Burned pll-12

by Sara Shepard

  Spencer did as she was told, though after a few seconds she’d wandered away again. She poked her head into Hanna’s bathroom. “Hey, your shower’s nicer than mine.”

  “How do you think Naomi got those pictures, anyway?” Hanna murmured, answering yes to a prompt that asked if she was sure she wanted to delete the photos.

  “I thought we covered this. The second A must have sent them to her.”

  “Do you understand the implications of a second A?” Hanna wished the photos would delete a little quicker. “It means someone else hates us, too. It also means someone else has these photos. That’s the person who saw what happened in Jamaica.”

  “I know,” Spencer said gravely.

  “Who do you think it could be?”

  “Hanna, if I knew, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess!” Spencer sounded exasperated.

  Hanna didn’t know either, but the possibility of a second A was really starting to sink in, and it was terrifying. Even if they took Naomi down and found proof that she was Gayle’s murderer, they wouldn’t be safe. This alleged second A could still nail them for everything.

  Finally, a message popped up saying that the photos had been removed. Phew.

  “Holy shit,” Spencer cried. She emerged from the bathroom carrying a bottle of baby oil, Ex-Lax tablets, and a large package of bubble gum. “Look at what I found in Naomi’s bag!”

  “Don’t mess with her stuff!” Hanna hissed, jumping up.

  “Don’t you see?” Spencer waved the bottles around. “This proves without a doubt that she’s the one who’s torturing me! She used the Ex-Lax to make me think I had food poisoning. She spilled the baby oil so I’d slip. And she put this”—she held up the gum–“in my hair!”

  “Spence, I need you at the door!” Hanna guided her down the little hall. Then she shoved Naomi’s stuff back into the bathroom and turned back to the computer. Now that she’d deleted those photos, she needed to find something incriminating about Naomi that would connect her to Gayle. An e-mail, maybe. She opened her Gmail account again, hoping to find a note signed A. Maybe they’d get lucky and even find something that gave away whoever it was Naomi was working with.

  But when the screen loaded, there weren’t any messages in the Gmail inbox at all. Frowning, Hanna clicked on some of the other folders within the server, but they were all empty. The conversation Naomi had had with Madison was gone, almost like it had never existed.

  25

  FORGET YOUR TROUBLES

  Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

  Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

  Emily reached the wall, did a flip turn, and pushed off toward the other side of the pool. Her arms cut rhythmically through the water. Her legs kicked with full power. Halfway down the lane, she had to swim around a fun noodle, then a floating toy that looked suspiciously like a giant penis. The pool technically wasn’t for lap swimming at that time of day—plenty of kids were milling around in the water, soaking up the Bermuda sun. But swimming laps was the only thing that helped Emily think, and she needed to think as hard as she possibly could. She hadn’t yet given Jordan an answer about running away with her, but Jeremy had just announced that they were pulling into Bermuda. She had to make a decision soon.

  Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

  Could she really leave Rosewood forever? Never see her family again? And was it really safe, going off with a criminal? What if someone hunted Jordan down and hauled her back to the States? Then what would Emily do?

  But then she thought about Thailand. She’d looked up the beaches online last night and almost swooned. There were tons of posts about the country that said it was easy-going, clean, affordable, and accepting. No one cares what you do here, someone had written. You are free to be yourself. Wasn’t that what Emily wanted? Wasn’t that not what Rosewood—or a swimming future at UNC—could ever provide?

  She could wake up every morning next to Jordan. They could go shopping in the Thai markets, travel to remote and amazing villages, make pilgrimages to other countries. Maybe she could teach English, like Jordan was thinking of doing.

  Her mother’s scowling face floated into her mind, then her father’s. Carolyn’s appeared next followed by Beth’s and Jake’s. Going to Thailand meant leaving her family behind. All she wanted was for them to love her, and they couldn’t. Maybe it was a good thing to flee from the pain. Maybe Jordan could be her family instead.

  She swam to the end of the lane and grabbed the edge of the pool. Hanna was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, and Emily flagged her over.

  Hanna looked pale beneath her tan. Emily could tell she was still upset about what she’d found—and what she hadn’t found—on Naomi’s computer.

