Pretty Little Liars #12: Burned
Page 5
When the song ended, the lights came up. Kids started toward the exit. Spencer leaned forward. “So what’s our game plan, guys? What should we do about A?”
“We should try to put together all the clues as to who A might be,” Emily said, shrugging. “It’s someone who knows everything, who was in Jamaica and Rosewood. I feel like the answer is right in front of us, and we just don’t see it.”
“Watch what you say,” Aria said warily. “A might be right in front of us—literally. If anyone sees anything weird, send a text, okay?”
“And maybe we should just enjoy ourselves a little, too.” Spencer dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “We haven’t had a chance to breathe since Tabitha’s body was found. This might be a good opportunity.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Aria murmured. “I just hope I can relax.”
Then Hanna mumbled something about hanging out with Naomi Zeigler, her roommate. As Emily was tossing her napkin in the trash, Aria touched her arm. “Are you going to be okay alone?”
Emily shrugged. “I’ll be fine.” Lonely, she thought, but fine.
“If you need to talk tonight, call me. Promise?”
“I promise.” Emily hugged her. “Same with you, okay?”
“Same for all of us,” Spencer said.
They parted ways. Emily boarded a stuffed elevator to the Sunshine Deck. When the car stopped on her floor, she got off and walked down the hall, looking at the marker boards the ship had affixed to everyone’s doors. Most of them had dirty drawings or scrawled messages making plans for when and where to meet. When she arrived at her own door, though, there were a bunch of hearts on the board and eleven notes for Erin, all signed with guys’ names. A guy wearing a Lacoste polo with longish blond-brown hair and a beaky nose was penning a note as she approached. He stepped back and watched Emily pull out her keycard, then shrugged.
“Do you want to do something tonight?” he asked after a moment.
“Ew, no,” Emily said, brushing past him and slamming the door.
Her room had a preppy, nautical theme, with navy-and-white-striped bedspreads, lots of wood trim, and light fixtures and drawer pulls in the shapes of anchors, swordfish, and manta rays. The bathroom light was on, the timer ticking away, and there was a sky-blue towel on the floor that Emily didn’t remember putting there. A type of perfume Emily had never smelled before lingered in the air, and a discarded T-shirt lay on Erin’s bed. But Erin was nowhere in sight.
She flopped back on the mattress, shut her eyes, and felt the almost imperceptible sensation of the boat cutting across the sea. She heard a slight rustling sound, but figured it was probably the water lapping against the side of the ship. But how was that possible? This room was eight flights up from ground level, nowhere close to the water.
There were more rustles. Emily looked around. The room seemed eerily still all of a sudden, as though all of the sound and air had been sucked out through a straw. The sound came from the little closet in the corner on Erin’s side of the room.
Bump.
She swung her legs off the bed and stared at the small door. Something was scraping against the walls desperately, as if clawing to get out. Suddenly, the bathroom timer dinged, and the only light in the room clicked off, drowning the room in darkness. It was so black, in fact, that Emily couldn’t see an inch in front of her face. A horrible thought took shape in her mind. What if the others were right? What if A—Real Ali—was on the boat?
There was another bump, and then a scrape. It seemed like someone was inside, trying to break free. Emily shrieked and scuttled to the opposite wall, ducking behind one of the long curtains. And then, she smelled it: a slight whiff of vanilla, wafting out from across the room. It was the soap both Alis, Real and Theirs, had always used.
Emily’s fingers trembled as she reached for her cell phone, ready to dial Aria, but then the phone slipped from her fingers, banging to the floor and tumbling under the bed. Then there was a loud, long, nerve-rattling creak. She peered at the closet through a gap in the curtains and could just make out the door in the darkness. The little starfish-shaped doorknob began to turn, and the door began to open, revealing whoever it was inside.
She yelped, untangled herself from the curtains, and dove for the door that led to the hall, but her foot caught on one of Erin’s discarded boots and she went flying onto the carpet. She scrambled to her hands and knees, then glanced behind her and screamed. The closet door was wide open now, and a figure matching Ali’s height and weight was staring at her.
