by Sara Shepard
“Have you actually ever talked to her?”
“Well, no.” Graham buried half his foot in the sand.
Aria groaned good-naturedly. “That should be your first clue that nothing’s going to happen. She seems perfect for you. Go offer to get her a soda from the drinks cart.”
“Now?” Graham looked panicked.
“Yes, now!” Aria really, really liked this idea. Here was her chance to do something nice for Graham. It was a chance to atone for Tabitha, too. Square things up with the universe. Restore her karma.
She marched over to the drinks cart and purchased four Oranginas, two for them and two for the girls. “Now you don’t even have to buy her a drink. Just go and offer these to Elf and Hippie. That’ll strike up a conversation.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know!” Aria exclaimed, laughing out loud. “French beverages, whatever! Now c’mon, do it!”
Graham licked his lips. But after a moment, the tortured look on his face fell away, and he seemed almost a little excited. “Okay,” he said.
He padded across the sand, holding the squash-shaped bottles in his hands. The girls shaded their eyes when he approached. They accepted the drinks and unscrewed the tops. Graham squatted down and said something to Elf Girl, and Elf Girl giggled.
Yes, Aria thought, taking a swig of her Orangina. She felt like Cupid.
Suddenly, her phone chimed from inside her bag. She reached for it. One new text message. The sender was a jumble of letters and numbers.
A shiver snaked up her spine. Two tourists wearing fanny packs stared confusedly at a map across the street from the beach. A beautiful black woman in an island-print bikini spread out her towel on the sand. A girl approached the drinks cart and asked for a limeade. When she moved out of the way, Aria locked eyes with her. It was Naomi. Her blue eyes didn’t blink. There was a nasty smile on her face, and she held a cell phone tightly in one hand.
Aria spun away fast, almost walking into a moving car. Then she looked down at her own phone and pressed READ.
Good for you for helping him get back in the game, Aria. Everyone needs a little “push,” don’t they?—A
12
DUETS
Late that afternoon, after her Caribbean jewelry-making course finished, Hanna plopped down at a bistro table with Mike and perused the big leather menu the waitress had just delivered to them. Mike sniffed the air and made a face. “Ugh. Something smells like goat poop. I think it’s me.”
Hanna snickered. “That’s what you get for working on the on-board organic farm.” Naturally, the cruise ship had its own chicken coops, alpaca pens, and greenhouse, and Mike had signed up for volunteer duty. “What possessed you to work there, anyway?” she asked. “You should have asked to be on the gym staff or something.”
Mike shook his head woefully. “When I saw hydroponic and greenhouse in the description, I thought it was a pot farm. I didn’t know I’d have to spend two hours milking goats. Do you know how badly those things reek?”
Hanna poked him. “Well, you’d better take another shower, stinky. Otherwise you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”
Mike sat up. “So does that mean you’re staying in my room again?”
Hanna stared absently at the shuffleboard tape marks on the deck. “Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” Mike said emphatically. “But c’mon, Hanna. Squeezing into a twin bed isn’t really your thing. Did you and Naomi have a fight?”
Hanna pretended to be fascinated with the ice cubes in her glass, not wanting to meet Mike’s eye. Though it was really cozy to snuggle in bed with Mike, she was the type of sleeper who thrashed around at night, needing a lot of space. She’d woken up several times last night on the verge of falling out of the bed. Besides that, Mike’s room smelled kind of like a wet dog, and his roommate, a kid from Tate, farted in his sleep.
“It seemed like you guys were getting along at Mason’s party,” Mike added.
Hanna winced as she relived the moment when she’d clapped eyes on Naomi’s fake ID. “It doesn’t matter.”
Mike buttered a piece of bread. “I don’t get you girls and your stupid feuds. You know what I think you and Naomi should do? Strip down, have a good old-fashioned mud-wrestle, and pretty soon you’ll work out all of your problems!”
“And then we’ll kiss, I suppose?” Hanna deadpanned.
Mike’s eyes lit up. “Only if you want to!”
