by Sara Shepard
Reefer stared at her. “Um, Spencer, if it’s laced with acid, then I’d be on acid. But you’ve lost all perspective. Naomi isn’t gaslighting you.”
“Yes, she is!” Spencer cried. She rushed over to the closet and peeked inside, worried her bags were booby-trapped to fall on her head. Then she held her bottle of allergy pills to the light. Were they the same blue shape as before? What if Naomi had replaced them with something else—something dangerous?
Reefer placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve got to calm down. You can’t go around blaming bad luck on someone else. Everything that has happened to you is because you made it happen, okay?”
A lump formed in Spencer’s throat. Reefer was right—but not for the reasons he thought. Maybe she had made her bad luck happen—maybe this was a karmic revenge for all the terrible things she’d done. Framing Kelsey. Helping Hanna with Madison. Tabitha. This was the universe’s way of punishing her.
Then she blinked hard, reality snapping back into focus. This wasn’t karma—this was A! And A wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted.
And just like that, Spencer knew what she had to do. She looked up at Reefer, a lump in her throat. “We have to break up,” she said.
Reefer’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” she said in monotone. She knew she’d crumble if she looked Reefer in the eye, so she stared at her hands. “This just doesn’t feel right.”
“You really think she’s torturing you, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you let me talk to her?”
Spencer looked away. “Can you just do what I ask?”
Reefer stepped back as if she’d shoved him. His eyes glistened with tears for a moment, but then he steeled his jaw, breathed in, and turned around. “Fine,” he said in a defeated voice.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer called weakly. But he had already slammed the door.
23
THE WRONG IDEA
That afternoon, Aria and Graham stood outside the theater on the bottom level of the boat. The bright-blue walls featured photos of the Cirque du Soleil performers, who all looked freakish and possessed with their buggy eyes, weirdly tight leotards, and absurdly long limbs. Another wall was devoted to signs for that night’s talent show—it started at seven, and there was a pre- and post-party.
The rest of the wall space, though, was covered with strange hieroglyphs relating to Cirque du Soleil. Aria and Graham were here because the final Eco Scavenger Hunt clue, which they’d found in a compost pail in the ship’s kitchen, required them to decipher the hieroglyphs. But to Aria, the characters just looked like nonsensical squiggles.
“Any ideas?” Aria stepped aside as one of the acrobats, who had a single ostrich plume sprouting from her head, strutted through the theater door. That morning, when he and Aria had reported to Gretchen, she’d told them they were in the lead. “If we figure out this clue, those Apple Store gift cards are ours.” Even though Aria hadn’t been into the idea in the beginning, she’d mentally browsed through the Apple Store, contemplating whether to buy a white iPad with tons of memory or a MacBook Air.
“That’s probably why they made it so impossible.” Graham’s forehead wrinkled as he studied the wall. “That one looks like a cloud.” He pointed to a puffy-looking image. “And that one looks like a falling girl.”
Aria flinched. If she turned her head a certain way, it did look like a body descending through space. The photo of Tabitha’s tumbling form appeared in Aria’s mind, followed by A’s latest note. Will Aria’s boyfriend visit her in jail?
The door to the theater swung open, and another acrobat strutted out. She glanced at them and smiled. “Want a clue?”
Aria and Graham nodded eagerly.
The acrobat edged closer. “See that picture there, the one that sort of looks like a dinner fork? It stands for an E. And the image that looks like a carrot stands for the letter S.”
Aria looked at the wall again. “So it’s like a cryptogram?”
“Precisely,” the acrobat said, then pirouetted away.
Aria peered at the symbols. She and her father, Byron, used to do the cryptogram puzzle in the Philadelphia Sentinel every morning. The puzzle always featured a scrambled quote. The trick was to figure out the cipher so it made sense.
