by Sara Shepard
And suddenly it felt like the truth.
12
NOTHING SAYS SEXY LIKE A GUARD-SUPERVISED DATE
The Ulster Correctional Facility rose above a forest of dark green trees, gray and bland against the cloudy sky. On Tuesday afternoon, Emily pulled her car through a set of electronic gates toward a sign that said GUEST PARKING. The lot was desolate, save for a rusty Toyota pickup truck in the last spot. A gust of wind pushed a Coke can across the pavement. Even though it was summer, the trees on the prison lot were bare.
Emily cut the engine and sat for a moment. Her head pounded from all the coffee she’d had to get her through the long drive to the prison outside New York City. Her heart was beating fast, too, though she doubted it was from caffeine. In moments, she was going to walk into a prison. And see Jordan.
Deep breath.
She climbed out and glanced over her shoulder into the scrubby woods. The whole drive, she’d felt like someone was following her, but whenever she’d checked her rearview mirror, she’d always seen a different car—or no car at all. Ali could be anywhere right now, though. Why had she run off without killing Emily? Why hadn’t Fuji gotten back to them with the DNA results? How long did testing take, anyway?
She thought, too, about a blog post she’d read this morning on one of the most popular Ali Cat sites. The poster, whose name was an androgynous WeWillAlwaysRemember, had written: Any enemy of Alison is an enemy of mine. She was a VICTIM. If you hate her, I hate you. I think you know who I’m talking about.
The post worried Emily. What if Ali Cats were more than twisted freaks who worshipped a psychopath? What if they actually had it out for people who didn’t like Ali—namely, Emily and the others? She’d forwarded it to the others . . . and, after some thought, to Fuji. Of course Fuji hadn’t responded.
She crossed the lot and pulled open a heavy metal door marked ENTRANCE. The latch caught loudly behind her, and she was greeted by a sad-sounding country song on a tinny radio. A woman in a navy uniform looked up from behind a gated window. “ID,” she said to Emily in a bored voice.
Emily slipped her driver’s license through a small opening. The woman inspected it, her eyes droopy and tired.
“You’re here to see Jordan Richards?” the woman asked. Emily nodded, too afraid to speak.
She was given a guest pass with her name on it. There was a loud buzzing sound, and the woman directed Emily into another hall, where a guard who looked like a weathered, hardened version of Tina Fey patted her down. Emily had done a little reading on the prison last night; unlike the prison she’d been stuck in for a day when she’d been falsely arrested for Tabitha’s murder, the Ulster Correctional Facility was only for women and only employed women. The only other information she could get out of the place was that it provided educational services to inmates, which meant it couldn’t be all that bad, right?
Then again, the air smelled like a mix of mustiness and ammonia. Fluorescent lights buzzed loudly over Emily’s head, and everything from the slamming doors to Emily’s footsteps to the sound of one guard’s furious gum-chewing had a hollow, lonely echo. Haggard Tina Fey gestured for Emily to follow, and they passed through a series of unadorned halls with puke-green cinder-block walls. As they passed one door, Emily caught a whiff of what she could only describe as rotten mashed potatoes. Jordan had once told her that her family was so well-off and she was left alone for so much of the time as a girl that she usually ordered takeout from the five-star French restaurant down the block. How on earth was Jordan surviving?
The guard punched a set of numbers into a keypad, and after another loud buzz, the latch gave way. They walked into a large, windowless room peppered with tables and chairs. A water fountain sat in one corner. A door to a bathroom was on the far wall.
A burly, red-haired girl in an orange prison jumpsuit was sitting at a table with a girl in a denim jacket and a hood pulled tight around her head. Both stood up as soon as Emily arrived and rushed in opposite directions. The hoodie girl used the door through which Emily had just come; a frizzy-haired guard took the redhead’s arm and led her toward an interior door, presumably back to her cell. But before she made the turn into the hall, the redheaded prisoner pivoted and stared at Emily, her eyes moving up and down her body. She was eyeing her up, maybe . . . or checking her out. Emily wasn’t sure she liked either prospect.