Hanna smacked him, then gave her order to the waitress. She knew Mike wanted a better explanation, but what could she say? I’m afraid to be around Naomi because I crashed her cousin’s car and left the girl for dead, and now I’m worried that Naomi either just found out or that she’s always known and is torturing me as A. Sorry I never told you any of this until now!
She really, really didn’t want Naomi to be New A, especially because of how they’d bonded at the party. Things had felt so natural between them, like they were long-lost friends. And what about all that stuff Naomi had said about exercise bingeing? Had she made that up simply to gain Hanna’s trust, so she could carry out her diabolical plans?
It did make sense that Naomi was A, though—at least one of the As. She could have effortlessly eavesdropped on so many secrets, what with her fast friendship with Kate. And she could have trailed Hanna to the photo session with skeevy Patrick, who had wanted to post her slightly inappropriate pictures online. Naomi had been at the flash mob when Hanna met Liam Wilkinson, her father’s rival’s son—she could have spotted them making out in the alley. Gathering dirt on Hanna’s little Colleen-stalking mission would have been a piece of cake, too.
And she had plenty of motive. How many dirty looks had Naomi and Riley given Hanna and the other girls after Ali invited them into her brand-new clique? How many times had Naomi tried to take Hanna down—and failed? Okay, so Jamaica didn’t really make sense—but maybe she was working with someone else, someone who’d recruited her onto the A-Team once Madison died. If Naomi knew Hanna had been the driver, had potentially hurt Madison while moving her, and then had abandoned her—well, that would push anyone to seek revenge.
It wasn’t like Hanna had meant to crash the car, though. She’d actually thought she was being a good Samaritan for driving Madison home. At the end of the night, it was clear Madison was in no state to drive—she had been slurring her words and practically falling asleep on the bar. Hanna had looked at Jackson, the bartender. “Do you have numbers for cabs?”
Jackson propped his elbows on the counter and chuckled, as though this were a frat party. “Yeah, she’s pretty wasted, huh?”
“No cabs!” Madison crowed. “I’m fine!” She twirled the key ring around her finger, but it flew off and skidded under a video poker machine. When she bent down on her hands and knees to retrieve it, the whole bar got a view of her pink thong.
“That’s it,” Hanna had said, slapping down a twenty to cover Madison’s bill. She gathered Madison’s purse from under the stool and yanked the girl to her feet. “I’m driving you home, okay? Where do you live?”
“I can drive, Olivia,” Madison whined, using the fake name Hanna had given her. “I’m serfectly pober! I mean perfectly bober! I mean …”
And that was when she turned green, bent at the waist, and puked on her Coach flats. Patrons backed away, looking disgusted. Jackson wrinkled his nose. “Come on,” Hanna said, dragging Madison out the door before she could vomit again. She felt a tiny spiral of worry as she took Madison’s keys—she’d had a drink, too. But it was hours ago, and she’d nursed it. She’d drive a few miles under the speed limit to make sure no cops would stop her.
Now a bunch of girls rushed to the side of the ship, pulling Hanna from her thoughts. “Are those dolphins?” someone cried.
Mike rose to see, but Hanna remained in her seat, her thoughts still churning. It seemed so unlikely that Naomi could have found out she was the driver that night—not unless Madison woke up and remembered, which would have been impossi
ble if she’d died. Had she seen the crash happen from her new house, taking in everything through the trees? But that didn’t make sense, either—if she’d watched, surely she’d seen that car come out of nowhere and run Hanna off the road.
“There you are!”
Hanna looked up. Naomi stood above her, dressed in a green Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and raffia sandals. She held a glass of grapefruit juice in her hand and smelled, as usual, of Kate Spade Twirl.
“I just heard the best gossip about that Erin Bang Bang girl,” Naomi said conspiratorially.
Hanna blinked, unnerved by Naomi’s approach. “What was it?”
Naomi plopped down in Mike’s seat. “Apparently, someone heard her talking on the phone with her mom. And get this—she was pretending like she was a complete angel, saying how she was praying every morning, spending a lot of time with her classmates, and avoiding parties and boys. Can you believe it?”