  “What’s up?” Hanna asked.

  Emily ran her fingers across the pool’s surface, unable to meet Hanna’s eye. “What do you know about Thailand?”

  Hanna frowned. “I’ve heard it’s pretty cool, I guess. Why?”

  Emily bit her lip. “If you had the opportunity to go there, to leave all this behind, would you?”

  “Sure,” Hanna said emphatically.

  All of a sudden, Emily’s mind felt as clear and cloudless as the sky. She pushed out of the pool, hurried across the deck, and grabbed her towel. Hanna followed her. “Wait. What’s this all about? Are you going to Thailand?”

  “Of course not,” Emily said quickly. But her voice caught.

  Hanna frowned. “Emily. What are you planning?”

  Emily gazed at her friend for a beat. All at once, Emily thought of the sleepovers at Ali’s house when she and Hanna would be the last two girls to fall asleep. “Let’s look through Ali’s photo albums,” Hanna had whispered once, and they had turned the pages of the old book by nightlight. “She doesn’t look so great in that photo,” Hanna would say, pointing at one of Ali from fourth grade or one of Ali without any makeup on Christmas morning. Even though Hanna desperately sought Ali’s worst shots, she seemed to understand that Emily was looking through the albums to see Ali at her very best, and she’d occasionally point out one of Ali looking beautiful. “She has the prettiest eyes, doesn’t she?” she’d say wistfully. Or, “She looks like a model.” All for Emily’s benefit.

  Her eyes brimmed with tears from the memory. She’d miss all her best friends terribly.

  “I’m not planning anything,” she said, running away before Hanna could stop her.

  Off the starboard side of the ship, she could see the Bermuda docks. Kids were already jamming the elevator area to be the first to disembark. Was Jordan among them? Would Emily get to her in time?

  The elevators were too crowded, so Emily ran down the three flights to her room in bare feet. She flung open the door and looked around hopefully, but Jordan was already gone. Frantic, she pulled a terry-cloth cover-up over her head, then grabbed her suitcase from under the bed and stuffed her things into it. She slung the bag over her shoulder and scuttled out the door, joining the convoy of kids making their way off the ship.

  She clambered down the stairs and burst through the door that led to the ramp. The gangplank had been lowered, and a crowd of kids waited to disembark. Emily stood on her tiptoes and searched for Jordan’s dark hair. When she didn’t see her, her heart jumped into her throat. “Jordan?” she called out. “Jordan?” What if she’d missed her? Would Jordan leave without her?

  “Jordan?” she cried again.

  “Emily?”

  Emily swung around. There, under the boat’s exit sign, was Jordan, dressed in a T-shirt Emily had loaned her, a pair of jeans, a baseball cap, and dark sunglasses. Emily’s knees went weak. Jordan’s mouth crumpled into a relieved, ecstatic smile. Emily ran into her arms.

  “So does this mean you’re coming?” Jordan said in Emily’s ear.

  “I guess it does,” Emily said shakily.

  Jordan stepped back and pulled her cell phone from her bag. “This is going to be amazing,” she said excitedly, her eyes shi
ning. “I promise.”

  Then she dialed a number and put her phone to her ear. “Hello, Jasmine? I’d like to book an extra ticket to Thailand. Her name is Emily Fields.” She spelled it slowly. “I’ll pay in cash at the airport, okay?”

  Emily opened her mouth, ready to say she’d help pay, but then she realized—she didn’t have that kind of money. She didn’t know how Jordan had access to that kind of money, either, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  The line for the door slowly moved up. Emily grabbed Jordan’s hand so she wouldn’t lose her in the crush. As they got closer, Emily could see the docks out the door. The light was so bright, she had to shade her eyes. When it was their turn, Jordan started off the ramp first. Emily followed, her heart pounding. Jordan was halfway down the ramp when she stopped short. Emily bumped into her back.

  “What’s wrong?” Emily asked. Kids flowed around them like water moved around rocks in a stream.

