellite feed of CNN on the TV that was mounted to the wall. PREPPY THIEF STILL AT LARGE read a banner across the bottom.
A reporter appeared. “We’ve been following the story all morning about how an eighteen-year-old New York girl known as the Preppy Thief escaped from her holding cell in Philadelphia three days ago.”
There was a video of a bunch of lawyers walking into a courthouse. “Notorious for stealing private planes, expensive boats, motorcycles, and cars for extravagant joyrides, Katherine DeLong was being held until her trial was set to begin later this week,” a voiceover said. “But early Sunday morning, security guards found her missing. Authorities suspect she is trying to flee the country. She’s very dangerous, and if anyone has information about her whereabouts …”
A mug shot of the Preppy Thief popped on the screen. Emily squinted at it, then did a double-take. Was that … Jordan?
“Emily?”
Emily looked up. Spencer and Aria stood behind her, the grass skirts they had made a few days ago in their hands. They looked from the television to Emily’s stricken face, confused.
“I …” Emily trailed off, not knowing what to say.
Her gaze returned to the TV. Now the news showed a video of Jordan walking out of a courthouse in an orange jumpsuit. Next flashed a photo of Jordan in a tennis dress and shoes, a familiar silk headband in her hair. Another video appeared of Jordan in court. A lawyer whispered in her ear. There were shiny handcuffs on her wrists and shackles on her ankles.
It felt like the ceiling was crumbling in. Anger boiled inside of Emily, sudden and fierce. With shaking hands, she grabbed her phone and composed a text to Jordan. I know who you are, you liar, she wrote. I don’t want to ever see you again. Get out of my room now. As she hit SEND, she let out a sob.
“Emily?” Aria looked concerned. “What’s going on?”
“Do you know that girl?” Spencer asked, pointing at the TV.
Emily’s mouth felt like it was filled with peanut butter. “That’s my new … she’s … I know her.”
“Oh my God,” Aria whispered. “Is this girl the new friend you met? Is she on the boat?”
Emily nodded weakly, afraid to give away any more.
Beep.
Her eyes filling with tears, she looked down at her phone, bracing herself for what Jordan might say. But when she pulled up the screen, it said One new text message from Anonymous.
There was a hot flash through her chest. She looked around. The common room overflowed with kids—they were on the couches, sitting at the tables, playing pinball on the Simpsons-themed machine in the corner. She thoug
ht she saw a flash of blond hair disappear around the corner. Emily stood up halfway and peered into the hall, but the figure had vanished.
She looked down at the message.
Cute! Maybe you and Miss Preppy Thief can room together in jail!—A
17
FRIENDSHIP HAS ITS UPS AND DOWNS
“ California Gurls, duh duh duh DUH duh duh!” Naomi and Hanna sang as they walked down the cobblestoned streets of Old San Juan later that night. They were on their way to a club Naomi had been invited to that afternoon and had decided to fit in a quick rehearsal for their talent show routine on the way. Passersby kept giving them strange looks.
“Hey, we should see if we can find blue and purple wigs,” Naomi suggested, sidestepping a sewer grate in her high heels. “Maybe there’s a costume store at the last stop. Or maybe we can borrow a wig from someone in Cirque du Soleil.” She snickered.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if we found a guy to play Snoop Dog?” Hanna suggested, thinking about the video.
“Oh my God, that would be classic,” Naomi squealed. Then she sighed. “Damn. The guy I was into would’ve made a perfect Snoop—he’s such a pothead. But now that he’s with Spencer, it’s like he wants nothing to do with me.”
“We’ll find someone else,” Hanna said quickly as they passed a closed-up boutique with bikini-clad mannequins in the window. She wasn’t about to mess with a Naomi-Spencer love triangle, especially if Naomi was A. Which was something she still wasn’t quite sure of.
Naomi breezily pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Or maybe I’ll find a way to get him back.”
