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“It does suck.” Naomi’s eyes widened. “Hey, got any dirt on her? You know, something that would make him run screaming?”
Hanna coughed. “I don’t really know anything that good.” Except that she’s a murderer, a voice growled in her head. Or that she took drugs last summer and framed someone else for possession. Or that she helped me move your cousin into the driver’s seat of the car I was driving.
Then again, if Naomi was A, she already knew all of that.
“Aw, I’m just kidding.” Naomi nudged her playfully after a moment, probably registering Hanna’s uncomfortable expression. She squeezed Hanna’s hand. “You’re so lucky you have Mike, you know.”
“Yeah,” Hanna said, feeling herself relax, smiling as she thought of him.
“He’s better than Sean Ackard,” Naomi added. “You know I dated him too, right?”
Hanna nodded. “In ninth grade.”
Naomi looked surprised. “How did you remember that?”
Hanna laughed. “I pined over Sean for years—I knew everyone he dated. But, you know, when I got him, he was a huge disappointment. He was just so … good.”
“You mean the no-sex thing, right?” Naomi rolled her eyes. “He’s always been like that. I was at this party with him once, and all the couples were peeling off to make out. But Sean and I sat on the couch, watching this stupid movie on TV like we were the parents. It was so lame.”
“What does Kate see in him?” Hanna giggled.
“Maybe she’s into virgins,” Naomi snickered. “I heard she’s going to V Club with him now.”
“Actually, I—” Hanna was about to say she’d seen Kate and Sean leave a V Club meeting a few weeks ago but stopped herself just in time. She’d been with Liam when she caught Kate and Sean at the V Club meeting.
Then again, if Naomi was A, she would know that, too.
Hanna straightened up, feeling nervous. “You know, if you really want a cocktail, we could sneak off the boat when we get to Puerto Rico and go to a bar or something. I have a fake ID. And you have your, um, cousin’s, right?”
A strange expression flashed across Naomi’s face. “Yeah.”
“Are you guys close?” Her heart was pounding hard. She felt ridiculously transparent.
Naomi picked at her nails. “Like sisters. Her name’s Madison. She went to St. Agnes. Now she goes to Penn State. Or, well, she did go to Penn State until the accident.”
Hanna’s stomach dropped. “Did she … die?” She braced herself for the answer. Or for Naomi to start screaming that she knew everything and wanted Hanna dead.
Naomi glanced at Hanna for a long moment, almost as though she were sizing her up. But before she could answer, the beginning notes of “California Gurls” boomed through the space, and the lyrics appeared on the screen behind the stage.
Naomi leapt up. “God, I’m such a buzzkill! C’mon. Let’s forget about this and have fun.”
They rushed up to the front and grabbed the microphones. But when Hanna opened her mouth to sing, her voice sounded unsteady and thin. She kept picturing Madison in a hospital bed, post-crash, one of those horrible masks on her face breathing for her. She pictured Naomi, Madison’s favorite cousin, sitting by her side, a blubbering mess. Finding out that someone else was to blame would drive anyone to revenge. But how was Naomi able to play it so cool right now?
She glanced over at Naomi now. Her eyes were clear, her tears gone, and she was singing gleefully into the microphone as though she’d put the pain behind her. As the peppy chorus began, a bunch of kids in the audience sang along. Naomi’s voice rose. She turned around and slapped her butt. Hanna couldn’t help but snicker.
Then Hanna threw her head back and sang louder, too. Her voice sounded good blended with Naomi’s. When she opened her eyes, Naomi grabbed her hands and spun her around. She flipped her skirt, and Hanna grabbed two glowsticks from a nearby table, pretending firecrackers were exploding from her boobs. The crowd cheered. When Hanna looked out at their faces, even Graham was smiling.
When the song ended, a bunch of guys sitting along the wall chanted, “En-core! En-core!”
“The public loves us!” Hanna giggled as they stepped off the stage.
“That’s because we’re awesome!” Naomi looped her arm through Hanna’s elbow. “We should perform that at the talent show, don’t you think?”
“Um, sure,” Hanna said, remembering her promise to Spencer and the others to do the hula with them. But it wasn’t like she could say no—not to the girl who was potentially A.
And then, as if on cue, when she got back to her seat, her cell phone light was blinking. There was a new text message.
Naomi’s head had turned and she was talking to Ursula Tippington, paying no attention. Hanna cast a glance at Naomi’s phone on the table beside her. All she had to do was reach over and grab it, but her limbs felt as if they were filled with sand. Swallowing hard, she opened her text.
Hanna Marin got in a crash
Moved a girl to cover her ass
Hanna Marin fled the scene
But someone saw it all—me.
—A
13
PEOPLE WHO FLOAT IN GLASS BOATS SHOULDN’T THROW STONES
“Welcome to Puerto Rico!” Jeremy boomed over the loudspeaker on Thursday morning. He said it with a flamboyant Spanish accent, rolling the rs.
Emily watched as a lot of kids waved scarves at the people on shore. An acoustic, dreamy version of “Over the Rainbow” tinkled over the loudspeakers, and everyone groaned. That same song had played when they’d pulled out of Newark, then the following morning at sea, then to summon them to dinner the night before. It was getting a little old.
