by Sara Shepard
Emily’s eyes widened. “Where are you going?”
“Thailand. I have it all worked out. There’s a fake passport waiting for me in Bermuda, along with a plane ticket.”
Emily pictured a mental map of the world, trying to gauge the distance between Rosewood and Thailand. It felt like Jordan was going to the moon. “What are you going to do there?”
“Live an amazing life.” Jordan said wistfully, twisting a cloth napkin that had been set on the table in her hands. “It’s incredible there, Em—beautiful beaches, an amazing culture, and you can live like a king on nothing. I was thinking of teaching English to make money. And I want you to come with me.”
Emily sat back in the plushy booth. “What?”
“Think about it!” Jordan grabbed Emily’s hands across the table, almost knocking over a glass of water. “We’d live on the beach. You’d get to swim in the ocean every day. We could travel, have amazing adventures, and you’d get to escape everything here that you hate.”
A kid Emily didn’t recognize passed by them to use the ATM, and Emily pressed her lips together until he finished. Then she looked at Jordan plaintively. “But what if I wanted to see my family? Wouldn’t a plane ticket be really expensive?”
“You couldn’t see your family ever again. The authorities might figure out we escaped together—you’d be considered an accessory for hiding me. If you came back to the States, you could be arrested, too.”
The words hit Emily like a punch to the stomach. Never see her family again? Never live in America again?
Then again, what did she have in the States that she really treasured? A family who hated her? A college future she wasn’t even excited about? Good friends, yes, but they’d probably jump at the chance to get out of town, too. And there was Violet, of course, but the Bakers were the best parents she could ask for.
If Emily left, she’d never have to worry about getting arrested for Tabitha’s murder. She’d never have to worry about A coming after her, and she’d never be haunted by Ali’s ghost—or any other ghosts of Rosewood past again. Her family would probably celebrate her disappearance. It wouldn’t even register on Isaac’s radar. UNC would find a new swimmer.
She looked at Jordan’s huge, hopeful eyes, her parted lips, and the adorable dimple next to her eyebrow. She had found so much in one person, and letting her go seemed like a terrible mistake.
And could she really afford to make another one of those?
21
HANNA’S SLUMBER PARTY
“C’mon, people, two more reps!” the Jillian Michaels impersonator yelled as she stood in front of the small workout room, raising two pale-blue dumbbells over her head. “Do it even though it hurts! Feel the burn!”
Hanna’s arms felt like rubber, but she lifted the dumbbells as high as she could anyway, letting out a grunt. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she was making a constipated, old-woman grimace.
Then she dropped the weights to the floor and sighed. “Give yourself a round of applause!” the instructor whooped. A few people burst into tepid clapping.
Hanna collapsed onto her mat. It was Saturday afternoon, and she’d been in the gym for two hours now—before taking the 7-Day Shred class, she’d pounded on the treadmill for thirty minutes, then tried to lose herself for another twenty on the StairMaster. But none of it had helped her forget about Naomi, or A, or Naomi as A.
Everyone in the class headed for the door, and Hanna draped a towel over her shoulders and followed. But when she saw Naomi’s shining face in the window, she backtracked.
“Hey there, superstar!” Naomi said brightly, pushing into the room. She was dressed in gray terry-cloth shorts, a white tank top, and New Balance sneakers. “You vanished so early this morning! Have you been here this whole time? You should’ve told me you were coming to the gym—I would’ve joined you!”
“Uh, it was a last-minute thing,” Hanna said, avoiding Naomi’s gaze, which felt far too intrusive.
Naomi linked her arm through Hanna’s. “I was just talking to the Pilates instructor—she sounds really awesome. Maybe we could sign up for a joint session tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure.” Hanna fiddled with her towel, unnerved by how close Naomi was standing to her. A vision of Gayle’s dead body on the driveway flashed through her mind. Naomi did that.
Naomi placed her hands on her hips. “Are you pissed at me?”
“Of course not,” Hanna bleated, trying to sound innocent.
