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Spencer leaned against the railing, looking worried. “Are you okay?”
Emily sighed. “I just don’t feel in the mood to do this anymore. I mean, what’s the point?” She shoved her flip-flops back on her feet, keeping her eyes averted from her friends. “We’re being tortured by A. We’re practically wanted by the police. Don’t you think doing a talent show routine is a little ridiculous? How are we going to ride a Vespa in jail?”
“It’s a nice diversion,” Spencer said quietly.
“Did something happen, Em?” Aria pressed. “Something with A? Something with that girl you saw on TV yesterday? Is she really on the ship?”
Emily looked away, biting her lip. She regretted that her friends had been there to witness her CNN Preppy Thief meltdown. She didn’t want to drag them into the scandal. “She got off the boat yesterday,” she lied—although, for all she knew, it was true. There had been no trace of Jordan when Emily got back to her room the day before, and she hadn’t heard from her since. “And let’s never talk about it again, okay?”
There was a long, awkward pause. “Okay,” Spencer said, concern in her voice.
“Good,” Emily said perfunctorily. But when she shut her eyes, all she could think about was that news broadcast. The Preppy Thief. Jordan being led to jail in an orange jumpsuit.
Google had provided a hundred links with all the awful details. Jordan—or Katherine DeLong, or whatever her name was—didn’t come from a poor family, as she’d told Emily, but a very wealthy one from outside New York City. There were pictures of her at society events in Manhattan and debutante parties in the Hamptons. She’d been stealing boats, cars, planes—basically, anything she could get her hands on—for two years now, jet-setting across the world to attempt bigger and more daring heists. She had finally been arrested and thrown in jail near Philly a few months earlier, when she was caught driving her father’s law partner’s Ferrari. Now the FBI was after her.
The articles described her as a “con woman,” capable of convincing people of anything and everything just to get her way. Other reporters called her a “sociopath,” a “girl Houdini,” and “a miscreant with no respect for private property.” Apparently, Jordan didn’t steal the vehicles because she had any use for them—it was all for the thrill.
It was crushing. Emily had felt reborn with Jordan. For a few blissful hours, there had been something good in her world again. But how could she have fallen for another liar? Did Jordan even like her at all, or was she exploiting Emily’s kindness and generosity to keep a low profile? What if Emily got in trouble just for associating with her? A knew about it, too—what if A told?
Sighing, she grabbed her bag from the ledge where she’d left it. “I’m going back to my room for a while. I’ll be ready for the performance tomorrow, though. I promise.”
She padded toward the elevator, glancing over her shoulder just once. Aria and Spencer were whispering, probably trying to decide whether or not to follow her. She was glad when they didn’t.
There was no one in the elevator for her ride to her floor, and the hallway to her room was empty. But when she saw a figure sitting at her door, she froze, her heart suddenly beating fast. It was Jordan.
Jordan glanced up at the same time. Her lips parted, and she started to stand. “Emily!”
Emily turned around and walked the other way, the grass skirt scratching against her legs.
“Emily!” Jordan called again, running after her. “Wait!”
Emily kept going, saying nothing. “I know you’re mad,” Jordan blurted. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I tried, a few times, but … I just didn’t know how.”
“Well, now it’s all out in the open, isn’t it?” Emily said brusquely, pulling open the heavy door to the stairs. She had no idea where she was going. She just knew she had to go somewhere.
“So that’s it?” Jordan’s voice cracked. “You’re just going to walk away from us?”
Emily pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and climbed the first set of stairs, the grass skirt swishing loudly against her legs.
“Emily, please,” Jordan said. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
Emily paused mid-step. When she turned, Jordan’s face was stained with tears. Her pert nose was red-rimmed from crying, and her hands were worrying the hem of her T-shirt. A T-shirt, incidentally, she had borrowed from Emily’s closet—because Emily was so frickin’ nice and naive. The image of Jordan on TV flared in her mind. Walk away, a wounded voice inside her said.
But she also knew what Jordan meant. Something amazing had happened between them.
She swallowed hard. “You lied to me. I don’t know anything about you. I didn’t even know your real name!”
“I know. And I feel terrible about it. But it wasn’t because I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to protect you.”
Emily ran her fingers over a crack on the wall. “Did you really escape from jail?”
“Yes,” Jordan said in a quiet voice.
“Why weren’t you wearing that orange jumpsuit when I first saw you?”
“I was in my regular clothes in the holding cell.”
“And why did you pick the name Jordan?”
“It’s my middle name.” Jordan stared at her feet. “And Richards is my mom’s maiden name. I’ve always liked them both better.”
