Pretty Little Liars #12: Burned

by Sara Shepard

  “I have Spencer and Aria on the phone, too,” Hanna said as soon as Emily answered. “I hung out with Naomi. She doesn’t seem to know that we were involved in Madison’s accident—but someone does. A sent me another note about it.”

  “Did you find out if Madison died?” Emily asked, her heart stopping in her chest. Please say she didn’t, she thought. If someone else died because of her, she wasn’t sure how she could go on. But then, finding out that Madison hadn’t been just passed-out drunk, as they’d all thought, was enough of a mind game. How could she have fled the scene, leaving a hurt, innocent girl behind? Emily kept picturing the police reading her charges, the looks on her parents’ faces. Her mother would probably keel over dead—and that would be yet another death Emily was responsible for.

  “I don’t know if she died yet,” Hanna admitted. “We were interrupted before I could get to that, and I felt weird pushing it.”

  “You have to try to find out what happened, Hanna,” Aria urged. “If she did die, or if she was hurt, that makes a stronger case for Naomi being A.”

  “I know, I know.” Hanna sounded distraught. Then she sighed. “But I’m confused. Naomi seems so poised and innocent. Could she be that good of an actress?”

  “I got a note from A yesterday, and when I looked up, Naomi was staring right at me,” Aria said. “My note made another reference to Jamaica. We need to figure this out soon and bring A down before A ruins us.”

  “You know who I’m not so sure about?” Hanna said. “Tabitha’s ex. He was all alone in the karaoke bar, Aria, and it seemed like he was watching me.”

  “He’s not A,” Aria said stubbornly.

  “How can you be so sure?” Spencer asked. “He was there when you got the A note yesterday, too, wasn’t he?”

  “But how could he know about everything else we did?” Aria said. “He was in South America last summer, remember?”

  “So he says.”

  There was a tense pause on the line. Finally, Spencer sighed and said she had to go. The other girls hung up, too, but they promised to meet up later to talk about their hula dance. After she hit END, Emily chewed hard on her gum. Though she didn’t believe Naomi was A, she also remembered something from the previous summer—maybe she and Naomi did share a connection. After the accident, when Emily was in Philadelphia, she’d been waddling home from the fish restaurant where she worked, deep in conversation with Derrick, her friend and coworker. They’d been talking about how heartbreaking Real Ali’s return to Rosewood had been for Emily, especially the kiss they’d shared.

  “Are you sad she died in the fire?” Derrick had asked.

  “Sort of,” Emily said, looking away. It wasn’t like she could tell Derrick that Ali hadn’t died in the fire—that she’d escaped through the door Emily had left open. Ali had died when Aria pushed her off the roof in Jamaica, though.

  Then she had stopped short, spying someone across the intersection. There, standing at the window of the BCBG store, was Naomi Zeigler.

  “Oh my God,” she’d gasped, pulling Derrick around the corner. She waited until Naomi had walked on, then figured she was safe. But what if Naomi had seen?

  Emily’s phone bleated again, bringing her back to the present. Aria, said the Caller ID. “What are you doing today, Em?” she asked. “Do you want to get breakfast?”

  Just then, Emily spied Jordan rounding the corner. She was wearing a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts and a sky-blue T-shirt Emily had loaned her. The same silk headband held back her long, dark hair.

  “Uh, I can’t,” she said.

  “Why not?” Aria sounded worried. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great,” Emily said in a lower voice. “Better than great, actually.” She peeked at Jordan as she strode toward her, a huge smile on her face. “I’ve made an amazing new friend.”

  “Oh!” Aria sounded pleased. “That’s nice. At least something good is happening on this trip. Do I get to meet her?”

  Emily chewed on the tip of her sunglasses. Aria might not approve of the fact that she was hiding someone in her room. They were in enough trouble as it was.

  “Um, I’ll get back to you on that,” she said abruptly, and then hung up.

  She dropped her phone in her bag and smiled at Jordan. “What are we up to today?” She nudged her playfully. “It had better be good. I’m skipping bird-watching for this.” Her bird-watching instructor had a beach expedition planned, though if it was anything like yesterday’s watch, Emily would be so bored that she’d almost fall asleep while staring through the binoculars. There was only so much excitement she could muster up for sea terns and pelicans.