“Well, you’re acting weird,” Naomi said, hurt evident in her voice. “You’re treating me like I have barf in my hair.”
Hanna mustered a carefree shrug. “I’m just tired.” Then she gestured toward the fountain, mumbled how she was dying for a drink, and made a beeline for the faucet. She knows everything, a voice inside her head roared. Everything she told you was a lie. She’s not happy her cousin was in the crash—she’s furious, and she’s out for blood.
When she was finished drinking, Naomi was waiting. “Can we at least rehearse for the talent show this afternoon?”
Hanna felt trapped. Thankfully, at that very moment, her cell phone chimed. It was only an e-mail from Shopbop.com about summer must-haves, but Naomi didn’t know that. “Mike wants to meet me—he says it’s an emergency. Bummer.”
Naomi looked suspicious. “Do you still want to be my partner for the talent show?”
“Of course!” Hanna lied, afraid of what Naomi might do if she said no. She shot her an I’m-sorry-I’m-so-busy smile. “We’ll catch up soon, okay?” And then, ducking her head, she darted for the stairwell door and scrambled to the floor her room was on—she was desperate for a change of clothes. She feared Naomi would follow her, but she didn’t appear on the landing.
Hanna unlocked her door and rushed inside. Even though it had only been a few hours since she’d been there, the room didn’t seem like hers any longer. Naomi’s suitcase was in a completely different place now. Different clothes were on her bed, and the chair had been moved to the window. Hanna peeked around for Naomi’s laptop, but it was nowhere to be seen. She’d probably never leave it unattended again.
She collapsed onto her bed for a moment, all at once feeling as tired as she’d pretended to be at the gym. Her head sank into the cool, soft pillow. Her aching limbs relaxed into the cushy mattress. It felt so good to stretch out after so many hours of exercise. The white noise of the fan was lulling and soothing. I’ll just close my eyes for a minute, she thought to herself, her breathing slowing. And then, darkness surrounded her like a heavy blanket, cloaking everything.
When she opened her eyes again, she was sitting in an unfamiliar BMW. A pine tree air freshener spun from the rearview mirror. The radio was set to a hip-hop station.
She blinked and looked out the window. It was pouring outside. Tall buildings surrounded her, and a neon sign for South Street Steaks flashed in the distance.
The passenger door opened, and a figure flopped into the passenger seat. “You really don’t have to do this, Olivia,” a familiar voice slurred. “I’m totally fine to drive.”
Hanna blinked hard. It was Madison. Her blond hair was mussed, her face was flushed, and she was wearing the same striped T-shirt she’d worn that night at the bar. Hanna looked around again. This was that night at the bar. The air felt like summer. Madison’s breath smelled thickly of booze. Hanna had a salty margarita taste in her mouth.
Then she had an epiphany. Was she getting a do-over of that night? Could she change fate? Could she get out of the car, hail Madison a cab, and send her home another way, staying out of this mess completely? Then Naomi would never have anything against them. She would never become A. This nightmare wouldn’t be happening.
But when she tried to pull the door handle to leave, her fingers wouldn’t respond. And then, unwittingly, she felt her hand twist the key in the ignition and rev the car’s engine. Before she knew it, she was pulling into traffic. Stop! she told herself, but her foot continued to press the gas.
&nbs
p; “Get on 76 West,” Madison mumbled, pointing to the sign above them. Hanna tried to steer the car in another direction, but it was useless. She found herself merging onto the highway, just as she had the first time.
She focused on the road, which was barely visible through the rain. “Stay on 76 until 202,” Madison instructed.
Those were the directions to get to Rosewood. “Where do you live, exactly?” Hanna asked, even though she now knew.
Madison giggled. “You’re going to hate me, but I don’t exactly remember. My parents just bought a new house, like, last week, and I keep forgetting the address. But I think I can get us there.”
An oncoming car sent up a plume of water against the windshield. Pull over! she told herself. Wait at least until this rain stops! But, frustratingly, she kept driving.