  Jordan’s face had gone ghostly pale. Her gaze was on something out in the water. Emily craned her neck to see what she was looking at. A speedboat was docked next to the ship. A few men in serious-looking uniforms were climbing off. One was speaking into a walkie-talkie. The other looked like he had a gun in his holster. The boat had an official-looking logo on the side. FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION.

  Emily clapped her hand over her mouth. She watched, paralyzed, as the Feds charged up the dock, straight to the ship. And then she heard one of them say “Katherine DeLong” clearly into his walkie-talkie.

  Jordan whipped around to face her. “Did you call them?”

  “Of course not!” Emily cried, her eyes widening. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you!”

  Jordan’s gaze flicked from Emily to the Feds and then Emily once more. “I know you wouldn’t,” she admitted. “But … I don’t understand. You’re the only one here who knows who I am.”

  A cold, hard knot formed in the pit of Emily’s stomach. She wasn’t the only one. Someone else had known for a while now. Emily should have warned Jordan as soon as A taunted her with that first note, but she’d been too selfish.

  The first FBI agent barreled quickly down the dock, his face bright red. Jordan grabbed Emily’s hand hard. “Come on,” she said through her teeth. “We have to get away from them.”

  She pulled Emily back into the ship and through a stairwell door. They raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. At first, Emily dragged her heavy bag behind her, but then she ditched it in the stairs because it was slowing her down. They finally stopped at Deck 5, where the theater and a bunch of the restaurants were. Kids were at the buffet line and putting in their orders at the sandwich station.

  Jordan raced past them and skidded around the corner toward the state rooms. Something banged behind them. “Stop right there!” a voice boomed.

  On instinct, Emily froze. Both Feds had burst through the stairwell doors and were starting for Jordan. The kids at the buffet paused, agape. Someone dropped a plate. One girl even screamed.

  Emily’s legs felt glued to the floor. In seconds, Jordan was going to be caught. She was going to be caught, too.

  She jerked her head to the side, hating herself for even thinking it. As she glanced at Jordan, Jordan gave her a mournful smile. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Run. Pretend you’ve never seen me before.”

  “No!” Emily cried, ashamed that Jordan sensed the thought that had crossed her mind. “I’m not going to abandon you like that!”

  But Jordan just darted toward the ship railing. “Stop right there, Miss DeLong,” the tall agent commanded.

  Jordan groped for the railing, her eyes hard. There was something feral about her expression, like she was a cornered, wild animal looking for an escape. Everyone in the cafeteria stared. And then, Jordan hurdled herself to the top of the railing. She balanced there for a moment, gazing at the lapping waves below. It was then that Emily realized what she was about to do.

  “No!” she screamed, lunging forward.

  But she was too late. Jordan’s body disappeared over the side of the ship. Seconds later, there was a splash. Everyone ran to look over the side. The turquoise sea rolled against the boat. Huge rafts of seaweed floated on the surface.

  Please come up, please come up, Emily willed, searching for Jordan’s head. But it didn’t appear.

  “Where’d she go?” someone asked beside her.

  “That’s a really long jump,” another person said. “Maybe she didn’t make it.”

  The Feds had already thundered back down the stairs, heading for their boat. Emily gripped the railing tightly, scanning the waves for Jordan. There was an ugly brown froth on the surface of the sea. A fish jumped out of the waves. But there was no sign of Jordan.

  At least a hundred kids were peering over the side to see if Jordan would surface. Emily wanted to scream at them, make them turn away. How could this have happened? Who could have tipped off the police? Instantly, the answer came to her. She’d be stupid to think it was anyone else.

  As if on cue, her phone pinged. Emily yanked it from her purse and glared at it angrily, hating the message she knew she was going to see.

  Oops! Did I go “overboard” by calling the authorities, Em? Sorry!—A

  26

  THE BENDS

  That afternoon, despite the fact that she still had a teensy bit of gum in her hair and her ankle hurt like hell, Spencer sat in a fishing boat with the other members of the dive class. They had motored to a small set of naturally formed coves in an uninhabited part of the island. The rocks looked slick and wet, and the empty turquoise sea spread out behind them. The spot was beautiful, but it was also eerily remote.