  Jordan extended a hand to help Emily up. “We’re going ashore.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave the boat?” Emily asked incredulously. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  Jordan raised one shoulder. “Live a little! Now c’mon, cutie!”

  Cutie. Jordan had also called her hot stuff, honey, and hot cakes. Maya St. Germain used to call her names like that, and Emily had to admit she liked it. Since Emily had met Jordan, her fascination had morphed into a full-blown crush. They’d stay up each night, talking about their lives. Jordan didn’t make fun of Emily for any of the babble that spilled from her mouth, like Ali had. She just listened with an intrigued smile on her face, as though Emily were the most interesting person in the world.

  They walked down the ramp off the boat and stepped into the humid Puerto Rico air. The sun glimmered on the water. They passed a clump of kids wearing T-shirts from Ulster Prep, Jordan’s school. “Do you want to say hi?” Emily asked.

  Jordan looked at her blankly. “To whom?”

  “To …” Emily trailed off. They’d already passed the Ulster kids; the moment was gone.

  “So what are we going to do?” she asked instead. “Wander the streets? Sit at a café and listen to mariachi music?”

  “Patience, grasshopper.” Jordan bumped Emily’s hip, then took a sharp left and walked to a second dock full of tethered yachts and sailboats. She marched down the dock as though she knew it, stopping at a long, square, motorboat bobbing gently on the waves. “This’ll work,” Emily thought she heard her mumble.

  She stepped onto the boat. It rocked slightly under her weight, and she stretched out her arms for balance. She strolled to the cockpit and peered at the gauges. Then she opened a hatch next to the steering wheel. After a bit of fiddling, the motor started up.

  “Well?” she called to Emily over the growling sounds. “Are you coming aboard or not?”

  Emily blinked. “Is this your boat?”

  Jordan laughed. “No, silly!”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  Jordan leaned against the steering wheel. “Whoever it belongs to hasn’t tended to it for a long time.” She pointed to a sticker on the side. “See? The license is out of date. And there’s a ton of film on the side—it hasn’t been cleaned in years.” She patted one of the leather seats. “Poor old girl. You miss going out to sea, don’t you?”

  “But we could get in huge trouble! I thought you were trying to stay under the radar!”

  Jordan grabbed a captain’s hat that was hanging from a peg by the wheel and popped it on her head. “Life isn’t worth living if you’re scared all the time.”

  Emily glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see A’s shadow slipping behind a Chris-Craft parked near them. But no one was there. It was just her and Jordan and a dockful of boats. Jordan was right: She was scared all the time. When had she last actually had fun?

  She tentatively put one foot onto the boat. “Just a little ride, okay?”

  “Yay!” Jordan whooped, rushing over to help Emily aboard. She gave Emily a huge hug, holding her for a few extra beats. Emily’s skin tingled. The promise of more hugs like that was reason alone for breaking the rules.

  Jordan untied the boat from the slip. Then, with a spin of the wheel, she backed the boat into the harbor. A salty-s
melling breeze kicked up, blowing Emily’s hair around her face. In seconds, they were passing the cruise ship, then a bunch of sailboats. As they rounded the old fort on the outskirts of town, Emily looked down and noticed something. The bottom of the boat was glass. Fish swam gracefully just inches below her, visible in the bright sunlight.

  “Oh my God!” She placed her palms on the glass. “Jordan! Come see!”

  Jordan let the boat idle and walked into the hull, too. Tropical fish glided under her feet. Ocean plants waved gently. “Wow,” she said.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Emily breathed. “We don’t even need a dive mask!”

  They watched the water in awe for a few minutes. But as Emily stared at the abyss, her happy mood began to shift. Not even a year ago, Tabitha had been washed away in this very same sea. Fish just like these had swum around her body impassively, witnessing it wasting away. Seaweed had lodged in her hair and ears. The salty water had eroded her slowly, meticulously, until only bones were left.

  A strange noise gurgled from the back of her throat. Jordan turned. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Emily managed.