Before Hanna could ask what that meant, they’d turned the corner and arrived at the club. Pounding bass and raucous laughter filled the air. A line of well-dressed people stood outside the unmarked double doors. When Hanna and Naomi waved their VIP invites, the bouncer lifted the velvet rope to let them in.
“Thanks!” Naomi trilled, as though she’d known the guy for years. Hanna trailed behind her, feeling the envious stares of everyone in the line. She glanced at her and Naomi’s reflections in the long bank of mirrors that lined the hallway. They’d planned their outfits together, both wearing jewel-toned dresses, high, strappy heels, and coordinated jewelry. They’d sat side-by-side to do their makeup, gossiping about people on the boat as they applied foundation and swept on mascara.
The tunnel opened into a large, square, dark room with a long, stainless-steel bar at one end and a bunch of banquettes at the back. A DJ spun records in the corner, and a huge dance floor took up the rest of the space. Bodies writhed on all sides of them, each guy more gorgeous than the last. The room smelled like booze, cigarettes, and the gardenia blooms that adorned every table. As the salsa beat rocked in Hanna’s ears, she unconsciously began to swing her hips.
Hanna touched Naomi’s shoulder. “This is great!” she yelled over the music.
“Right?” Naomi grinned, strutting up to the bar and batting her eyelashes at the bartender, who came over immediately.
Naomi ordered two neon-orange cocktails and handed one to Hanna. Hanna took a small sip—she didn’t want to drink too much and let down her guard. People were dancing in every nook and cranny, including on top of the banquettes. There was a photographer wandering the perimeter with a huge digital camera around his neck, occasionally stopping and taking a shot of the dancers. After a moment, he stopped in front of them. “Can I take your photo?” he asked.
“That depends.” Naomi placed her hands on her hips. “What’s it for?”
“The style section of the San Juan Hola.”
Hanna exchanged an excited look with Naomi—she’d always wanted to be in a Style section. She set her drink on a nearby table and wrapped her arm around Naomi’s shoulders. The photographer snapped and snapped. First Hanna gave him a sultry model gaze, then threw back her head. But she knew not to get too carried away—the experience with creepy Patrick was still fresh in her mind.
“Gorgeous,” the photographer said when he was through. Then he glanced at the crowd behind them. “I think you have some fans.”
It was true. Tons of guys on the dance floor were now giving them the eye, including a dark-haired college-age kid in an oversized T-shirt and baggy jeans. When he met their gaze, he raised his drink at them from across the room and crooked his finger, beckoning them over. Hanna and Naomi nudged each other and snickered.
“He’s cute, but he knows it,” Hanna yelled in Naomi’s ear.
“Definitely. Come on, let’s dance,” Naomi said, grabbing Hanna’s hand and pulling her onto the dance floor. The song was something Latin and fast, and they started wriggling to the music, making sexy poses for the Hola photographer every time he did a lap. Then, as the DJ transitioned into a new song, Naomi tapped Hanna’s arm. “Who do you think is the hottest guy in this place?”
Hanna slowed her dancing and surveyed the options. “It’s a toss-up between the Enrique Iglesias look-alike and James Bond in the corner.”
Naomi squinted at James Bond, who was wearing a slim-cut suit, expensive-looking shiny shoes, and Ray-Bans. “Hanna!” she shrieked. “He’s, like, forty years old!”
“He is not!” Hanna said, studying the guy’s toned physique and thick brows. “He just looks older because he’s sophisticated.”
“He’s definitely only a six or a seven,” Naomi decided, sipping her cocktail. “Now that guy is a ten.” She used her straw to point to a blond guy by the bar. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a surfing magazine.
“Are you kidding?” Hanna wrinkled her nose. “He’s an eight at best.”
“What about him?” Naomi glanced at a guy sitting at a nearby table. He had a shaved head and sexy cheekbones.
“Five,” Hanna decreed loudly, feeling more and more confident. “I hate shaved heads.”
“And him?” A guy with lobsterlike sunburn on his nose and arms.
“Ick! One!” Hanna cried.