“Stay away!” she screamed, crawling toward the door. “I’ll call security!”
“Please don’t!” the figure cried.
“Then get out of my room!” Emily screamed. “Get out now!”
“I can’t!”
Emily paused with her hand on the knob. It was a plaintive, desperate cry, not a threatening one. The voice didn’t sound like Ali’s, either.
“W-why?” she stammered.
“Because I’m a stowaway!” the figure said. “I have nowhere else to go!”
Emily noticed a small, quilted makeup bag on the floor of the closet, illuminated by a thin strip of moonlight. Stitched on the side was the name Zora-Jean.
“My name is Jordan Richards,” the girl said. “I snuck on this boat because I had no money. I didn’t think it would actually work, but now I’m here, and I don’t have a room, and …”
Then she stepped into the moonlight. She had large green eyes, full lips, and thick, dark hair held back by a velvet headband. She wore a white eyelet dress and ballet flats with grosgrain trim.
Emily gasped. “You?”
“Me,” the girl answered, and then faintly smiled. Ghost Girl.
Emily sank down to her bed, trying to focus. “You snuck on the boat?” she repeated.
Ghost Girl—Jordan—nodded. “This morning. I wanted to come on the cruise, but my parents didn’t have the money.” She made a wry face. “Actually, they didn’t want to spend the money. We’re not exactly close.”
“Okay,” Emily said slowly. “How did you get on?”
Jordan leaned against the wall next to the closet. “There was so much confusion when everyone was checking in that I thought, What if I just walked on? Would anyone notice? So I did. But then the ship pulled away from the dock, and I panicked. I didn’t have my passport. I didn’t have any stuff. And I didn’t have a room to sleep in. I was screwed.”
“Don’t you know other people on the ship who could help you out?”
Jordan shook her head. “I just moved to the Philly area a few weeks ago, so I don’t really know anyone yet.”
“What school are you going to?” Emily asked.
“Ulster,” Jordan said, staring absently out the little circular porthole.
A crack formed in Emily’s brain when she looked at Z-J’s bag again. “You were the person stealing stuff from people’s rooms, right?”
Jordan looked sheepish. “A lot of people left their doors open while moving in,” she said. “It was easy to slip in and out of the rooms. That’s how I got into your room, too. I camped out here for a couple hours and took a nap.” She grabbed Z-J’s bag and a couple of other duffels from inside the closet. “Anyway, I’ll let you get some rest now. Sorry I freaked you out.”
“Wait!” Emily caught her arm before she could go. “D-do you want to stay here?”
Jordan froze, halfway standing. “For the night?”
“For … maybe longer than the night,” Emily blurted. “I have a feeling my roommate isn’t going to sleep here much. There’s a spare bed.”
Jordan squinted. “Why would you do that?”
Emily traced her finger over the threads on the comforter. She’d surprised herself by asking, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. She felt sorry for Jordan, definitely, but she was also lonely being in the room by herself. Besides, Emily found it almost impossible to take her eyes off Jordan’s high cheekbones, her kissable lips—in a platonic way, of course.
Jordan nodded slowly. “I’d love that, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” Emily said, and then, because she thought it sounded buddy-buddy, added, “roomie.”
Jordan held her gaze. “Roomie,” she repeated, as if it were an antiquated word she’d never heard before. Then she stood up, walked toward Emily, and gave her a huge hug. “Thank you so much. This is wonderful.”
Emily remained as stiff as she could, though she wanted to bury her face in Jordan’s neck and inhale the sweet scent of her skin. “You’re welcome so much,” she said back.
But really, it was Jordan she should have been thanking.
6
SPENCER’S LAST-DITCH EFFORT
The following morning, Spencer and her roommate, Kirsten Cullen, stepped out of their room and started toward the elevators. The air smelled of lingering shampoo from people’s bathrooms; bacon, eggs, and coffee from the restaurant; and sunscreen. The turquoise sky and navy-blue sea loomed large out the huge windows at the end of the corridor, and the hallway walls were papered with flyers reminding everyone to sign up for the end-of-cruise talent show. Spencer made a mental note to sign up their hula routine later that day.
