Burned

Naomi’s hands went limp in her lap, and her face grew pale. “What?”



Hanna took a breath and then glanced at Jeremy, who was talking to the captain. Why did Naomi seem so surprised? Her e-mails with Madison indicated they knew the truth. And her A notes made it clear she knew everything. And yet there she was, her face pale, her eyes darting back and forth, her hands trembling.



It felt like someone had reached into Hanna’s mind and tilted everything ninety degrees. Was it possible she was wrong about Naomi?



“You … didn’t know?” Hanna asked.



Naomi slowly shook her head. Hanna turned away and stared at the moon overhead, then at a fishing sticker on the side of the boat, then at Jeremy’s stupid sunglasses, trying to hold onto something stable and knowable. If Naomi didn’t know Hanna had been with Madison, then she had no reason to be after Hanna. And if she had no reason to be after Hanna, why was she A?



Was she A?



It felt like someone had just told her the sky was green, the water orange. Hanna looked at Naomi. She seemed as vulnerable and disarmed as she had during karaoke, or at the club, or at the gym when she’d begged Hanna to hang out. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She bit on her bottom lip over and over again until it was red and raw.



Hanna clapped a hand over her mouth. All at once, she felt sick with remorse. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I thought you knew everything.”



Naomi’s eyes blazed. Her lips twitched, and she clenched and unclenched her fists, as though she were considering throwing a punch. But after a moment, she shut her eyes and sighed. “No, Hanna. I didn’t know.”



“I’m really sorry,” Hanna whispered.



Naomi stared at her. “You think sorry cuts it?”



“But I am,” Hanna protested. “It’s not like I meant for any of it to happen. Madison was barely able to stand up when she left the bar. That’s why I drove her home—I was afraid something awful might happen if I didn’t. And you said yourself that the crash was, in a weird way, a good thing—it got her straight.”



Naomi looked at Hanna in horror. “My God, Hanna. I would have preferred the crash had never happened at all.”



Hanna shut her eyes, suddenly realizing how idiotic she sounded. “Of course,” she whispered.



Naomi pressed her fingers to her temples. “I have half a mind to call the cops right when we get home and tell them everything. My cousin used to like to play field hockey on the weekends, did you know that? Now she’ll never be able to again. She’ll probably always walk with a limp. She went to grueling physical therapy for months, which racked up a ton of bills for my aunt and uncle. I should make you pay them. Or maybe your rich father.”



Hanna opened her mouth and shut it again. She had no defense. Naomi was totally right.



“That accident caused a lot of anguish for all of us,” Naomi hissed, her cheeks flushed. “It was torture when we weren’t sure if Madison was going to pull through. And you think you can just say you’re sorry and be done with it?”



“I shouldn’t have said that.” Hanna hung her head. “You can tell the police about me if you want. And your parents. And Madison. They deserve to know the truth.”



Naomi set her jaw and stared at the horizon. “I just don’t understand how someone could do something like that. And then, after you knew, you pretended you were my friend, like nothing was wrong!”



“I didn’t know Madison was your cousin until I saw the fake ID,” Hanna said. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “When I made the connection, I freaked. I thought you knew about me and Madison from the very beginning—I figured that’s why you were being so nice to me. You knew, and you wanted to get revenge.”



Naomi scoffed. “I was being nice to you because I wanted us to be friends. I was sick of our stupid fights.” She stared at her in disbelief. “Is that why you were on my computer when we got back from the club? To see if I knew for sure?”



Hanna nodded, overwhelmed with guilt. “I was convinced you knew about Madison. I read an e-mail exchange between you and her, and you said you’d narrowed down who the suspect was. I figured you knew it was me.”



“Have you ever thought about just talking things out? Coming clean?” Naomi asked.



“It’s complicated,” Hanna mumbled. It wasn’t like she could tell Naomi about A.



“Did you put those photos on my computer, too?”



Hanna frowned. “What photos?”



Naomi balled up her fists. “A whole folder of new photos was mysteriously added to my desktop. I thought they were a virus, actually, so I didn’t look at them, but when I went to delete them, they were gone. Were you trying to crash my computer?”



Hanna’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Were the photos Naomi was talking about the ones of the girls in Jamaica? Had someone planted them there?



“I’m sorry,” she said one more time, not knowing how to explain.



Naomi pinched the bridge of her nose. She watched the waves for a few moments, then turned back to Hanna sharply. “Just to be clear, I had no idea Madison had someone with her in the car. She was so wasted that night she didn’t remember, either. What she did remember, though, was flashing headlights coming head-on just before the crash. That’s who we were investigating, you idiot. Not you.”



Hanna winced, but then nodded sheepishly. “I remember that car. It was like, one second, there was no one on the road, and the next, there it was, heading right for us.”



“We managed to find a witness,” Naomi said begrudgingly. “A lady lives in the house on the hill where the car crashed. She wasn’t home at the time, but she has a security camera in the driveway, and it caught some of the accident. There was this shadowy image of Madison’s car—I couldn’t tell there were two people in it. There was an image of a second car, too, forcing the BMW off the road. It was like they meant to do it.”



Hanna’s heart started to pound. “Do you have any idea who it was?”