  Tim cut the boat’s engine. “I’ve saved the most picturesque dive for last. The coral in this cove is amazingly preserved and in perfect health. See if you can spot all the angelfish—this is where they like to hang out. Is everyone ready?”

  Everyone murmured yes, and Tim led them through the meticulous checks of their gauges and tanks. After he finished, Tim gazed at Spencer. “Do you and Reefer want to go down first?”

  Reefer. Spencer peeked at him across the boat. Reefer was sitting next to Naomi, pointedly avoiding her gaze. They hadn’t said a word to each other since Spencer broke up with him. She would have skipped the last dive altogether, but ditching out would mean she wouldn’t pass the course. And even though her future at Princeton seemed secure, she wasn’t putting it past A to try and screw it up once again.

  A—meaning Naomi. Spencer glowered at Naomi, who was possessively holding Reefer’s arm. Happy now? she wanted to snap. You got exactly what you wanted, like you always do.

  Instead, she shot Tim a tight smile. “Can Kirsten be my partner instead?”

  Tim glanced at Kirsten, who was sitting with her partner, a girl named Jessica. “It’s cool,” Jessica said, and Kirsten stood up and grabbed her swim fins.

  “The only thing I ask is that no one strays from the group, okay?” Tim said as he moved out of the way for the girls to climb into the water. “These currents can be very dangerous. I don’t want anyone getting swept away.”

  A hand went up in the back. “But I heard there’s even more amazing coral a few coves over,” a short-haired guy with a pierced eyebrow said. “Can we check it out together?”

  “Definitely not.” Tim’s eyebrows furrowed. “The coral in those coves is really sharp—someone could hurt themselves. It’s also really deep over there—not safe for novice divers. Stay where I can see you at all times, okay?”

  Spencer sighed. That meant she’d have to stay in sight of Reefer and Naomi, too.

  She grabbed a dive mask from the milk crate and pulled the strap over her head. Then she and Kirsten sat on the side of the boat, counted to three, and flipped backward into the water.

  The water was cool on Spencer’s skin, and she felt herself sinking down, down, down. She opened her eyes, sucked in a breath, and looked around. Tropical fish darted to and fro. Fingerlike seaweed waved in a
n elegant ballet. She located Kirsten a few yards away and waved. Kirsten gestured to Spencer’s tank and raised her eyebrows—as partners, they were supposed to keep an eye on each other’s gauges. But Spencer just shook her head—they’d been in the water for only a few minutes. There was no need to check the controls yet. What she really needed was a few moments of being truly and purely alone. She turned toward the cove the boy in the boat had been talking about, eager to check out the vast depths. Screw the rules.

  She watched everyone else on the boat descend into the water, including Naomi and Reefer. Once Tim’s back was turned, she swam gracefully away from the group, and for a few minutes, all she could hear was the sounds of her mechanized breathing. Bubbles floated across her field of view. A school of small, neon-pink fish darted past, followed by a sinuous manta ray. Spencer swam even deeper until she was face-to-face with the coral.

  Unbidden, a memory popped into her head. At the beginning of sixth grade, when they’d first become friends, the Hastingses and the DiLaurentises both took a trip to their vacation homes in Longboat Key, Florida, for a long weekend, and Ali and Spencer had taken a scuba class. As they’d walked down the dock, Ali had nudged her side and pointed to an icy blonde leading the group. “For a second, I was afraid that was Naomi Zeigler,” she’d whispered. “Her family has a condo here, you know.”

  Spencer had looked at Ali. “Why aren’t you friends with her anymore?”

  “We had a fight,” Ali answered simply, adjusting her bikini strap.

  “About what?” Spencer asked.

  Ali shrugged. “Naomi knows what she did.”

  She never elaborated further. Now Spencer understood that it had been Courtney talking, a girl who’d never known Naomi. There had never been a fight—Naomi had never done anything.

  Or … had she? There had been something so chilling about Courtney’s voice when she spoke about Naomi, a rawness not even the best actress could fake. Had she identified something dangerous about Naomi when she’d arrived in Rosewood? Was there more to the story than Spencer knew?