When she reached into her purse for a pencil, her fingers brushed against a golf tee from the mini golf course she and Graham had visited the other day. She smacked her forehead. “Graham, I’m so rude! How did it go with Tori last night?” Graham had sent her a text the afternoon before saying that he and Tori had made dinner plans. She’d written him back with a list of things to talk about, adding that he should pull out Tori’s chair when she sat down and never, ever order for her. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to ask.
Graham pushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “It was fine.” Then he pointed at a three-letter word with a dinner fork icon in it. “If that stands for E, then that word is the. And so are those two.”
“Oh. Right.” Aria wrote it in, then filled in the Ts and Hs elsewhere in the puzzle, too. She cleared her throat. “So it was just fine? Not amazing?”
“And maybe that’s to.” Graham pointed to a two-letter word starting with T. It was like he didn’t hear her.
“Yep,” Aria said, writing it in. Her stomach sank. Had the date been a disaster? Maybe Graham had talked nonstop about SCA or his dead ex-girlfriend. Maybe Tori had left after the appetizers.
She was dying to ask, but all of a sudden the hall felt too quiet and exposed. They stared at the puzzle for a few minutes longer, writing in more words. Within a few minutes, they had the whole message: Protect the seas. Save the planet. Live life to the fullest.
“Okaaaay.” Graham twisted his mouth. “What are we supposed to do with that?”
“I’ve seen that phrase somewhere,” Aria murmured, shutting her eyes. Then the answer popped into her mind: the banner in the casino, from that first day. She’d noticed it because she’d sworn she’d seen something—or someone—moving in the shadows beneath it.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Graham’s hand.
The casino was dark and empty, the slot machines buzzing atonally. The banner still hung over the tables. Aria walked beneath it and placed her palms on the table’s surface. When she ran her hand along the underside, her fingers touched cardboard. She squatted down; two cards had been taped right where the tabletop met the legs. She pulled off the tape and held the cards to the light. Congratulations! they both read.
Aria opened one. It was, indeed, a $1,000 gift card to the Apple Store. She waved it at Graham. “We did it!”
Graham threw his fist in the air. Then he scooped Aria up and swung her around. She giggled, but didn’t squeeze him too hard, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. When Graham pulled back, his cheeks were a delighted pink.
“We should celebrate, don’t you think?” he asked. “How about lunch at that restaurant on the upper deck?”
“Well …” Aria’s mouth wobbled. She wanted to tell him that he should do something with Tori instead. She also wanted to see Noel. But Graham seemed so happy. And they had just won.
“I’m in,” she decided, grabbing one of the gift cards from his hand. “Just let me freshen up.”
An hour later, Aria climbed up a spiral staircase to Galileo’s, a little restaurant on a small landing atop the main deck. Twinkling fairy lights were strung around the railing and threaded through potted ficus trees. Kids were sitting at tables, a jazz band was tuning up in the corner, and the walls were plastered with posters advertising the talent show. FIRST PRIZE: VESPA! they all proclaimed.
“Aria?”
Graham appeared behind her, dressed in a blue button-down and a clean pair of jeans. His hair was neatly combed, he’d shaved, and she could smell his woodsy cologne from here. When he saw her, his face twitched nervously. “You look nice.”
“Oh, I wear this old thing all the time,” Aria sai
d, waving her hand at her blue maxi-dress and espadrilles.
Graham walked to the bar and ordered them two ginger ales, then led her to a high table by the railing. Once they sat down, a sly look came over his face, and he produced a flask from his back pocket and shook it. Liquid sloshed inside.
“What is that?” Aria whispered.
“Something to help us celebrate,” Graham said, then paused. “Is that okay?”
Aria must have had a strange look on her face; she was surprised Graham drank. He’d been so adamant about The Cliffs serving alcohol to minors on the Tabitha Clark Memorial website, after all.
“I guess I could have a little,” she said after a moment, and allowed Graham to pour the pungent liquid into her glass. When she took a sip, she nearly coughed. “Yikes.” It had to be about 150 proof.
Graham downed his drink quickly. “I need this right now.”