Kirsten stretched her arms over her head and let out a low moan. “I am so jealous of you for not getting seasick last night. I’m exhausted. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to dive today!”
Spencer nudged her playfully. “We’re at sea. Where do you think we’re going to dive?” The two of them were taking scuba, which counted as a class credit, and they were headed for the first lesson, which was taking place in one of the fitness centers. Spencer was overjoyed that she’d been randomly paired with Kirsten, especially hearing about her friends’ matches. Field hockey buddies for years, she and Kirsten had already roomed together when traveling to out-of-state games.
“This is just a getting-to-know-you, everyone-try-on-the-equipment, here-are-some-water-safety-tips kind of thing,” Spencer added knowingly. “I’ve been through plenty of these before.” Spencer had gotten her scuba certification at fourteen; she could probably write the book on scuba safety.
After getting off on the top floor, they passed one of the restaurants, which teemed with guys loading their plates at the buffet line, girls whispering at the tables, and kids flirting and gossiping near the espresso bar. Then Spencer spied someone’s tall, straight back in front of the giant aquarium, and she suppressed a nervous squeak.
“Reefer?” she called out, her voice cracking only a little.
Reefer turned. His whole face lit up when he caught sight of her. This was the first time they’d seen each other on the boat. They’d tried to connect yesterday, but, like Kirsten, Reefer had spent the evening in his room, seasick. “Can I walk you to scuba?” Reefer asked, a little bashfully.
“Sure,” Spencer said, trying to temper her smile. She glanced at Kirsten to see if it was okay, but Kirsten had tactfully walked on.
“Oh, and surprise.” Reefer proffered a smoothie from behind his back. “This is for you. It’s banana-papaya.”
“My favorite,” Spencer breathed, thrilled he’d remembered. She’d mentioned liking those flavors together just once on the phone.
Their hands touched as she took it from him. Chills zinged up Spencer’s spine. She snuck a peek at Reefer’s face, taking in his chiseled jaw and his amber-colored eyes. This was the first time she’d laid eyes on him since Princeton—since she’d realized she liked him. How could she have not remembered his strong shoulders or how pink and kissable his lips were? Why hadn’t she taken note of the cute freckles on his cheeks? Even his dreadlocks, threadbare hemp sneakers, and oversized tie-dyed shirt were suddenly endearing.
She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, feeling the back of her neck redden. “Um, how are you feeling?” she blurted, suddenly needing to fill the silence. “You must have been bummed to miss out on the Welcome Party.” She’d almost been tempted to knock on his cabin door with a glass of ginger ale and some Dramamine, but she’d worried that might seem too forward.
“Eh, it’s all good,” Reefer said, starting down the hall toward the scuba class. “I watched movies on pay-per-view. Did you get sick? Those waves were pretty vicious.”
Spencer shook her head. “I’ve never been seasick. I’m used to boats.”
“Lucky,” Reefer sighed. “Have you been diving for a while?”
Spencer nodded. “I’ve been certified for a couple years. I’m hoping to go on some private dives without the rest of the group. I don’t really like diving around a lot of people.”
Reefer held the door to the stairwell open for her. “Would you mind some company? I mean, I only got certified last year, but I’m a quick learner, I swear. And I bet you’re a pretty good tour guide.”
Spencer put a finger to her mouth, coyly pretending to contemplate the offer. “But what if I wanted those dives to be private? What do I get in return for bringing you along?”
Reefer paused on the staircase, his eyes sparkling playfully. “How about my most cherished 1977 Grateful Dead concert T-shirt?”
Spencer gave him a skeptical look. “The one you bought off eBay that still smells like pot after all those washings? No thank you.”
“It doesn’t smell like pot!” Reefer urged. “It smells fine. I wear it to school all the time and no one questions me, I swear.”
Spencer secretly felt thrilled at the idea of wearing a T-shirt that Reefer had worn, too. It seemed so … boy-friendly.