Hanna eyed Naomi carefully. Her eyes were twinkling, and she had a sweet smile on her face. She seemed so harmless, not like a malicious killer. But this was probably part of her plan as A. Still, Hanna thought about the strategy Spencer had suggested to earn Naomi’s trust and figure out if she was A. She could fake-friend her. All of a sudden, it seemed feasible. Maybe Hanna could even figure out if Naomi really knew about the accident with Madison, too.
She cracked a tiny smile. “If only we could post Erin’s dalliances in a place where Mama Bang Bang would see.”
“Seriously.” Naomi chuckled, taking the bait.
Hanna laid down her napkin. “I saw a sign that it’s Karaoke Night tonight. Want to go?”
Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Only if you’ll sing a duet with me. I hate doing karaoke alone.”
“You got it!”
“Let’s go now,” Naomi suggested. “I have the perfect song for us.”
Hanna stood just as Mike returned from dolphin-spotting. He gave her a confused look, which she avoided with a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later,” she said breezily, then glided away. Hopefully he didn’t notice how badly her hands were shaking as she followed Naomi to the elevators.
The karaoke lounge was two levels down, and they could hear caterwauling all the way from the elevator bank. There was a small, dimly lit stage at the front of the room, and the room’s small, round tables were filled with kids. Hanna noticed a cute, dark-haired guy sitting by himself near the bathrooms. It was Graham, the boy Aria was partnered with for the scavenger hunt. Aria had shown her pictures of him on the Tabitha Clark Memorial website.
As if sensing her gaze, Graham turned and looked at Hanna, too. He didn’t blink. Hanna flinched and turned away. She followed Naomi to peruse the book of songs, her heart banging the whole time. I could be standing next to A right now, she kept thinking. This girl could know all the horrible things I’ve ever done.
She eyed “California Gurls” by Katy Perry and considered suggesting it, but then decided it was too cheesy. But suddenly, Naomi pointed at it, too. “I think we could rock this one, don’t you?”
“Let’s do it.” Hanna wrote it down next to their names. There was no way she was quibbling with A.
They sat down at a table and waited their turn. Though Hanna had to keep jiggling her leg to assuage her nerves, she pretended to be completely calm, watching as a bunch of guys from Ulster growled out something by a metal band and three girls with the same blond haircut pretended they were Britney Spears. Naomi pulled out her cell phone, and though Hanna was dying to look at what she was writing, she kept her gaze pasted on her drink, her heart thudding hard.
Naomi dropped her phone back in her bag. “I wish they would serve us,” she sighed. “I so need a cocktail. I’m having major guy issues, and I want to drown my sorrows.”
“What’s going on?” Hanna asked, shakily resting her chin in her palm. Fake-friending Rule #1: Always pretend to care about the fake friend’s boy problems.
Naomi sighed. “The guy I’m into likes Spencer.”
Hanna sipped the water that had been placed in front of her, surprised Spencer hadn’t brought this up when they’d talked about A last night. “That sucks,” she said fumblingly.
“It does suck.” Naomi’s eyes widened. “Hey, got any dirt on her? You know, something that would make him run screaming?”
Hanna coughed. “I don’t really know anything that good.” Except that she’s a murderer, a voice growled in her head. Or that she took drugs last summer and framed someone else for possession. Or that she helped me move your cousin into the driver’s seat of the car I was driving.
Then again, if Naomi was A, she already knew all of that.
“Aw, I’m just kidding.” Naomi nudged her playfully after a moment, probably registering Hanna’s uncomfortable expression. She squeezed Hanna’s hand. “You’re so lucky you have Mike, you know.”
“Yeah,” Hanna said, feeling herself relax, smiling as she thought of him.
“He’s better than Sean Ackard,” Naomi added. “You know I dated him too, right?”
Hanna nodded. “In ninth grade.”
Naomi looked surprised. “How did you remember that?”
Hanna laughed. “I pined over Sean for years—I knew everyone he dated. But, you know, when I got him, he was a huge disappointment. He was just so … good.”
“You mean the no-sex thing, right?” Naomi rolled her eyes. “He’s always been like that. I was at this party with him once, and all the couples were peeling off to make out. But Sean and I sat on the couch, watching this stupid movie on TV like we were the parents. It was so lame.”
“What does Kate see in him?” Hanna giggled.
