Burned

Hanna scrolled back to the beginning of the conversation, dated July 1. Are you still trying to figure out the name of the driver? Naomi had written to her cousin. Yes, Madison wrote back that same day. I think I’m getting close. And then, on July 3, Madison wrote another e-mail: We need to talk in person. I think I know who did this to me. Naomi replied on July 5: They’re going down. I’ll make sure they get what they deserve. There was a long stretch of no replies, but today, Madison had written: I’m so proud of you for doing this for me.



Hanna signed out of Naomi’s e-mail and looked up, catching sight of her all-too-sober expression in the mirror over the bureau. They. Madison must have not only figured out that Hanna was the driver but also that Aria, Spencer, and Emily had helped her escape. If she’d shared this with Naomi in early July, Naomi would have had ample time to stalk all of the girls and dig up their secrets. And I’m so proud of you for doing this for me? What did Madison mean by that?



Her heart pounded in her chest. She had been wrong. Again. Naomi was A. This proved it.



“What are you doing?”



Naomi stood in the bathroom doorway in a bathrobe. Hanna stepped away from Naomi’s bed. “H-hey!”



“Hey,” Naomi said slowly. Her gaze flicked from Hanna to the laptop, then back to Hanna again. “Everything okay?”



“Uh, I was just looking for my sleep mask,” Hanna said, fumbling on Naomi’s bed, then on the floor. She was sure Naomi could hear her pounding heart all the way across the room.



Naomi walked to the bed and sat down. She gave Hanna a long look but didn’t say anything. For a moment, her face was illuminated by the moonlight, and when she smiled, her teeth looked long and garish, almost wolflike. “The bathroom’s yours if you want it,” she said finally.



“I’m cool,” Hanna said. “I’m just going to go to bed.” If only she could text Mike and beg to stay with him another night. But then Naomi would be on to her for sure.



“Okay, then.” Naomi shifted her laptop to the floor and pulled the covers over her. “Nighty-night, bestie!”



“Night,” Hanna croaked, huddling under the duvet and knowing she wouldn’t sleep a wink.



18



TOO HOT TO HANDLE



Saturday morning, Spencer rushed into the empty arcade where her friends were waiting. Emily paced nervously past the unoccupied video consoles for Modern Warfare and Dance Dance Revolution. Aria tapped her nails on top of a change machine. Hanna picked at a loose thread on her jean shorts, the lights from a pinball machine flashing across her face. Her hair was matted, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She’d texted them that morning saying she needed to talk, pronto.



“I don’t have much time,” Spencer said, checking her watch. She was due to meet Reefer in the sauna at 10—and it was 9:45.



“I found something last night.” Hanna’s voice was high and tweaky, like she’d drunk too many cups of coffee. “I looked on Naomi’s e-mail, just like you told me to do. There was an e-mail thread with Madison Strickland about the accident. I’m pretty sure they know it was us.”



“Wait.” Aria looked startled. “So Madison is alive?”



“Naomi said she was alive, but badly injured,” Hanna said. “The thing is, Naomi also said that she was, in a weird way, happy that Madison had gotten in the accident. There’s no way that’s true—not with what these e-mails said.”



Spencer shut her eyes and let out a breath. Once again, that crack of bone resounded through her mind. She had done that. She could empathize with Aria now for how she felt about Tabitha—it seemed different, somehow, when you were the one who’d pushed or dropped someone. “Did the e-mails name us specifically?”



“Not specifically, but one said They’re going down. They. Naomi must know we were all involved. She wrote the e-mail on July 5, too—before we gave that money back to Gayle, before the Spencer-and-Kelsey thing happened, before everything last summer. And then there was a new e-mail from Madison that said I’m so proud of you for doing this for me.”



Emily ran her hand across her forehead. “Okay, so now we think Naomi is A. Or one of the As.”



“It looks like it.” Hanna looked pained just saying the words. “It seemed like she didn’t know a thing, but I guess she’s just a really, really good actress.”



“If Naomi is A—or even working with another A—then Naomi knows everything.” Aria pulled out her phone and showed it to the girls. “Look what A sent me.”



Everyone studied the blurry image of the face of The Cliffs resort that had popped up on the screen. At the top of the frame were five girls on the roof deck. A blond girl stood precariously near the edge; a brunette of Aria’s height and build had her arms outstretched, ready to push. If you knew what you were looking for, it sealed their life-in-prison sentence.



“You need to erase that!” Spencer grabbed Aria’s phone and hit various buttons.



“Go ahead and try.” Aria crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s something wrong with my software—I can’t delete anything. If anyone sees it—Graham, the teachers on this trip, the cops—we’re done.”



Hanna’s head whipped up. “You’re still speaking to Graham?”



Aria squeezed her eyes shut. “He’s not A, okay?”