“Why?” Aria pushed her glass away. “I thought you’d feel pretty relaxed now that we’ve won.” Then she raised an eyebrow. “Is it because you’re nervous about your talent show performance? Playing a Death Cab song on the lute sounds awesome to me.”
“It’s not that,” Graham mumbled.
“Tori’s going to be so into it,” Aria gushed. “Speaking of which, spill it. How did the date really go?”
Graham shrugged one shoulder. “I told you. It was fine. We hit the restaurant on the main deck. She got sushi, I had a turkey burger.”
Aria blinked. Listing the food one had eaten on a date wasn’t a particularly good sign. “Did you have a lot to talk about?”
“I guess.” Graham tore the napkin that had come with his ginger ale to shreds. “To be honest, I’m not really sure I’m into Tori, after all.”
“Why not?” Aria cried. “She seemed perfect for you! And I’m positive she was interested.” She sat back in her chair. “Are you scared to let yourself like someone else because of Tabitha?”
“I’m definitely not scared. She just wasn’t for me.” Graham picked up his glass and drained the rest of the drink. Ice cubes rattled at the bottom of the empty glass. When he set it back down, he gave her a long, piercing look that Aria didn’t understand. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve been trying to muster up the courage to say all day.”
Aria cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
Graham continued to stare. And then, suddenly, puzzle pieces snapped together in Aria’s head. He likes you, Noel had said. A dude can tell. You might be leading him on and not even know it.
She swung her hands to the right, almost knocking over her glass. “Um, you don’t need to tell me anything,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
“No, I really need to—”
“We should just have fun tonight,” Aria interrupted, reaching for her drink—all of a sudden, alcohol sounded like a great idea. “Celebrate our win.”
“But …” Graham trailed off abruptly, his eyes widening as he stared at something on Aria’s chest.
She looked down, wishing she’d chosen a dress that didn’t show so much cleavage. “Isn’t the sea rocky tonight?” she asked loudly, gesturing over the rail.
But Graham didn’t take the bait. He pointed at the locket around her neck. “Where did you get that?”
Aria touched it self-consciously. “My boyfriend gave it to me.”
Graham’s hand shot forward. He grabbed the necklace and yanked it closer. The chain pressed against the back of Aria’s neck, forcing her forward. His lips were inches from hers. Aria cried out, turned her head so that he couldn’t kiss her, then wrenched away from him so forcefully that she nearly toppled her barstool.
When she righted herself, Graham was just staring at her again, not apologizing for what he’d done. Aria grabbed her purse, avoiding eye contact. “I have to go.”
Graham stood too. “Aria, wait.”
“Don’t.” Her head started to pound. Suddenly, everything felt so sour and sullied. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
She tried to wheel around, but Graham caught her arm. She cried out again. When she looked at his face, it was grave, almost angry. “But I have something to tell you,” he demanded.
“You’re hurting me,” Aria said shakily, staring down at his nails in her arm. Her heart thundered in her chest.
Graham released his grip, suddenly looking horrified. She shot away fast, diving for the spiral staircase and clomping down as fast as her high shoes could carry her.
“Aria!” Graham called after her, but she didn’t stop. Only when she got to the bottom did she peer up the stairwell. Graham stood at the top, looking flummoxed. His eyes were wide and sad, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown.
She skittered away and felt guilt wash over her. Had she led Graham on? Was he crushed now? How had this gone so horribly wrong?
The elevator couldn’t come fast enough. She hit the button again and again, afraid Graham might decide to come and talk to her. Then a tinkling sound of piano keys sounded behind her. There was a baby grand piano in the waiting area, and someone was pressing a high note over and over again. It sounded like the soundtrack to Psycho.
She turned around, ready to tell whoever it was to stop it, but there was no one at the bench. She blinked hard around the empty room—had she heard the sound at all? But no, the sound of a just-plucked piano string echoed in the air. Someone had been playing the piano. And she knew, immediately, who it had been.