“Maybe she’s into virgins,” Naomi snickered. “I heard she’s going to V Club with him now.”
“Actually, I—” Hanna was about to say she’d seen Kate and Sean leave a V Club meeting a few weeks ago but stopped herself just in time. She’d been with Liam when she caught Kate and Sean at the V Club meeting.
Then again, if Naomi was A, she would know that, too.
Hanna straightened up, feeling nervous. “You know, if you really want a cocktail, we could sneak off the boat when we get to Puerto Rico and go to a bar or something. I have a fake ID. And you have your, um, cousin’s, right?”
A strange expression flashed across Naomi’s face. “Yeah.”
“Are you guys close?” Her heart was pounding hard. She felt ridiculously transparent.
Naomi picked at her nails. “Like sisters. Her name’s Madison. She went to St. Agnes. Now she goes to Penn State. Or, well, she did go to Penn State until the accident.”
Hanna’s stomach dropped. “Did she … die?” She braced herself for the answer. Or for Naomi to start screaming that she knew everything and wanted Hanna dead.
Naomi glanced at Hanna for a long moment, almost as though she were sizing her up. But before she could answer, the beginning notes of “California Gurls” boomed through the space, and the lyrics appeared on the screen behind the stage.
Naomi leapt up. “God, I’m such a buzzkill! C’mon. Let’s forget about this and have fun.”
They rushed up to the front and grabbed the microphones. But when Hanna opened her mouth to sing, her voice sounded unsteady and thin. She kept picturing Madison in a hospital bed, post-crash, one of those horrible masks on her face breathing for her. She pictured Naomi, Madison’s favorite cousin, sitting by her side, a blubbering mess. Finding out that someone else was to blame would drive anyone to revenge. But how was Naomi able to play it so cool right now?
She glanced over at Naomi now. Her eyes were clear, her tears gone, and she was singing gleefully into the microphone as though she’d put the pain behind her. As the peppy chorus began, a bunch of kids in the audience sang along. Naomi’s voice rose. She turned around and slapped her butt. Hanna couldn’t help but snicker.
Then Hanna threw her head back and sang louder, too. Her voice sounded good blended with Naomi’s. When she opened her eyes, Naomi grabbed her hands and sp
un her around. She flipped her skirt, and Hanna grabbed two glowsticks from a nearby table, pretending firecrackers were exploding from her boobs. The crowd cheered. When Hanna looked out at their faces, even Graham was smiling.
When the song ended, a bunch of guys sitting along the wall chanted, “En-core! En-core!”
“The public loves us!” Hanna giggled as they stepped off the stage.
“That’s because we’re awesome!” Naomi looped her arm through Hanna’s elbow. “We should perform that at the talent show, don’t you think?”
“Um, sure,” Hanna said, remembering her promise to Spencer and the others to do the hula with them. But it wasn’t like she could say no—not to the girl who was potentially A.
And then, as if on cue, when she got back to her seat, her cell phone light was blinking. There was a new text message.
Naomi’s head had turned and she was talking to Ursula Tippington, paying no attention. Hanna cast a glance at Naomi’s phone on the table beside her. All she had to do was reach over and grab it, but her limbs felt as if they were filled with sand. Swallowing hard, she opened her text.
Hanna Marin got in a crash
Moved a girl to cover her ass
Hanna Marin fled the scene
But someone saw it all—me.
—A
13
PEOPLE WHO FLOAT IN GLASS BOATS SHOULDN’T THROW STONES
“Welcome to Puerto Rico!” Jeremy boomed over the loudspeaker on Thursday morning. He said it with a flamboyant Spanish accent, rolling the rs.
Emily watched as a lot of kids waved scarves at the people on shore. An acoustic, dreamy version of “Over the Rainbow” tinkled over the loudspeakers, and everyone groaned. That same song had played when they’d pulled out of Newark, then the following morning at sea, then to summon them to dinner the night before. It was getting a little old.
She sat down on a bench, inhaling the humid air. Jordan had left her a note on her bedside table earlier, saying she was grabbing coffee but that Emily should meet her. When her phone rang, she expected to see Jordan’s name, but it was Hanna instead.