Madison directed Hanna to Reeds Lane. Hanna’s heart thudded as she navigated the curves, dreading the moment that was about to come. And then, there it was: A car appeared out of nowhere, veering straight into her lane. She screamed and cut the wheel. Madison let out a strange urp sound, and her head banged against the seat. The tires skidded on the wet road, and before Hanna knew it, the car had slid down the embankment. She hit the brakes hard, and the wheels locked and the back end fishtailed.
“Help!” she screamed. A huge oak approached in the windshield. She tried to turn away from it, but it was too late.
There was a deafening crunch, and then a symphony of shattering glass. Hanna shielded her face and felt the airbag deploy. The seatbelt cut hard against her shoulder and waist, and then everything stopped. When she opened her eyes, the radio was still playing. The engine still hummed. A tree branch poked through the windshield. Glass had shattered everywhere.
Hanna looked to her right. Madison’s head was tilted at a strange angle. A thin ribbon of blood flowed out of her nose. When Hanna looked down into the footwell, she screamed. Madison had no legs. She was only a torso.
“Madison?” Hanna whispered shakily. She shook Madison’s shoulder. “Madison?”
Suddenly, Madison’s eyes popped open. Hanna recoiled. The girl’s eyes were clear and lucid, and she stared unflinchingly at Hanna.
“Your name isn’t Olivia,” she said in a haunted voice. “It’s Hanna Marin. I know everything about you.”
Hanna’s eyes boggled. She pushed the airbag out of the way and tried to scramble out of the car, but Madison caught her arm before she could. When she turned back, it wasn’t Madison’s face staring back at her. It was Ali’s.
“Hey, Hanna!” The corners of Ali’s lips stretched wide into a smile. “Miss me?”
Hanna shot up in bed, breathing hard. She was in the calm, quiet stateroom on the boat. The covers had been thrown back, and she was clutching a pillow with her trembling fingers. She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to erase Ali’s face from her thoughts, but her smile was burned in her brain.
“Are you okay?”
Naomi was sitting on her own bed, looking curiously at Hanna.
Hanna jumped. “H-how long have you been sitting there?”
Naomi smiled, her wide blue eyes seemingly innocent. “Not too long. You were really passed out, though. Saying some crazy stuff, too.”
“L-like what?” Hanna gasped. The dream spun in her head. What if she’d called out Madison’s name?
Naomi shrugged but didn’t answer. She grabbed Hanna’s hands to pull her up. “I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” Hanna echoed weakly.
Naomi pulled a plastic bag from behind her back and took out two candy-colored wigs. “Look what I found in one of the shops on the concourse level! Won’t they be perfect for our routine tomorrow?” She plopped the blue one on Hanna’s head, then arranged the purple one on her own. “I think I know why you’re acting so weird, Hanna. You have stage fright, don’t you? You’re freaked about singing in front of all of those people. But it’s going to be great. I’ll be right next to you. Nothing can go wrong—I promise. So are you still in?”
The fruity Kate Spade perfume Naomi always wore was suddenly so overpowering that Hanna thought she might throw up. She looked down at her arm. Naomi was still gripping her wrist, and her eyes flashed, looking so much like Madison’s.
She pulled her arm away fast. “I-I have to go.”
Naomi frowned. “Why?”
Hanna stood up, her mind a blank. Her only goal was to get to the front door as quickly as possible. “S-something came up,” she stammered.
“But what about the talent show?”
Hanna glanced back just once. There was such a hurt look on Naomi’s face, but Hanna knew now it was all just a facade. “I’m sorry,” she practically whispered. Then she flung the door open, slipped into the hall, and slammed it shut before Naomi could follow her.
She was almost to the elevators when she caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. The blue wig Naomi had bought sat crookedly on her head, half of the hair sticking straight in the air, the other half sweeping across her forehead. As she reached to pull it off, something fluttered out and skidded to the floor. It looked like a receipt. On the back, something was scrawled in blue felt-tip pen. When Hanna leaned down to look closer, her heart stood still.
