Burned

8 LICENSE TO KILL

Later that night, Hanna took Mike’s hand as they stepped off the elevator on the Palm Tree Deck. “Nine-oh-seven is that way,” he murmured, then turned right and started down a long corridor. Hanna followed him, shooting a haughty look at Phi Templeton, who had paused eagerly at her cabin door. Hanna and Mike were on their way to a top-secret, exclusive party in Mason Byers’s suite, but not everyone was invited.

They passed a long mirror, and Hanna gazed at her reflection. She was definitely party-ready. Her skin glowed with a brand-new tan; the gauzy, burnt-orange sundress she’d bought at the King James floated softly away from her hips; and the gladiator heels she’d purchased just before the trip made her legs look so superlong that she didn’t mind that they pinched her feet a little.

Mike stopped at the last door at the end of the hall. “Here we are.”

They listened for a moment. Bass thumped from inside. A girl squealed, and a bunch of guys laughed. The scent of booze and cigarettes wafted under the door.

Hanna bit her lip. “What if the chaperone hears us? I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Mike’s thick brows knitted together. “Since when do you care about getting in trouble?”

Hanna wound a piece of perfectly curled auburn hair around her finger. “I don’t want to have to give up any more tanning time to sit in some cruise ship’s idea of detention. It’s bad enough I have to work in the dungeon.” She hadn’t bothered to sign up for a volunteer job before the cruise, so she’d been randomly assigned a position in the ship’s administration office. The office was in the bowels of the ship, run by a woman named Vera who wore a thousand tiny barrettes in her hair and was obsessed with country music. Hanna was supposed to do mind-numbing data entry about the ship’s capacity the whole morning—Vera tried to make it seem so interesting that this particular vessel could hold almost a hundred more guests than were on board. Mostly, she’d just googled how she could make a grass skirt look sexy for the end-of-trip talent show.

“Don’t worry,” Mike said. “Mason paid off this hallway’s chaperone to keep quiet. We’re cool.”

Then he knocked on the door. It opened a crack. “Password?” said a gruff voice.

“Flipper,” Mike whispered.

The door opened, and they walked into a suite packed with bodies. The patio door was open wide, letting in the warm, fragrant air, and a bunch of people leaned over the railing or sat on the deck chairs. On the kitchen’s counter were a bunch of airplane bottles of liquor, a half-drained jug of rum, plastic cups, and pretzels, peanuts, and M&M’s from the minibar. Rihanna blared from an iPod dock, and a few people were dancing on one of the beds. The room smelled thickly of perfume, sweat, and all-natural carpet cleaner.

“Welcome to our soiree.” Mason strode forward and offered Hanna and Mike cups filled with rum and Diet Coke. He was wearing his Rosewood Day blazer, a striped tie loosely knotted around his neck, and a pair of seersucker shorts that looked suspiciously like boxers.

Hanna accepted the drink, then started through the crowd. A lot of kids from Rosewood Day were here, as well as people from Doringbell Friends, Pritchard, and Tate. A couple of blond bombshells from Villa Louisa were doing shots with James Freed and a few other boys from the lacrosse team. Maybe it was something about the hot, humid air, or maybe it was the smell of the coconut sunscreen everyone was wearing, but suddenly Hanna was reminded of the parties they’d attended in Jamaica—especially that crowded dinner the night they met Tabitha. They’d all been sitting at the table, drinking and having a good time, when Emily had grabbed their arm. “It’s Ali,” she’d said, and there was Tabitha on the top step, looking eerie and familiar in that yellow dress....

Jesus. Why was she thinking about it again? She grabbed Mike’s arm. “Let’s dance.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Mike said.

They hit the dance floor and started moving to a Wiz Khalifa song. Hanna shook her arms and legs like a dervish, trying to purge the negative thoughts from her mind. A Lil Wayne song came on next, and then there was a medley of stuff from Madonna’s latest album. By the time someone put on vintage Nirvana, she was slightly winded from dancing and much more relaxed.

“I’ll get more drinks,” Mike said. Hanna nodded woozily and wandered out to the balcony, where kids were staring at the moon. A hand touched Hanna’s bare shoulder, and she turned, thinking Mike was back. Instead, it was Naomi. Hanna instantly inhaled a heady whiff of her fruity Kate Spade perfume.