24
SOMETHING’S MISSING
“Welcome to Bermuda!” Jeremy’s voice chirped over the speakers that afternoon. The opening bars of “Over the Rainbow” played. Instead of rushing to the railing and waving at everyone on the dock, as Hanna had done every other time they arrived at an island, she remained parked behind a stack of books in the lending library, her gaze trained on her stateroom door down the hall.
“How long are you going to sit like that?” Mike asked, propping his feet up on the oak desk next to her and rifling through an old Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.
“I already told you,” Hanna said under her breath. “I’m waiting until Naomi leaves.”
Mike peeked over the centerfold. “You seriously can’t deal with seeing Naomi for even one second? Are you scared of her?”
Hanna glared at him. “You can leave at any time, you know.” When Mike had asked her what she was up to that morning, Hanna said she wanted to check out the library on her floor. Mike had offered to come with her, but after a half hour of watching Hanna stake out her room and not leaf through a single book, he’d caught on to what she was really doing.
“I still think mud-wrestling is the way to go,” Mike said, turning back a page to look again at a supermodel in a high-cut string bikini.
“Thanks for the suggestion,” Hanna said. “I just don’t really want a confrontation. She caught me looking at her computer, and she’s pissed. I want to go back into the room when she’s not around, that’s all.”
It was almost the truth. Hanna didn’t feel it necessary to add that she wanted to go back into the room so that she could look at Naomi’s computer again. Or that Naomi was probably extra-pissed at Hanna because she’d ditched out on her without an explanation.
“You were going through her stuff?” Mike said. “What’s gotten into you? First you stalk Colleen, now it’s Naomi …”
“Would you stop asking questions?” Hanna hissed, feeling more and more exasperated.
Mike laid down the magazine. “God, fine.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to find Noel so we can run through our talent show song one more time. Call me when you’re done playing Stake-Out.”
As he stormed off, the door to her stateroom opened, and Naomi sauntered out, dressed in a white eyelet dress and blue sandals. Several chunky bangles lined her wrists, and she carried a small red leather bag under her arm.
Hanna held her breath as Naomi walked by the library, praying she wouldn’t stop inside. She didn’t. As soon as Naomi stepped into
the elevator, Hanna crept down the hall toward their room. When she was almost there, a figure passed through the intersecting hallway, and she froze. It was Jeremy. His fingers were entwined behind his back, and he was whistling “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
She leaned against the wall, her confidence shaken. As the elevator dinged, a horrible thought struck her. What if Naomi forgot something and came back?
She scuttled back to the library and dialed Spencer. “It’s Hanna,” she whispered when she answered. “I’m right outside my room, and I want to look at Naomi’s computer, but I don’t want to get caught. Can you be a lookout?”
Spencer groaned warily. “I don’t want to piss her off even more.”
Hanna glanced at the elevator again. Hopefully Naomi hadn’t just taken a quick jaunt down to the gift shop. “Please, Spence? It’ll take five minutes. We need to nail her.”
Spencer let out a long sigh, then hung up the phone with a clunk. In less than a minute, the elevator chimed, and she limped out. Her face was pale, and one side of her hair was matted. Spencer caught Hanna looking and said, “There was gum in my hair. It was a bitch to get out.” Then she gestured down the hall. “Let’s make this quick.”
Hanna let herself into her room. Inside, Naomi’s bed was neatly made, her clothes folded on the bureau. Hanna looked right and left, and finally spied the laptop underneath Naomi’s desk. Her heart did a flip as she lifted the cover. She found Naomi’s photo folder quickly and opened it. Her gaze went immediately to a folder titled Vacay. She opened it up, then clicked on the first icon. The same photo that had been on Aria’s phone appeared. It had almost been too easy.
“Oh my God,” Hanna whispered. “Here they are.”
“Really?” Spencer ran from the doorway and peered at the screen. “Jesus. Delete them!”
“I will.” Hanna highlighted the images and dragged them into the trash. “Go back to the door and make sure she isn’t coming!” she instructed.