“Sit.” Emily’s guard pointed to one of the tables. Emily did, and the guard crossed the room to a second interior door. Then, a familiar figure stepped through. Emily drew in a breath. Yes, Jordan was in an orange prison uniform, and yes, her hair looked a little greasy and her face was a little drawn, but she was still the beautiful girl Emily remembered.
All sorts of memories rushed back at once. The two of them floating on that stolen boat in the San Juan harbor. Snuggling in the bed in their stateroom as the cruise ship drifted toward another port. How good it felt to kiss her. How wrenched she’d felt when Jordan jumped overboard.
Jordan met Emily’s eyes and smiled. Emily shot to her feet, unable to control her excitement. She never thought she’d see Jordan again. She never thought Jordan would want to see her. And here she was. It was just so . . . incredible.
“Fifteen minutes,” Haggard Tina Fey said gruffly. “Time starts now.”
Jordan rushed over to Emily. “H-hey,” she eked out, her mouth wobbling. Up close, she smelled like soap. The same tiny freckles were sprinkled across her cheeks. Emily wanted to touch each one. “You’re . . . here.”
Emily let out a choked laugh, so overjoyed to hear Jordan’s voice. “I’m here,” she answered, caressing Jordan’s shoulder. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Jordan’s eyes widened, and she glanced nervously at Emily’s hand. “We’re not supposed to touch,” she whispered, pulling away slightly.
A lump formed in Emily’s throat, but she tucked both hands in her lap as she sat down. Jordan sat across from her, her hands on the table. It took everything in Emily’s power not to grab them and never let go.
“So,” Emily said once she found her voice. “I—I missed you.”
Jordan swallowed hard. A tear ran down her cheek. “I missed you, too.”
“I’m so glad you wrote to me.” Emily smiled at Jordan so hard her cheeks hurt. “I mean, all I do is think about you.”
“Same.” Jordan stared bashfully at the tabletop.
Emily’s heart did flips. I’m so glad you don’t hate me, she wanted to say a thousand times. “Are you . . . okay?” she asked instead, then wanted to slap herself. Of course Jordan wasn’t okay. She was in prison.
Jordan shrugged, twisting her mouth in that adorable way Emily remembered. “I’ve been better. But it’s not that bad.” She leaned forward a little. “What about you? I had no idea what you were going through, Em. It sounds awful. You’re okay now, right? Everything’s good?”
Now it was Emily’s turn to look down. A lot of people had inked their initials into the wood, including someone who called himself or herself FlameGirl. “Not exactly.”
Jordan’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Emily winced. She hadn’t planned on getting into this in the limited time she and Jordan had together, but now Jordan was staring at her plaintively. Emily had no choice but to explain how Ali had attacked her at the pool. She left out a lot of the details—like how Ali had said Say you still love me!—but by Jordan’s stunned expression, it was clear she got the gist.
Jordan’s jaw dropped when Emily finished. She gestured to the bruises on Emily’s neck. “Is that what those are from?”
Emily nodded miserably. Her parents had asked a lot of questions about the bruises, too; she hadn’t known what to tell them.
“Did you go to the police?” Jordan asked.
“We did, but they don’t believe us. They still think she’s dead.” She sighed and stared at the ceiling. The lights in the room were so bright they hurt her eyes.
“So what are you going to do?”
&nb
sp; There was a tinny taste in Emily’s mouth. Just rehashing the attack brought all her feelings of frustration, fear, and rage to the surface. This needed to end. “Find her,” she whispered savagely. “And kill her.”
Jordan paled. She glanced across the room at the guards. Both women didn’t seem to be paying attention, but suddenly, Emily felt wrong-footed. What was she doing talking about murder in a prison?
“I’m not serious,” she backpedaled. “I just get so mad.”
Jordan nodded, but she still looked concerned. “I wish you didn’t have to find her on your own.”
“So do I, but we don’t know what else to do.”
“Just promise me you’ll stay safe.” Jordan reached forward to grab Emily’s hand, but then she remembered the no-touching rule and pulled away. “Because I have some news. I have a new lawyer named Charlie Klose. There are some loopholes in my case that he wants to pursue.”
