Burned

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?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Her heart thudded. “Was she at the party where … the brownie incident happened?” She closed her eyes and thought about all the kids stuffed into that off-campus house. She hadn’t seen Naomi there, but she’d been high, and her attention had been on Harper and the other Ivy girls.

“No, a different one,” Reefer furrowed his brows. “Why does it matter?”

“No reason,” Spencer said faintly. Her head was spinning. If Naomi had been at Princeton the same weekend she went to the Ivy Pot Luck, she could have been the one who laced Spencer’s pot brownies with LSD. Hadn’t Spencer heard a freaky giggle when she’d stepped outside the Ivy house? Hadn’t she thought she’d seen a shock of blond hair just like Naomi’s slip into the woods?

And was it possible that Hanna’s accident had started all this? Spencer had begged Hanna to come clean. After Jamaica, they didn’t need another secret on their hands. Hanna had shaken her head. “I can’t do that to my dad’s campaign,” Hanna said a few days later. She and Spencer had been sitting at Wordsmith’s, a bookstore near Rosewood Day.

“But it wasn’t even your fault,” Spencer said, jiggling her foot. “That other car swerved at you from out of nowhere, and then just disappeared.”

“I think that’s what happened.” Hanna shut her eyes, as if trying to replay the scene on the back of her eyelids. “But now I’m not sure. Maybe I was in the wrong lane. The rain was so heavy, and the road is so twisty, and …”

She trailed off, putting her head in her hands. For a while, the only sound in the store was the classical music that played over the speakers. Spencer had looked at her cell phone; she’d received a text from Phineas, a friend she’d made at the University of Pennsylvania summer program she’d enrolled in, asking her if she wanted to go to a party that night. She was about to text him back when she looked over and saw someone standing stock-still in one of the aisles, head cocked. The person slipped out of sight before Spencer could see who it was, but it looked like she had the same color blond hair as Naomi’s.

Now Spencer peered cautiously at Reefer. “I just don’t want anyone mad at me right now.”

Reefer lifted his palms. “Would it help if I told her to back off?”

“Don’t do that!” Spencer said quickly. “I-I just don’t think we should start anything until we get off the ship.”

Reefer looked crushed. “You really think that’s best?”

“I do.”

They stepped away from each other. Reefer turned his back and adjusted the towel around his waist, and Spencer made the mistake of looking at his dewy skin and taut lats. Her stomach swooped. As though pulled by an invisible string, she fell into him again. He pressed her against the wooden wall and kissed her hard.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” Reefer joked.

Spencer laughed sheepishly. “Okay, so maybe we make out in private until we get off the boat.”

“If it means making out with you, I’m in.” Then he opened the door. “Let’s go to the pool. My skin feels like it’s boiling off.”

Spencer nodded reluctantly. “But if we see Naomi, we have to leave.”

“Deal.”

They padded down the tiled hall toward the pool area. A bunch of kids were having chicken fights in the shallow end, and girls were tanning on lounge chairs near the bar. There was a squeak under Spencer’s feet, and it wasn’t until she was already in the air that she realized she’d slipped. She fell hard on the tiles, banging her elbow. White-hot pain shot through her ankle.

“Ow!” she shrieked, curling into a ball.

Reefer dropped to his knees. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” Spencer touched her foot. It was already swelling up.

“What did you slip on, anyway?” Reefer asked.

“I don’t know.” Spencer looked around for something that had blocked her path, but the corridor was empty. Then the familiar scent of baby oil filled her nostrils. There was a slick puddle a few inches away from where she’d landed. Spencer had taken this route on her way to the sauna, though. The baby oil hadn’t been there a few minutes ago—she was sure of it.

A cold feeling swept over her bones. All at once, a high-pitched giggle swirled down the corridor. As Reefer helped Spencer stand, her phone chimed. She clumsily removed it from her beach bag and read the new text.

Careful, careful! I might just slip, too—and tell.—A