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A hand went up in the back. “But I heard there’s even more amazing coral a few coves over,” a short-haired guy with a pierced eyebrow said. “Can we check it out together?”
“Definitely not.” Tim’s eyebrows furrowed. “The coral in those coves is really sharp—someone could hurt themselves. It’s also really deep over there—not safe for novice divers. Stay where I can see you at all times, okay?”
Spencer sighed. That meant she’d have to stay in sight of Reefer and Naomi, too.
She grabbed a dive mask from the milk crate and pulled the strap over her head. Then she and Kirsten sat on the side of the boat, counted to three, and flipped backward into the water.
The water was cool on Spencer’s skin, and she felt herself sinking down, down, down. She opened her eyes, sucked in a breath, and looked around. Tropical fish darted to and fro. Fingerlike seaweed waved in an elegant ballet. She located Kirsten a few yards away and waved. Kirsten gestured to Spencer’s tank and raised her eyebrows—as partners, they were supposed to keep an eye on each other’s gauges. But Spencer just shook her head—they’d been in the water for only a few minutes. There was no need to check the controls yet. What she really needed was a few moments of being truly and purely alone. She turned toward the cove the boy in the boat had been talking about, eager to check out the vast depths. Screw the rules.
She watched everyone else on the boat descend into the water, including Naomi and Reefer. Once Tim’s back was turned, she swam gracefully away from the group, and for a few minutes, all she could hear was the sounds of her mechanized breathing. Bubbles floated across her field of view. A school of small, neon-pink fish darted past, followed by a sinuous manta ray. Spencer swam even deeper until she was face-to-face with the coral.
Unbidden, a memory popped into her head. At the beginning of sixth grade, when they’d first become friends, the Hastingses and the DiLaurentises both took a trip to their vacation homes in Longboat Key, Florida, for a long weekend, and Ali and Spencer had taken a scuba class. As they’d walked down the dock, Ali had nudged her side and pointed to an icy blonde leading the group. “For a second, I was afraid that was Naomi Zeigler,” she’d whispered. “Her family has a condo here, you know.”
Spencer had looked at Ali. “Why aren’t you friends with her anymore?”
“We had a fight,” Ali answered simply, adjusting her bikini strap.
“About what?” Spencer asked.
Ali shrugged. “Naomi knows what she did.”
She never elaborated further. Now Spencer understood that it had been Courtney talking, a girl who’d never known Naomi. There had never been a fight—Naomi had never done anything.
Or … had she? There had been something so chilling about Courtney’s voice when she spoke about Naomi, a rawness not even the best actress could fake. Had she identified something dangerous about Naomi when she’d arrived in Rosewood? Was there more to the story than Spencer knew?
As she ran her fingers across a piece of coral, a sharp pain prodded at her skull. She wheeled around, thinking something had struck her, but there wasn’t a person or even a fish anywhere close. She blinked hard, suddenly feeling light-headed. When she took a breath, her lungs didn’t fill. Had she gone too deep? Did she have the bends?
She tried to breathe in again, but she couldn’t inhale. Suddenly desperate, she fiddled with her dive mask—perhaps it wasn’t lined up properly with her mouth. But it was, and yet she still couldn’t draw a breath. Her heart began to pound. She tried to swim to the surface, but her arms and legs felt like dead weights. She checked her pressure gauge again, but the tank was still full. That was impossible, though—she definitely wasn’t getting oxygen.
She gasped for air, an idea forming in her mind. She’d heard about this kind of thing happening. People could mess with the gauges, make them appear at the right levels when in fact the tank was empty. She knew that was what had happened. And she knew who had done it, too. A.
Spencer woozily glanced through the water, finding Naomi within the clump of divers in the distance. The baby oil and bed-breaking tricks were child’s play compared to cutting off her oxygen supply. Of course Naomi still hated her! And to think, Spencer thought she was safe just because she’d broken up with Reefer!
“Mmm!” she cried, the sound getting swallowed up in the water. Spots were starting to form in front of her eyes. She flailed her arms and legs and weakly called out for help, but the divers were too far away to notice. She kicked closer. By now her lungs were burning, greedy for air.
“Mmm!” she called out, waving her arms some more. But all the divers’ backs were to her. Spencer’s eyes started to close. Her neck lolled back, and her body suddenly felt heavy. Darkness crept in, obscuring her vision. Her leg bumped a piece of rock, but she couldn’t move. She had no energy to move. This was the end, and she couldn’t even fight.
A warm feeling washed over her body, and she allowed herself to sink. She couldn’t hear breathing in her ears any longer. Her eyes fluttered closed. The last thing she saw was a light coming toward her, filling her field of vision …
Then, air pushed into Spencer’s lungs, and she opened her eyes with a jolt. She coughed violently, and salt water spewed from her mouth and exploded from her nose, burning her nostrils. She was lying on the deck of the boat again. Reefer crouched over her, his lips wet, a relieved look on his face.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “Are you okay?”