“We have part of a license plate number, but that’s it. The cops asked Madison if she knew anyone who hated her so much they would want to hurt her, but she didn’t know anyone. I guess I should ask you the same thing.”



A shiver danced down Hanna’s spine. If only she knew who wanted to hurt her. But maybe that was how A knew what had happened that night: A had been the driver of the other car, forcing the accident. Of course A had had a front-row seat to what happened next. All A had to do was pull over around the bend, turn off the lights, and watch Hanna freak.



The boat slowed, and the port of Hamilton rose into view. Hanna’s friends, who were all the way across the boat, out of earshot, leaned over in their seats, and then turned back to Hanna. They were probably watching the conversation, trying to figure out what Hanna was saying. Hanna wondered if just by her body language they could deduce that Naomi wasn’t A.



Hanna glanced at Naomi again. There were a lot of things she wanted to say to Naomi. A thank-you was in order—they would have died without the rescue boat. She wanted to try and make it up to her, too, although she had no idea how. But saying either of those things seemed completely inappropriate. It was one thing when what she’d done was a contained secret, something she was tortured by but internalized. It was another when she saw how many lives it touched, altered. It added a whole new layer of guilt and shame.



“I’m really sorry about everything,” she mumbled once more.



“Yeah, well, you should be,” Naomi growled. When she glanced at Hanna, there was disgust in her eyes, but then she shrugged. “I’m not going to tell, if that’s what you’re worried about. But you owe me—got it? And let’s just hope they nail whoever that other driver was.”



“Oh. Thanks.” Hanna was surprised by Naomi’s sudden generosity. But Naomi just rolled her eyes and turned away.



A wave splashed up, misting Hanna’s face. She settled back in her seat, feeling a mix of shame and regret. All at once, she knew that the seed of friendship that had started to grow between them was probably lost forever. Too much had been said. Too much was damaged—and it was all Hanna’s fault. They might not taunt each other in the Rosewood halls anymore, but they wouldn’t sit together at Steam, either. It was just another thing A had wrecked.



The boat pulled up to the dock, and everyone lined up to get off. “You know, there’s something else I should probably tell you,” she said gruffly as they stepped on the docks.



“What’s that?” Hanna asked.



Naomi tucked a windswept piece of hair behind her ear. “Ali called me up once, after she came back to Rosewood as Courtney. She told me everything. That she was the real Ali, but she’d been imprisoned in the hospital at the beginning of sixth grade because of this fluke switch, and that it was sort of your fault it happened.”



Hanna’s eyes widened. “Did you tell anyone?”



Naomi shook her head. “I thought she was drunk—the story was so crazy. And she kept saying, ‘I hate them, Naomi. They ruined my life. They ruined yours, too, don’t you think? Don’t they owe you something?’”



“Do you think that?” Hanna asked.



Naomi shrugged. “It was cool to be Ali’s friend, and I was really pissed when she dropped Riley and me for you guys. But as time went on, I started to think it was a good thing. Ali was really bossy. And she kept a lot of secrets.”



“Like what?”



Naomi gave Hanna a crazy look. “Maybe that she had a twin sister no one knew about?” Then she cleared her throat. “She said something else on the phone to me last year, though. She said, ‘I’m going to get those bitches, Naomi. We’re going to make them pay for what they did.’”



“God,” Hanna whispered. Ali had made them pay.



Then she looked at Naomi. “I wish you would have said something earlier. I wish you would have told someone.” If Naomi had taken Ali more seriously, the girls might not have gone through that horrible ordeal in the Poconos. If Real Ali had gotten sent back to The Preserve—because surely she would have, if someone had known to believe her—Jamaica wouldn’t have happened, either. Tabitha would’ve just been a weird friend of Ali’s from The Preserve who acted strangely on Ali’s behalf, nothing more.



Hanna pictured time rewinding, every horrible thing they’d done turning to dust. What sort of life would she be living now? How happy would she be, how carefree? How amazing would it be if A wasn’t in her life?



A clever, vindictive look crossed Naomi’s face, reminding Hanna more of the girl she’d known for years, the girl who’d always been her enemy. “I guess that makes us even.”



31



A BITTERSWEET REUNION



The lobby of the Royal Arms Hotel was done up in beige and brown tones and filled with generic furniture and ugly brass light fixtures, making Spencer feel like she was at a hotel near the Philadelphia Airport instead of on the shores of Hamilton, Bermuda. The only thing special about the lobby was that it was jam-packed with kids evacuated from the cruise ship. Boys from Pritchard sat on couches. A bunch of kids from Rosewood Day swarmed the little restaurant, where three televisions were all tuned to cricket matches. Girls from Villa Louisa leaned against the front desk, talking to their parents on their cell phones. Everyone had gotten calls from their parents, who were furious that their children had had to flee for their lives on lifeboats. Rumors swirled about lawsuits against the cruise company. Mason Byers announced that his dad was taking a private plane to Bermuda that night and getting him the hell out of there. The story had even hit the news already—THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE, a headline had read earlier on a news program before cricket, followed by footage of dozens of tiny lifeboats sailing away from the burning ship. Unfortunately, the story about the girls’ brush with death got some airplay, too—reporters practically salivated once they realized they were the Pretty Little Liars. Spencer had found out through the news that the authorities were still trying to figure out what had caused the explosion in the boiler room.