  Jordan inched closer, her green eyes wide. “No, you’re not. Are you freaked that we took this boat?”

  Emily wrapped her arms across her chest, suddenly cold. I’m freaked about everything, she wanted to say. But if she opened her mouth, she feared all her secrets would spill out in a matter of minutes. She couldn’t tell Jordan about Tabitha. It was too dangerous.

  “I’m glad we’re out here,” she finally managed. “I needed to do this. Get away from my life.”

  Jordan cocked her head. “Things at home are really that bad, huh?”

  Emily nodded, feeling a lump in her throat.

  “Your parents?” Jordan guessed. “You said they didn’t want you around.”

  Tears pricked Emily’s eyes, and she nodded again. “They hate me.”

  “What happened, exactly?”

  Emily eyed her, then took a deep breath. This was one secret she could share. “They found out I had a baby last summer. When I told them last week, they didn’t just freak—they shut down.”

  Jordan blinked slowly. “You had a baby?”

  Emily winced at Jordan’s shocked tone of voice. She was probably disgusted. But then she looked at Jordan’s face. It was kind and accepting. Go on, her expression seemed to say. I’m listening. I’ll like you anyway.

  It all spilled out of her. The part about Gayle. Even reneging on the offer and leaving the baby on the Bakers’ doorstep. “After Isaac found out, I just thought it was time for my parents to know,” she said. “But now it’s like I’m no longer part of the family. They’ve been pissed at me before, but this is in a totally different league. I know I should hate them, but I miss them so much.”

  She stared down at the fish floating by, tears in her eyes. Everything she said was painfully true. She’d been through a lot with her family, but she thought they were all beginning to understand one another. What she’d done had ruined things between them for good.

  Jordan moved closer and touched Emily’s hand. “You are so, so brave,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t do what you did. Not any of it.”

  Emily blinked away tears. “It was really, really hard.”

  “What was it like?” Jordan’s eyes were wide. “To be pregnant, I mean. To give birth. To go through something so … earth-shattering. I can’t imagine it.”

  “Scary,” Emily answered. “But also amazing. My favorite part was feeling her kick. I would lie down at night and put my hand on my belly and just stay that way for hours. At first, it’s like this little flutter inside of you. But then, as she got bigger, the kicks were stronger. It was kind of mind-blowing.”

  “Wow,” Jordan whispered.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she glanced at Jordan gratefully. “No one ever asked me that, you know. It was always about what I’d done wrong or what a horrible person I was.”

  “You’re not horrible,” Jordan said. “You’re incredible.”

  Emily peeked at Jordan bashfully. “I think you’re incredible, too,” she whispered.

  Jordan placed one finger on Emily’s knee. Instead of pulling away a split second later, she let it remain there. Emily stared at Jordan’s pink, moon-shaped nail, then slid closer. Her heart started to pound. Before she knew it, their lips were touching. Emily’s nose filled with the heady aroma of jasmine perfume. She ran her fingers up and down Jordan’s bare arms. Her skin was as soft as petals.

  They pressed close together, inhaling each other, and when they broke away, they stared into each other’s eyes.

  “Yay,” Jordan whispered giddily. “I was hoping that would happen.”

  “Yay for me,” Emily insisted, curling in Jordan’s lap and staring at the clouds.

  “Yay for us,” Jordan corrected. And then she took off the captain’s hat, placed it on Emily’s head, and opened her arms again.

  14

  SPENCER’S UNEXPECTED SWIM

  “Here you are!” A Latin waitress plopped down a large tray in front of Spencer and Reefer. “The six ceviche tasting menu! ¡Buen apetito!”

  As she strode away, shaking her ample hips, Spencer stared down at the six small bowls. “I can’t believe you talked me into this. I’ve been to the Caribbean seventeen times, and I’ve managed to avoid ceviche until now.”

  “Aw, a ceviche virgin!” Reefer pushed a fork at her. “C’mon. You have to try some. You’ll love it.”