You can’t hide from the truth, little liar. You’re going to get what you deserve.—A
22
SHE’S MADE HER BED …
The next morning, there was a loud knock on Spencer’s door. “Spencer?” Reefer called. “Are you in there?”
“Go away,” she answered in a muffled voice. “I’m sick.”
“What’s wrong?” Reefer sounded worried. “Can I come in? Please?”
Spencer hid her face with a pillow and groaned. She’d remained in her room for as long as she possibly could. Texts had come in from Aria, Hanna, and Emily, bright and early, reporting that Hanna hadn’t yet been able to sneak on Naomi’s computer and find out anything else. Then Emily and Aria had called, asking Spencer if she wanted to run through the talent show routine one more time—the performance was that night, and they still hadn’t nailed all the dance steps. They’d stopped bugging her after she said she wasn’t feeling well, but Reefer hadn’t given up. “Pleeeease?” Reefer drawled again.
Spencer sighed, stood up, and hobbled toward the door, wincing as she put weight on her twisted ankle. The light was bright in the hall, and she squinted. Reefer’s jaw dropped when he saw her. “What happened to you?”
“What part?” Spencer turned away. “The fact that I smell like vomit, or the fact that there’s gum all through my hair?”
“All of it!” Reefer cried.
Spencer glanced at her reflection in the sunburst mirror in the hall and shuddered. It was bad enough that she’d spent the whole night vomiting because of some bad shrimp scampi she’d eaten at dinner—or, well, she assumed it was the shrimp, even though other people had eaten the same thing and hadn’t even gotten a stomachache. That morning, she’d also awakened to a huge glob of chewing gum as a brand-new hair accessory. It was going to take a miracle to get it out without chopping off all her hair.
“Someone put it in my hair in the crush to get out of the café after dinner,” Spencer said. “I turned around, and suddenly it was there.”
Reefer sat down on the desk chair, looking puzzled. “Did you see who did it?”
“No.”
“Maybe you were chewing gum before you went to sleep and forgot to take it out.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I never chew gum before bed.”
Reefer walked over to her and hugged her waist. “Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you that we shouldn’t sneak around anymore.”
Spencer wriggled out of his grip. “We have to sneak around.”
“Still?” Reefer put his hands on his hips.
“I told you,” Spencer said. “I don’t think it’s fair for Naomi. And you said you were fine with it.”
Reefer sniffed. “I didn’t know you were going to be so serious abo
ut it.”
Then Reefer ran his hands through her hair, seemingly not grossed out by the gum. She tried to resist, but Reefer smelled like sunscreen and chlorine, and in a second, his lips were on hers and they fell onto Spencer’s bed. His skin was warm from the sun. Spencer shifted positions so she could help Reefer pull his shirt over his head.
Crack.
Suddenly, the bed was on the ground. The floor shook. The picture of the ship hanging above Spencer’s bed wobbled on its nail, then fell. Spencer covered her head just before it crashed to the mattress.
Reefer blinked. “I knew I was wild, but I didn’t know I was that wild.”
Spencer crawled to the carpet and stared at the bed frame. All four legs splayed horizontally, as though no longer able to bear the weight of the mattress. The wood wasn’t splintered, as she might have expected, but had broken off clean, as if it had been sawed through.
Then she stood up and examined the nail on which the picture over the bed had hung. It dangled precariously from the wall, in danger of falling out itself. It had clearly been messed with. The first evening of the trip, the seas had been rocky, and though Spencer and Kirsten’s tubes of toothpaste had tumbled off the shelf in the bathroom, not a single piece of furniture or decoration had budged. They’d both joked that everything in the room was probably bolted down, not hanging by a faulty nail.
Spencer’s skin prickled. The thought that had been quietly, insidiously swirling around her head for the last twenty-four hours pushed to the forefront of her mind. “That’s it,” she announced. “I can’t take it anymore. This has gone far enough.”
“What are you talking about?” Reefer asked.