“But what if Naomi tells him what we did?” Spencer whispered. “She could have been the one who sent you those photos, Aria—whoever she’s working with could have taken them and shared them with her. What if she mentions the picture on your phone, and what if he, like, goes crazy with revenge and hurts you?”



Aria flicked the coin return slot on the change machine. “He really doesn’t seem like that kind of person.”



Then Hanna swallowed. “What are we going to do about Naomi, guys?”



“And whoever this second A might be?” Aria added.



“One A at a time.” Spencer leaned against a Gran Turismo driving console. “Is there a way to prove Naomi is definitely A?”



Hanna tapped her lips. “Spence, you said you saw someone running the other direction the night Gayle was murdered. Do you think it could have been a girl?”



“I guess,” Spencer answered uncertainly. “But I didn’t see her face.” Spencer looked at Hanna. “Can you go through Naomi’s computer again? There could be something on there that links her to Gayle’s murder. You should see if she has the photos she sent to Aria on her computer, too—that would prove she’s A. If you find them, erase them. Otherwise she might send them to the cops.”



Hanna cracked her jaw. “But she caught me looking at her laptop. I don’t want to go back to my room ever again!”



“Sneak in when she’s not there,” Aria suggested.



“What if she already sent those photos to the cops?” Hanna said. “Even if we do find something about Gayle, they’ll think we planted it there just to destroy her credibility.”



“I doubt Naomi did,” Aria said. “Why else would she still be threatening us? Why else haven’t the cops knocked on our doors to arrest us?”



Everyone stared at one another, not having an answer. Hanna’s hands shook. Emily wound the same piece of hair around and around her finger.



“Whatcha talking about, girls?” a voice boomed behind them, and everyone jumped and turned. Jeremy stood in the doorway, his eyes concealed behind his star-shaped glasses. Spencer shivered. How long had he been standing there?



Aria flinched. “Uh, nothing,” she said, shoving her phone back in her pocket.



Everyone ducked their heads and marched toward the exit, the meeting over. Jeremy watched them, a strange smile on his face. When Spencer passed, he pushed something into her hand. “You forgot this from the restaurant last night. I grabbed it for you before I left.”



She stared at the object in her palm. It was the Polaroid the waitress at the restaurant in Puerto Rico had taken when they were being serenaded. There was a sour feeling in her stomach; she hadn’t remembered Jeremy being there.



“You two make such a cute couple,” Jeremy trilled. “It’s so nice to see young love bloom.”



But as he shoved his glasses up his nose and did a military-style turn, Spencer’s body filled with dread. Reefer. She had to break it off with him—now.



There was no way she was stealing A’s guy.



Five minutes later, she stood just outside the sauna. The door was made of cracked wood slats that had darkened from moisture and time. Dry heat seeped from its pores, and the sharp scent of cedar hung heavily in the air. The smell would forever remind her of her Grandpa Hastings, who had loved saunas so much he built one in his house in Florida. She’d caught him lounging in there naked once and had never set foot in that wing of the house again.



Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the straps on her bikini and pushed the creaky door open. It was so hot inside that she immediately began to sweat. The only light in the room was from the glowing coals in the corner. She could just make out someone sitting on the bottom step. His dreadlocks hung limply on his shoulders, and he had a towel wrapped around his waist.



Her stomach flipped. This was going to be so, so difficult.



“Fancy meeting you here,” he said flirtatiously, standing up.



“Reefer, I—” Spencer started, but Reefer slid his hands down her back and his lips touched her neck. Spencer shut her eyes and groaned. He smelled so good, like lemon and salt.



“Reefer, wait.” Spencer pulled away from him and caught her breath.



“What is it?” Reefer asked, panting. “Is it too hot in here? Want to cool off in the pool?”



Spencer swallowed hard. “I do, but … Reefer, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”



Reefer stared at her. The only sound was the small creaks of the sauna’s wooden beams settling. “Why?” he asked, his voice cracking.



Spencer wiped a bead of sweat from her eyes. “It’s Naomi,” she said.



“What about her?”



She sat down on the bench and stared into the darkness. If only she could tell him the truth. This is a girl who already wants to kill me, she wished she could say. She’s killed before. I have no idea what she’s capable of. And we’re in the middle of the ocean, with nowhere to hide, with no police …



But she couldn’t say any of that. Instead, she cleared her throat. “She really likes you.”



“But I don’t like her.” Reefer sounded puzzled.



Spencer picked at a scab on her knee, then looked up, realizing something. “You said you met Naomi at a Princeton party. When was that?”



“Months ago. Way before I met you.”



“Was she visiting any other times?”



Reefer thought for a moment. “Yeah. That same weekend you were in Princeton for the Eating Club thing. But it was just in passing—nothing happened between us.”



Spencer blinked. “Naomi was there that weekend?”