Hanna brightened. “What’s up?”

“Hey, girl,” Naomi chirped. “Good to see you here.”

Hanna smiled but didn’t answer, not wanting to seem too eager. It still baffled her that Naomi was being nice. They’d hung out at the welcome soiree a little and had gotten breakfast this morning, which had instantly upped her cool-girl cred—a few girls had said hi to her in the corridors afterward. Naomi had even asked if Hanna wanted to tan this afternoon, but Hanna had had her jewelry-making class. Hanna kept waiting for Naomi to prank her, ditch her, or laugh in her face, but so far, so good. Naomi had finally woken up and realized Hanna was cool.

“I don’t know how you dance in those shoes.” Naomi pointed to the high, strappy gladiator heels on Hanna’s feet. “They’re incredible. Are they from Salt and Pepper?”

Hanna flinched. Actually, the shoes were from Salt and Pepper, but the store was in the slightly down-market section of the King James Mall—definitely uncool. The only reason Hanna shopped there was because their knockoffs were so good people often couldn’t tell the difference.

“Um, my mom bought them for me,” she mumbled. “I don’t know where she got them.”

“C’mon, Han,” Naomi said in a knowing voice. “I saw those in the store window.” Then she leaned closer, a conspiratorial look in her eye. “I almost bought them myself, actually. Shopping there is my little secret. It’s such a great store, but everyone would make fun of me if they knew. Look—I’m wearing Salt and Pepper shoes, too.”

She lifted her foot to show off a pink kitten heel that Hanna did, indeed, recognize from the store’s shelves. “It is a pretty great store.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the best!” Naomi’s eyes gleamed. “We can’t tell anyone about it though—it has to be our little secret. Otherwise everyone will go, and there will be nothing good left.”

“Definitely,” Hanna said in a mock-haughty voice, secretly thrilled that she and Naomi were in on something together.

“Not even Riley,” Naomi went on. “And definitely not your stepsister. Got it?”

“Got it.” Hanna ran her fingers over the plastic ridges on her cup, feeling triumphant. Naomi and Kate had been BFFs since Kate had started at Rosewood Day. Hanna and Kate had been getting along lately, and Kate had told her she was in a fight with Naomi. The way Kate had put it, though, Naomi was the one at fault.

Naomi propped her elbows on the railing and stared back in at the party. “Zelda Millings looks pretty good in that halter dress, don’t you think?”

Hanna studied the pale blond girl who’d snubbed her the day before across the room. “Eh,” she said, feeling triumphant that the tables had turned. “It makes her boobs look really small.”

“True.” Naomi nodded sagely. “But at least that color doesn’t make her look like an albino.”

“She’s going to have a wicked sunburn at the end of the week,” Hanna mused.

Naomi twisted her mouth. “You know who I wish would get wicked sunburns?”

“The girls from Villa Louisa?” Hanna blurted out.

“Yes!” Naomi whooped, then touched Hanna’s arm. “Oh my God, don’t you think they’re so annoying?”

“Absolutely.” Hanna felt a rush of satisfaction. It felt good to bash the Villa Gorillas. “Did you know Emily Fields is rooming with that Erin Bang Bang girl?”

Naomi winced. “She’s the worst. I got stuck working in the administration offices on the boat because I was really lazy about signing up for something else, and she works the shift with me. That bitch didn’t say one word to me the whole time.”

Hanna frowned. “Wait, you’re working in the admin office? So am I!”

“With Vera?” Naomi asked.

“Oh my God, Vera!” Hanna giggled. “What’s with all those sappy love songs?”

“And those barrettes?” Naomi added, holding in a laugh. “She looks like a poodle!”

“Doesn’t that office have the weirdest smell?” Hanna pretended to gag.

“Yeah, like a mix of feet, wet dog, and old lady,” Naomi groaned.

“It could be worse, though,” Hanna said. “I heard some people who signed up late are on cleaning duty. They have to scrub the boys’ toilets.”

“Ew!” Naomi shrieked.

Hanna grinned as she sipped her drink, feeling light-headed and free. She felt like she’d just discovered a new clothing designer whose jeans and tees and dresses fit her perfectly—and her name was Naomi. That Naomi was giving Hanna the same Where have you been all my life? look made her feel even better.