They’d reached the door to the Seahorse Gym, the site of the first scuba class, by then. Elliptical machines, stair climbers, and treadmills lined the window wall, and about thirty folding chairs stood on the mats. Kirsten was in the front row, filing her nails. Quite a few kids grabbed coffee and bagels from a catered tray in the back. Tim, the instructor Spencer had met at the Activity Fair the day before, stood over a couple of cardboard boxes, sorting through oxygen tanks and wetsuits.
Spencer faced Reefer again, feeling a tingly, excited rush. Reefer was smiling at her, too.
Then she was suddenly gripped with a wonderful idea. She touched Reefer’s arm. “Let’s ditch.”
Reefer widened his eyes. “Class?”
“We both already know how to dive. Why not?”
Reefer, clapped a hand over his mouth, feigning shock. “Aren’t you the girl who’s gotten the Perfect Attendance award every year?”
Spencer shrugged. “I’m on vacation.” She could just picture it: grabbing Reefer’s hand and pulling him down to one of the lower lounges, which were probably empty at this time of morning, and sitting in a back booth. They’d gossip about people on the boat, plan outings for after their dives, and then their heads would move closer together, and then …
“Raif?”
It was coming from someone inside the classroom. Reefer turned. His eyebrows shot up, and he took a step through the door.
“It is you!” a girl whooped. “Oh my God!”
“Wow!” Reefer said. And then he was hugging her. Really hugging her. Spencer stood in the doorway, feeling like a forgotten child’s toy tossed out a car window.
She cleared her throat a little more loudly than she meant to, and Reefer turned around, his dreadlocks bouncing. “Oh, Spencer. Sorry. This is—”
“Naomi,” Spencer blurted, staring at the girl who had stepped into view. She gave Spencer a haughty, threatening look.
“Hi, Spencer,” Naomi chirped. “You’re taking scuba, too?”
“Uh, yeah,” Spencer mumbled, eyeing Naomi’s fingers, which were grazing Reefer’s. She glanced at the door, considering ditching without him.
But suddenly, it didn’t seem like a very fun idea at all.
7
A PARTNER IN CRIME
That morning, Aria and about thirty
other kids stood in the shade of the giant pink waterslide on the top deck of the cruise ship, eagerly awaiting the start of the Eco Scavenger Hunt. The air smelled like wood-floor cleaner, spicy deodorant, and boat fuel that the captain had insisted was totally eco-friendly, though Aria had her doubts. Everyone fanned their faces, applied high-powered sunscreen to ward off the punishing Caribbean sun, and chattered excitedly about what the activity was going to entail.
Finally, the activity leader got off her cell phone and turned to the group. “Welcome!” she cried, her freckly face breaking into a smile. “My name is Gretchen Vine, and you guys are in for a treat. Think of this hunt like The Amazing Race—we give you clues and cash to get to your destination, and the first group to figure out all the riddles wins.”
“Wins what?” a brunette girl whose string bikini straps peeked out from underneath her shirt asked.
Gretchen smiled and unveiled two white gift certificates to the Apple Store, and everyone oohed. “They’re worth a thousand dollars each.”
Then Gretchen passed out little red wallets that said ECO TREASURE HUNT on the front. “Carry your clues in here,” she instructed. “You’ll need to show me what you found at the end of each day.”
“Will we get to do any camping? Extreme hikes? Role-playing?” a boy called.
Gretchen frowned, fiddling with her necklace. “Well, we need you to return to the ship every night—otherwise we’d have to send out a search party. The hikes take you over a lot of terrain, but I wouldn’t call them extreme. And I’m not sure what you mean by role-playing—perhaps you can elaborate?”
The speaker, a guy with longish brown hair and thick eyebrows, waved his hand dismissively. “Forget it.”
Gretchen told them they would have to scour beachheads, traipse over dunes, bushwhack through tropical rain forests, and navigate busy city streets to extract information that would lead them, ultimately, to the prize. Aria exchanged excited glances with kids next to her. There were quite a few couples holding hands in the group, and she felt a longing pang. Maybe Noel would have chosen the scavenger hunt if he had known about the prize.