They made it into a game, going around the room, tapping guys and assigning them numbers like deranged fairy godmothers. “Six!” they called to a slightly overweight guy who had thick, lustrous hair. “Nine!” they called to an Abercrombie-model look-alike who was dancing shirtless. “Seven!” “Four!” “Eight and a half!” At first, the guys at the club didn’t quite understand what the girls were doing, but they caught on pretty quickly. Those deemed eights and above looked pleased. A guy who’d gotten only a six narrowed his eyes and mouthed something that looked like Bitch.
Someone caught Hanna’s arm as she was racing past the DJ booth. “What would you rate me?”
She stopped short and looked at him. His hair was greasy, his nostrils weirdly oversized, and he was wearing a T-shirt that had the Chanel logo plastered across the front. He reminded Hanna of the guy who worked at the Motorola kiosk in the mall.
She turned to Naomi, who’d paused, too. “Ali had a phrase for this, you know,” she screamed into her ear.
“What was that?” Naomi asked.
“Not it!”
Hanna turned and fled. Naomi burst out laughing and raced behind her. Breathless from laughing, they spilled out onto the patio, which was much cooler and quieter. Naomi wiped her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in my life.”
“Did you see the look on that greasy guy’s face when I said, ‘Not it’?” Hanna squealed. “I thought he was going to kill us!”
Naomi collapsed into a chair. “Did you play that game a lot when Ali was around?”
Hanna swallowed a giggle and shook her head. “Not like that.”
“She didn’t have that game when I was friends with her,” Naomi said. Then an uncomfortable look flashed across her face. “But I guess that was because it wasn’t the same Ali.”
Hanna’s spirits dimmed a little. “Yeah,” she said, then reached for her drink, not knowing what to say next.
Naomi spun the bracelet around her wrist. “I feel terrible about what happened with you guys and Ali in the Poconos. It was al
l so unbelievable.”
“Thanks,” Hanna mumbled. Then she looked up, realizing something. “Were you surprised when you found out that there were two of them? And that the girl you were friends with was a murderer?”
Naomi picked at her nails. “Well, kind of, but …”
“But what?”
Naomi stared at the lanterns hanging from the rafters. “The whole thing is just sad, you know? I feel like such a jerk for saying this, but sometimes I still miss her.”
“You’re not a jerk,” Hanna said quietly. It hadn’t occurred to her before that Naomi had lost Ali as well. Not their Ali, of course, but an Ali all the same.
“You know what?” Naomi peered at her. “You’re really easy to talk to. I’m surprised.”
“I’m surprised about you, too,” Hanna said tentatively. The statement was way more loaded than Naomi might ever know.
“I’ve told you stuff I haven’t told a lot of people,” Naomi said, leaning against the railing.
“Oh? Like what?”
“Like the bingeing, for one,” Naomi admitted. The light caught her gold earrings, making them glitter. “And the stuff just now, about Ali.”
“You mentioned something about a favorite cousin, too,” Hanna said, her heart hammering. “A girl who got in a car accident?”
Naomi pressed her lips together. “Yeah. Madison. I never talk about her.”
“So … did she die in the accident?” Hanna held her breath.
Naomi shook her head. “No. But she was messed up pretty bad—a lot of broken bones, and she was in a coma for a few days. She had to learn how to walk again. It was hard on all of us.” Her voice broke.
Hanna let out a huge mental sigh—Madison wasn’t dead. But hearing what had happened hit her unexpectedly hard, bringing tears to her eyes. Now she had a new image in her mind, one of Madison hanging on to one of those physical-therapy walker things, struggling to take a step.
Naomi set her empty cocktail glass on the table, sniffing once more. “In a weird way, though, that crash was the best thing for my cousin. It got her straight. She was a major alcoholic before that—drinking instead of going to class, drinking as soon as she woke up in the morning, drinking and getting behind the wheel and nearly killing herself. I mean, yeah, it sucked that she totaled the car and had to go through so much pain, but she hasn’t had a drink since. She seems much happier now.”