Emily cocked her head. “Like what?”
“I wasn’t read my Miranda rights either time I was arrested, for one thing.” Jordan drummed her ragged nails on the table. “And they searched my car without a warrant, and they mistreated me when I was still a minor. Serious stuff, actually. Combined with the fact that I’m repentant and willing to repay for all the damage I’ve done, he thinks I have a really good chance of getting off on parole.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”
Jordan grinned excitedly. “There might still have to be a trial, but he’s really positive.” She slid her hand forward and touched the very tip of Emily’s fingers. “In a few months, I might be a free woman.”
Emily leaned forward eagerly. “And . . . then what? For you and me, I mean?” She hoped it wasn’t a premature question to ask. Jordan had so newly forgiven her, after all. Maybe they needed to take things slow.
Jordan offered a tiny smile. “I want there to be a you and me, Emily. For real. But it can’t be on an island, like we talked about before—not if I’m on parole. I’ll have to stay around here and check in with my parole officer. I want to stay on the straight and narrow this time—really build a life and start over.” She looked at Emily shyly. “With you . . . if you’re up for that.”
“Of course I am,” Emily bleated emphatically. She let it sink in. A life. With Jordan. It was something she hadn’t dared to hope for even days ago. She shut her eyes and pictured her and Jordan waking up every day together. Jordan was right: They didn’t need to be in a tropical paradise to be happy. Just being with her was paradise enough.
“So I need you to stay safe,” Jordan added, clasping her hands together. “Will you? For me?”
Emily nodded fast. “Of course. Cross my heart.”
“Good,” Jordan said.
“Time!” The loud voice stopped Emily’s heart. The guard lumbered toward the table and extended her arm toward Jordan.
Jordan glanced at Emily, her expression both hungry and tortured. Before she could stop herself, Emily shot forward, pulled Jordan toward her, and kissed her hard on the lips. Her mouth was soft and tasted as minty and delicious as always. Emily closed her eyes, savoring the milliseconds of contact. Every cell in her body seemed to reawaken.
But then the guard pulled Jordan away. “No touching,” she grumbled, holding Jordan tightly by the arm and pulling her out of the room.
Jordan waved good-bye, shuffling out the door. Emily watched her go, feeling both wrenched and happy at the same time. The kiss still tingled on her lips. The heat of Jordan’s body seemed to radiate within her. She would have to hold on to those feelings, she knew, until next time. But there was going to be a next time—she could feel it. Jordan was going to get out.
And they were going to be together.
13
(IT) GIRLS GONE WILD
On Tuesday night, Hanna stood in the aisle of the Amtrak Acela train as it creaked and wobbled into Penn Station in New York City. The doors opened, and she followed the line of weary travelers toward the escalators, careful not to trip in her five-inch stiletto heels. She was also careful to pull the hem so that her sequined miniskirt covered her butt. A bunch of passengers in business suits had given her outfit strange looks, probably because she’d paired it with the dramatic shoes, a sparkly clutch, and some enormous sunglasses that she was still wearing even though the sun had set. She didn’t mind the looks, though, because she was going out on the town with Hailey Blake, movie starlet extraordinaire. Hanna had tried to work it into every conversation on the train—with the ticket collector, with the older woman sitting next to her, and even with the man who served her a Diet Coke in the café car.
She reached the top of the escalator, elbowed through the teeming crowd of people waiting for outbound trains, and spilled onto Seventh Avenue, momentarily overwhelmed by the rush of people, cabs and buses, and neon lights. Someone supporting the pro-life movement stood at the curb, holding a placard talking about when a baby’s heartbeat began in the womb. Someone else passed by pushing a pretzel cart. Then, through the crowd, Hanna saw another sign: ALI CATS UNITE! She blinked hard, trying to find it again through the sea of bodies.
But it was gone.
“Hey, bitch! Over here!”
Hanna’s head swiveled to the left. A white stretch limo was parked behind a pretzel cart. Hailey, her blond hair streaming, waved wildly out the back window. “Stop acting like a lost tourist and get in here, crazy girl!”