  Spencer looked up, stalling. It was Thursday night, and they were at an outdoor Latin restaurant in Old San Juan. Palm trees surrounded them, and every table bore a flickering votive candle and a vase of tropical flowers. A band played upbeat, wild music, and several couples were salsa-dancing near the stage. To add to the sexy vibe, a blue infinity pool rippled off in the distance. Spencer had already seen two couples strip down to bathing suits and dive into the pool as an alternative to dessert.

  Before their dive that morning, the dive class had watched a film about Jacques Cousteau. For the rest of the afternoon, Spencer had prepared for their dinner out. Now her blond hair spilled down her back, her skin glowed from a body facial, and her nails had been painted a shade of red called Vixen. She’d pored through her and Kirsten’s cruise wear until she’d decided on a turquoise strapless linen dress that screamed I’m gorgeous, but I don’t try very hard. As soon as Reefer had seen the dress, he’d remarked that it was his favorite color.

  She’d chosen this restaurant, too, clicking through San Juan nightlife websites and picking the place that seemed the most romantic. Other kids from the boat had the same idea: In the corner were two couples from Tate. Across the way, Lanie Iler and Mason Byers snacked on fritters. And Naomi Zeigler had just sat down with a bunch of girls from Rosewood Day, shooting Spencer a nasty look when she spotted her and Reefer together. Spencer gritted her teeth at Naomi’s clonelike turquoise dress. What, had Naomi spied on her while she was getting ready?

  Then again, Spencer was the one on the date with Reefer, wasn’t she?

  But on the heels of that dart of triumph came a stab of dread. Perhaps Naomi had followed her here because she was A.

  Swallowing her worry, she took the fork from Reefer and daintily tried a bit of ceviche. A sharp, acidic flavor hit her first. Then she tasted something cool and mild. “It’s okay,” she decided.

  “Have the one with the chilis.” Reefer pushed another bowl closer. “It’s amazing when you make it with real chilis, not the dried kind. I was on a ceviche kick for a while a few years ago. I’m trying to remember my favorite recipe …” He tapped on his iPhone, tilting it toward Spencer. REEFER’S RECIPES FROM A TO Z, read the screen. Ceviche, naturally, was filed under C.

  Spencer snickered. “You’re so organized.”

  Reefer covered the screen with his hand, looking embarrassed. But Spencer wasn’t surprised. He kept his pot supply in little individual, carefully labeled drawers. Earlier, when he
’d opened his wallet for his fake ID, his cards were alphabetized, an AAA membership at the front, a business card for Justin Zeis, Personal Trainer, in the back.

  “I like everything in its place,” he admitted. “I can’t stand it when things are messy.” He bit into a chip. “You can say it. I’m a dork.”

  Spencer leaned forward on her elbows. “If you’re dorky, then so am I. All of the money in my wallet has to be in order according to the serial number on the front of the bills. If it’s out of order, I panic.”

  Reefer’s eyebrows rose. “How long have you been doing that?”

  “Since my first allowance. And before that, I arranged my bath toys along the side of the tub by height and color.”

  Reefer grinned. “I used to sort my LEGOs by size and theme. And I insisted on ironing my school clothes myself—I hated how my mom did it.”

  “I still iron my jeans sometimes,” Spencer admitted, then felt a little self-conscious for saying so.

  Reefer chuckled. “When I first got into botany, my mom gave me a spice rack to organize my seeds. I woke up several times a night to check to make sure no one had put them in a different order.”

  Spencer grabbed a chip and popped it in her mouth. “I begged my father to let me do his filing. He thought there was something wrong with me.”

  “You would have been such an asset to the Ivy Eating Club,” Reefer joked. “A perfect secretary.”

  “Too bad that’ll never happen.” Spencer stared morosely at the salt on the rim of her margarita glass. She’d been so desperate to get into Ivy, but after the pot-brownie fiasco, it was clear that would never happen.

  When she felt Reefer’s large, warm hand cover hers, she looked up in surprise. “You’ll have way more fun at Princeton without being part of an eating club, you know,” he said softly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “You will?” Spencer dared a smile.

  “Of course. We’re going to have an amazing time. I know tons of fun things to do—things that are much cooler than what those Ivy people are into.”