Then Naomi shifted her weight. “I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while. Did you ever get help for … you know. That eating thing?”

Hanna bristled. A million years ago, Mona-as-A had forced her to confront Naomi and Riley last year and admit she had an eating disorder. Hanna glanced through the door, considering running away.

“The only reason I ask is because I wanted to get a referral,” Naomi added when Hanna didn’t say anything.

Hanna frowned. “For who?”

Naomi looked down. “For myself,” she murmured quietly.

Hanna almost laughed out loud. “You binge? Yeah, right.” Naomi was a size 0. Hanna had barely ever seen her eat.

Naomi lowered her eyes. “With exercise. It’s something I’ve struggled with on and off for years. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it, actually—you’re the only person I know who’s suffered with it, too. It’s not like I can talk to Riley or Kate about it.”

“I don’t really do it anymore,” Hanna said cautiously.

“I didn’t, either.” Naomi traced her finger around the lip of the glass. “Until last summer. Some weird stuff happened, so I started again.”

Hanna blinked hard. “I’m really sorry,” she said softly, still not quite believing what she was hearing. But Naomi’s expression looked earnest and guileless. Hanna had yearned to talk about bingeing with someone who’d been through it as well, but so far she hadn’t come across anyone who’d admit to it.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” she offered after a moment. “I know how hard it is.”

“Thanks,” Naomi murmured, reaching across and squeezing Hanna’s hand.

Just then, Mason Byers stumbled out onto the patio. His hair was mussed, and he was wearing a gold Rosewood Police badge on his lapel. “The name’s Officer Byers, ladies,” he slurred. “Are you two old enough to drink?”

“Of course we are,” Naomi winked.

“Can I see some ID?” Mason demanded.

Mike stuck his head out, too. “We’re making up a strip card game that uses everyone’s fake IDs. Wanna play?” He waved his own fake ID in the air.

“Let me see that.” Hanna stepped back into the room and grabbed for it. Mike had bragged about a new fake ID, but he’d been cagey about showing it to her. She burst out laughing. Quincy Thomas, the name on the card, had a blond crew cut and glasses. The description said he was six foot ten, almost a foot taller than Mike was.

She tossed it back to him. “No one’s going to think that’s you!”

Mike held it protectively to his chest, his cheeks blazing. “All right, smart ass, let’s see yours.”

Hanna reached into her purse and pulled out her own fake ID, which she’d bought last year online and which featured her own picture and stats. Mason offered up his ID, too, which he’d gotten in New York City. Other kids added their IDs to the pile. One girl had a very convincing-looking Japanese passport, even though she herself wasn’t Japanese. Erin Bang Bang used her own photo for her fake. The picture was so arresting and model-gorgeous that Hanna guessed no bouncer or bartender would even bother to look at her birth date. Bitch.

“Hey, yours is pretty good,” Mike said to Naomi as she dropped hers on the pile. “She even looks like you.”

“That’s because it’s my cousin’s,” Naomi explained. A strange look came over her face. “It’s not like she needs it anymore.”

Hanna glanced at the photo, then did a double-take. Even though she’d seen the girl for only one night, the face was unforgettable. It was like a ghost staring back at her.

Madison.

She backed away, tripping over an upended suitcase and nearly falling on her butt. As she righted herself, her hands were suddenly shaking so badly she had to shove them into the folds of her dress. The room felt hot and close, and so many people were staring at her, Naomi included.

“Um, I have to …” Hanna fumbled past everyone to the door.

She ran to the end of the hall, desperate to catch her breath. Then she noticed a French door that led to a small, open-air courtyard. She slid it open and staggered to a shuffleboard court, leaning over onto her knees.

Madison was Naomi’s cousin. And what did Naomi mean when she said she didn’t need the ID anymore? Was she dead?

Beep.

It was Hanna’s phone. She pulled it out of her purse, figuring it was Mike. But then she looked at the screen. One new text message from Anonymous.

“No,” she whispered, scanning the dark courtyard. Then she looked down at the screen. With shaking fingers, she pressed READ.

Be careful who you hit and run, jailbird. See you on the Fiesta Deck!—A