Hanna jogged over, her heart doing a flip. It was still hard to believe that the Hailey Blake had sent her a text last night that said, Hey, I’m in NYC tomorrow doing press interviews—wanna come up after your scenes and meet me? We can hit the kill or be killed premiere party! Hanna was never going to delete that text as long as she lived. Kill or Be Killed was only the most hyped movie out that summer—she couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to be there.
But then again, maybe Hanna shouldn’t think of it as luck. She was fabulous and cool, too. After all, ever since the news had broken that Hanna was part of the Burn It Down cast, her phone had been ringing off the hook. The local news wanted to do a profile on her life. Main Line Living magazine wanted to feature her closet in an article about fashionistas in the Philadelphia area. She had a ton of new friends on Twitter, and the owner of Otter, Hanna’s favorite boutique, had contacted her asking if she wanted to be in the runway show for the fall line. Hanna, a model. Maybe she totally deserved to be hobnobbing with Hailey.
And clubbing tonight was the perfect way to forget about Ali. After hitting a dead end at the Turkey Hill, Hanna and the others had decided to revisit the case this weekend, as they all had exciting plans tonight they couldn’t postpone. Not that Hanna was sure there was anything to revisit. It wasn’t like Fuji had gotten back to them with DNA results. And though Spencer had shared the Freudian slip by the woman behind the convenience store counter, Hanna wasn’t sure it was actually a clue that she knew anything. Maybe she assumed all blond teenage girls bought water at gas stations.
And the chalked A message at the studio? It had probably been all her imagination. That Ali Cat sign she’d just seen? Whatever.
She slid into the back of the limo next to Hailey, who was wearing a similarly short dress and high heels. Her eyes were heavily made-up with a winged, cat-eye effect, and her lips glimmered with shiny pink gloss.
“Hanna, this is my driver, Georgio,” she said, gesturing to the limo driver behind the wheel. “He’s an up-and-coming male model. This is just his side job.”
“She flatters me,” said the man behind the wheel in a sexy Italian accent. He wasn’t much older than Hanna, with wavy dark hair and seductive eyes. Hanna bet he had great abs, too.
The limo pulled away from the street, and Hailey gave Hanna a mock-slap. “So thanks for meeting me!” she gushed. “When I sent you that text about coming up, I didn’t know if you’d be into it.”
“Are you kidding?” Hanna said as the limo halted at a stoplight. “I never miss a chance to come to the city. And a premiere party soun
ds great.”
“I figured we’d have more fun here than boring old Philly,” Hailey said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, what is there to do there except look at the Liberty Bell?” She snorted and undid the latch of a compartment in the center console, unveiling two mini bottles of champagne and two small crystal flutes. “C’mon! We gotta pregame!”
Hanna grabbed a glass and took a sip. Hailey offered another glass to Georgio, but he refused, reminding her he was driving. “Party pooper!” she bellowed, and she and Hanna laughed.
Streets whizzed past as the car descended downtown. Hanna stared out the window, taking in the lighted stores and crowded streets. As the fizzy champagne bubbles played on her tongue, her phone buzzed inside her clutch. Hanna checked the screen; the first text was from her mom. Did you get into New York okay?
Hanna leaned back into the leather seat. Last night, after she’d received Hailey’s invite, she’d regaled her mom with stories about the actress, painting Hailey as a sweet girl who had good, clean fun. Ms. Marin had allowed Hanna to come to New York for a few hours.
In limo right now, drinking Perrier, Hanna wrote back. It wasn’t like her mom would ever know the truth.
The next text was from Aria. At gallery, freaking out. I wish you could be here.
Hanna’s new friend regarded her curiously. “Who are you texting?”
“My friend Aria.” Hanna beamed. “She has an art opening tonight. We’re all really proud of her.” She wished she could make a brief stop at the gallery, but Aria had told her the guest list was überstrict—she’d had to pull strings even to get her parents on it.
Hanna began to type a reply text, but Hailey made a face. “Don’t you, like, talk to Aria all the time?” Her voice was high and thin. “This is our night together, isn’t it?”
